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| Details |
| Author: | inkie |
| Summary: | As promised, Siamus Fallon gives Aszera Sunstrike a tour of his ship. Sort of. A tour of his cabin. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
Previously: Common Interests and Planning for an Onslaught.
The summons is answered almost immediately this time; its target seems to have been not just expecting but awaiting it. No sooner has the shadowy portal unfolded than the Vice Admiral is stepping through onto the nighttime deck, his uniform coat unbuttoned, his hat beneath his arm. The ship still rises and falls with the sea's rough rhythm, but Siamus doesn't miss his footing, shifting his weight by long habit to accommodate the suddenly-moving ground.
He nods to the three waiting people. "Miss Coit, Kettering. Silentstep. Thank ye kindly." To Lena, he says, "If ye don't mind, while we're at it, can ye call through a guest for me?"
"A guest?" Lena asks in mild surprise. "I suppose it's no problem, we've got the people here for the summoning already. One of the death knights?"
"No," says Siamus. "A young lady, the sister of one of the Ebons. And a friend of Silvestre's. Miss Aszera Sunstrike." He glances at Sil and smiles.
Sil blinks in surprise. "You… you're inviting Aze here? I didn't realize you even knew her, but…"
Lena glances curiously at Sil, but nods. "I should be able to. It's a little more complex, for a stranger, but as long as she's willing I should be able to."
"I've just met her," Siamus says cordially, and flashes another smile at Sil. "Charming lady."
Kettering looks away, squinting in an effort not to smile himself. He knows Siamus.
Sil's expression does something a little odd, some sort of mixture of mild amusement and indignation, as he glances between Kettering and Siamus.
"I mean… yeah, okay, she is that, as I'm sure she'd tell anybody herself," Sil says, finally setting up to summon. "It'll be good to see her again."
"Aszera Sunstrike," Lena repeats, pulling up another summoning portal and nodding to Sil and Kettering.
"As to willing, I believe she's waiting," Siamus says to Lena. Kettering turns back to the portal, extremely straight-faced now, to await Lena's cue.
Lena starts the summoning and nods for the other two to join. She murmurs, "Sil makes it easier, since he has a connection I can follow…"
Aze does, indeed, seem to be waiting. She accepts the summon instantly and appears between the four of them on deck. She's changed clothes from earlier, traded out her leather armor for soft boots, fitted black pants and a deep blue, modestly cut long-sleeved blouse. Over all of it she wears her usual black cloak for warmth, the red lining peeking out as she moves.
She turns a little, maybe getting her bearings, and then smiles.
Siamus is smiling at her already, his dark gaze intent and glittering. "Miss Sunstrike," he greets her dryly. "Welcome to the Lady Blanche. I believe you're already acquainted wi' some of her crew."
"Thank you, I'll be delighted to get to know her as well," Aze says brightly, and then her smile widens. "Yes, Sil! On this ship." She spins to catches him in a brief hug, pulling back with a laugh before he really has time to react. Sil chuckles a little nervously, and steps back by Kettering.
Lena is looking at the elvish woman curiously. "I know you, as well. You were in Naxxramas, fighting the reanimated dragon."
Aze turns to focus on Lena for a moment, and then nods. "Yeah, Sapphiron." She tilts her head towards Siamus. "Has she told you about that already?"
"She did, aye." Siamus's smile has vanished. "A grim business, and a hard-won victory. Ye were there as well?" There is a delicate pause, and he flicks a glance at Sil and then back again. "I understand Bertrand Aspenwood died. Briefly," he hastens to add.
"Yeah, it was a hard fight," Aze nods. "Even I got cursed, at one point. And Bertrand Aspenwood… but they brought him back. 7th Legion, right? It's kind of their thing. Resilience."
"Usually," Lena says, looking away. "You can never guarantee those things."
Sil looks alarmed. "Bertrand did? But he's… he's fine now? What about Cressidha and Cole, were they upset?"
Siamus has taken a step closer to Lena when she looked away — close enough neither to touch nor to imply hovering, just being closer. For no reason. As one does. He looks from Aze to Lena for the answer to Sil's question.
Kettering, having concluded that he is superfluous to the proceedings, steps away to return to his duties.
"Of course," Lena says, looking back to Sil. "But he's fine. I'm sure he's died before. These things happen. The 7th will take care of him."
Sil nods slowly. "They look after each other. He'll be alright."
Aze taps her leg with one hand, a little impatiently, but she doesn't rush along the reassurances.
Siamus flicks a glance at her, and then looks back to the other two. "Again, I'm obliged as ever, Miss Coit. Silvestre. If ye don't mind, I did promise the lady a tour of the Blanche."
He steps away from Lena toward Aze and offers his arm. Like a gentleman. Who is for sure definitely going to give the lady a genteel tour of the ship.
