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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | After receiving confirmation that his Lady Sea's rage has hit critical levels, Siamus seeks out his wife to inform her of a decision about the Fleet, and to assess her current health and well being, as she appears to be on her last nerve watching Azeroth's economic trade and resources world breaking apart beneath her pen while she takes care of a newborn. At least nothing worse is coming, right? 5400~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Arc: Before the Cataclysm
Chain: Siarenne
It's afternoon at Fallon House, so Avrenne is dressed appropriately for luncheon and tea, not yet changed for dinner. The seaglass dark green silk and delicate lace dress she wears has a blouson bodice, with tiny ivory buttons that allow it to be opened at the front, for nursing, and would likely be fetching on the duchess under ordinary circumstances.
Unfortunately, these are not such circumstances, and the dark green seems to emphasize how haggard the duchess remains. Her hair tucked into a tight chignon only emphasizes how drawn she is, and the deep, dark circles beneath her eyes give the truth to her state no matter how ramrod her spine is, or how composed her expression may be. The loose fit of the dress only slightly conceals the remaining softness of the pregnancy, looking like she is once more four or so months along.
Avrenne is pouring over three separate almanacs and a stack of ledgers, some of which are old Fallon House ledgers, and some of which are her own from previous years. The notebook she has out in front of her is covered already in mathematical formulas and graphs. The bassinet is next to the desk. Ery is with her nanny, napping in her room, but despite that, Avrenne has a hand on the bassinet, still rocking it gently side to side. She might not be aware she's doing it, or that the baby is not there.
The door to Siamus' room opens and closes, and a moment later there is a light knock at the frame of the open door that connects their two rooms.
Siamus is dressed casually, his waistcoat unbuttoned and sleeves rolled, and he's carrying a teacup with a small plate set on top.
Avrenne startles, her pen slicing a jolted line in her ledger, and she looks first to the bassinet, before she realizes what the sound is. She halts the rocking.
"Yes," she says, and rises to a stand, turning towards the door, a hand at her waist for a moment, then she sets it carefully and purposefully onto the back of her desk chair. "Siamus."
Siamus's expression is that habitual faint smile, his head tilted, a brow arched, but there is no matching gleam in his gaze. "I'm sorry to startle ye, pet. Sit, please."
He crosses to the desk to set the small plate and then the teacup down. On the plate is a slice of some kind of dark, sticky tart; the cup contains a hot amber liquid that does not smell like tea. "Cook insisted I bring ye these. She says they're… good for the milk? And your strength. The tart is something wi' molasses and dates in it. The tea is something herbal." He produces a dessert fork from his waistcoat pocket and lays it beside the plate.
Avrenne sits back down, closing and stacking ledgers and books in quick movements, clearing more space. She does not look enthused by either tart or the something herbal, but there's a resigned resolve to her. Do stuff good for the baby. That's her day job. And night job.
"I see. Thank you, and my appreciation to Cook." She picks up the teacup, to take a sip.
When she has settled and had a sip of her medicinal ersatz tea, Siamus moves behind her to put his hands lightly on her shoulders and bends to kiss the top of her head. "Will ye let me sit with ye a time? Ye're wearing yourself to threads, mo chroí. Keep me company a little."
Her shoulders are rigid beneath his hands, an enforced tension of someone who has been holding them so for hours, that doesn't release. There's a movement of her left hand to brush against her own cheek, before she deliberately moves it up and over her right shoulder to set it lightly over his, her eyes on the offerings in front of her.
"Of course, please, as you would like. I am close enough to a stopping point. It will keep."
Siamus bends again to kiss her ear this time, and then as he straightens, brushes the backs of his fingers down the curve of her cheek. "What are ye working on, then?"
It is probably not helpful to tell someone to take a break from her work and then immediately start discussing that work, but this is sort of the Fallon Way.
"I am looking through the patterns of how we each recovered after the Third War, of what expenses soared and what sources of income ceased to be viable, and how it was managed on a larger, and smaller scale, between you and I. All of the figures, and news, I have at present suggest we are looking at a similar worldwide collapse of our economy as we know it, as it was after the devastation of Mt. Hyjal, and the fall…" Avrenne's voice catches slightly and she tips her chin up, forces her voice steady, but her expression is bleak. "Of Lordaeron. There are some related enough patterns of severely disrupted trade, and loss of goods expected, that I might forecast a path forward, from the information of the past."
