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| Details |
| Author: | inkie |
| Summary: | In the aftermath of the hurricane, Siamus and Lena consider their present circumstances and her future plans. It turns out she already knows some things about knots. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
It's the afternoon on the day after the storm when Lena finally emerges back on the deck of the Blanche, and she blinks at the sun as she heads for the railing, uncomfortable in the light. There's weariness in her eyes and her movement, and the dress she's wearing is water-stained from the ordeal below. Still, there's no fear in her eyes as she gazes out across the now-calm waters, reaching out from the boat in all directions.
The afternoon watch is coming to an end, the first dog watch beginning, but the crew milling on deck are too many to account for a mere watch-change; a great many men simply prefer to be on deck in the sun right now than resting below in the site of recent ordeal. Underfoot, the rhythmic, creaking thump of the ship's bilge pumps hard at work creates a kind of slow drumbeat in the slowly sun-drying planks of the deck. The back-and-forth scrape of holystone as a pair of seamen on their knees scrub the boards serves as a kind of counterpoint, and beneath both, the familiar voice of the ship creaks and sighs.
Wiry Mac, chief mate of the Blanche now that Berdon has taken his own command, is seated at the foot of the mainmast on a barrel someone dragged up from the hold, his leg stretched before him to prop his wrapped and splinted ankle on an empty crate. He has a flask in hand but isn't drinking; he's craning squint-eyed up at the men in the foremast rigging, who are trying to sort the snarl of lines and shift the fore topsail to make up for the topgallant's loss. As Lena passes, he tears his distracted gaze away long enough to salute her politely with the flask before returning his attention above.
The big bosun Kettering is standing at the rail with a knot of crewmen — one of whom is still wearing a blanket like a shawl — and gesturing at the water's surface, mid- a group argument of some kind. The flashing movement of a school of fish skimming near the surface is visible beside the ship, and two of the men in the group are disentangling a weighted net between themselves, one of them swearing vociferously. They pay Lena no heed; she's just another member of the crew by now.
They do fall silent some moments later, though, when Mac cries, "Cap'n on the deck!" The railside argument stops at once, and one of the two men untangling the net drops his side of it to straighten up sharply. Kettering takes his bosun's whistle from his pocket and lifts it to his lips to call the crew to attention — an occurrence Lena has seen perhaps twice in her entire naval career thus far.
"If ye sound that call," says Siamus's voice pleasantly from the shadow of the door, "I'll put ye overboard myself. As ye were."
Kettering grins and drops the whistle back into his pocket, and the argument around him picks up again at — it seems like — the very syllable where it had cut off.
Siamus, looking gaunt and hollow-eyed, steps out into the sun and stands surveying the activity around him for some moments in silence, then spots Lena at the rail. He makes his way over to her. He is wearing gloves despite the now-mild afternoon, and carrying a flask. "Miss Coit," he greets her.
"Captain," Lena says in response, defaulting to the most relevant title in the current situation.
She's gripping the railing tightly, like she might expect the ship to pitch at any moment despite the calm weather, but there's no real sense of fear in the gesture. Only caution. It takes a moment for her to pull her gaze away from the school of fish and take in Siamus's appearance. The wear on him doesn't give her pause, but there's a slight drawing down of her brows as she notes the gloves and the flask.
"Are we still on for the rescue?" Lena asks, flicking her eyes over at the missing topgallant and back to Siamus.
Siamus raises his eyebrows. "Aye," he says. "The tides alone know what those below are facing; we'll no' be delicate ourselves. And our lads aren't put off by a bit of heavy weather." This last bit of bravado might be meant for the lads in question to overhear, as the pair standing closest share a look and straighten up a little, their shoulders squaring.
Siamus himself leans heavily on the railing beside Lena and opens the flask. Steam curls out of its mouth, and the scent identifies it at once as tea rather than liquor. He offers it politely to Lena.