"Oh, yes, of course, I'll just… get back to my duties," Sil shoots another glance at Aze and Siamus, and waves a good-natured farewell, turning away. "Enjoy the tour, Aze."
"And I should get back to what I was doing as well," Lena says, looking at Siamus with a faint, amused smile.
Aze, for her part, steps in smoothly and takes his arm. Like a lady. Or at least someone capable of convincingly playing a lady.
Siamus nods gravely to Lena. There is a gleam of humor in his gaze, but it doesn't show otherwise in his expression. "Good evening, Miss Coit."
He draws Aze a few steps away and informs her, extremely dryly, "This is the main deck. Perhaps ye'd like to see the captain's cabin?"
"Oh, that would be lovely," Aze says, leaning into Siamus, with a little too much innocent interest in her tone to be truly convincing. She adds, more casually, "I can see her, in a certain way. The life in the structure, how it all fits together…" she rotates one hand, smiling up at him. "The sails a little less, I admit."
"I'd be curious," says Siamus, sounding genuinely and distractedly curious, "what ye can see, and how. If that's no' too familiar a question."
He has led her to the door that leads to the officers' cabins beneath the quarterdeck, and he opens it now to usher her into the corridor there.
"If I get better at it, supposedly everything," Aze says, a little frustration creeping into her voice. It fades as she continues, letting him usher her into the corridor. "Mostly energy. Different kinds. Fel is like a fucking bonfire, but I was made for that. But there's a kind of energy in most things, even inanimate. I'm used to it, more or less. A person can get used to anything, it seems."
"Sometimes a bloody pity that she has to, though." Siamus closes the door behind them, and when he moves back to Aze's side, rather than taking her arm he draws fingertips down the back of her cloak, finding the line of her spine, and then rests his hand at the small of her back to continue their walk.
Aze draws in a low breath and shifts toward him slightly, so her arm is just barely brushing his side as they continue down the corridor.
"Better than the alternative," Aze says, with a faint smile. "I value my ability to adapt. To be flexible."
"I have often said that flexibility is an admirable trait," Siamus agrees solemnly.
They've reached the end of the corridor, and he opens the door to the captain's cabin to usher her in.
The room is as it was when Lena visited, so I will not go into a lot of description again, but this time the curtain is not drawn across the alcove bed built into the left-hand wall of the cabin. The desk chair continues to do its slow slide-and-thunk, as the ship rolls back and forth on the uneasy swells below.
Aze moves together with Siamus into the captain's cabin, and seems to take it in for a moment with that same slight smile. She pivots slightly to turn her face up towards Siamus. "A chair that announces where it is," she says, amused. "Convenient."
Siamus laughs softly. "I trust ye don't take seasick." He leans around her to toss his hat at the sea-chest along the wall; it lands so neatly on the lid of the chest that it's clear Siamus has some practice at dispensing with it in this casual fashion.
He straightens again to look down at Aze, and rests his hands on her hips. "Now," he says conversationally, and begins to walk her backwards toward the table in the center of the room, "May I take your cloak? And would ye like a drink?" A warm undercurrent of amusement runs through both questions.
"Now that I would've given warning before I asked to see your ship," Aze says with a light laugh. She lets him walk her backward, raising her hands to rest lightly on his shoulders and letting the cloak fall open to either side of her arms. "You can take whatever you want. And I would love a drink. Before… or after."
Siamus lets go of her hips just as she bumps lightly into the table behind her. He unfastens her cloak; with one hand he drags the sweep of cloth away from behind her. His other hand takes her chin gently to coax her head back and to one side. He bends to kiss the bared side of her throat.
Then he steps away, folding her cloak over his arm. He carries it to a cabinet at the side of the room and lays it neatly atop, then shrugs out of his own coat and the uniform jacket beneath.
In his shirtsleeves, he opens the cabinet for a bottle and a glass, pours a couple of inches of whiskey, and shuts the bottle away again. He returns to Aze with the glass, and offers it to her. He studies her face, his own expression that mask of amused false solemnity, gleam-eyed.
Aze offers no resistance to his coaxing, and a pleasant shiver runs through her body when his lips touch her throat. She stays posed there for a long moment, her head tilted back, as he steps away.
Then she rests against the table as he moves to fetch drinks, reaching up to undo the top couple of buttons on her blouse and revealing the edge of a line of dark blue ink on her skin beneath it.
When he returns with the glass, she takes it without hesitation, tilting it slightly in her hand as if to gauge its fullness. Her expression may be harder to read with the blindfold, but she still wears that same faint smile. She takes a sip and offers the glass to Siamus.
He accepts it, his gaze still on her face, and takes a sip himself without looking away. He sets the glass on the table beside her.