Siamus moves away, trailing his hand over her shoulders as he does, to settle on the edge of the bed nearest her. "Talking of… disruptions, pet — I've just had a visitor."
Avrenne sets down the teacup — there's barely a noticeable amount of it gone — turning her head to follow his movement. She doesn't yet make any attempt at eating, clasping her hands together in her lap. She raises her brows in silent inquiry.
"D'ye recall Skylarke? I've mentioned her before. I've had her ship off her a couple of times, and she's had it back just as many."
"Yes, she took part of a mast off you once, if I recall correctly," Avrenne says, recalling correctly, to no one's surprise.
Siamus smiles wryly, his expression fond. "Aye, that she did. Although technically off herself, as it was her ship I had at the time. But aye. She's been harrying the Horde lanes along the coast while the fleet's in Northrend; finest sailor I know outside of Kul Tiras." He hesitates. "She's just lost half her crew, and nearly didn't make port again. Broken masts, out of food and water, ship's not seaworthy any longer."
"I see. How unfortunate for those lost, but I am glad for your sake that she is counted among the survivors. What was the cause?" Avrenne frowns, and there's a stirring of some anger in those dark eyes, a flickering of lights that shouldn't be there before they subside by what may be force of will to suppress it. "Another attack from the Horde?"
He shakes his head heavily and his gaze goes to the window. "Weather. Unnatural weather."
Avrenne's gaze flicks to the window to follow his. "Another storm?" She exhales a tired breath. "Did she say where, and how far the spread was?" It's a cold sort of question, of someone already thinking further ahead to attempt to rechart expected losses, and the greater impact to the economy, but that is Avrenne's way with tragedy.
"Not a storm," Siamus says. "Fair weather, the sun high. But a black sea for all that, and waves coming at her from all directions heedless. And a whirlpool, or near to." He pauses again. "I'm holding the Tidewitch and Silverwind in port, and I'll not send for any of the rest home from Northrend for a time, and never mind if they kill the bloody Lich King tomorrow. I'll not chance my lasses in… whatever this is."
There's a brief silence.
"Of course," Avrenne says. "I understand. It's an entirely reasonable precaution, given the circumstances." Her herbal drink is growing slowly cold, unheeded. It's fine. She's a fire mage. Her hands squeeze together, enough to show a visible stressing around her fingertips, even if her face remains calm, her voice composed. "Do you intend to return to Northrend to manage the Fleet kept there?"
"Not yet," he says, and takes his gaze from the window to regard Avrenne. "I'd bide a while longer wi' you and the child no matter, but besides that there's a chaos of business before the House and it's best if I'm here for a time, I expect."
There's a naked enough relief in her expression to give away her feelings, even if she did not also release her hands from their tight grip. Her smile flickers to life, tired at the edges but warm. "I am glad. I would rather have you here," she admits, now that he's already decided for it.
He is silent for a moment, studying her, and then he admits, "It makes me glad to hear ye say it."
His gaze drifts toward the window again. After another silence he says, "I've had dreams."
Avrenne's hands make an involuntary movement, reaching for him, although she's much too far away to actually touch him. "The dream? Repeatedly?"
Siamus shakes his head, still watching the window. "Not — the dream. New ones. About… the sea, and a rage in her. They're not accidents or freaks, these storms. She's in a killing rage, Avrenne, and I don't know why."
Avrenne pauses, and then there's the sound of her standing up, moving away from her desk, to come sit beside him on the bed, not blocking his view to the sea, and to reach for his hands to take in hers — warmer than they should be — her expression a gentle concern, and no trace of skepticism.
"I think you are right, about the storms, about the sea," she says, with quiet conviction. "Do you think there might be something happening below the surface, in the sea, something She can see or feel that we cannot?"
"I do," Siamus says wearily. "I do think it. And not just her. Kaerix, the shaman — she said it's all of the elements. Everywhere. Ye've heard there were earthquakes in Khaz Modan? I wouldn't be surprised to find it's… related. And Kaerix didn't know why, either."
