(2024-08-20) The Storm Arrives As A Willing Guest

Details

Author:	Athena
Summary:	Lathrik calls his unlikely friend Harvey Mourningdew back from Icecrown, and sets off a chain of events that leads to an unexpected guest filled with revelations of the wider game being played, with some of the players not the type to be able to hide all of their cards. 15,300~ words. Personal plot RP.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Red String Game

+ Show additional content warnings

contains death knight, characters in intentional conflict, forsaken racial hatred, romance, kissing, light kink shaming or at least kink-why-ing

It may be summertime in the rest of the world, but the mid-August sun doesn’t dare challenge the peaks of Icecrown, and clouds like daggers keep the sky in perpetual, icy darkness. The gates of Icecrown Citadel, once bustling with soldiers and war camps, loom silent, empty. A hooded figure stands before them, facing out into the courtyard. Powdered snow coats him in white, and his runesword rests tip to the ground in his hands, the runes glowing a faint warning to any who would approach. For all intents and purposes he is a statue, lifeless and unmoving, holding eternal vigil at his post.

His watch is interrupted by a hollow screech, an echo of a bird call, repeated in the tongue of Death. The bony creature swoops down to the death knight, some tattered feathers clinging to its wings and tail, and lands upon an offered arm. It bears letters, as usual.

The first is from Ralaea. Even as he opens it, he knows what it will say. The same thing it always says.

WHERE ARE YOU?

The letters are large, but the spelling is correct. Either she has advanced in her studies, or someone helped her. He stares at it for a moment, as longing pricks his heart, then crushes it in hand and tosses it down the stairs. Another letter unanswered.

The second is from an unexpected source. Lathrik Dinnsfield, a paladin in the Stormwind Guard, who had seen him through the hardest time in his unlife. One of the few people to treat him as something other than a nuisance or a monster. He opens the letter.

Harvey, re: Count Amerith, he’s taken an interest in me. Death knight in his service, maybe you know him? Could use your help. You know where I live. — Lathrik

Something about the brevity, the lack of eloquence, makes Mourn smile. He casts another sweeping look over Icecrown, from the courtyard around him to the top of the Citadel itself, and sighs, a forced breath through lungs that don’t need the air.

“Very well,” he says to the bird. “For this, we will return to Stormwind. But only for this.”

Though his tone holds a warning, the bird doesn’t care, already making ready for its return flight to Dalaran. A flight he will soon be joining it on.

When Harvey arrives at Lathrik's house, he might already begin to wonder if he's misremembered, or if Stormwind took up some duplication technology somewhere, because this is the street, and the general bones of the house are correct. But this is not the broken, impish gremlin of the street. Not anymore.

The windows are all intact, and there are new flower boxes outside that contain a somewhat odd array of flowers: the bright, prickly plume thistle (more often considered a weed among gardeners), the soft petaled cornflower, and the common daisy. Though he can't know it, the purpose of this particular gathering of the Asteraceae family has been achieved, as a bright orange and black Painted Lady Butterfly flutters up and away at the approach of the death knight.

It will only get stranger for Harvey when the interior is revealed: freshly painted walls in warm colors, dots of flowers in repurposed mana potion bottles, hanging paper decorations of species accurate butterflies hanging in corners, a new wooden table currently set for two but with four more stacked chairs nearby, a proper ice chest, a door to the bedroom, and a bin next to a functional fireplace labeled MANA POTIONS DO NOT GO IN THE FIREPLACE.

As he approaches the door, there is an audible sound of a woman singing within; she has an average voice, of no particular way, comfortable in the alto range she's singing in of a merry tune of a silly shepherd's song about losing ten sheep but gaining ten goats.

Maybe Lathrik suddenly moved? But then why would he say that Harvey knows where he lives? Only one way to really find out.

The change in scenery sets Harvey’s guard up, and his knock is precise, polite, whatever feelings he may be having tucked behind a neutral smile. If someone else does live here, perhaps she will know where Lathrik has gone.

As a matter of fact, she does. (It's to work.)

There's only a brief hint of movement in a window that has a sight to the door, before the door opens — it's a wide open pull, and the door is let go part way to continue its swing unassisted; the woman does not have her guard up. Natalyah is dressed in her yellow tea dress of the Southern Dogface Butterfly, a white handkerchief holding back the front of her hair that has silken gold and black embroidery (ABCDEMBROIDERY IS A WASTE OF MY TIME), and her simple canes out with the leather straps looped around her wrists, looking Harvey over with open curiosity, and possibly notably no trace whatsoever of fear.

She balances more carefully on her left cane as she lifts her right hand up for a straight across handshake, an impish curling of her lips like she knows a secret. "Well, there you are," she says, as if he's expected, and she knows who he must be. "I'm Natalyah Kensington-Whit, formerly of the Elywnn Kensington-Whits until they disowned me, published lepidopterist, Lathrik's intended, and one of the cursed worgens recently let loose from out behind Gilneas' wall."

“That is… quite the introduction,” Harvey says, lowering his hood and taking her hand in a a firm shake. “I am Harvey Mourningdew, though I expect you know that already.” It’s hard to read any emotion in the glow of his eyes, but he peers at her, assessing. “Is Lathrik not home?”

Natalyah endures the assessment with that curious one of her own in return, her smile more impish. There's no reaction to the revelation under the hood beyond that same interest, no disgust or fear on either her readable face or in the air around her. "He's at work, as usual," Natalyah says, letting go of Harvey's hand to rebalance, and pushing backwards into the house with the expectation that he will follow. "Come on in, sit if you like. I expect you probably have questions, unless Lathrik was especially forthcoming in his letter?"

“He was not,” Harvey says, stepping into the house after her and glancing around. “Tell me, did he clean the place before, or after you took up residence here?”

That is not the question she expected him to ask, and it shows on her face. "I began it after I started living here, because he deserved better, and he joined in because he wanted it to be better for me," she says and there's a touch of a defensive archness to her voice. "So, after, but it was a mutual action, and a group effort. The others all helped and pitched in."

There is a slight twitch to his lips, the touch of an amused smile. “I agree, he deserved better. I had hoped he would see to it sooner, per our agreement when I left, but it seems he was not entirely successful in that. Thank you, Natalyah, for encouraging him to do better.”

He continues to the couch, which is in a different place now, wild, and takes a seat as invited, resting his runesword across his lap. “I was informed via letter that Count Amerith has taken an interest in him. I will admit, I am not entirely sure what that entails.”

"Then you have already begun properly in the Count Amerith experience," Natalyah quips, as she moves to the fireplace. There's just the low coals burning at the moment. She pokes them with a fireplace poker, and seems satisfied by their current state, moving over to sit on the other side of the couch next to Harvey.

"Count Amerith is notorious mostly for being unpredictable and eccentric, and honestly, I'm not convinced he isn't possibly evil and just very good at getting away with it. What he also is, more notably, is powerful, as a count of Stormwind who sits on the House of Nobles, and he always seems to rise out of everything that comes at him unscathed, including the suspicious way his family died while he was cozy in Booty Bay at the time. He has this woman, a maid slash spy slash assassin who was following Lathrik from bar to bar, observing him, under orders from Count Amerith, and the reasons why cannot be good, and what the Count might intend to with the information even less so."

“And he has a death knight ally?” Harvey confirms. “Many of us did go our own ways after the death of the Lich King. I suppose a man like Count Amerith would be interested in hiring a personal monster. Aside from that, do you not have any idea what his game might be? Why he might be interested in Lathrik specifically?”

Natalyah looks indignant. "Of course I have some ideas," she scoffs. "I am not a simpleton. The formulation of an early hypothesis is inevitable, but a good scientist knows to not get overly attached to any particular one early on in the observation stage, lest it lead you entirely away from the truth while you pursue an ultimately meaningless detail. Count Amerith has both the power and the money to indulge in any whim he wants, which makes assigning his motives very difficult."

She blows a breath up at her hair — uselessly, it's already tied back by the handkerchief, and seems to be deliberately trying to settle her own ruffled internal feathers. "Right now, one of the things that we think he might have some especial interest in is Twilight's Hammer, and Almeiria Fey, who I take it you and Lathrik both know."

“Almeiria Fey,” he repeats with a forced sigh. “I do know her. We have a… complicated history. It is as though Fate likes to amuse itself by placing her in my path.” He stares down at his runesword. “I will, of course, help however I am able.”

She leans forward, looking at him and his runesword curiously. "A friend of mine, Tabiana, mentioned that Almeiria helped you before, but that she also enslaved or did something to someone she knew. Do you know who that is?"

The name catches Harvey off-guard, and he flinches visibly. “You are… friends with Tabiana? Is she well? The last time we spoke, it was a bit… tense.” His gaze returns to her, the wheels slowly turning in his mind, trying to think of how Natalyah could possibly know Tabiana.

Natalyah frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. "It isn't because she was part of the Argent Crusade and worked with Horde races during that time was it? Because she is part of the Stormwind Guards now, and that should matter most about what she's choosing to do," she says, ready to defend Tabiana if she has to.

“No, I…” Harvey frowns, trying to keep up. “She is with the Stormwind Guard now? Do people resent her for her time in the Argent Crusade? After everything we did to…” His hand tightens on the hilt of his runesword, and he takes a slow breath, probably a habit from life, to force calm.