"Now," he says conversationally, and begins to unbutton his own shirt. "There are two factors to balance. The first is that I'm a gentleman, and I'd never like to press a lady. The second is that it's been a longer while than usual for me, and I am inclined to urgency. Ye tell me now what's your preference, or I'll have my own."
Despite the phrasing of that last, it doesn't seem like menace, exactly. His expression as he pulls his unbuttoned shirt off and drops it to one side remains politely, amusedly attentive.
He has the strong-shouldered, lean-waisted build of a rower or a swimmer, athletic and agile, his arms and chest hard and smooth-muscled. There is a band of scar tissue gouged around his left upper arm, and a second scar slashes a downward diagonal seam across his left ribs. Aze probably cannot appreciate the sun-bronze coloring or the elaborate black-inked kraken tattoo that spreads across his right shoulder and pectoral and winds down his bicep.
"It's been… a while," Aze says, as he takes off his shirt, and for a moment the want is as clear in her face as it is in her voice. Then she smiles again, her fingers moving to undo her own buttons with the rapidity of muscle memory.
"I don't mind urgency. Only thing from me is I'm assuming everything works pretty much the same, for your people. You'll have to tell me if I'm wrong."
Aze shrugs her own shirt off onto the table, and she is entirely bare beneath it. Her skin is fair and her frame is more slight than would be average for a human woman. Though smaller, she still has the solidity of muscle of a dancer, or, considering her most recent occupation, a soldier. Unlike Aze, Siamus can likely appreciate the thick, jagged blue lines of tattoos that run from her collarbone to her waist, and out to each of her forearms.
Siamus inhales sharply, his gaze avid, and shifts closer, crowding her against the table's edge. His fingertips trace the lines of her tattoos from collarbone to waist, a slow and lingering perusal, as though he were the sightless one and can only appreciate them by touch.
"Have ye not had a human before?" he asks her, low-voiced. There is still that dry suggestion of laughter in his words, a warmth that colors his tone. "Shall I be flattered, or has it only been so long for ye? And yes, everything's the same. I've been with elves before."
He slides a hand around to splay it at the small of her back. "Look at ye," he says. "Extraordinary girl. An artwork."
Aze tilts back her head slightly as he touches her, making a low sound of pleasure in her throat.
"They're… to help," she offers haltingly in a kind of half-explanation, as he slides his hand around to her back. But still, there's a lightening in her expression at the praise, and she draws toward him. For a brief moment the color of the lines might shift, very slightly, or then again it might just be the lighting in the cabin.
"And, as for the other, mm… its just not a thing that had happened yet. But I chose to be here with you… and you chose me… so let's both be flattered." At that, she reaches for him, tracing her own fingers down the sides of his chest. One hand encounters the scar across his ribs, and she pauses for a moment before continuing. Then she slides her hands around to his shoulder blades, pulling her face up towards his in clear invitation.
Siamus's other hand lifts from its tracery of her tattoos, fits warm and strong around the back of her neck, and he bends to kiss her. (There's a moustache and beard there, sorry if that's a surprise, Aze.) For a moment, it's almost a tease, just a brush of lips, and then a softer, more lingering press.
And then he is finished being politely patient and his mouth is hot and hungry, his tongue seeking hers, and he lets go of her neck to reach out blindly for the whiskey glass and slide it farther to one side so that he can take her by the hips and lift her onto the edge of the table.
There's indeed a moment of surprise in her expression when his lips first touch hers — she can't see that well, huh — but it passes quickly. Then she's ready for the push past politeness and meets his hunger with her own, her lips parting with a low sigh and her tongue touching his. Curling her hands on his shoulders, she helps support her weight as he lifts her on the edge of the table, and then she opens her legs to allow him to stay pressed up against her. For now, talking isn't possible.
His hands skim her bared torso again, exploring — not the tattoos, this time — and then he fits fingers into the waistband of her trousers. He makes an impatient noise and shifts his weight — he does not stop kissing her — to take one of her legs and lift it, sliding a hand down the back of her thigh to her calf to find the top of her boot.
Nope, that's not going to work at this angle. He gives a muffled curse, laughing against her lips, and breaks the kiss to step back and pull off her boots. They thud onto the floor one after the other, and then he's pressed between her legs again, his fingers impatient at the fastening of her pants.
Aze laughs in answer, leaning her weight on her hands behind her to make her pants easier to remove. They're not complicated to unfasten, and they slide off easily. It's almost like she changed clothes in anticipation of this visit and what it was likely to involve. (Yes, she absolutely did.)
When that's done, she leans forward to kiss him again, her hands trailing down to the waistband of his pants. She pauses briefly to murmur, "I take it the table's sturdy enough?"
He nuzzles the side of her face, kisses the corner of her jaw and catches her earlobe lightly in his teeth, and then murmurs in her ear, low-voiced and still with that note of laughter, "The table is very sturdy. Shall I show ye?"