Lena relaxes her grip on the railing, and then she reaches one hand over to take his flask. It's unlikely that sharing a flask is a thing she'd do in a parlor at Fallon House, but clearly different rules apply at sea. Though it isn't liquor, the warm liquid does seem to have some fortifying power as she takes a sip and hands it back to Siamus.
"I only hope they're still there," Lena says with a low sigh. "Over a month now, and we know the naga were taking them prisoner."
"Aye," agrees Siamus in a low voice. He has a swig from the flask himself. "Hard to think how it could be going." As he has thus far been nothing but insistently confident of their chances, the moment's bleak pessimism is itself telling of his present exhaustion. "But Cobalt's people are among the best, aye?"
He has another swallow of scalding tea, hisses a breath through his teeth, and studies the flask. "I wouldn't like to go back to Ference wi'out word of his boy."
"Yes, if anyone can endure down there, it'll be them," Lena agrees, and she taps a finger against the railing, as if she's counting. "Those who went in from Cobalt were surprisingly suited to this sort of mishap, weren't they? Knockfathom could rig up some kind of undersea vehicle if anyone could. And Wildbloom is… like Miss Curran, a bit. If you take my meaning. And then all the priests and paladins…"
"Knockfathom's brilliant," Siamus agrees. "I doubt… anyone's quite like Annai, but if ye mean a druid, then aye. And I know they've their share of capable fighters and healers." He does not specifically address the priest/paladin aspect of that. "And that raven woman from the Scarlet Onslaught assault."
"Almeiria Fey, yes," Lena says, glancing over at him. "What did you think of her, in the end? I know she's a little… intense. But she was useful against Sapphiron, and I thought… I thought she would be a good ally, against the Onslaught."
"I asked for her for this," said Siamus. "Well. In a sense. I thought she was — to be honest, I thought she was an unholy terror. Not quite one of our death knights, mind, but worse than anything the Onslaught thought they had. Which I also thought would serve well on Tol Barad. And she did save Worthy, besides."
"I hope she's a terror under the sea now, then," Lena says, drawing a breath. "Worse than anything the naga might conjure up. They've not got any death knights with them, though, that I'm aware. Reckon those are mostly still around Acherus or Northrend, Icecrown Citadel. I've not really heard much from them, myself. Have you?"
"I haven't," Siamus admits, and has another drink of tea. He flexes his free hand in its glove absently. "We're not exactly… what's the phrase? Pen friends? And Ralaea's not spoken of Morningdew recently." He offers Lena the flask of tea again. "Aszera will be coming to visit soon, I expect. I'm sure she'll have news of… all that lot."
Lena makes a little pleased hum at the note that Ralaea hasn't mentioned Morningdew lately. She accepts the flask and takes another sip of tea before offering it back.
"If you want the Alliance to use them, there's likely plenty of scope for it now. Against the naga, maybe, since they don't have to breathe either." Lena pauses. "Aszera, the girl from Icecrown? She knows a lot of death knights?"
The corner of Siamus's mouth had twitched upward at Lena's sound of approbation, and the faint smile doesn't fade. He takes the flask back and wraps both gloved hands a little awkwardly around it. "I met her through that pair of them I was working with. The Sunstrikes. They're her sister and brother-in-law."
"They're her…" Lena mouths something that might be light or it might be tides. The vowel is clear, at least. "That must be… difficult. Like with me and Rae. But if she's at peace with it, then I suppose she might have… insights?" Lena sighs. "I only really saw her at Naxxramas, and then again on the ship, when you asked me to summon her."
Siamus nods. His gaze has gone a little distant, warm, the smile tilted higher as he contemplates some reverie.
Then he blinks and focuses again on the present. "May ask ye to summon her again, when she comes to visit. Not sure how easy it is for her to travel freely in the kingdom." He glances curiously over at Lena. "Like wi'you and Rae?"