“No,” he repeats. “It was not tense for that reason.”

"Some people do resent her for it, but we're fixing that," she answers, possibly over-confidently, possibly not. She looks like maybe she wants to poke and prod at the real reason it was tense, but she doesn't, maybe noticing that Harvey's already tensing up again. "Well, if you want to talk to her again, she's here in the city, and she's part of Lathrik's team." She points a finger over at the table. "She bought us that, to help. It can seat up to six people, which sometimes we need when everyone is here."

Harvey’s features soften at the news of her on Lathrik’s team. “The paladin intends to keep me eternally in his debt, I see,” he observes. “Truly, I am grateful that Tabiana has friends to look out for her. Thank you.”

As if on cue, there is a professional sounding knock on the door, easily recognizable by anyone who has heard Tabiana knock before, and Harvey all but jolts to his feet, looking as if he intends to flee. But there are only two rooms in the house, and he is not about to invite himself into the bedroom.

Natalyah yelps partially at the knock and partially at Harvey's jolting, although she remains human. She pushes up to a stand, and crosses the room, once again peeking out the window before she answers the door — her one concession to Lathrik that she won't answer the door for the Count if he shows. "I really need to consider if I do have selective summoning powers," Natalyah muses, as she moves to once again answer the door in that way of hers, unguarded. It means in this case leaving Harvey no place to hide, as the living room is revealed from the open door. She smiles at Tabiana like she has a secret. "We were just talking about you."

“We?” Tabiana asks, glancing past her. When she catches sight of Harvey, her expression freezes in neutrality. “Ah, I didn’t realize you had a guest. I only came by to inform you that Reniya observed the Count moving off his usual rails. I will give you two some space.” She starts to back away.

"Wait, what does that mean? Off his usual rails? As in he's even more bizarre for a normal person, or is he acting bizarrely like a normal person?" Natalyah takes a step forward, and she glances back behind her at Harvey. "Are you sure you don't want to come in out of the sun for at least a little? I have cold things to drink." It's mostly water, but she's on a budget.

“Tabiana,” Harvey calls, stepping forward to address her. “Give your report properly. If it helps, pretend I am not here.”

“That… is easier said than done, my Lord,” Tabiana says, but she takes a hesitant step towards the house. “Very well, I shall explain.”

Natalyah makes the decision for Tabiana of how far into the house to go by leaving the doorway, and pushing inside to the cooler. Now it will be weird if Tabiana remains hovering outside instead of coming in and shutting the door. "Do you want anything, Harvey? I sort of assumed you don't drink, but we have cold water," she says as she opens the cooler, pulling out two bottles of chilled water to set on the counter.

“That will not be necessary, thank you,” Harvey says, stepping to the far side of the fireplace, as if he intends to blend in with the wall.

Tabiana enters, closing the door behind her, and stands somewhat awkwardly just inside, trying not to look directly at Harvey. “What I meant by ‘off his rails’ is, the Count has a particular routine he follows, with only slight, random variations from day to day. It is very easy to predict where he will be and what he will be doing at any given time. It… seems, however, that today the Count has deviated wildly from his usual patterns, and we no longer know where he is.”

Harvey crosses his arms, thinking.

"He disappeared, or he just didn't show up where he was supposed to be, wandered off course?" Natalyah asks, as she moves over to grab two glasses. "I don't think I could track someone in the middle of the city even if we could find the last part of his trail, but I could always try if he was somewhere and then went somewhere else, and I might at least be able to pick up anything really strange or the scent of blood or burned cloth or something. I don't like that it happened on the same day that Harvey arrived here. It could be coincidence, but the timing is suspicious, especially if we assume he has eyes on us, which he probably does." She pours the water from one bottle into the glasses with an irritated huff.

“His routine started normally, for all that we could tell,” Tabiana says, “but we lost him somewhere, and he did not continue to his next destination. Reniya was not stalking him directly, mind, just checking in now and again to ensure everything was the same as usual.”

The door opens suddenly, and Lathrik joins them. He does not need to knock, he lives here. After a cursory glance around the room, he unbuckles his sword belt and dumps it in its usual place on the shelf by the door.

“Dog,” he greets, nodding to Harvey. “Tabiana. Good of ye to join us.”

Natalyah half spins in place, holding onto the counter with a hand as the door opens; she wasn't expecting him, not so soon. "Lathrik!" Her immediate joy at the sight of him is entirely unfeigned and unfettered, and she abandons her hostess duties to cross the room to him, throwing her arms around him despite the discomfort of the armor he wears, and leaning in to kiss him soundly on the mouth in a completely unself-conscious display of public affection.

Lathrik’s arms close around her and he returns her kiss with the relaxed ease of Work Lathrik, a slight smile pulling at his lips. “’Talyah,” he says. “Came home early ‘cause I heard our guest had arrived.”

Harvey stares at the sudden, very public kiss, until Tabiana lightly clears her throat and he recalls his manners and looks away.

"I haven't even started dinner yet," Natalyah tells Lathrik, rebalancing one cane at a time. She steals another quick kiss at the corner where his smile starts, and then pushes her way back towards the water, taking a third glass out of a cupboard without asking if Lathrik wants any water. You will be hydrated, Lathrik. "Tabiana was just telling us that Ren says that Count Amerith has disappeared off his usual route, in a highly suspicious timing of Harvey arriving into town."

“Aye, about that…” Lathrik says, gesturing to the table. “We’re soon to have another guest. Tabiana, Harvey, have a seat? I expect it won’t be long, now.”

“I was just about to leave…” Tabiana begins.

“Stay,” Lathrik says firmly, moving the chairs aside to extend the table. “I won’t have ye caught on your own with the man.”

“Count Amerith, then?” Harvey asks, moving towards the table to help him extend it, only to realize he does not, actually, know how table leaves work.

Lathrik nods. "He must have gotten worried, noting your arrival."

Tabiana steps in wordlessly to help.

"He's what? Now?" Natalyah glances from person to person incredulously, as they go about the business of extending out the dining room table in order to make accommodating room for a Count of Stormwind and member of the House of Nobles, an honor that even her own family has never had, always too far beneath notice to garner such an illustrious guest. She looks over at the glasses of water she's been preparing, and then back over to the cooler, where a single bottle of white Aspenwood wine waits in the back for a nice occasion to have, and she scowls.

"Well, he can have water or some whiskey. He's not a special enough occasion to waste the wine," she says tartly, as she opens the cupboard for where the remnants of the Badlands Bourbon whiskey Lathrik favors is stored. She sets it defiantly out on the counter.

Lathrik chuckles and starts moving chairs into place, with Tabiana’s help. “He knows how we live, I expect. He’ll not be surprised.”

“It is good strategy, not giving us time to plan, or even settle,” Harvey says, grudgingly.

Something occurs to Tabiana, and she looks up with mild urgency. “My Lord, there was an assassination attempt only recently, in which—”

A knock on the door interrupts her, and she falls silent.

“Ready or not, I s’pose,” Lathrik says, moving to open it.

Natalyah snorts, an unladylike sound. "Good thing not everything needs time to settle to be ready. As a matter of fact, the Painted Lady Butterfly can go over 2,600 miles over open ocean without stopping, so long as they stay clever with how the wind is blowing," she says. (Subscribe to her friendship, Harvey, for more Butterfly Facts.)

She moves away from the counter to stand near Lathrik, keeping him between her and the door, but well within her reach, eyeing the door (and presumably the person knocking behind it) with deeply wary suspicion and resentment.

Ilanya is first through the door, carrying a small basket of fresh flower petals, which she throws along her path as she enters, without waiting for an invitation. She’s dressed in the same clothes she wore to the bar the night she met Natalyah; a conservative dress with long sleeves, pink on top, dark green at the waist, with small white flowers embroidered along one side. “Good afternoon,” she says, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Or is it evening now? I lost track.”

Lathrik watches the flower petals fall to the floor with mild irritation. “Oi, you takin’ those with ye when you leave?” he asks.

“You gonna make me?” Ilanya counters.

For a moment there's amusement at the flowers, the absurdity of them. And then the smile is wiped away as Ilanya raises the potential of a challenge of making her take them with her.

Natalyah pushes a step forward only just barely still partially blocked by Lathrik's shoulder, her lips curling away from her teeth, as she snarls, "Yes." Don't dare her, Ilanya. She will rise to it.

“Ilanya, do behave,” says Count Lester Amerith from the doorway, waiting properly for an invitation inside, like some sort of gentleman. “We are imposing with our unannounced visit, the least we can do is honor the request of our hosts.”

Lathrik steps more fully out of the doorway and jerks his head towards the table. That’s as much of an invitation as the Count is going to get. A few stray flower petals cling to his hair.

The Count is dressed in his usual grey suit, a vest and shirt of black and white respectively underneath. He carries with him a metal cane, though he does not appear to be using it to walk. Anyone well-versed in canes would be able to tell that his is special; custom made, and any anything but ordinary, despite its outward appearance. It probably does more than assist with mobility.

He steps inside, and Lathrik closes the door behind him.

