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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | On a peaceful evening, Sil and Dane sit together outside the Atley home in Eastvale, talking over current events and their views of the future. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
The summer evening settles over Eastvale like a warm blanket. The sky pales overhead and gradually darkens on its slow, inevitable path to night.
Amber colored lanterns shine through the windows of surrounding cabins where the locals begin to retire for the night. Small groups of children are summoned in, as the sun finally sets. There are still a number of figures loitering on the grounds, such as the occasional lumberjack finishing up a task, the horse master performing last minute duties, and the small guard contingent roaming the grounds on his regular patrol.
Such is as Eastvale has been. Largely spared from any invasions or natural disasters, aside from the encroaching behavior of local wildlife.
Atley returned home just slightly earlier from the situation in Northshire. After another hearty meal from Ivrianna, made for all of them including their friend and house guest as always, he steps out to finish his tankard of ale, slowly sipping it as he takes a seat on a chair moved out to the Atley front porch.
The houseguest in question, Sil Silentstep, ambles out a few minutes later, carrying his own tankard of ale. He shoots Atley a quick, crooked grin, and says, "Mind if I join you out here? It's a nice evening."
Atley looks up, cradling his tankaes with both hands against his belt buckle. He wears his sturdy brown pants, boots, and a red workman shirt with the sleeves rolled up. In his belt is a flowing knife.
He grunts at Sil and nods to a second empty chair nearby. “‘Tis, innit’. Take a seat.”
Sil settles down into a chair next to Atley and gazes out at the relatively peaceful scene. "Glad you, Ivri and the little one were safe out here, through that whole dragon thing."
Atley grunts. “As am I. We’ve been quite fortunate. More than most. I’ve grown fond of this place.”
He takes a slow sip and narrows his eyes at the scene before them. “Wot’ of you? Wot’ news of elsewhere in Elwynn?”
"I went by the Aspenwood Vineyards," Sil says casually, taking a sip of his ale. "Cressidha's safe, and Colson and Mordecai made it to safety. They're not doing… great. Did you know Amadeus Aspenwood?"
Atley glances over, knitting his brow. He grunts before he shakes his head. “Not personally. Only came across him a few times that I can remember. Damn shame, for the Alliance, and especially for the Aspenwoods.”
He takes a slow sip. “Ought to pay the lot of them a visit, with Ivri and Karson. Pay our respects. Wot’ other news have you?”
"Not too much, really," Sil says, looking over at Atley apologetically. "I keep meaning to get out to the Fallons, but I haven't yet. And you heard about Southshore, I reckon? Ben and Mizzy got out safe."
Atley looks off and peers into the darkened forest community, running his tongue along his upper teeth. “I’ve heard about Southshore,” he confirms with a growl. “Sat in on a meeting with one of its survivors.”Rage flickers across his features like a wild ever ember for a quiet moment before he seems to settle.
“I’m grateful to hear of the Hazan’s safety. We’re fortunate that more people we know haven’t died.”
"That we are," Sil nods sadly. "I only heard there was the invasion. Some folks made it out, then, even after?"
“Some,” Atley answers lowly with a growl. “They’d terrible tales about their captivity at the hands of the Forsaken. Strange liberators, too.” He takes a sip and looks to Sil.
“‘Crimson Coterie.’ Seems we Cobalts have a rival on Horde side. Freed Alliance captives from their own camp. Those wretches are enjoying a bit of infighting.”
"Crimson Coterie," Sil repeats, witha flash of recognition in his eyes. "The one that Aro'ephel leads? I was gonna meet her, a while back, but then… well, there was the Wrathgate…"
Atley knits his brow. “You were going to meet her?” he asks curiously, looking over.
"Yeah, it was kind of a friend of a friend… of a friend situation," Sil says, waving a hand vaguely. He takes another sip of ale. "Anyway, I was a little out of it after the battle, so it never happened. But they saved the Hillsbrad folk? Maybe they're not so bad a sort."
Atley listens to Sil with a thoughtful look before he nods with a grunt. “I cannot speak to their intentions,” he growls guardedly before conceding with. “Still. Some of our folk are alive now that wouldn’t be, thanks to them.”
He looks out over the camp again. “How are you, then?”
"I'm alright, really," Sil says, turning back toward Atley. "I do really appreciate you all letting me stay here for a while. And I will get out of your hair eventually, once things settle. I reckon Cobalt'll have some kind of organized plan soon, what to do about all this. How're you holding up?"