"I'd imagine that might be complicated, yes," Lena says, noting his daydreaming with a brief quirk of a smile. "Me and Rae, we talked on it some, in Icecrown. The uncertainty of not knowing if your folk are gone for good, or just… you know. Still walking around. And at least both of us do know some as are. It's just… a Lordaeron thing. I imagine your lady wife understands the feeling as well."
That erases the smile. Siamus studies Lena for a moment and then nods heavily. "Aye. I expect she does." He lifts his gaze out across the gleaming water. "I promised her I'd go, after the war. To her family lands there. Find what I can for her." He tips the flask back and forth absently. "I'll never tell her anything but the truth," he says at last. "But I'll hope the truth I'll have to tell her won't be the hardest one."
He looks back to Lena. "I'm sorry still for the news I brought ye. I don't know whether I'm sorrier for the news that came after it or no. But I am sorry ye had to have any of the news at all."
Lena shakes her head, but her own faint smile remains. "Not your fault, any of it, and I thank you for the honesty. I've made my peace up in Northrend. Our world just insists on being what it is, though folk like you somehow seem to make it better."
She reaches one hand to touch his arm, "Whatever truth you find to bring her, I expect she understands that feeling, too. Better than me."
The flask stops moving in Siamus's hands. He drops a look to the touch of his arm, and then lifts it to Lena's face; it has a faintly baffled quality. "You are a fine lady," he says at last, quiet and serious. "A very kind one. I could wish the world had been easier for ye, and more people in it better."
He looks out at the water again. "I didn't realize Ralaea — that she worries about it. Her people." The flask tips again, back and forth. "I expect Her Grace must know it, though. Neither of them speaks to me on it much. But as ye say, I'm not of Lordaeron, so I can't know it as ye do."
"It's not as though any of us are trying to hold you out," Lena says, turning back to the water as well. "Or at least not on my side. There's just usually naught to be done about it, so."
He looks up again, startled. "I beg your pardon. That's not what I meant, that ye'd all be — just that I'm sorry I can't understand it better, to know that about ye. Though I'll be grateful not to know it, as well, if ye'll pardon me that."
This time Lena looks a little startled. "Oh, I didn't mean to imply — I'm glad you don't know it, truly. And you know me, I'm not so fragile you'd hurt me in any way that rated just by talking about a thing. I only meant why I wouldn't have brought it up. If there's a thing you'd know about me, you can always ask. I won't promise I'd always answer, but you can always ask." She pauses, and her gaze slides to his gloves. "Your hands alright?"
He looks at his gloved hands, flexes one again ruefully. "They will be. I was too long on the wheel in those conditions. Baird pried me loose. Trying to keep warm until they've eased."
She nods. "Thank you, by the way, for bringing us through the storm."
"My responsibility," he dismisses. "To see to ship and crew. Though I'd not — had to do a thing like it in a while. Nor expected to have to." He glances up over his shoulder at the mainmast. "She's a hell of a ship, though. I'll be crowning McCall wi'gold for the building of her. And it's a hell of a crew I've got, to keep their heads and keep to their work in a blow like that."
He surveys Lena with an apologetic air. "Ye fared well enough? I hope we've not put ye off sailing. It's not many people visit the black like that and come out of it to tell the tale."
Lena rests her hands back on the railing and looks down at the water, deceptively docile after so long of a rage. "I'm still here, and I aim to be. I wasn't expecting things to take such a turn, but the way you and Shine talk about the sea — maybe I ought to have. There were moments, with the water, and the way the floor went out under me, when I wasn't sure we were coming out of it."
Then Lena glances over at Siamus again, and even if the circles under her eyes are a little pronounced, and her hair and clothes are a little more ragged than usual, there isn't fear in her expression. Only calm determination. "I'm afraid I wasn't terribly useful this time. Helping with the pumps, but other than that — might be I should learn more about the riggings and sails and all."