Natalyah eyes the cane, gripping her own two more tightly. This would be an appropriate time for someone of her station to curtsey to the Count. She doesn't do that. She does, instead, deliberately turn her back to him as she goes to the head of the table closer to the bedroom, and sits. She is the closest thing to a lady in the room, which also means that as long as she remained standing, the polite Society thing to do would be to remain standing with her until she either sat or bid them to do so. She removes her canes off her wrists to set them to her right side, glaring balefully at Count Amerith with undisguised suspicion and indignance.

"So, do we pretend to introduce ourselves as if we don't know who everyone here is, or do we skip the formalities to talk about whether or not you've got a deal or a threat in both your literal and metaphorical cane?" Natalyah asks archly.

Ilanya takes a seat on the counter, rather than at the table, while Harvey and Tabiana take proper seats, leaving space for Lathrik to sit near Natalyah. Count Amerith sits at the other end of the table, resting his cane beside him.

As Lathrik sits, Natalyah reaches over to pick the flower petals out of Lathrik’s hair, crushing them into a ball, and tossing it over towards the door. They make it halfway there, falling limply to the floor.

“Threat?” the Count asks, lifting his brows. “Surely you don’t believe I would go to the effort of seeking you out personally to threaten you? Rather, I suspect I am saving you some effort.” His eyes roam to Harvey, who stares back at him, expressionless.

"It's never been my experience that a nobleman with ample power and time will pass up the opportunity to show off that he has both, especially if he knows there's no real risk to himself," Natalyah counters tartly, crossing her arms over her chest. "The only question is if you're more ordinary than the tittle-tattle has made you to be, or if you're so eccentric that you've come right around in a full circle to sometimes being normal by accident."

“Eccentric is… not a title I gave myself, you understand,” Count Amerith says, spreading his hands. “I’ve never cared what people deign to call me. What matters to you, I imagine, is why I am here, and, importantly, why now? You see, I have it on good authority that your death knight friend here, Morningdew, was minding his own business in Northrend, with no plans to leave. Imagine my surprise, then, when so soon after a certain assassination attempt, he suddenly returns to Stormwind, and comes here of all places.”

“A friend can’t be concerned about a friend who never returned from the war?” Lathrik asks, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he leans back in his chair. “The timing was a coincidence, milord.”

Ilanya smirks and hops off the counter, circling around the table to approach Lathrik from behind.

“Would a letter not have sufficed?” Lester asks, still watching Harvey. “What was so important that you would come here even before visiting your fiancé?”

Harvey’s eyes narrow. Tabiana stares at the table in silence.

There's a very low warning growl as Ilanya gets closer to Lathrik, Natalyah's glare intensifying, and her fingers curling over her arms.

"Yes, that's the strange thing," Natalyah says incredulously to Lester. "Not that a Count of Stormwind was closely monitoring a single death knight, even a relatively famous one, to such an extent to note not only where he's been and his business, but follow his visiting path and then said Count alter his entire day's activity to confront him in person, immediately. That is, of course, very normal. Really, would a letter not have sufficed?" The sarcasm is tart and a little biting. She is not a diplomat.

"Besides, you might be the center of your world, but other people have things happening to them as well," she continues, holding up a hand and ticking off her fingers. "Lathrik recently started courting me, and I have been in the early stages of a proposal for an expedition to Outland, where I will need multiple forms of assistance, including protection. There's a missing person from Cobalt Company who is in trouble and Lathrik is part of the Stormwind Guard's investigation into the matter, and they've been soliciting help from several corners, from worgen to warriors. Harvey is a friend of Tabiana here, who has recently become a member of the Stormwind Guard and could use more support in her career change. You'll note she is also here, and you interrupted their reunion." Each point is thrown up in front of Lester like she's building a defensive wall brick by brick in front of the people there.

“Famous though Mr. Morningdew is, I was not having him monitored at all,” Lester says, tucking away the rest of Natalyah’s revelations for later. “We merely share an acquaintance, who happened to discuss with me his whereabouts and state of mind, so when I noted his most unusual and unexpected appearance in Stormwind, I simply had to see for myself.”

“An… acquaintance,” Harvey says. “Would that be the death knight I was informed of?”

“It was Jothran,” Tabiana says in an uncharacteristic blurt of information, her eyes still fixed tensely on the table.

“What?” Harvey snaps, his eyes narrowing. “What are you doing working with Jothran, Lord Amerith?”

“Oi, settle down,” Lathrik says, sitting up straighter. He is quickly losing control over the flow of information, and seems to have lost track of Ilanya, who is now directly behind him.

“He came to me seeking purpose, a lost child, if you will,” Lester answers, “and so I took him in, as any decent person would.”

Natalyah has not lost track of Ilanya, and she directs a baleful stare at the woman. "You're going to want to back away from Lathrik," she growls at Ilanya, as she sets her hands on the table. They're still her human with her slim fingers, but the way she flexes them makes it seem like she can almost feel the claws of her other form. "He is not interested."

Ilanya smiles mischievously at Natalyah. “Oh, I know he’s not,” she says, remaining where she is. “But you know who is? The Salt Man. I could taste it on him. But he’s not here today, is he? A shame.”

Lathrik eyes her, turning in his seat to get her in view. “Salt man?”

“A friend of yours, isn’t he? I guess you wouldn’t know, if you’ve never licked him,” Ilanya says.

"So if all you wanted to know what Harvey is doing here, you have that answer. This 'Jothran' of yours is clearly behind the times, and underestimates how many friends Harvey has, or how much he cares for them," Natalyah bites out. She's technically addressing Count Amerith, but her eyes are on Ilanya, and there's a very real warning growing in her body language the longer the woman stays by Lathrik, the sense of the air growing electric just before a storm.

Ilanya stays nearby just long enough to be irksome, before returning to the counter to sit.

“How many friends does he have here?” Lester asks, his hazel eyes moving on to Tabiana. “Mr. Dinnsfield I will concede, but, unless my information is indeed out of date, Ms. Lynds here has a bit of a… strained relationship with death knights.”

Tabiana raises her eyes to meet his, her posture still exceedingly stiff. “I have no issue with L — Harvey,” she says stoically. There is only a slight tremor in her voice, and if the Count notices it, he doesn’t comment.

There is something in Harvey’s expression, his eyes brightening as he looks at her, in pain, disgust… Hunger. Ilanya’s smile widens, seeing his face, but she doesn’t give away the game.

“Since we’re askin’ questions,” Lathrik says, “why’re ye prying into my personal life? I don’t recall having done anything of particular interest to a Lord of your standing.”

“You are a man surrounded by rumor and mysteries, so you will forgive me if I disagree with you on that point,” Lester says, his lips twitching in a way that makes it look like his mustache is smiling. “But, you are asking what first drew my interest, are you not? It was my desire to look after the family of my employees.”

Natalyah is no actress, no natural liar, and the moment when she should be showing confusion or surprise to support such a lie that she doesn't know what he’s talking about comes and goes while what actually shows on her face is a fierce protective anger, and then a guilty frustration as she realizes that she's already given away the information that she knows. At least she hasn't given away how she knows.

"Really? Then I'm surprised to find out we have some things in common after all, Your Excellency," Natalyah says, pushing forward to lean slightly over the table, her eyes holding onto Count Amerith like she's pinning him to a board in her mind. "I've been away from Society, and my information is often outdated and incomplete, and I've found many new things have been happening to draw my interest. You might think you have some claim by virtue of employer, but my claim is fuller. Lathrik is mine, and his family and his friends are all mine by extension. All of them." Uh, welcome to the pack, Harvey. "Like you, I favor taking a personal interest in direct observation, and I am very thorough. I may be cut off from my own family officially, but I am not without my own connections. Something you might want to keep in mind when you're determining how much and what kind of interest a 'decent' person might take in all of us." Uh oh, Lathrik. The healer is attempting to pull aggro.

Lathrik’s eyes lazily roam the room, though they pause for a second longer on Natalyah when she appears to know exactly what the Count is talking about.

Lester leans slightly forward, observing Natalyah more closely. “I am rather curious about what your connections might do about my interest, so by all means, do show me,” he says. “If you are as thorough as you claim, perhaps you know where their mother is already?”

“Oi, no need for threats, either of ye,” Lathrik says. “We’re all friends here, aye?” He lifts his brows at Natalyah, waiting for her confirmation.

Ilanya grins from the counter, looking like she could really use a bowl of popcorn.

Harvey glances between Lathrik and Natalyah, still hung up on the hers part. He has been claimed? This is sudden and unexpected news, and perhaps Natalyah will change her mind later. Tabiana is silent, struggling to rein in emotions before they get the best of her.

"We might be able to be allies," Natalyah allows, so obviously begrudgingly that it's an obvious attempt at teeth-gritted diplomacy. "Especially if you think that she has some relationship to the man with the scar over his eye who is obviously part of Twilight's Hammer, the person trying to assassinate your Almeiria Fey."

There she goes, saying things. Maybe she should have brought the bottle of bourbon whiskey to the table after all.

“That’s an awful lot of information you have,” Ilanya says. “And definitely more than what we told the guards who came to investigate, as your friend here could tell you.”

“More than what you told us perhaps,” Tabiana says, glancing at Natalyah, “but one of your maids was more forthcoming.” It’s not a perfect cover-up, but she’s trying.