He squeezes Avrenne's hand gently and turns to look at her. "I walked, pet. The other night, with a dream. I dreamt I was standing at the cliffs, and when I woke, I was. Standing at the cliffs."
Even if he didn't see the stark fear in her eyes, he'd feel it on her skin, a warmth that rises as she clutches onto his hands desperately, as if he was about to rise and walk off again, and only by holding onto him tightly now can she prevent it. She shakes her head in little movements. Her voice is higher pitched, wavering as she speaks. "The Nightmare — no, it can't be. It can't — ."
She catches whatever that sentence might have become and forces a calm, lowers her voice, relaxes her grip. "A dream. And something that brought you to the cliffs." She lays them out like a formula, each data to its proper point, looking for how to solve for the missing pieces. "What was it in the dream that had you walk there, to what purpose?"
Siamus laughs, a hollow, unhappy sound. "To no purpose at all, that I could tell. Only to show me… a nightmare." He is silent a time, his thumb moving across the backs of her too-warm fingers. "D'ye know the signs of a great wave, Avrenne? A tidal wave?"
Avrenne blinks, and it takes her a second or two to pivot into what, to her, might seem a non-sequitur, until she connects the points, and when she does, her eyes are wider, and that calm even more forced. "The signs of it, I have assumed, would be obvious. A large wall of water coming for the shore. I have never seen one before, but I would expect it is not difficult to mistake for something else."
His mouth twists wryly, some attempt at a smile. "Aye, well. That's the easy part to spot. She'll warn ye before it, though, if she means to send one." He looks toward the window again. "Ye'll see the tide go out. No matter what tide it should be, no matter high or low, it will run out — and I do mean that it will run. If it looks like the whole of the sea is drawing back from the shore — past the breakwater line, say, or far enough that ye can see sea-bottom ye've not seen before, weed lying stranded — then ye drop what you're doing and ye run for high ground. She's gathering herself up to come in force." He pauses again. "There's a sort of… sizzling sound, sometimes, as the sea pulls back from wet sand fast enough that ye can hear the grains settling."
"I will be sure to tell the children, and Sir Somer. They wouldn't know of the warning signs." It goes unspoken in a tense pause that they all do, however, know how to run. "You dreamt of a tidal wave, coming for the house?" It's unclear in her tone if she means house or House, but they may be one and the same.
"I dreamed — aye. A wave. Like I've never seen, not in all my storms. And I've seen waves to dwarf a ship." (There are no dwarves present, he can say that.) "Coming like it meant to… devour the land. A wall to blot out the sky." His voice has sunk to a soft, dull monotone, his gaze unseeing; he is clearly back in the presence of the dream, and not really thinking about how it might, y'know, come across to a lady who is already kind of on her last nerve.
The good news is that said lady's last nerve is made of titansteel, even if it's the only one left. "A metaphor, or literal. You have reason to believe that it is a true warning, sent deliberately, or not." That tight thread of fear is woven around her voice with near choking force, threatening the illusion of calm. "Have you spoken with the other tidesages? Brother Eli? Have they been seeing the same things in their dreams?"
Siamus focuses on the room again. "I know I'm no prophet. I don't imagine it could be a literal thing, what I saw — it was out of all conceiving. But wi' the storms and the sea-rage… and the walking out to the cliffs. I don't know what it is.
"And I haven't written to Eli, but I ought, I suppose." He passes a tired hand across his eyes. "Brother Eamon was in one of them. A dream. I suppose that doesn't count as 'speaking wi'the other tidesages.'" The joke is too dry and bone-weary to pass as an actual joke.
Avrenne's hand follows his own, brushing back his hair with a carefully light touch. "No, I don't suppose it does. What did he say in it, in the dream?"
The hesitation this time is a long one, reluctant. But Siamus will answer a question when asked, and so he does. "He said the end is coming. Kaerix said… the elements were telling her the same. Eamon said they'd been warning us."
He looks at Avrenne, then down at their joined hands, squeezes hers gently. "The talk wi' Kaerix is where… I took the notion from, I suppose. And it could be all so much nonsense. But it doesn't feel — it's hard to say how it feels. Like I am being warned."