Siamus draws back a little as if to take her in more fully; his look is warmly admiring. "Tides a'mighty, but ye're a hell of a woman, Miss Coit. And manning the pumps is heavy enough work as it is. But aye, we'll teach ye whatever ye like to know." He tips his chin at her ragged robes. "We'll have to get ye in trousers. Ye've no fear of heights? Of a moving height? I know ye travel by gryphon often enough."
"I don't think so," Lena says, considering. "At least, it's never struck me in non-moving heights, nor on a gryphon. I suppose I'd have to see, once I'd climbed. As for clothing, I suppose you're right that I oughtn't climb in skirts, even if I could manage it," she gives a brief, amused laugh. "I'm mostly in skirts because that's what folk tend to make with the right enchantments. Reckon I could bring more trousers next time, keep the robes for when magic's needed. That, or see if I can get Lady Cressidha to fix me up some magic pants."
Siamus laughs. "The only enchantment ye need is a good waterproofing. Get yourself some waxed canvas — trousers and a jacket. And some sturdy boots." He eyes her again speculatively. "D'ye know knots at all?"
"Some kinds of knots," Lena says, and a faint blush creeps into her cheeks before she hurriedly continues with, "From horses, I've the most practice with easy-slip — so they don't hurt themselves, the fool creatures. Not so useful in sailing I'd imagine, but I have at least practice at some and I expect I'd learn quick."
Siamus's smile is slow and sly. "Some kinds," he agrees, and turns away to hide the full breadth of his amusement. He drinks tea from the flask, squinting at the water. "Aye, well, ye won't want slip knots here. When ye tie something down aboard, ye mean it to stay tied, mostly." He has to pause again, clears his throat. "Mac can make himself useful while his ankle's done up, I expect; ye can learn bowline and reef from him, for a start."
He glances sidelong at Lena, then back at the water. "When we make harbor again, perhaps Shine could take ye out in the ketch. Easier to learn on the small scale, so ye get a sense of what each line and canvas is actually doing. And good to get him on the water."
"I bet that'd help," Lena agrees, not quite hiding the smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I've always found it easier to learn things by doing, though I've had to do a lot of dry studying for the fel. Do you think he'd agree to go out on the water with me, if I asked?"
"Oh," says Siamus, extremely dryly. "I expect he would, aye."
He offers Lena the tea flask again. "If it's no' forward of me to ask, by the by, how are Her Grace's matchmaking efforts going?"
Siamus is nothing if not subtle.
"Mm, well," Lena shrugs, looking down at the railing rather than the water. "I've assured her it's no harm if it doesn't work out in the end - I know I'm not…" she glances at Siamus and amends to, "I've likely got something of a niche appeal, at least as a long-term partner. I'm not making it easy for her, because I'm not really willing to play the game of making myself more appealing, not anymore. I think it's better to start things with honesty, and I'm not looking to… to contort myself around somebody else." Don't worry, she probably means that metaphorically, Siamus.
"Anyway, met a lot of people at Bertrand and Priscilla's wedding, and then went out riding with Shine," that seems like the end of that sentence, until she continues with, "That is, with Shine and Jenzelle and Brendol, to visit the Aspenwoods. So I reckon I'm meeting a lot of folk, and in that sense it's going well?"
"I think," says Siamus, "that Her Grace would much prefer it go as best suits you, and not as is easiest for her. And I assure ye there's a great deal to be admired in a lady who's frank and disinterested in a game. Marriage is a partnership, and a partnership's not for sport." He considers Lena seriously. "Nor would I call ye a 'niche appeal,' if it's not offsides for me to say so. I'll not pretend any man would be broad-minded enough, but a man who knows the value of an attractive lady of character would be a fool to overlook ye."
He does not comment on her willingness to contort herself, metaphorical or not.
"I would expect she'd prefer so, too, as she's said as much to me," Lena says with a dry smile. "But I suppose it's just hard for me to get around the feeling of being a problem, or a burden, or some such. If the joy's in the solution, then I feel a little guilty in being difficult to solve. But I'll thank you for the vote of confidence."