Lathrik tips his chair back ever so slightly, his smile getting a little wider. Inside, he is probably cursing Count Amerith’s timing. They are clearly not prepared for this. “My mother hasn’t been in the picture in some time,” he says. “I doubt I’d recognize ‘er even if ye did scare her up from wherever she’s hidin’, assuming she’s alive, of course.”

Harvey’s gaze is drawn to Lathrik before he can stop himself. His hands clench as he fights to keep his expression under control.

Lester keeps his gaze on Natalyah, deviating only to glance at Harvey for a second or two before resettling on her. What is she going to volunteer next? How exciting.

The two things Natalyah seems to volunteer next are a reinforcement of what she's already spoken aloud — Lathrik is important to her — and perhaps that Lathrik is not unaffected by the topic. She doesn't have Harvey's particular senses, but she does know Lathrik, and the way his smiles often hide something else, and she shifts her focus from the Count fully to Lathrik, reaching her hand over to his, moving to the edge of her chair closer to him. She is not one to be subtle or withhold her affection when she feels it.

Lathrik takes her hand, raising it to his lips for a kiss, a public display that, while sincere, still holds a level of distance, a wall between the world and his true feelings. A part of the mask. “So. Did ye learn anything about ‘er? Is that why ye’ve come?” he asks the Count.

“I came in search of someone,” Lester says, settling his hands in his lap. “You see, on the night of the assassination attempt, there were two extra infiltrators, and one of them, at great risk to themselves, made a play to keep me in the game. You are a paladin in the Guard, so I’ve been told, and it happens that the person who interfered was as well, though they hid their identity. Would you know anything about that, Mr. Dinnsfield?”

“I might know who it is you’re looking for, milord,” Lathrik says with a shrug. “But seein’ as they went to the trouble to hide their identity, I don’t think I should say, even if I do.”

“You’re a cautious child,” says the Count, stroking his mustache in amusement. “I do respect that. You see, I am in a rather generous mood, due in no small part to my rescuer, so I am going to provide some information. It may or may not be of use to you, but if not, I am quite sure you can deliver it to its correct location. There is a man named Fray Farrens searching for his wife. He is currently staying in a small, neutral town between Arathi Highlands and the Wetlands, called Highmarsh. I suppose calling it a ‘town’ is a bit generous, it’s a small community; an inn with a tavern inside, a few shops, and that’s that.”

Harvey is probably the only one confused by this information, but that, at least, he doesn’t show, taking the information with a quiet neutrality.

It might occur to Count Amerith, if he's watching Natalyah, who has shown thus far no ability to dissemble with her expressions, that she is neither confused or surprised by the information. For someone who has come into the game so recently, she seems to know a great deal of information about the twisting turns and connections, a singular point orbiting the rumors and mysteries and ripping the veils away. She holds onto Lathrik's hand with a firm grip.

"And what do you intend to do with the information you have?" Natalyah asks, and it's with that same very grudging forced neutrality. It still comes out a bit like a dare. "Leave it to the family, or interfere out of desire to look out after your employees?"

“There is an answer to that question somewhere,” Lester says. “In your imagination, perhaps? Do let me know what you find in there, I’m rather curious.” He gets to his feet and says, belatedly, "The assassin was not after my dear Almeiria. He came for me. You see, Almeiria is currently lost on the bottom of the ocean, somewhere. I suspect he knows."

This draws a frown from Lathrik, and he straightens. "I heard about the attacks. Wasn't aware she was on one of the ships. Sorry to hear it. Cobalt's got a squad down there. If anyone'd pull through a situation like that, it'd be them."

Lester gives him an acknowledging nod, retrieving his cane.

Natalyah has not heard about the attacks, and she glances from Lathrik to Count Amerith and back. "A Twilight's Hammer assassin with a target on a Shadow user and her allies, striking while she's not able to do anything about it, because she's somehow lost but alive on the bottom of the ocean with one of the most famous mercenary companies. And I imagine that if someone wanted that assassin to look elsewhere, he might just point the target on someone else with a connection to the cult, and a different Shadow user with her allies," she says.

Tabiana appears slightly more alert at the mention of another connection to the cult, and Harvey looks like he knows exactly what is going on, and watches in firm solidarity with Natalyah. He definitely has no idea about any of this, and there will be questions later.

“Well, well, that is an interesting imagination you have,” Lester says, a smile appearing on his face for the first time. “A dangerous one, too, shared so readily. Consider, you may be giving someone ideas they hadn’t yet thought of.”

Lathrik slumps lazily over onto the table. It might be the mask. It might also be how he actually feels.

"That's because I'm a scientist, not a politician, and the better scientists know that deliberate ignorance and information hoarding is where truly innovative solutions to problems go to die. When people aren't using information as power, and instead focused on a common goal that suits everyone, that's when real progress is made," Natalyah says archly. "I'm used to being told that something can't be done, or that I should just shut up, sit back, and let the older men decide what matters and who gets to know what. I've never done so before and I won't do it now, because I'm not interested in power and exclusivity. I want things to be better."

“A common goal that suits everyone,” Lester repeats, glancing at Lathrik who is, at this point, just along for the ride. “You possess a marvelous amount of optimism. I do hope it doesn’t get you killed.” Cane in hand, he steps away from the table, then pauses, turning back. “Ah, yes, your planned expedition to Outland. If one of the forms of assistance you need is financial, you are welcome to submit a proposal to me. I will admit I am not intimately familiar with your field, but perhaps now is the time to change that, hmm?” He scans the butterfly decorations in the room, assessing them. Memorizing them, maybe?

The butterflies are several of Natalyah's specialties: the Painted Lady, the Red Admiral, the Mourning Cloak, the Blue Morpho, the Purple Emperor, the Anise Swallowtail, the Red-Spotted Purple, the Southern Dogface that matches her current dress, and the Atala.

"People always underestimate butterflies, as if they aren't one of the most resourceful and adaptable species that turned delicacy into their strength." Natalyah rises to a carefully balanced stand, both hands on the table. "The last thing that tried to kill me only made me much, much stronger," she says, as black fur rolls over her like a thundercloud brought in by galeforce winds. She's suddenly the largest person in the room. "If a feral pack of worgen clawing me apart couldn't kill me alone, with the people I have at my side now, I don't think optimism is going to manage it."

“There are things in the world far more dangerous than feral beasts, and fates far worse than assaulting claws,” Lester says, without flinching at her transformation. “Do not underestimate the power of words, or you may doom your allies as well as yourself. Some battles cannot be won with force alone. Consider my offer, and do give Peril my regards. Ah, and your lovely harpist as well.”

He gestures towards the door, and Ilanya hops down from the counter. “Tell your Salt Man I’ll lick him anywhere he likes,” she says with a wicked grin.

Natalyah's eyes narrow. "I never underestimate words. I just put real value on truth, and friendship." The transformation back to human is instant, a shimmer of iridescence revealing the woman once more, as she jabs a finger at Ilanya, and then points to the flowers still on the ground. "Take the flowers with you," she orders, an imperious noblewoman's tone. No, she has not forgotten this dare.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Ilanya says with a smirk, passing the Count on her way outside.

Lester, meanwhile, reaches into his suit jacket and pulls a wand from an inner pocket. Gesturing like a composer, he channels magic through the wand, levitating the petals scattered across the floor into the air, forming a miniature petal blizzard as he sweeps them outside.

As soon as both Count Amerith and Ilanya have their back turned, shadows expand outward from Natalyah's pupils, covering her eyes in the shadow's void, as she leaps to Lathrik, tossing her head so she faces away from the Count to hide her eyes. She leaps from Lathrik to Count Amerith, and then finally to Ilanya, her hands closing into fists as she holds it. The shadows eddy and swirl, unstable, but they hold.

“Do enjoy your evening,” Lester says, seeing himself out, closing the door behind him.

Tabiana holds her breath, even after the Count takes his leave, and neither Harvey nor Lathrik make any immediate moves.

With the door closed, Natalyah reaches desperately for Lathrik like someone drowning would for a lifeline. "Hold onto me," she bids him in a rasp, her words barely louder than a whisper. "I have it on her." How long she'll manage it is unclear, but for at least some time, she has eyes on the Count, and what might be said after they think themselves unobserved.

“Aye, I have ye,” Lathrik says, moving his chair beside hers and wrapping an arm around her waist.

Outside, Ilanya seems to have asked a question, because the Count responds, “Well enough. It’s a shame the harpist was elsewhere, I do enjoy her.”

A pause, as Ilanya speaks again, the two of them traveling down the streets of Old Town, headed towards the canals.

“Though I do doubt Mr. Dinnsfield would allow you to come to harm, would licking him truly have been worth the risk?” he asks. Whatever her response is, the Count’s lips twitch in amusement.

Back inside, Harvey finally speaks. “If I am to be of much help, I will need more information, I suspect,” he says.

Natalyah either provides it, or makes Harvey genuinely start to wonder about her sanity, as she starts repeating the conversation she is watching. "Well enough. It's a shame the harpist was elsewhere. I do enjoy her. Though I do doubt Mr. Dinnsfield would allow you to come to harm would licking him truly have been worth the risk." The growl accompanying the words is probably Natalyah's own, and not a representation of Count Amerith's tone.