TIME PASSES
The table is very sturdy. So is at least one chair and a section of the wall. The carpet beneath the table is not precisely sturdy, but part of it may be a little sticky now. The bed — where they are now, tucked into the alcove — is comfortable, and the movement of the sea beneath the ship rocks it in time with the persistent thunk of the desk chair by the windows. Siamus doesn't seem to notice the sound; he must by now be accustomed to it.
He is lying on his back, one leg drawn up, with an arm around Aze. His fingers play lightly with the ends of her hair.
Aze is turned towards Siamus, nestled against his shoulder, with no tension left at all in her body. One hand rests on his chest, and she seems to be tracing a jagged kind of shape with one finger. Then she pauses, with her hand over part of the kraken.
"It was a great tour," she says finally, in a low voice. "Really feel like I got to know the… ship."
Siamus laughs softly. "I'm glad to hear it. I like to be a good host. And it's always a pleasure to have aboard a guest who appreciates a ship so well."
He threads his fingers idly in her hair; his other hand comes down over the forearm she rests against his chest, and his thumb brushes back and forth across the line of her tattoo. "She is a beauty."
He could, plausibly, still be speaking of… a ship. But his touch and his tone suggest otherwise.
Aze raises her head a little at that, then relaxes back down against his shoulder. "You like tattoos on a girl? I'd guess it's not so common… but then again, maybe it is in Kul Tiras."
"Aye, it may be. A nation of sailors. We see enough of them. Not so often on a lady, but I can appreciate them."
Siamus turns his head at a slightly awkward angle to peer at her. "I expect ye can't see this one." He releases her forearm to take her hand and draw it a little higher, toward his shoulder. And then he peers at her again. "But yours aren't only ink, are they? The colors… shift."
Aze frowns in concentration, feeling his tattooed skin with her fingertips. She nods against his shoulder, and pulls a little closer. "They're ink and power. An arcane binding. It works together with my will…" she hesitates, "…to help me stay in control. I keep mine hidden, usually, because they tell what I am. To anyone who knows how to read it, anyway. A blindfold could be an injury, but then you add the markings…" she smiles drowsily, "Anyway, you knew already. What's yours? Can you trace it with my hand?"
Siamus smiles; Aze can hear it in his voice when he speaks. "I can try. It's — a complicated trace. A kraken." He lifts her hand and places her fingertips at the peak of his shoulder. "Here," he says, "Down to the shoulderblade in back, and to here." He draws her fingertips down to his pectoral. "… And here." He lifts her hand again to trail her fingers down his bicep.
That intent look returns to her face as he moves her hand, like she's trying to reconstruct the shape in her in mind from the movements alone. "A kraken. Does it mean something?"
Siamus is silent a moment, still smiling. "It's my house sigil. But it also means I was a cocky bastard at twenty-six. My first year as a captain in Proudmoore's fleet, I captured eight ships. It was… something of a feat. I had a commendation from the Lord Admiral himself." His tone is dry-humored, self-deprecating: I remember when I was young enough to think I was awesome. "So, the Fallon kraken: eight arms, for eight ships."
"The Fallon kraken," Aze says, smiling again. "I can picture it, in my mind. Wonder if it's anything close." She rests her hand on his shoulder, right in the middle of the sea creature. Her vision may be compromised, but her memory and spatial senses are doing just fine. "Twenty-six. What was I doing then? Not capturing ships… shattering my parents' Convocation hopes… dancing… you got a head start on the heroics."
"I believe age is relative, in this case," Siamus observes. "Or ye could say I came slow to heroics, as I joined the fleet at nine. How did ye shatter your parents' hopes?" He pauses, reflecting on that phrasing. "That sounds like a heavy question. If ye don't want to answer it, ye needn't."
"Oh, no, that's all… blood under the bridge or whatever that saying is," Aze says with a brief, dry laugh. "My parents wanted to raise a brilliant mage. Once they found out Yara didn't have the aptitude, they tried again, new daughter. And I didn't have the discipline. And holy fuck was that fun to hear over and over again, let me tell you. It was like I was the last chance and they just couldn't let it go." Aze seems to realize she's tensing her shoulders. She takes a breath, deliberately relaxing, and continues, "Nine? Isn't that a little younger than usual, even for humans?"
Siamus' hand has dropped Aze's hair to take her shoulder. He kneads it gently. "Aye, for mainlanders. And… even for most Kul Tirans these days, truth be told. But a young lad can be useful on a ship, for running powder or sitting lookout on the mast, and ye can't learn ships and sailing by theory." He pauses. "And I had… a rare aptitude. My father wanted to get me to sea as soon as could be, to train it." He massages Aze's shoulder some more, absently. "A family gift. My sister doesn't have the same… aptitude. It's part of what broke the family apart. So. I know stories like it. I'm sorry for ye. Ta — Sintha, my sister — It's… made a long impression on her."