Atley waves a hand. “Stay as long as you like. Properly. Ivri likes hosting and serving friends,” he explains with a fond growl. “I like that she likes it, too. She can be clannish.” He takes a sip from his tankard and lets out a sigh.
“Northrend was a slaughter. Icecrown,” he growls. “As near vicious one as I’ve ever seen.” He takes another slow sip. “There’s more of that down the road we’re on. War with Horde is inevitable. Stormwind’s burned enough times, and shall be avenged.”
A grunt. “Still, there is hope. As long as we’re willing to fight. I refuse to believe that this our end, Sil. I won’t tolerate it.”
"Oh, hell no, it's not the end," Sil says, flashing a quick grin. "Sure, Deathwing's raging around the world, but when isn't there something? There was the whole Outland thing, and Onyxia in Stormwind, and the Lich King and the Nightmare and…. and… that titan thing that wanted to end the world in Ulduar. There's always something, and we always come through. As for the Horde…" Sil shakes his head. "I don't know if I'd say inevitable. Maybe they'll come around to reason before anything burns."
Atley grunts as he listens, shooting Sil a gruff, dubious, sidelong look. "There's no way around it," Atley growls in his calm, usual way. "Sylvanas isn't finished. She's had her eye fixed on the Arathi Highlands for years. This push into Hillsbrad's just the beginning."
He takes another small sip. "And she's still yet to properly answer for the slaughter at the Wrathgate. A cowardly ambush orchestrated with tools constructed in her 'Undercity,' the wretched sewer drain that 'tis. The orcs'll not relinquish their claims into Ashenvale, either. Not anytime soon."
Atley looks back out over the camp with a heavy sigh. "We've paid the price for sharing this world in blood. There will be outright war with the Horde. Delaying it with truces doomed to be dashed only means that it won't be us laying siege to Orgrimmar." He looks off to nearby cabin where other Barlowe family members live. "It'll be my nephews. My niece. My son. I say we get it over with."
"We've got to defend ourselves, for sure," Sil says uneasily. "And make sure nothing like Hillsbrad happens again. And I wouldn't hesitate for any of that. But I don't know about us being doomed to siege Orgrimmar." Sil sighs. "The Horde's not just the orcs and forsaken. There's… like, the taurens? I don't see any reason we've got to fight the taurens. They even work with the kaldorei druids don't they?"
"And I'm not saying any of this cause I don't know how bad it can get, or because it's not personal for me. I was there, at the Wrathgate, saw half my unit die. What happened in Hillsbrad hurt some of my best friends in the world," Sil sits back, looking up at the evening sky, "And I've got some stake in the future generations, myself. My nephew. I just hope somehow we can leave the next generation a world where things don't have to be paid in blood."
Atley slowly shifts his eyes back to Sil as he listens, sitting back in his chair, resting his head against the wall of his home. "You're no coward," Atley growls. "And you've seen war."
He looks back to the forest, now only illuminated by sparse moonbeams peaking through the dense overhanging web of branches. "But they've given us no choice. We are under attack. Those people murdered at Hillsbrad must be avenged. They relied upon us for safety, and we failed them…" He grunts. "I failed them."
He works his jaw. "There was a time when I was spoiling for it. War, outright, with the Horde. Now, I dread it. I know wot' it'll mean. Another generation of our people, reduced to carnage." He goes still, before he starts shaking his head. "They won't stop. They're incapable of it. Wot' few there are among them that may be reasoned with, be they blood elves, or tauren, are vastly outnumbered by the rest. The longer we tolerate these trespasses, and permit these atrocities, the worse it'll get."
Sil sighs, looking down at his ale but not taking another sip. "Maybe that won't always be the case. Maybe now is not the time, but we've got to be ready to reason, if it comes time to reason. And vengeance - I get the desire for it, but we've got to be careful it doesn't start… something that can't ever be stopped. Beyond that, I take your point. We've got to stand firm, stop them from doing to anywhere else - to Arathi - what they did to Hillsbrad. But…" Sil frowns, resting his other hand on the cup.
"But we shouldn't do the same back at them. It doesn't balance anything, it's just… more atrocities. More dead. We're better than that. We do have to defend ourselves, but we've got to remember that they're people, too. I'm not forgiving anything the Horde's done to us, but there must also be people, even in Orgrimmar, who just want to live… bakers and blacksmiths and… and children hoping for the future… people who aren't involved in any of this. Those people aren't our enemies."