She's shaking in Lathrik's hold, as she sets her face against his, her lips brushing against the edge of his jaw as she speaks, her hands grabbing at him awkwardly around the armor, fingers scrabbling against the metal like she wishes she could claw through it to get to Lathrik beneath it.

At this, Tabiana gets up, moving over to Lathrik to help remove his armor so he can keep his hold on Natalyah. “My Lord,” she says, a warning in her voice, “Perhaps you should wait outside?”

Silence greets her suggestion. Harvey is staring intently at Natalyah, eyes bright.

“Armor first, I’ve got ‘er,” Lathrik directs as Tabiana hesitates, her gaze shifting to Harvey. “He’s got more control than it looks like, an’ if he slips, I’ll handle it.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, unstrapping his spaulders, then removing his cloak. This done, she starts on his breastplate.

There's no fear that builds higher at the words that can only be about Harvey. "I'm not afraid of Harvey," Natalyah says, truthfully. "He can stay."

Back outside, the Count and Ilanya are silent until they reach the canals. Lester does not appear to be much of a talker. They pause at the edge of the water, and his expression seems to take on a measure of peace at the sight of it.

“Yes, Peril has been making more contact since her arrival,” he says, answering a question. “Would it not make sense that he was also involved, given his… talents? Ask him if he has recommendations to read for information on butterflies and moths.”

At her next words, he turns to make eye contact. “No. Why should I be concerned with where his loyalties lie? He may do as he likes, as was always my intention. Is it not more interesting that way?”

There is a soft clattering as Tabiana frees Lathrik from his breastplate and moves the piece to the shelf with the others. Now he is free to hold Natalyah closer, more firmly against him.

Natalyah relates the Count's words, with a near perfect accuracy, likely thanks to the proximity of Ilanya and Lester's enunciation. The moment there's more physical contact with Lathrik, she settles deeper into the embrace, some of the tension in her subsiding. Her shadow connection holds steadier, as she breathes Lathrik in like an elixir, and although there is still enough of old fear and pain in her to hang temptingly in the air, it isn't growing any stronger. Maybe she can keep holding it all the way back to the manor.

“Bein’ afraid of him won’t help ye, but being cautious is always a good idea with death knights, even well meanin’ ones,” Lathrik says, stroking her hair. “And whatever ye do, don’t use the Light on him.”

Count Amerith checks a pocket watch, then starts them further down the canals. “She does alternate street corners. Perhaps we will find her before we return home. It is about that time.”

They return to their silence, Ilanya walking behind the Count, likely playing the role of an obedient maid. Their path sees them following the canals, passing businesses closing for dinnertime hours, and people heading home or to their favorite establishments for the evening. There is a familiar flash of blue and gold and Ilanya stops, looking behind her as Reniya passes. Her gaze lingers on him longer than it should, and by the time she turns around again, there is another familiar face in sight.

Hana stands on the next corner, a harp in her hands, playing as people passing by toss money into her harp case.

“Ah, there she is,” the Count says, and they start towards her.

There's a warning growl as Ilanya focuses on Reniya, a deep gravelly sound that goes unknown but for the people in the room with her.

Natalyah has focused her vision on the corner of Ilanya's eye, to keep the Count in view, and when he speaks, Natalyah's head twitches, and she gasps, as they start towards Hana. "Hana!" There's enough of a sharp spike of fear that it wrenches the shadows out of her grasp, and for a blink, nothing more, her eyes are bright gold. Her eyes are the same ordinary velvet brown, clear of shadows, as she slumps in Lathrik's grasp. "I lost it. I'm sorry. The harpist, the one he wanted to see, it's Hana. He's interested in Hana.”

At the spike of fear, Harvey rises, his chair scraping against the floor. “I… I should… leave,” he says. “I ate before I came here, but… nothing so… satisfying.” The last word comes out as a strangled rasp, as some part of what he is trying to suppress escapes.

“Aye, do what ye need to,” Lathrik says, nodding towards the door. “I’ll have questions for ye later, and I’ll fill ye in then, too.”

Tabiana averts her eyes in disgust. “Should we send someone to Hana? Is she in danger?”

“Nah, she’s dealt with him before,” Lathrik says. “He’s a fan of hers, that’s all it is.”

Natalyah rests against Lathrik, more than she really needs to, her head turning to peer at Harvey. The fear that gripped her is gone, in a sweep against most of it, and then into only a trickle that dries up rapidly in Lathrik's hold. "You don't have to go," she says to Harvey. Her voice has a gravelly sound to it, and she seems tired, as if the simple holding shadow sight was more effort than it should truly be. "Like Lathrik says, Hana will be all right. I can start dinner early." That really isn't the type of eating Harvey means, but here we are.

Harvey’s attention snaps over to Lathrik at her words. “You didn’t tell her?” he all but growls, drawing in a sharp breath and closing his eyes in a fight to regain control.

“Aye, well, ‘my friend feeds on pain and suffering’ isn’t the best introduction now is it?” Lathrik says. “I get ye, I do, just, seemed there was never a good time to throw that in.”

"It's not as though you sent word ahead of your coming, either, to prepare," Natalyah says archly, coming to Lathrik's defense. "All we knew is that you would, so it should have been said." That might be a little in defense of Harvey, as she pokes a finger at Lathrik's shoulder. "Ren said that death knights have to torture things to keep from going mad. And Peril said that they can sense fear. But the feeding on pain and suffering, that's involuntary?" Her voice matches her expression of a scientific curiosity, like someone observing information and gathering a fuller picture, without fear or disgust. Then again, she's worked with butterflies and moths, which can be their own horror shows at times.

“When you smell good food, you want to eat it,” Harvey says. “It is… similar to that, except… for me it encourages a side of me that is less socially acceptable to emerge. A side that would… do more damage, if allowed to. For death knights it is… difficult to control the urge to do what we were created to do. That is why people rightfully despise us.”

“Rightfully,” Lathrik says. “So says the paladin. Ye can be more honest.”

Harvey’s gaze shifts to Tabiana. “No. I… Not with her here.”

Tabiana moves towards the door. “I believe I was just leaving anyway,” she says.

Natalyah looks from Harvey to Tabiana from her position of Lathrik's arms. "Because it would hurt her," she says, once again pulling the subtext into text. Conflicting emotions war on her face, uncertainty and chagrin. "We'll tell you more about what's going on later. You should catch Ren up on what's happened, so he isn't caught unaware. He's on his route along the canal, not far from here towards the center of the city, traveling towards the Dwarven district. Ilanya saw him, and she might double back while the Count is there with Hana." A brief rise of fury darkens her expression. "Do not give him her message. Last thing we need is Ren rising to some stupid challenge.”

Tabiana nods, allowing a grateful look onto her face. “I will update Reniya,” she says, disappearing outside before anyone can change their mind.

When she is gone, Harvey sits back down with a forced sigh, one finger scraping against his leg plates, creating an unpleasant screeching noise.

“That was a complete disaster,” Lathrik comments, his hand sliding up and down Natalyah’s side. He doesn’t sound angry, so much as drained.

Natalyah winces at the screeching, covering her ears belatedly. She lowers her hands to rest on Lathrik's shoulders. "I've had worse days and worse outcomes," she argues. "We all have.”

“Aye, well, if he does mean us harm, he’s got quite a bit of new ammunition,” Lathrik says. “And… a family member that’s an employee? Ye seemed to know something about that.”

Natalyah ducks her head into the crook of his neck, the Safety Spot. There's shame curving her body, and she squeezes herself closer. "I do. I wasn't supposed to tell anyone, I'm so sorry. I didn't realize you didn't know. I tried to at least not give away how I knew it. But he said it, of who, if not what exactly. It was in what he said after, to Ilanya," she says. It's a workaround, maybe. "And it's the sort of the thing he'd do like with that offer to sponsor an expedition to Outland. All the clues are there.”

Lathrik curses. “D’ye happen to know how long Peril’s been on his payroll?”

Harvey listens quietly, gleaning what information he can.

Natalyah shakes her head. "Peril thinks the Count followed the money to you, when you bought the house, so. At least as long as that." She raises her head to meet Lathrik's eyes, an imploring look on her face. "But you know Peril would never do anything against you. You always come first to him. Even the Count knows where Peril's loyalties lie. You can't be angry at him for taking a way forward, even if it was a risk." She offers a weak curl of a smile. "His first name is 'danger.'”

“Azerothian Interest…” Lathrik mutters, cursing again. “Now we know why he’s got an eye on us. He owns us. How much of the money Peril’s sent over was his?” He sighs. “I know Peril did it for me, but how far would he go? Would he do as our mother did?”

Harvey’s eyes brighten at the mention of their mother. It’s new information for him, complete with Feelings of an edible variety.

Natalyah pulls Lathrik into a firmer embrace, the press of her body warm against his. "Your mother would have been the only adult there and desperate, the only person who could have done something. There's no reason to have Peril feel the same way, if he knows he doesn't have everything riding on whether he has power or not. He is a good person who has people he cares about, and you're too similar sometimes, willing to take all the risk on yourselves to spare everyone else. You said yourself, the warlock path can be dangerous. But as long as he doesn't believe he's alone to shoulder that responsibility, he's safer.”