"We were… maybe strained, but not broken. Neither of us had the gift they wanted, but in the end, they loved us anyway," Aze says relaxing into his touch. "We followed our own paths, though maybe sometimes mine overran hers. And we ended up where we are." Aze gives a low sigh. "So that's why your sister — Sintha — why she's not in the fleet? Because she didn't have this… rare aptitude?"
"Mm," says Siamus. "That and my mother and her family didn't think she ought to be. They wanted Ta to be a lady — bad enough that the Admiral and I were sailors. I expect the Admiral would have claimed her all the same if she'd had the gift, but as she hadn't, he hadn't much use for her. She was left behind wi' my mother and her people. Would have been for good, when the Admiral and I came to Starmwend, if the family'd had their way."
"A lady," Aze says with a lazy smile. "That means different things where I grew up, but I've met enough human ladies now to know what you mean. What is the gift?"
Siamus turns his head to kiss her hair, and ruminates in silence for a moment. "I'm a tidesage," he says at last. "I can… charm the sea."
"Tidesage," she repeats, curling her fingers along the kraken in a general way. "A thing in the Tidemother faith? That does sound useful for a sailor."
Siamus laughs softly. "Aye. It's why there's no finer ship than a Kul Tiran's and no finer fleet than Proudmoore's. I'm not — formally trained, a brother of the order. So I'm not a power like some ye'd find in the isles. But powerful enough for my own purpose." He shrugs comfortably, trying not to dislodge Aze from her place on his shoulder.
Aze shifts with him — she's not that easy to dislodge — and resettles. "Mmm, but in a nation without tidesages, that gives you an edge. And your purpose… you mean what you're doing here in Icecrown, with my sister and the others?" Aze moves her free hand up to touch her blindfold, as if checking it's still in place. "I didn't really have much of a purpose when I came up here. Or I was in between purposes. An arrow in flight still looking for a target."
"An arrow in flight," muses Siamus. "An arrow in flight is a graceful thing — and full of deadly potential. Is that what ye are?" He trails fingertips idly up and down her bare shoulder. "I meant my purpose in… a more general way. As a navy man, as a privateer, as a servant of the Crown. But aye, here in the north as well. There are things my fleet can do that no other can." He turns his head to kiss Aze's hair again absently. "And your purpose now is… the Argent Crusade's?"
Aze stretches up to kiss him lightly on the collarbone before answering. "Yes, an arrow needs to be directed. I…. try… but things go awry sometimes. Or it seems like a good idea, and then everyone around me is saying 'what the fuck, Aze?'" She gives a short laugh. "The Argent Crusade has a good target right now. And they don't make me hide."
Siamus laughs softly. "What the fuck, Aze?" he repeats, as though this is another foreign phrase and he wants to be sure he has his vowel sounds correct. (He does not. His vowels are Kul Tiran.) "Shame. I suppose as long as the Argents let ye stand as yourself, I'll have to give even their paladins some credit. Criminal for anyone to hide a lovely fierceness like yourself away."
He pauses. "What sort of dancing?"
Aze brightens, both at the praise and at the topic. She turns and pushes herself up on one elbow, smiling down at Siamus with her hair curtaining half her face. "Partnered dancing, mostly, different styles. Though most of them would be scandalous in Stormwind. I was good, too, before… everything. I wasn't competitive, but it opened doors. People like a good dance partner." She moves her hand from the kraken to brush against the side of his face. "Do you like dancing?"
He turns his head to kiss the palm of her hand, and then lifts a hand himself to draw the dark fall of her hair back and slip it behind one pointed elven ear. "I'm afraid I must disappoint ye and say that I don't enjoy it personally. But then again, all the dancing I know is the sort expected of a gentleman in a ballroom, and none of it scandalous, I assure ye. I confess I'm interested to hear about dances 'scandalous in Starmwend,' though. I can imagine ye were very, very good at them."
"I was," Aze grins, a touch of yearning in her face. Then she amends to, "Am, though there's less call for it now. Some can make for great foreplay — you might enjoy it more. Though I don't know how steady on my feet I'd be just now." She considers, and adds, "Maybe if you summon me again someday. To go again, with less urgency."
"It would be my honor and a pleasure," Siamus assures her solemnly, his gaze gleaming. "Ye will have to advise me when suits." He sits up a little to prop himself on an elbow, cradles the side of her face with his other hand and brushes her cheekbone below the blindfold with his thumb. "And for now, shall I fetch your drink? Or are ye tired?"
Aze leans into his hand with a happy sigh and says, "Wouldn't want to waste the whiskey. Before and after, in the end."
She sits up a little more, allowing Siamus to disentangle and get past her, and adds, "I'd say whenever, but I am fighting a war, same as you. You could… write. Or just go for it, and I'll answer if I can."