Atley listens to Sil with a thoughtful glare. He turns to study him, slowly raising the tankard to his lips. With a small sigh he shakes his head. “Time will tell, I warrant. I’d have peace,” he growls honestly. “But if war most come, let it be in my time so my children may have peace.”
He clenches his jaw before he dismissively waves a hand. “Let’s talk of other things. Have you your eye on anyone? Warrant you’ll ever marry, yourself?”
"Oh, I don't know. There's still plenty of time for all that, isn't there? I mean, sure, I'd like to marry someday. I probably need to settle down somewhere for that, get a house at least. Or maybe that's a thing to do after? You did it after, right?" Sil smiles as he glances at the door of the Atley home.
Atley nods and also glances back at the house. He lightly rasps on the frame of the structure with his elbow and grunts. “Aye. Renovated it with the help of her brothers. Laid some piping there and Cap’ Jocoza got the plumbing figgered’. ‘Tis a good place for us.”
He looks to Sil. “Everything in its own time, I warrant. I’d never thought of myself getting married myself until I met Ivri.”
"I've been thinking of it since I was old enough to think, I'd reckon," Sil says, and takes another gulp of ale. "I always knew that was the goal, growing up. Marrying some noblewoman and making a connection for the Sullivans. I always just figured it would happen one day. Only I'm not a Sullivan anymore, and I don't need to. But I think it would be nice? Maybe not, like, a noble marriage, and I don't mean for either of us to be idle after. But having a partner, like you have Ivri. So when things happen, it's you and her and not you alone."
Atley grunts. “I trust her to defend Karson, alone.” He looks off for the moment before he exhales and releases a small bit of dark laughter. “I nearly pity the sorry bastard who’d try to harm him when she’s about.” He takes another sip, looking back to Sil.
“And now you’ve set yourself apart. You’re free to do as you wish, marry whomever you like…?” he asks Sil.
"Yeah, I mean… not exactly whomever - she'd have to want to marry me, too," Sil grins. "It's hard to say. I mean, I think a lot of people are good-looking, but good-looking is one thing and marriage is another. And then there's… what do I have to offer, right? I mean, like, for instance, for somebody like Cressidha…"
Atley knits his brow with amusement. "I warrant you may be surprised by wot' Cress would say you've got to offer," Atley growls with amusement, gruff expression tilting towards wry as he shifts around on his chair. "She's noble, in blood and name, but she's got her unconventional aspects."
"Yeah, that she does," Sil says, considering. "If you're not looking hard enough, it'd be easy to miss… a lot of her. I don't think I really started noticing till we were on squad together that one time. Then, you know, you start to see it. Her humor, her optimism. How angry she gets, and how she controls it. She's a little like Colson that way - people sometimes seem to assume nothing's there, but they're just not paying attention."
Atley raises a hand off of his tankard and lightly waves it in front of his face. "A good deal goes on underneath those Aspenwood surfaces," he growls with faint amusement. "I've worked with them long enough to know their reactions to things, without them saying a word." He takes a small sip and idly smacks his lips, leaning back in his chair to observe Sil. "You fancy Cress then, do you?"
"Yeah… that's probably a way to put it," Sil says, his brow furrowing. "I haven't thought it that way, but… I mean, I like the idea of making her smile. Or doing something to make her happy, maybe is a better way to put it? So she feels like smiling, even if she doesn't."
Atley mildly sets his jaw a few times. "More than you like doing that for others?" he inquires.
"I guess… usually when I fancy someone, there's other stuff I'm more focused on," Sil says, considering. "Like, you know, going to bed with them. Not that I'm saying I don't want, I do, but…" he winces, and quickly switches to, "I know Cressidha's not that kind of girl, and I wouldn't want to make her feel like I wanted her to be. Just, I want her to be happy. And maybe it's worth more effort, if it's for her."
Atley scoffs quietly with amusement as he listens, gruff expression twisting towards something akin to wry as he nods Sil on. "She is more than a woman you just take to bed," Atley soberly agrees. "Sounds to me like you've got some deeper feeling towards her, Sil. I say you approach her, head on, and tell her. We all think we've all the time in the world. Until we don't." He takes a slow sip from his tankard. "And you've a great deal to offer her."