Lathrik holds her close, resting his head against hers. “I hope you’re right,” he says.

“Your mother,” Harvey finally says, “is alive, and being sought by your father. Did I understand that correctly?”

Lathrik lifts his head again, remembering the death knight. “So he said. Which may explain why he didn’t answer our summons. If he thinks he’s close…”

"Then we should go as soon as we can." Natalyah nuzzles her cheek along Lathrik's, and sighs, looking over to Harvey. "Lathrik and Peril are brothers, but people aren't supposed to know it. Their father was assumed dead before Lathrik was even born, and their mother left after the First War orc invasion. She's suspected to be working with Twilight's Hammer, which has become especially active in the past few months.

"The Count was keeping that woman, Ilanya on Lathrik's tail, and so we tried to find out why he would be taking an interest in Lathrik, more than he should have. It went wrong unexpectedly, with an assassin in the mix making an attempt on the Count's life. The assassin is a man after Almeiria, although you heard that the Count believes that one was against him specifically. The Shadow Man is of Twilight's Hammer who very well may know Lathrik and Peril's mother. But, despite our effort not telling us exactly what we wanted to know, it lead us to information that not only was their father alive, but the Count was looking into him as well. We tried summoning their father, Fray, and while he didn't accept it, he was on the other side, meaning he is alive," Natalyah explains.

“So you were there for the assassination attempt?” Harvey asks. “The paladin they mentioned?”

“Aye, I was there,” Lathrik says. “But I won’t be confirming it for him, in case he means to make something of it. What about this Jothran? Tabiana seemed to think ye knew him? She didn’t name him to us.”

“He was… Kaela Mondragon’s second-in-command in life,” Harvey says. “And he led us to her, in Northrend.”

“You got ‘er, then?” Lathrik asks. “I saw some armor in the manor, saronite, belonged to a lass. If the death knight’s who ye say, might be hers?”

“That is… likely, yes.” Harvey clenches his hands in his lap, fury and regret fighting across his expression. “He was an ally, but… one with his own goals.”

It's Natalyah's turn to attempt to piece together information. It's obvious in her expression that she isn't familiar with this side of matters at all. "How strong is he, Jothran? The Count had him as a guard, and the Shadow Man Assassin incapacitated him with one shadow attack.”

Harvey blinks in surprise. “One attack? No death knight should fall in one attack. Who was this man? I am not very familiar with the Twilight’s Hammer cult. I had thought it was orc business?”

“They worship dark powers. Old Gods. They became more active, leading up to the Cataclysm, nearly one on every street corner, and the guard couldn’t do anything because they’d committed no crimes, and there were too many besides, to hear Ren tell it,” Lathrik says. “I wasn’t here, I was… in Southshore, which fell to the Forsaken around the same time Deathwing — large black dragon Aspect — burst out of whatever hole he was hidin’ in. You really haven’t been to see your little lass?”

“Deathwing? And Southshore fell to the Forsaken? Those opportunistic fiends,” Harvey snarls, tense with anger. He pauses for a moment reining himself back in, before continuing. “The situation with Ralaea is… complicated. I would prefer that she does not know I am here. Or Jothran, for that matter.”

"Why not?" Natalyah asks. The mention of Southshore has her resting her head on Lathrik's shoulder, her eyes on Harvey. "Isn't she your girl? Did you two have a fight?”

“Ralaea is… alive,” Harvey says bitterly. “There is nothing I can give her but shame and hardship. I love her. I always will, but… she could move on. She could have a proper life with a living man. A family.”

“Alright, but ye knew all that before,” Lathrik says. “Why suddenly change your mind?”

“That… I cannot say,” Harvey says.

Natalyah half twists in Lathrik's hold to stare at Harvey, looking incredulous and affronted at the same time. "Well unless it's to say that she has found that living man she is moving forward with, then it sounds like bollocks to me. If you love her so much, why are you taking her right to choose for herself away? You might think you're protecting her or shielding her, but all you're really doing is making it so she can't make any decision at all from a one sided control of contact. If she wants to choose hardship, that's her right. No man, especially one who says he loves her, should get to decide how easy her life should be. Sometimes you'd rather have it be difficult and troubled and be with your heart, than be without them and have something easy." Her hold on Lathrik might be getting uncomfortably tight, like she's a little worried he might be reconsidering his own difficult heart, especially after the day he's had.

“I have already taken her right to choose by staying near her when I was unwanted,” Harvey says, his voice taking on a fierce tone. “I denied her the right to grieve after my death. She hates death knights. How can I be the thing she hates, and the person she loves at once? She is strong. She will recover from this and move on, if I allow her that.”

Lathrik strokes Natalyah’s back soothingly, making no comment on the tightness of her hold, his gaze focused on Harvey. “Thing you’re runnin’ from is that bad, is it? Your secret?”

Harvey hesitates, then nods. “But I mean what I have said. Her friends will be relieved, as will the Fallons.”

Natalyah scoffs. "I'm smelling a lot of if coming off that plan. If she is the kind of person who could forget someone she loves if he isn't there, if she doesn't do anything to find you first, if nothing happens to her where you would know she's in danger and wouldn't feel compelled to help her, if she doesn't find out your secret another way and track you down to help you, and, now, if the Count doesn't tell her you're here. You heard him, he knows who she is, and that you didn't go to see her, and how he'll meddle as if he 'cares' about it.”

“If you had another person in your head…” Harvey says. “One who could command you at will if they wanted, and there was nothing you could do to stop it, to fix it… would you still say you should remain with your love, knowing that they will see everything you do? Knowing that they could kill your love on a whim to break your will? She is not… safe with me, any longer.”

Natalyah frowns, a mix of compassion and scientific curiosity taking up equal places on her face. Her grip on Lathrik eases, but only to better position herself to be held by him.

"I don't know what it's like for you," she says. "But, as a matter of fact, I do know what it's like to share my head with something else. Worgen aren't druids. We're cursed with a wolf spirit. There's a ritual that restores a worgen to be able to access their humanity again. Most people come out of with some kind of domination over the beast. I don't know why mine was different, but it was. I made a deal with mine. And now she lives in here, with me, and sometimes she can take over. I have to trust that she isn't going to hurt me or anyone. And sometimes that's harder to trust in than others, because for four years, that wolf was in charge, and I was feral, a ravenous beast that hurt and killed indiscriminately." There's a deep pang of hurt inside her, and she rests herself in Lathrik's arms, breathing in deeply. The exhale releases most of the hurt.

"So, I know what that's like. And I still choose to be here. More importantly, if it was the other way around, if it was Lathrik who had another in his head, I would still stay. I would make sure I could stay safe if something went wrong, because I know it would break him if he hurt me, but I wouldn't live my life without him. I'd find a way to be sure we could be together. Maybe that's just me, maybe that's from living separated forcibly from the people I cared about until I came back too late and they were dead," another flash of pain, "or maybe it's from losing four years of my life to another, but I'm not going to pass up on loving and being loved while I can have it.”

“Then you are stronger than I am,” Harvey says. “I… Look at me. I am a corpse. I cannot even satisfy her physically.”

Lathrik keeps one arm around Natalyah, but the index finger of his other hand taps idly on the table. His brows are drawn in thought. “Voice in your head that could take control,” he says. “That’s not unlike the Lich King, aye? But ye killed him. Right?”

Harvey falls silent and avoids his gaze.

“Ye did kill him,” Lathrik says again, shifting a little, his hold tightening on Natalyah.

“Arthas Menethil is dead,” Harvey finally says, very specifically.

"That's very specific," Natalyah says, never one to shy away from saying what she's thinking. "Wait, Scilla said that the Lich King killed everyone," a sharp spike of pain has her grimacing, "and then King Terenas Menethil somehow brought almost everyone back. I didn't understand what she meant, but did the father somehow kill the son and take back his throne?”

“What? No,” Harvey says, frowning. “Highlord Fordring broke Frostmourne, the Prince’s cursed sword, and all the souls it consumed came pouring out, his father’s included, and after… somehow calling our souls back, we finished Arthas off with the help of the souls. But they were ghosts, and I assume they moved on, after.”

Lathrik is silent for a moment, digesting this. “Then you’ve… some sort of… new master?”

Once again, Harvey falls silent.

"If you did have a new master, then the odds that this person could be an evil, murderous tyrant one step from ordering a new army to destroy people, and that no one would be sounding the alarm and rallying against this new threat are very low. It's possible only if no one knew how evil this new master is, ignorant of any standing orders against living people," Natalyah muses. "Have you been ordered to do things already?”

“No, but it is only a matter of time,” Harvey says. “I can feel him. No one is immune to corruption, even the most heroic of paladins.”

“I doubt you’re talking about Arthas, when ye say most heroic of paladins,” Lathrik says. “Means the new master is a paladin, or a former paladin.”

“Would you stop doing that?” Harvey scowls at him.

Lathrik lifts his eyebrows, questioningly. “Doing what, mate?”

“That… thing where you pull information from what I say,” Harvey says. “It reminds me of court.”

“Alright, but ye do make it easy to —”

Harvey starts to stand up.

“Fine, fine, settle down,” Lathrik says with a chuckle. “Ye thought about talkin’ to your little lass about takin’ on a third? Satisfy your guilt over not bein’ able to provide physically, while allowin’ ye to stay close and be with ‘er?”