Avrenne squeezes his hand back, a soft pressure of no particular strength. "If anyone knows the difference between a dream of significance, of warning, and one of only fear, it is you. You knew, when it was the Nightmare. You did not mistake it for something more than it was. I trust in your instincts, Siamus; they are informed by your experience and your intellect. If you think it is more, you have reason to."
Siamus lifts their joined hands, brings hers to his lips briefly. "I am honored by your faith in me, mo ghrá, always."
He lowers their hands and studies her face again. "Avrenne," he says seriously. "I confess I'm concerned wi' more than whatever end might be coming. Will ye tell me what's amiss with ye? Is it only the birth? Is it the work? I don't like to see ye ailing like this, pet, and ye know I'll stand wi' ye to ease what I can."
Avrenne lowers that face, a downward tip of her chin, like she might hide the evidence of the obvious, before she lifts it back up, attempts to arrange her expression into something of her social mask, setting her features into their composed lines.
"I am not ailing," she denies, much in the same way, he might note, that he himself might say something like, I am not a child. There's no need to fuss over me. Oh no, there were always two of them, after all. "I am well. I am…only a little more tired than I expected to be, that's all." And then, because she is Avrenne, she attempts to support her statement with numbers. "I have not had a full night's rest since before the birth. Ery sleeps at most two hours at a time, sometimes less, and on each waking, I must attend to her. It takes on average something around fifteen minutes for that, and then another half an hour or so to soothe her back to sleep, and only then might I attempt another rest.
"And, of course, once the day has broken, there are tasks I must attend to. I cannot spend the entire day sleeping in such a way. Hardly a day goes by that I do not receive news of some new twist of circumstances to account for." Now she cannot meet his eyes, and there's enough of a tremble around her mouth in between sentences that she presses her lips together to halt it. "So many of the investments of resources and expected trade that have failed in particular are those that I made on our behalf. Between those failures, and my loans, with the treasury as depleted as it is that the payments may be in danger at ceasing any moment now, putting our financial situation in further straits, I am…not proving to be the wife you set out to marry, and I would like to rectify that as best I might." Hence, one can infer, obsessively researching their own methods of recovering from a worldwide crisis. "I can rest more later."
Siamus's brows draw down and he shifts on the edge of the bed, drawing a leg up so that he can face her more directly. "My heart. Ye've already proved ten times over to be better than the wife I meant to marry. Ye're a brilliant woman and there's no financier in the world that plans correctly every time. Certainly not in extraordinary times as these seem shaping up to be. And we have… a cushion, to an extent, that I'd no' like to tap into but will if the markets make it necessary. I believe that between the two of us, though, we'll come through this without that, as best we can. I'm a rich man no matter what, wi' you and Ery to my name." He pauses. "If worse comes to… worst, we've assets to sell.
"But pet, the only wife I want is you, and so I need to see ye taking care. Ye're precious to me, Avrenne, and I can do wi'out all the rest of it so long as I've got you and Ery. I want ye to rest and grow well again, for our girl and for me. I can bear the loss of a fortune in a way I could not bear the loss of you — and ye forget that I managed this all on my own before I had ye. I would see ye rest, and let me manage again while ye take care of my wife so that I have her for future. She's my finest investment and the one that matters best."
There's enough of a pulling back of her body language that suggests she has not heard the reassurance as it was intended — somewhere in there she's heard something incorrectly. The hand that goes to her waist as if she's trying to hold something in is more revealing, though her face has been caught in a holding position of that composed expression she wears.
"How much rest would you require? I took an entire week already as it is," she protests. Yeah, Siamus, an entire week of maternity leave! That's definitely enough time. "There is nothing wrong with my mind. I am perfectly well, no matter what I might look like." She raises that hand at her waist up to her cheek again, an unconscious touch, her gaze on Siamus' chin, unwilling or unable to meet his eyes. "I am only a little tired. I am not ill. I'm never ill." That…might actually be true, to an extent. No one has seen her get a cold, at least.
"If you think it best to manage it all yourself, to prevent me from mismanaging things further, I won't argue with you." Ah, now we come to the heart of what she's misheard. "I can only beg your forgiveness for failing in the trust you have shown in me thus far, and to have burdened you more in a time such as this."