Siamus starts to laugh. He puts his elbows on the rail and drops his head and laughs and laughs. A couple of the nearby sailors look over bemusedly and sweep Lena with uncertain looks. Kettering raises his eyebrows at her.
When Siamus lifts his head again, he's grinning. He shakes his head at Lena. "'A problem, or a burden, or some such.' For such a sharp lady, it's like ye don't hear a word I say. Or that ye say yourself, for that matter." He continues to smile at her. "Besides, the Duchess prefers calculus to simple addition."
Lena flushes when he starts laughing, and has no answer for the nearby sailors or Kettering.
"I'm not– I only meant– in the matchmaking scheme–" Lena stammers, looking at him in alarm. "I do listen to you, you've got to know I do. I didn't say I had nothing to offer, did I?" Like she did the last time they spoke on this topic. She is learning! Kind of! "It's just… kindness… and…" Lena leans her own arms on the railing. "It puts me a little backfooted when I don't feel I'm giving enough for what I get in return."
Siamus lifts a hand in a staying gesture and shakes his head, still smiling. "No, no, tides, I beg your pardon, I'm not finding fault wi' ye. I apologize for laughing. It's just — yourself and Her Grace both." He shakes his head again.
"She's always seemed rather sharp and level-headed, to me," Lena says, raising her eyebrows a little. "So perhaps I'll not worry at having something in common with her that makes you laugh like so. Anyway, well, that's… I suppose that's how it's going."
Lena takes in a breath, recovering her composure, and then there's a touch of amusement in her smile as adds, "You never know, maybe learning a bit of proper sailing will help the situation. Lot of fellas into sailing around me, these days."
"Her Grace is the sharpest and most level-headed lady of my acquaintance,” Siamus agrees, “which is why I married her. And ye've that much in common, aye. I shouldn't find it funny, I expect, but it will never cease to amaze me that two of my favorite ladies, among the finest I know, are so often confident of their own deficiencies. I can assure ye I've known my share of deficient young ladies as well. I tend not to seek out — their conversation, at any rate."
He eyes her again, and his smile fades to something approaching sympathy. "I know that sometimes… certain kindnesses unlooked-for can be off-setting. I do know it. But I'm afraid ye will have to accustom yourself to my esteem eventually." Then he leans in and lowers his voice. "As to surrounding yourself wi'sailors, I've no doubt ye could make a general announcement that ye're on the marriage mart and a dozen lads here would get on one knee." He straightens away again blithely. "But ye could do better than any of this lot," he assures her with a smile in his voice.
He has another swallow of tea and flicks her a sidelong glance. "We'll let Shine teach ye the ropes, and see how it turns out for ye."
You know. With the sailing.
Lena laughs at the comment on the sailors, once again drawing a few curious eyes.
Then she looks up at Siamus, still smiling, and says, "What I know of him so far, I expect he'll be a good teacher. And at any rate, I expect I'll know more appropriate knots to practice, by the time we're back to shore."
You know. For sailing, rather than horseback riding.
Siamus nods gravely. "He's a fine teacher, Tin is. A patient man. And knows his way around a length of rope." (For sailing.)
He leans back to look over and past Lena at the damaged foremast assessingly, then settles back against the rail again. "We could have come out of it far worse. I don't know who else might've been on the water through that, or how they've fared. If we pass any bound back for harbor we'll have to hail them to take Morland aboard and home to recover." He pauses. "I should write to Her Grace."
"Mm, wish I could push someone through a summon portal instead of just pulling," Lena says with a faint sigh. "Though if we don't meet anyone coming the other way, and we need a specialized healer, I could try to bring them to us." She leans against the railing next to him, and adds, "And if we're sending word, I ought to write to May. Just in case she hears about the storm and worries."
"May," puzzles Siamus. He knows someone named May, doesn't he? Besides the month. "May. Ellen? Miss Mull– ah, Mrs. Hazan?" Got it in one. Well, in one-ish. He ponders a moment. "She seems an ambitious young lady. Ye'll have to tell me if she's ever after work outside of Cobalt."