“Who would possibly agree to that, when there will be a death knight in the picture?” Harvey asks.

"Well they wouldn't just be agreeing to a death knight, would they? They'd be agreeing to being with you both, personally, so it's who would agree to that with you in the picture," Natalyah says. "And that's the same question everyone has to ask for any relationship, if anyone would really want to be with someone like who we are. Maybe for some of us that's more complicated than other people." She tosses her head, moving her hair around her shoulders, as she tries to keep on some bravado that hides a genuine vulnerable fear.

"You're not the only person in the room who knows that some people will look at you and see only a monster that should be behind bars. Worgen aren't exactly popular, and you'll run into people who will speak up in a bar bragging how the dark furs on the wall are worgen skins, in the 'good old days' when it was legal to skin them." There's an involuntary curving of her into Lathrik at what seems to be a specific memory, but she forges ahead. "So, maybe it's true some people will hate you for being a death knight, but not everyone, and not once they get to know you. I don't hate you. And neither does Lathrik.”

Something in Harvey’s posture shifts; the lift of his chin, the upcurl of his lips, the bright, intensity of his eyes. “It’s like you’re teasing me on purpose,” he almost growls, one of his hands sliding along the table towards her. Lathrik’s presence is probably the only thing keeping him from outright reaching for her.

“And there he is,” Lathrik says, eyeing the hand on the table. “Keep it civil or lose the hand, Mourn.”

“You think you’re still my better, paladin? After everything I’ve endured? The Light is the only tool you have against me.”

Despite the death knights words, Lathrik’s posture is loose, relaxed, and one hand still holds Natalyah close. “Y’know, ye still owe me stories,” he says.

Natalyah looks from Mourn to Lathrik at the threats, and it speaks of how much she trusts Lathrik in his friendship that she doesn't meet the threat with her own, except to say, without a trace of fear, "The Light isn't the only tool he has. Worgen were brought back to fight the undead." She points a finger at Harvey. "I'm still not scared of you, which you can probably tell for yourself. And I'm not going to hate you." It does sound a bit like a dare, or possibly a threat. Maybe both. The hurt has been washed away as if by sweeping summer rain. "What stories, about what?”

“Stories,” Harvey scoffs. “Of what, my ‘victories’ in Northrend? Sure, I was there when the Lich King fell, but Tirion Fordring can claim that victory. The only thing I accomplished in Northrend was the death of the person who understood me better than anyone. Or shall I regale you with all the ways I was made a fool of? Maybe, if you had come with me, I would have fared better.”

“I was needed…” Lathrik stops, and sighs. “Aye. Perhaps you’re right. Didn’t do a lot of good stayin’ here.”

"Don't," Natalyah says, whirling back to face Lathrik. "Don't do that. You did what you thought was best and you tried your hardest. And if you hadn't been here, who knows what would have happened." There's a pleading sympathy at war with indignant defensiveness on her face. She glances from Harvey to Lathrik. "Really, is this some sort of paladin thing, that the Church says or makes you believe, that if you didn't personally come forth with the Light and heroically, single-handedly saved all of Azeroth, that you just aren't doing enough? Because just as a thought, you could try lowering your standards to something a little more like us regular people, and take a victory that you helped in your own way, before you combust from guilt." She pokes a finger at Lathrik's chest. "You'll still be loved even if you aren't performing miracles for the whole world." It's probably only a quirk of her way of talking that makes it sound a bit like she's threatening him.

“It’s the mentality that drove us to the path in the first place,” Lathrik says. “The desire to protect. To do good in the world.”

“To become someone’s hero,” Harvey adds, frustration in his voice.

“Selfless sacrifice, all of it,” Lathrik says, nodding. “Does anyone become a paladin for themselves?”

“Suggestion for you, as someone who learned too late,” Harvey says, fixing him with a cold stare. “Don’t get in over your head. Prioritize your own life. You can’t protect anyone once you’re dead. You still have a chance for a normal life. Don’t waste it.”

“I’ll take your advice, but you’ll also take ours,” Lathrik says, his eyes fierce with compassion. “Don’t give up. I’ve met your girl. She’ll let ye know when she’s done with ye.”

"Especially since she's come this far. Besides, you're not dead either, not all the way. So, maybe you won't have a normal life, but you can still have something, still protect someone, still be at least one person's hero. If you're still here, then it isn't over yet," Natalyah says to Harvey.

She looks back to Lathrik, her arms around his shoulders, standing so close against him that he might be able to feel her heartbeat. "And as a matter of fact, I like that deal of you taking Harvey's advice seriously. It's not a contradiction that I can love how selfless you are and still not want to see you sacrifice yourself for it. I'd rather you be here and do good on a smaller scale than sacrifice yourself for something bigger and leave me without my hero." There's a tangle of emotions in her, residual pain and sincere love, as she pokes him again to emphasize her point.

“Doubt we’ve much to worry about so long as that curse is active,” Lathrik says. “Don’t think I could die if I wanted to. That reminds me. Harvey. My mother cursed me when I was young with some sort of shadow magic. It’s been draining me since, and seems to take over when I’m at risk of dying. It does other… less pleasant things too, apparently.”

Harvey frowns. “Removal is not an option, I take it?”

“It’s a dangerous one, so I’ve been told,” Lathrik replies. “Might kill me if it’s done against my mother’s will. She’s lost her mind and gone with the Twilight’s Hammer. Some price she paid for the power to save me and Peril. Her death will apparently cure it, but I’d like not to go that route.”

“If Almeiria returns from the seafloor, I would suggest having her look,” Harvey says. “She may have a more… unconventional solution.”

Natalyah's surprise is obvious, but it seems to be more about Lathrik being forthcoming about the curse, not the information about it. She drops a hand over Lathrik's heart protectively. "Would she help? Tabiana didn't seem to trust her, and she is with the Count. But she is also a target from that Shadow Man. Would she be willing to work out some kind of deal in exchange for her help?”

Lathrik shifts a hand over hers, listening for Harvey’s response.

“There are ways we can ensure her cooperation if she decides not to give it willingly,” Harvey says. “The reason Tabiana doesn’t trust her is… she put some sort of warning collar on Ralaea. One that choked her if she tried to speak about her or what happened. It was to attract the attention of Cobalt Company, and warn them not to come after someone under her protection.”

“Can’t imagine ye took that well yourself,” Lathrik says.

“No,” Harvey says. “But we let Cobalt handle it, as they said they would.”

Natalyah looks on incredulously. "Oh, so she’s not just dangerous, she's crazy dangerous," Natalyah says tartly. "That makes the Count's interest in her make sense. I thought maybe she was just an unlucky sort of interesting person, a butterfly that got caught in a rich and powerful man's net, but she sounds like the Zebra Longwing, hiding in shadows, and dangerously toxic." She looks between Harvey and Lathrik. "Really, is it a paladin thing to define 'safe' as just not actively being stabbed? Are we seriously considering trusting someone like that with a curse like this? Do you trust her, after what she's done?" That's directed at Harvey.

“I am not the person to ask,” Harvey says. “I snuck away from my allies in the night to visit a town of zealots when a friend of Ralaea’s stopped sending me reports, only to be killed by a death knight while rescuing her. Clearly I do not know what ‘safe’ is. But no, I do not trust her. I do trust in her motives, however, and with the proper… encouragement, she can be convinced.”

Lathrik shrugs. “Everyone’s got their reasons for doing what they do. If you can find those reasons, you can understand them and the things they might do. That’s one of the things that’s dangerous about the Count. We can only guess at his real reasons for things.”

Natalyah groans as she drapes herself over Lathrik. "Well, we know at least one of his motivations, like he said, he thinks you're surrounded by 'rumor and mystery.' Sometimes, men like that, they're only interested as long as it is a mystery. Once it's solved, they're bored, and sometimes, they just move on to the next. If Almeiria can get this mystery solved, and Harvey is right on how she can be convinced, it might be worth it. It also might be an unmitigated disaster, and for maybe obvious reasons, I'm really not into collars, Lathrik." There's a high pitched canine whine that follows the words, not of pain but of worry.

“I can be here for it,” Harvey says. “If she tries anything, I will stop her spells.” A smile slides onto his face as he runs a hand over the runes on his sword. “These are not just for show.”

Lathrik eyes the runesword. “Why do I feel like Ren would be into this?” he asks, massaging Natalyah’s shoulder. “Though, Ren might also be into collars. It is worth a shot, and I trust Harvey to deal with her if she tries something funny.”

"I'm more worried about if she tries something hazardous," Natalyah counters grumpily. But it's likely obvious that the touching is relaxing. "But it's all moot if she's lost at the bottom of the sea, or worse, dead. I guess one way or another we have some time to figure it out, how to convince her to help, and how to make sure Ren doesn't end up finding out how much the Count's household does collars.”

“Ren’s not the one to worry about, it’s Peril,” Lathrik says. “I hate t’say it, but if we lose the Count’s money now, we’re in some shit. I’ll see what I can do to prepare for the worst in the meantime. Find some jobs offering hazard pay maybe.”

“I could take another trip to Lordaeron,” Harvey offers. “It sounds like the Forsaken have been a little… too active; if I happen to slaughter a few on my way through, who will miss them?”