"No, mo chroí." It's the Captain Voice. Siamus reaches for the telltale hand that had gone first to her waist and draws it away from her gently but firmly, so that he holds both her hands now. "Avrenne. I will be as clear as I know how. Ye have mismanaged nothing. D'ye think I've not got an eye on the markets myself as a matter of course, wi'shipping and the like? Ye've managed brilliantly. No one could do or have done it better, and I include myself in that, and I take a fair high opinion of my own skills as a financier. I don't mean to take a thing from ye in reprimand, I offer it to help ye. I'm here, and ye can lean on me and take a breath, aye?
"And Avrenne, my star, I'd never suggest a fault in your mind or your skill. I'd offer any man who did suggest it a duel.
"I only want to protect my best asset and advantage, the jewel of House Fallon."
Her eyes fill with tears she halts at the gates of her eyes, refusing to let fall, but even without the use of her hands that might have otherwise covered her face, she finds another way to do so — by letting herself fall forward into his chest, pressing her cheek into him, and allowing her shoulders to at last break from their rigid hold, curving inward towards him in a seeking out of shelter from some internal storm. There are two quick breaths in, and a slow shaking exhale out.
Siamus releases one of her hands so that he can wrap an arm around her. "There's no fault in ye, pet. We both know markets turn, and there's no power in the world could make sense or advantage in them right now, no more than I can make sense of this weather or the sea's moods. Ye must go gentler on yourself. For Ery's sake and mine, if not your own."
Avrenne uses that free hand to wrap an arm around him in turn, keeping her face pressed against him. "It is only that it seems all too familiar, as though we are on the brink of another fall somehow, if not as physically so as before with the First and Third Wars, with the capital cities." Avrenne is not, and never has been, psychic. "Last time, there was nothing at all I could do to prepare; it was a circumstance that happened, that could only be reacted to afterwards. This time, if such a thing might occur, if these natural disasters escalate…" She sighs, a breath felt more than heard. "Are you familiar with the concept of a 'Go Bag' for the purposes of an evacuation?"
Siamus is silent a time, his arm solid and warm around her. At length he says, "I believe I am. As a sailor, I expect I've lived out of its like for years." His tone is light and dry, an attempt at levity.
He sobers again in the next moment though. "Would ye feel easier if we were… ready in that way? For the worst?"
"I had one made for each of us, after Lordaeron. It contains armor suitable for running, money and valuables suitable for trading, and survival tools appropriate for various climates from desert to tundra. I have never had to use it, until Wintergarde, when I had little time to spare when I received Captain Tyrrell's summons." Ah ha, the black bag she had. "I used to carry it around everywhere for years after, until there was a time when it would have been disadvantageous to have such a valuable resource on my person." Like, say, if we were possibly being robbed by bandits. Anyway.
"I grew out of the habit, and I did not enforce it with the others, but I think perhaps it would be best to resume the practice. There can always be a circumstance where one has no opportunity to do anything more than flee with what one has…on one," she finishes, her voice fading into a papery whisper.
Siamus drops his head to kiss her hair. "We will do it. I don't want to… panic the house, though. Shall I have Vane and Moirin see to it discreetly, for everyone?"
"I doubt that it will become needed, but I would rest easier knowing, yes. I do not like to make the same mistake twice, and last time we were unprepared, sure that such a thing would never be necessary. That there would always be time." Avrenne's tone is bleak. "One can never know when it will all be ripped away." Her grip on his back tightens, a balled fist of his clothing.
Siamus nods against her head, kisses her hair again. "I promised ye safe harbor, Avrenne, and I mean to keep that promise. But we'll be ready for what we must. I'll have Vane and Moirin pack a bag discreetly for every household member and set it aside. They've both spent enough time shipboard or on the move to know how and what to pack for necessity."
His arm tightens around her. "Whatever happens, mo chroí, we won't be left wi' nothing. Understand? I have provision in place. We'll come through. Unless somehow the whole of the Alliance banking system fails catastrophically, in which case we'll have worse troubles than financial, I expect." His tone again tries for lightness.
He draws back to look down at her. "Ye remember that last account that I told ye of, that ye needn't manage? There was Ta's and then another that ye needn't see to? That's family money, and income from Ashvane trusts, and it's all set by."
Avrenne looks up at him, her lashes wet with unshed tears, and she seems far younger with eyes wide and pleading, for all of the stress lines visible on her exhausted face.