Siamus climbs from the bed and goes to the table to collect the — miraculously unspilled — glass of whiskey. He brings it back, taking a sip himself along the way, and slides back into bed to pass it to Aze. "I'll do ye the courtesy of writing," he says. A booty call note. "If I should send for ye without one, then it must be urgent again. Naturally, ye may write to me as well, if ye like."
Aze sits up fully, curling in her legs, to take a sip of whiskey. Then she turns back to Siamus. "Sure, but my handwriting's not the best these days. You'll have to not judge me on that." She breathes in, maybe enjoying the scent of the alcohol, and adds, "A lovely ship. Named after the… moon? For the tides?"
Siamus smiles at Aze. "She's named doubly, both for the Mother moon — the White Lady, who watches over sailors at sea — and for my wife. 'Lady Blanche' is a nickname of mine for her."
"Your…" Aze looks a little stunned. She raises the glass to her forehead, like she's warding something off. "Oh, fuck. I didn't even ask. I just wanted… I just… I never meant to hurt anybody."
Siamus' expression shifts immediately to concern, and he sits up again to reach out and lay a hand on her knee. "No, no, it's not — it's all right, aye? The lady and I have a mutual understanding." He studies Aze. "I am a gentleman, aye? I'd no' be a man to lie to his wife, and she knows it well. And nor would I lie to another lady, as ye just learned. I told ye, I'm fair forthright." He studies her, his brows drawn together. "I should have mentioned it… before, perhaps?"
I mean, maybe?
"Perhaps," Aze repeats, lowering the glass slowly. She takes in a breath. "I didn't ask. But if that's how it is, then… I guess that's fine. I just didn't mean to disrespect anybody. And I'm not planning to lie to anyone, either." Her attention is on Siamus at that last, maybe checking for a certain reaction.
He nods at her, hand still warm on her knee. "And nor would I ask ye to. I told ye before, I like a plain-spoken lady. I'd certainly not ask ye to change that on my account.
"If it eases ye to hear it from myself, so ye know I'm not trying to hide: the lady is the Duchess Esprit of Lordaeron, Lady Fallon of Starmwend. She doesn't sail, and I've been away from her some time wi' this voyage. And I expect when next I go home, it will be because she's giving birth, and so I'll be… apart from her for some weeks or months after it, even then. Hence my — urgency." There is a dry twist on that last word. Yes, the man knows he is a horndog.
"Duchess of Lordaeron, Lady of Stormwind," Aze says raising her eyebrows, but she does lower her free hand to rest on top of Siamus's and leans back a little bit into the cozy bed, so maybe that did ease something.
"That's a lot of titles, though Lordaeron. It was even worse there than Quel'thalas. I remember — I saw it." She pauses, and then adds, "Literally. That was before — my vision was still normal. My sympathies to the lady — and congratulations? But… yeah, I can see that'd be rough."
There's another beat, before she continues, "For me… I didn't know if it was safe, just after. Then, when I'd decided I was safe, I didn't know if anyone else was. Who might turn on me, once they knew. And then… bunch of paladins. It's been… about two years since? Not totally alone, but… near enough."
"Two years." Siamus' tone is mingled horror and awe. "Tides ha'mercy. I'm doubly glad I could do ye a service, then." He bends to kiss her bare shoulder.
"Yeah, tides have mercy, which is why I… well, no, I'm probably always like that," Aze says, smiling at the touch of his lips, and pressing lightly onto his hand on her knee. "It wasn't completely empty, though. About a year ago, before I came to Northrend, I made kind of a game out of the blindfold for a little while. Touch only, no sight. It was fun, while it lasted."
Aze takes another sip of whiskey. She almost just drinks the rest of it, but then seems to remember it's a shared glass. She offers the remainder to Siamus. "You're the only one who's seen me since, so far. Well, the only one I've let, on purpose."
Siamus lifts his hand from her knee to take the glass, and kisses her shoulder again before sitting up to take a sip. "I'm a lucky man, then, as well as a privileged one." He draws the knuckles of his free hand lightly up the curve of her spine. "Was it only for the fun of it? Or were ye uneasy?"
Aze arches her back into the touch, which might result in a slightly distracting movement elsewhere.
But then her smile fades a little. "Like you said. They killed them all at the temple, as far as I know. All the others. Why not me, too? I have to be careful." She draws in a breath, and adds, "Anyway, now I'm part of a group. And you didn't seem like you minded. The opposite, even."
Siamus is briefly slightly distracted by movement elsewhere. Which may have been his intention. He offers the whiskey glass back to her, possibly to free up his other hand.
"As a rule, I'm not a man to object if a beautiful lady wants to take her clothes off for me. It would frankly be ungracious to protest. And when the lady is such a rare artwork, well…." He shrugs genially. "As I say, a privileged man."