Natalyah is distracted from the prospect of Lathrik doing even more hazardous things by the mention of the Forsaken. "No one would," she bites out. There's real fury in her, a sudden storm. "With what they did to Gilneas, to Southshore? If you wanted good press, that would be one way to get it. Any worgen would be willing to help fight against those monsters." Her hands curl as if with claws against Lathrik's back, as she tucks her chin down.

"And I can help, too," she says archly. "Both with the press and the jobs. Peril knows how to keep the Count invested. It's all about being unpredictable and eccentric. And I might not be able to use the Light well yet, but using it at all is better than nothing, and I'm not helpless now. I can accompany people on hazardous jobs and heal them.”

“Oi, be careful if you’re goin’ up north,” Lathrik says, enduring the fury like it’s just a small wave in the ocean. “Word is, they’ve got these winged angels that bring back the dead and bolster their numbers, and they’ve been using ‘em.” To Natalyah, he says, “It might just be night shift for a while, unless something big goes down. I’ll let ye know.”

“Val’kyr? From Northrend? The Forsaken?” Harvey’s smile fades into a scowl. “Hmph. Thanks for the warning. If the banshee fancies herself the new Lich King, we will kill her as we did the last one.”

“He’s got money in Lordaeron,” Lathrik explains. “His folks buried some out of paranoia. Thought you were giving that to your little lass?”

“If the situation is as dire as you say, she would not object to it being used to help,” Harvey says.

"It's not dire," Natalyah counters. "I know dire, and not just because some part of me is a wolf." She looks seriously at Harvey, at his armor, and his runeblade. "But what if you and I teamed up, here? There are jobs out there, especially in Duskwood and Redridge, but they're too large for me alone, especially with the deal I've made with Lathrik." She sounds oddly repentant, as she moves her left hand down to Lathrik's arm, where a scar remains.

Harvey stares at her, then at Lathrik, when he doesn’t jump into an objection. “What, seriously? You would trust her with me?”

Lathrik shrugs. “As she says, she’s not helpless, and I’ve seen your control. If you’re worried about it, what about that Westwind boy? Seemed like he wanted to follow ye still. He’s gotta be recovered by now, aye? He could go along with ye, have the living outnumber the undead?”

Harvey’s eyes widen at the suggestion. “Bren? I… But…”

Natalyah's smile curls up like she has a wicked secret; in this case, she doesn't, but the mischievous look is inevitable. "But what? I think it's a good idea, especially if he's normal or whatever. Someone has to be the one to pick up the jobs, and while I can look normal sometimes, I'm not hiding that I'm a worgen. I've never been good at hiding things, or being dishonest about who I am, one way or another." This is not news to anyone in this room. She leans forward to press a kiss to Lathrik's cheek, a quick darting thing. "At least one person should be normal, right?"

Hear that, Bren? The designation of Normal will weigh on your shoulders.

“From what I’ve seen of the lad, he’s normal as they come,” Lathrik says. “Which is sayin’ something, seein’ who his sister is.”

Harvey opens his mouth to object, but no sound comes out. Ralaea is… something, for sure. “Fine,” he says. “Fine, I will contact him, and see if he is interested. He might not be.” In an alternate universe, maybe.

Natalyah takes this information in stride — somewhat literally as she leans over backwards to snatch up her canes, depending on Lathrik's arm to keep her balanced and upright — before setting the canes down so she can move over to the counter, where the water glasses and whiskey remain, and are soon joined by a container filled with rice that she takes out of a well stocked cupboard, another notable change from the last time Harvey was there. "Where are you staying while you're here?"

“A tent in the forest outside the city,” Harvey replies. “As far away from people as I can. There is a young woman I see on occasion, but she keeps her own company, and I keep mine.”

“Another forest dweller? She live out there?” Lathrik asks.

“She might,” Harvey says. “Has the look of some sort of huntress, or trapper. Seems to be doing well enough for herself. What do you mean ‘another’ forest dweller?”

Lathrik shrugs. “Situation’s rough for a lot of folk these days. War didn’t help.”

"And some of us were cursed, and disowned from their families," Nataylah says, moving through the kitchen like she knows what she's doing (it's a work in progress). "I came back and my parents had removed me fully from the House succession, and the house itself, and had nowhere to go. I lived in the forest, until Lathrik offered me a place here." The sting of lingering hurt and anger is audible in her voice, but it's brushed away as if by a breeze as she looks over her shoulder at Lathrik with that smile of hers. It fades as she returns to her dinner preparations. "There's so many people without a home that some places are actually hostile about it. I've heard in Redridge there's even a guard tower that specifies no transients. Though, really, it's not like they can honestly tell so long as you manage to keep clean and wear good clothing."

“There is a part of me that is sorry to hear about your family,” Harvey says, “but as someone who spent the greater part of his life trying to please his father and live up to his House, only to die a disappointment, I would say you will do far better for yourself without them.”

"Fathers don't know everything about what's good or worth doing," Natalyah says. "I was born a disappointment, and only went downhill from there." Despite the blithe words, there's that lingering old pain. "You just only find out that you assumed 'family would always be there no matter what' is wrong when you come back after years, and turns out, a noble family has its limits. Society always comes first before people." She sets a cutting board down too hard on the counter. "So, we're both better off."

“I learned that as a child, when I told my father I no longer wished to be a noble, and he threw me out to die,” Harvey says, smiling for some reason. “I had to beg on my knees when I returned, and made my mother break down in tears on my behalf. He didn’t pay for it in life, but in death I made him suffer.”

Natalyah's lack of horror at the punishment of in death, and the flash flood of her anger on Harvey's behalf, probably speak something of her, of a potential for the Light's vengeful side to take root in the lepidopterist.

“You all are makin’ me less excited to meet my own parents,” Lathrik observes, glancing between them.

When she turns, moving towards the fireplace to stoke the fire, literally, she pokes at it with unnecessary aggression. "All you really should take away from it, is knowing that who you came from doesn't define everything about who you are, or who you have to become. I've known since I was a child that I wasn't going to be like either of my parents, and they did actually raise me. You're just you, and Peril is who he is. And so no matter what either your mother or your father are now, or what choices they made, it doesn't reflect on either of you for who you will be." She tosses a bit of firewood sullenly into the fireplace. "The same goes for you, Harvey." The way she sighs heavily suggests that she might be trying to internalize it herself, with mixed results.

“It is a pleasure meeting someone who understands,” Harvey says, finally starting towards the door. “I will get ahold of Brendol, and…” He pauses, one hand on the doorknob. “I will ask him,” he corrects, “and we will perhaps see about taking on some work.”

“I’ll see what I can do about money from my end, too,” Lathrik says. “Hana might have some ideas, she does all sorts of jobs.”

"She certainly does," Natalyah says archly. "Unfortunately, some of those jobs lead back to the Count somehow as well. He's like the Cabbage White Butterfly, except a thousand times more annoying." That means something, presumably. She gestures over to Harvey. "When you know about Brendol, bring him by, or tell me where to meet you both, around Goldshire or in Darkshire or whatever. Just because I could probably track you down in the forest, assuming you can't do anything like turn into a bat and fly, doesn't mean I'd like to do it that way."

“We will meet you somewhere,” Harvey says. "I do not want word getting back to Ralaea where Lathrik lives, or she may come by to harass him.”

“What, the hug wasn’t enough?” Lathrik asks, raising his eyebrows.

Harvey shrugs. “It is Ralaea. Even I cannot fully predict her.”

Natalyah whirls, a storm in her eyes. Speaking of predictable. "What are you talking about? What hug? What harassing Lathrik?"

The two men look at each other, a mental rock, paper, scissors going on of who gets to tell the story.

“We went by the Fallons’ after the whole… incident with the Emerald Dream,” Lathrik says at last. “Ralaea was living there, at the time, and it turns out she’d been one of the violent sleepwalkers and Harvey here wanted to check on her. I was just doin’ my job.”

“You could have given us a moment of privacy,” Harvey objects.

“What, after she stole your weapon? Sure I could’ve.” Lathrik rolls his eyes.

Natalyah looks from Lathrik to Harvey to Lathrik, a mental rock, paper, scissors of who she'll address her ire on. Just kidding. She glares at both of them. "She stole your sword and then, what, hugged Lathrik? And you let her? Why?" That is split evenly at 100% at both of them, hurt and anger twirled together. She has a lot of feelings. Sorry, Harvey.

Again, the two men look at each other, battling it out.

“That’s not… how it went,” Lathrik says, once again losing the game. “She told us we had to hug each other or she’d scream. An’ then one of the wards walked in on it.”

They both look embarrassed, but probably for different reasons.

Natalyah on the other hand blinks, as she adjusts the encounter in her mind, and their reaction to it. And then she bursts into a wicked guffaw, the hurt evaporating into the impish mirth, her head tossed back. "Oh, well. That's different." Her mischievous giggle as she turns back to her dinner preparations implies the smile. "I think I'll like her, Ralaea."

Oh no. Is that a good thing or a bad thing, boys.

Lathrik slumps back into his chair in defeat.

Harvey, on the other hand, smiles a real, genuine smile. “I hope so,” he says. “Perhaps you will meet her someday.”