"Maybe," Sil says, a little evasive, and takes another gulp of ale. "I wouldn't want to make anything weird, but then maybe I sort of already have, a little. I could write something, next time I send her a present. Which, I've got some ideas, but… what do you think she'd like?"
Atley squints and raises a hand to itch at his beard. “Something cheeky, I warrant.” He grunts. “Something practical, or handmade. Cress isn’t hurting for coin or fine things, but a thing that’s personal ‘tween you two’ll be cherished.” He takes another slow sip. “If you are to tell her your feelings, I’d do it in person, mate.”
"Something handmade," Sil says, narrowing his eyes in thought. "Yeah, I could do that. That and… I don't know. I know you're right about running out of time and probably that I ought to talk to her, but still… maybe now's not the right time for it. She just lost so much, even up to her home and her brother, and Icecrown was like a month ago. If I could know it would go well, that it would be a bright thing in darkness, that's one thing. But what if it's just… one more thing she suddenly has to deal with when she already has all the feelings she can handle?" Sil shakes his head. "Maybe just implying stuff through presents is the right way to go right now."
Atley grunts, and takes a moment to think. He faintly cranes his head. “I reckon you’re right. Even if her feelings are returned, it’d give her something more to deal with. Being there for her for now may be enough,” he growls, before side eyeing Sil. “So long as you know there will be never be a perfect moment. Just some better than others.”
He finishes off his tankard. “The two of you would make a fine pair, if things were to go that way.”
"You think so?" Sil smiles, making no move to finish off his own half-empty ale. "I won't wait for the perfect time, then, I promise. Just, a better time than now. And maybe between now and then, I'll get a better idea if the idea might be welcome. If not, I mean… she's still a hell of a lady. A good friend, I hope."
Atley settled back comfortably and grunts. “Aye, she’s properly sorted.” he bids with a nod. “Been through many a trial with Cress.”
He looks back to Sil. “When the squads take to wherever they take to, you warrant you’ll join back up?”
"I don't know," Sil says, with a genuine openness to his voice. "I've tried all sorts of things, the past few years. Maybe that's why it's been easier to stick with Cobalt than other things, all the variety. I was working on my own at first, and then in squad, and then contracting out with the 7th Legion and the fleet… which I probably ought to talk to Fallon, just got derailed by the… dragon and all that. Maybe I'll stay with the fleet, or stick around here to help. Unless I'm needed in squad? I don't know."
Atley audibly cracks his neck back and forth. “7th Legion. I could see riding with that lot, the only lot I’d consider outside of Cobalt,” he growls, before fostering a small grimace and a shake of his head. “Always hated sailing. Nowhere to run, nowhere to ride. There’s a need for it and for those who know and love it, but I’m not one of them.”
He sets his tankard down in the grass near his chair. “Cannot tell where they’d send the squads next. Many places would be fine candidates.”
"I like it," Sil says with a shrug. "Both groups, really. The 7th, their units really feel like a team. People all pulling together. I like that. And then with the ships, there's somethin' to be said for knowing where you'll be and who you'll be with each day, even if it's a place that moves around. But then Cobalt squads, too… I guess I just like being part of a group. A small group. Not… you know… an army. And I reckon they'll wait and see where the dragon settles? Maybe go after it there."
Atley grunts and goes quiet for a moment. "That bastard is going to die 'fore all this is over. For what was done to Stormwind and elsewhere." He leans over to the side and spits, folding his burly arms across his chest. "That city has been burned enough times, and just now, dragon flight heads are dropping like flies." He tongues the inside of his cheek. "I did my time with the regular army. Don't regret it. I'll do it again if asked, but Cobalt's who I choose to fight with."
"Oh, I've got nothing against the army, exactly the opposite, just… not my place," Sil says apologetically. "I came to Cobalt with no real combat experience, and now I've got plenty. But on the way of getting it all, I think I learned a bit about where I fit and where I don't. I'm trying not to put myself in places where I don't, these days. But… yeah. One Aspect's been killed already, and this one seems madder than the blue one."
Atley waves a hand but otherwise settles back down. He takes in a long, slow breath. "Too bloody right." he growls, peering off into the darkness of the forest.
"I'm up," he pushes himself up, and looks to Sil, giving him a nod. "You sleep well, then."
"You too," Sil says with a smile. "I'll be back in later. Think I'll watch the stars for a while."
Atley grunts and goes inside.