"I have mentioned the fleet to her, as it happens," Lena says, glancing over at him. "I was thinking you might be looking to expand your warlock ranks. She said she'd no experience with sailing, but then after all that work they did against the pirates in the south — I'll let you know if she's ever interested."
"Aye, between the Bloodsails and the naga, I expect she's got plenty enough relevant experience. And if she's half your skill wi' the fel, then I'll gladly pay a premium to bring her over. And ye can tell her I'm a man of my word."
"I'll tell her so. She's modest, but she's been trained by Cap– Count Tyrrell, same as I was. Had a bit of a better start with the fel than I did, too, so that's to her credit," Lena says, then hesitates before she continues, "She wouldn't be climbing any rigging, but I've told her before that it wouldn't hold her back as a marine warlock. It's the nerve poison, from that murder case a little over a year ago. I reckon you've seen she walks with a cane now."
"I've noted it, aye. I know it grieved Tyrrell terribly. She seems another steely lass, though, and does well enough for herself. I've been impressed with her work for the Eye." Siamus considers. "Though she did seem a bit… subdued, when last I met wi'them. At the house, ye recall? They stayed to dinner. I wondered if she was unwell again." He glances at Lena.
"Oh, no, I don't imagine that was…" Lena waves a hand vaguely. "She has a lot of particular ideas about society, and I'd reckon she was nervous to be socially in the house of a member of the House of Nobles? I bet she'd warm up to you once she gets to know you better."
"Ah." Siamus nods thoughtfully. She probably will; who doesn't warm up to him? "It hadn't occurred to me, as it was a business meeting. And of course she's familiar with Tyrrell and the Ferences already." He frowns. "I hope the lass wasn't uncomfortable."
Lena shrugs, not seeming particularly concerned at the prospect. "She was there with her team, and with me, so I can't imagine she was terribly so. In any case, I shall relay your esteem, and I expect that will reassure her that she didn't make any horrible mistakes with the cutlery at dinner." Lena grins at this last, glancing over to Siamus.
He laughs. "I believe I remain the chief cutlery-offender in the house. Aye, do give her my regards."
"I will," Lena nods, and then glances back to the water, falling silent for a long moment. Then she says, "If we are able to make contact with them, directly, will you visit underwater? I mean, they must have a way to survive down there, if they've been there so long…"
Siamus's smile fades. He gazes down at the dark and glinting surface of the water, the curl of the ship's wake fanning away below them, the flash of scales where the storm-troubled schools of fish still teem. "I would," he says at last, a little wistfully. "If it can be… if whatever they've done can be done for me as well. I would dearly like to see it." There is a slight, rough emphasis on that dearly, and he clears his throat.
He looks sidelong at Lena again. "Will ye come? If it can be done?" The peculiar, bashful hesitance in his manner suggests a boy asking a friend if she'll come with him to talk to his crush. Will u be his ocean wingman, Lena?
Lena keeps her own gaze on the water as well, but in some way it is clear that her attention is more attuned to him than the curl of the water or the flitting fish. At the question, she looks over to meet his gaze. "If it can be, I will."
Siamus nods at her and squints outward again. "Thank ye, Miss Coit." After a moment he adds, lower-voiced, "Ye're a friend."
Welp, that was awkward, ha ha. Practically a feeling. He straightens up and pats the ship's rail with his free hand. "Best see how they're getting on below wi' the pumps. I'll have a word wi' Mac about those knots, as well." He does not wait for an answer, but salutes her with his flask of tea and turns away.
Lena straightens, turning towards him and opening her mouth as if she might answer, but he's already walking away. Instead, she settles back against the rail, a smile on her lips as she raises her eyes to the blue skies above. Whether it's from the tea or something less easy to define, a measure of her weariness has dropped away. Whatever the sea holds in store for the Lady Blanche and its people today, she'll be here to meet it.