Aze takes the glass from him, and says with a playful grin, "Then the artwork is privileged, too, to find such an appreciative and… enthusiastically interactive audience." She tilts her head and adds, "I'd like to be an audience for yours someday, if you're willing. Your gift, I mean. Charming the seas. You're pretty good at charming other things."
"I have been told I can be charming," Siamus says thoughtfully, as though Aze's observation is merely another data point toward a theory he is building but as-yet uncertain of. There may be an immodest glint in his gaze, but Aze can't see that. "And I'd be glad to play the audience whenever ye want one."
He kisses her shoulder again, and then draws away to get up from the bed and go to the cabinet for the bottle and a second glass. Everyone can have their own drink, now.
He returns to the bed and settles beside Aze again to pour himself a drink, then wordlessly offers to top her glass up.
Aze nods, and there's a faint flash of disappointment visible in the curve of her mouth. It clears back into a smile quickly as she holds out her glass for more whiskey. Once he tops her up, she promptly takes a rather larger sip than she did when they were sharing and savors it for a moment in silence.
Then something seems to occur to her, and she asks, "Do you think I fought alongside your sister? At Naxxramas, there were a lot of 7th Legion there — aside from Sil, that was the first time I've really been around them."
Siamus tucks the bottle behind them, between the pillows and the alcove-wall to secure it, and settles again. "No, she wouldn't have been there. She's wi'the 6th E.U., and in Starmwend at present. She was in Icecrown on secondment for the launch of the Skybreaker, but — she was at Mord'rethar. She came home to her proper unit afterward." Siamus has a drink. "Will ye tell me about Naxxramas? I've heard a bit from Miss Coit on the subject. She did mention the Argents were there."
Aze winces at the mention of Mord'rethar, and says, "Glad she made it out of there. And sure — I was there with my squad, main place I helped was with that giant frostwyrm — reanimated blue dragon. We've been fighting them in Icecrown lately, too. I think your warlock left before all the dragon stuff after, though. I don't remember her being there."
"Dragon 'stuff'?" Siamus inquires. "She told me she was at the frostwyrm fight."
"She was, I remember. She had a demon with her — not something I was likely to miss," Aze nods, settling in next to Siamus again. "But then after, there was this… magical thing, on the corpse. I caught it, pointed it out. Some of us took it back to the dragons afterward. Byrne — that is, my superior officer — asked Clay and I to follow up with it for the Crusade, but not everyone came along."
"To the…." Siamus has tensed very slightly — not noticeable to an observer, perhaps, unless that observer were sitting close against him. "Ye mean the dragonflights. At the temple."
As it happens, Aze is sitting close against him. She moves her free hand to rest casually against his chest. "Yeah, the temple in the Dragonblight. We don't have to talk about it, if it's a… sore subject?"
Siamus contemplates his whiskey a moment and then tips the glass up for a swallow. He puts his other hand over Aze's on his chest. "It's fine, no. I… don't much care for dragons, personally, is all. What did they want wi'the… 'magical thing' ye found?"
"I wouldn't say I exactly know any dragons personally, but… they were very interested," Aze takes a swallow of her whiskey as well. "Looks like they're going to use it to make a plan to kill a dragon Aspect. The blue one, who fucked up the ley lines."
"Dragons killing dragons." Siamus nods at his glass, the corner of his mouth twisted downward. "That can hardly go wrong, I expect."
Aze shrugs a little, not moving her hand from Siamus's chest. "In a sense, it's already gone wrong. They've been fighting all along, in the background of all we're doing up here. Maybe this will put an end to all that. They seem to think it will."
"But an Aspect…." Siamus gazes straight ahead in silence for a moment, then shakes his head and tips back the rest of his drink. He twists — trying not to dislodge Aze's hand — to find the bottle behind them.
"Tell me about your dancing days," he says, as he refills his glass. He makes an offer with the bottle to Aze again, in case she is ready for thirds.
Aze seems to take this as a suggestion. She finishes off the whiskey in a quick swallow, and offers an empty glass up for a refill. There's just the faintest flush to her cheeks as she settles back, and her smile has a touch of wistfulness.
"Those days were all in Silvermoon, if that won't bother you," Aze says, resting back against him. "Before the wars. Well, after some wars, but the Troll Wars were like… thousands of years ago. Before the wars that matter to you and me. I wasn't really a military kind of person then, but it was peacetime. I was more interested in… beautiful things." She lifts her arm holding the glass, and it seems like she's looking at her own tattoos for a moment.
"Anyway, I got involved in the more artistic circles. I did music, too, mostly by ear. Piano, lute, voice… I usually like to learn by doing. Dancing fits that perfectly," Aze smiles. "I actually did take lessons, at first. And then I started to make friends, instead."