"But you must be alive to spend it, and for that, there needs to be enough time to run. That is what you cannot know, if you will have enough time to survive in the end, or what it will cost you." And then she pulls the vulnerability back, shoves it under, covering it with a veil of control, as she forces her voice steady and lower. "It's hard not to see the parallels, but it is not the same, I know. Likely it will not come to anything, and it will all simply be a precaution taken and not needed, brought on by a caution of experience that will not be repeated." She sets her head back against him, but more gently now, a calm either real or feigned. "It's only old fears, that's all." She hesitates, starts a sentence, and cuts herself off. "Would you — ."
He studies her, dark-eyed and serious. "Would I what, mo chroí? And I promise ye, I do, I swear on my name that we'll not have to leave this place. This is our home, your home and all our people's, and there will not be another Lordaeron for ye — not now, not ever, not so long as there's any earthly thing I can do about it."
"I know. I do. You'll keep us safe. It's your nature," she tells him, raising her head to meet his eyes now, her gaze direct. "Would you consider sleeping here, with me? I will admit that some of it is in consideration for another possibility of you sleepwalking, should it happen again, or prove to be more sinister in nature in a future time, that you might be awakened from it. But anyone sharing your bed could do so." There's an odd shyness that creeps into her expression, a fidgeting of her fingers in his.
"I ask for it for myself in another part, that if I was to have Ery more in the nursery, have Emelia take over the soothing, and have you here with me, or join you in your bed." She smooths out his shirt. "I think I would rest easier, and better." She takes a breath, tries to smile again, a faint glow, a touch of color in her cheeks. "I miss your arms at night."
His gaze warms, though his expression remains serious and intent. "I would like nothing better, Your Grace, and I'll thank ye for the invitation. And if by being here I'll help ye to rest easier, then I'm even gladder to do it."
Her smile grows brighter, more like herself, as she stretches up to kiss his lips. "Thank you," she says, and there's several threads of things woven through her voice, gratitude for more than an agreement to her latest request.
He kisses her back gently and draws away smiling now himself. "I will always be glad to oblige ye, my Lady Fallon. Ye need only ask anything."
The light of her eyes brightens, her voice growing warmer, more playful, as something in her relaxes. She moves her hand to stroke a light path along his cheekbone, down to the line of his beard. "Well, Vice Admiral. I have it both from an extremely reliable source and personal experience of your expertise on a matter that I could use some aid, if you will have mercy on a lady. Do you think you might be able to thread the particular fjord of the kitchen and Cook, where you could obtain on my behalf some real tea?"
His smile broadens whitely and he inclines his head. "I confess that Cook is a more formidable nemesis than most, but I believe I can coax her." He pauses, then adds dryly, "Namely, by telling her I want a pot for myself. Which will not be a falsehood, as I'll have a cup myself to lend it truth."
Avrenne's laugh is a humming in her chest, and there's a longer moment as she studies him fondly before she starts to pull away in preparation of standing. "I could meet you in your office. I should have another hour or so before Ery needs me, and I might finish the rest of this there with you. I will drink the other, but not before you go, for I fear if I were to send you downstairs with the empty cup, you would be possibly sent back with it refilled for my health. So, I shall sip at it to avoid needing such second servings." She plans things several steps ahead, this mermaid.
Siamus rises to offer his hand in aid of her standing. "In my office, then, wi' tea and —" He eyes the sticky tart slice on her desk. "Is there a particular thing I might be hungry for at the moment, and ask of Cook?"
Avrenne stands with her hand in his, looking up at him from her more usual vantage point. Her eyes flick to the desk, and back to his, a conspiratorial light in her eyes as she composes her expression into seriousness. "I think it's entirely possible you have been hoping for a little dessert cheese platter with some Stormwind brie, sour goat cheese, briny hardcheese, and garadar sharp, with some apple slices, and bread with butter."
That is extremely specific of you, Siamus. Also, weirdly, a whole bunch of cheeses you might have avoided had you been pregnant not long ago. Strange how those recently at sea cravings work sometimes.
He nods thoughtfully and squeezes her hand. "Now that ye mention, that is exactly what I've been wanting. I'll have it sent up to the office wi' the tea." He lifts her hand and bends his head to kiss it chivalrously.