Siamus reaches back to tuck the bottle away again and then shifts to drape his arm around Aze. He listens quietly and sips whiskey. At her last remark, he arches a brow. "Friends, instead?"
"Mm-hm, people interested in finding… new dancing partners," Aze says with a happy sigh, resting her head on his shoulder again. "And then I started to build a network. I should explain, Sunstrike is not a noble house. I don't imagine you thought it was. My father was a middling arcanist, my mother was a mage of no particular stature. They wanted to rise socially, but this was not the way they meant for me to get attention in the circles of nobility. But I started getting invitations to events, parties, and I learned a lot. Mostly from other people, who took their own dancing lessons seriously. I was an excellent dancer."
"I can imagine that ye were," Siamus says. "And I can imagine ye captured attention. The circles of nobility — well, I can't speak for Quel'thalas, I suppose. But I can tell ye that in Tiragarde and Starmwend, the circles of nobility can be bloody tedious. I expect ye must have lit them up a little." He eyes her with amused approval and has another sip of his drink.
Aze echoes him with a sip of her own drink, and continues, "Oh, yeah, it can be. But once you start getting into the right circles, things get pretty exciting. The parties get more exclusive and less… proper. I did make a career of it, for all my parents thought I was just playing around. Exhibitions and performances. But it was also just a whirlwind of fun, the kind you don't want to come down from."
Siamus raises his eyebrows and makes a thoughtful hum, encouraging her story.
"Amar'uel was my favorite, of the styles," Aze says, needing little encouragement. "It's… close, very partner-dependent. I actually taught a few of the Aspenwoods the basics, back in Nagrand. I think they enjoyed it."
"The… Aspenwoods?" Siamus' glass halts partway to his lips as he mentally adjusts some data. "I see. Would that have been… 'Cole' and his husband?" (That word is still so weird to him.)
"Mordecai, yeah," Aze says absently. "And Cressidha, too. Even Sil joined us once. The combinations made it a little more complicated, deciding who would take the… traditional male and female roles… lead and follow. But of course that was in Outland, long after I was a soldier."
Siamus contemplates all of this in silence for a time. He drops his gaze to his drink again and smiles wryly. "Ah. I see." He does. Whew. "Out of merest curiosity — does Lady Cressidha prefer to lead, or follow?"
"She can do both," Aze says, considering. "When I was teaching, I led. I think she has more practice following, probably because it's traditional. I'm not sure which she prefers."
Siamus nods and files this away. "And are they good dancers? I expect the Aspenwoods are… polished at whatever they try. Silvestre strikes me as a young man light on his feet. I can't say I know Lord Mordecai very well."
"Oh, well, that was just for fun," Aze says dismissively. "They didn't need to be ready for an exhibition or anything. For the pleasure of dancing, all of them do it just fine. Cressidha, in particular, picks things up quickly." She takes another drink. "Anyway, my career lasted until after the forests burned, I guess. When Yara convinced me I should serve 'something greater than myself.'"
"Your sister mentioned to me the burning of the forests. The orcs. She fought, aye?"
Aze is quiet for a moment, then answers, "Yeah, she did. That was her path, when the dancing was mine. Serving Quel'thalas. You know she was the one who convinced me to learn Common? For our allies."
"Well, ye did a fine job of it. I expect in Starmwend they'll say your Common's better than mine." Siamus has a sip of his drink and then rests the glass idly against his collarbone. "They burned the fleet as well. The orcs and their dragons. Your sister and I spoke of it, the first time we met."
He glances down at Aze. "I was born to join the fleet, and I'm a military man to my bones, but the world needs dancers too, doesn't she?"
"Maybe," Aze says, unmoving, and her smile is tinged with a little sadness. "Or maybe I changed to fit better what the world needs. I'm still a dancer, but it'll never be like it was. Not for me. Maybe I wasn't born to be in the military, but… I was remade for it. That, I can't fight."
Siamus studies her in silence. After a moment, he tips back his drink in two long swallows, and reaches to tuck the empty glass by the bottle against the wall.
He shifts to adjust his arm around Aze, and puts his other hand over hers on her glass. "Now, I didn't mean to turn the mood, and I apologize. The world will still be dark enough in the morning, but right now you're holding a glass of very fine liquor and I'm holding a beautiful dancer, and perhaps we can just enjoy that for a time."
Aze stills as he speaks, and then the sadness drops from her smile so quickly that it's like she tossed it behind her by choice.
She turns to press more fully against him, keeping her liquor glass carefully steady. She stretches toward him as if for a kiss, but before lips touch, she says in a low voice, "Another dance before dawn, Siamus?"
This time, she does not seem to be talking about actual dancing.
Siamus smiles and threads his fingers in her hair as he bends to meet her. "I would be honored," he says, and kisses her.