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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Siamus sends Ralaea a gift, and Avrenne helps Ralaea decide on what sort of gift might be appropriate in return. It's a big one. 5200~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
As foretold in Siamus' letter, at the end of the week from when the Alliance at last made contact with those lost at the bottom of the sea, a package arrives at Fallon House, delivered to the Lady of the House. Ery's gift was promptly subjected to the standard response of a five-month-old — which is to say that it was gummed aggressively, drooled upon extensively, and attempted to be eaten — and it was decided the best course of action would be that she access it only with supervision. Though a similar judgment was not made on behalf of Ralaea's, it was nevertheless decided that the presentation of the gift to Ralaea would be done in person as befitting the significance of it.
So it is that after dinner, while Ralaea is home, Avrenne knocks on Ralaea's door with quick, efficient taps. She is still dressed in her dinner dress, although it is an At Home outfit, simpler than her company choices, of purple netherweave satin, bright geometrical embroidery of gold on the long sleeves; it is no longer unusual embroidery, done by another, rather than the late Sophie Mercailles.
There is no response at first, and no sound of movement from within. Ralaea is definitely inside, and has been home for roughly a week, emerging from the room grudgingly and with such infrequency it could be forgiven if someone were to forget she was there. But she hasn’t been forgotten, it seems, and eventually, she calls back, “What?”
"Ralaea, may I come in?" Avrenne's voice carries easily through the door, measured and composed.
“I guess,” Ralaea replies after another delay. She is sitting on the floor beside her bed, leaning back against it, dressed in her usual all black long sleeved shirt and pants, staring for no reason in particular, at her tent.
After a reasonable pause for Ralaea to have an opportunity to open the door, Avrenne opens it herself, and steps through, her eyes flicking around the room as she notes any changes, and where precisely Ralaea is. At the general vibe of the room, Avrenne decides on closing the door behind her, and crossing over to where Ralaea sits, though the duchess — dignified and also nearly twenty weeks pregnant with twins, already showing significantly — sits on the bed. She holds a small, box shaped package in one hand, and rests it in her lap as she arranges the dress of her skirt to fall correctly.
"I have something for you," she says, bypassing the commentary on Ralaea's current choice of seating arrangements. "Siamus commissioned a gift, and it's arrived at last."
Ralaea blinks in surprise and turns to look up at her. “What? Why’d he do that? I haven’t done anything.”
Avrenne reaches out her other hand to set lightly on the top of Ralaea's head, smiling warmly down at her. "It is not always about having done something. One does not need to earn a gift. It is more about who one is to the person giving the gift, and I expect he wanted to be certain you understood that you are valued, as a part of the House. He is very fond of you, as we all are." That elicits a small pet along Ralaea's hair, just one. She offers out the little package on an open palm, leaning down slightly — she has a maximum limit on how much she can really bend over at this point. "I don't know what it is, but if you should like to open it now, I could perhaps provide some additional insight into it."
Ralaea’s expression wavers, that defensively sullen expression melting into one of deeper feeling, but she manages to avoid tears for now. “Yeah. Okay, I’ll… open it now.” She takes the little package and begins to open it, as promised.
Inside the prosaically wrapped package is a small box, suitable for transporting jewelry; the inside reveals it to be a familiar specific jewelry: a particular cast-bronze anchor pendant, one that Ralaea has seen both Siamus and Shine wearing recently in the Immersion ceremony and Siamus when he is sailing, on a sturdy chain necklace.
Avrenne lets out a quiet, "Oh. How lovely."
So much for avoiding tears. As soon as Ralaea sees what’s in the box, she covers her mouth with her hand, a shuddering sob sweeping through her. She pulls her knees up to her chin, clutching the box to her inside of the small barrier she has created. If she has any words to say, they don’t make it past the violent weeping.
Avrenne has one (1) move in these situations, but it does tend to be effective. She lifts herself up off the bed, and elegantly honestly, a bit awkwardly, lowers herself down to the floor next to Ralaea, to put an arm around the younger woman and pull her into an embrace, one hand moving soothingly over Ralaea's hair. "Oh, dearest." She doesn't say much more, just holds onto Ralaea, rocking slightly and humming the chorus of the Amhrán Na Farraige as softly as she can — a new habit formed by soothing Ery.
Ralaea uncurls and leans into her, defenses lowering completely as she presses her face into Avrenne’s shoulder. “How can I even…” She sniffles, taking a few breaths before trying again. “How do I thank him? He’s — he’s not even here.”
Avrenne keeps up the steady, slow petting of Ralaea's hair. "Well, the Fleet and the navy are established now at the rescue operations, and they are able to receive missives if you would like to write to him, to reach him sooner. He expects to remain there for some time, as there are still known threats, including servants of the Old Gods and naga performing terrible acts against the world. But, when those threats are handled, he will come back. He always comes back." She says it like it's a certainty, and an unquestionable fact.
“I wouldn’t like to write,” Ralaea mumbles, “but I will. Only, I don’t know what to… what I can give him back.”
"If you would like, I can help you with the letter," Avrenne says. "There is nothing you need to give back. It isn't an exchange, or a need to balance some scale with a payment. That is the nature of a gift, you might recall, that we have spoken of before. Though, if you do want to give him a gift for his own sake, a sign of appreciation of him, that would of course be freely welcome. In that, it's not something that must be something he seems to need, only a symbol of what you think of him. That can be anything that speaks to you that way, as simple as a shell and as complex as a promotion within the admiralty." There's a playful tease to her voice at the last. "Though I admit I have more claim to the latter of those examples, and I do need to think of his next birthday."
Ralaea nods seriously. Leave the promoting to Avrenne, got it. She does, however, seem to be deeply considering this token of appreciation thing. Perhaps over-considering. “I could… buy a boat and crew, sail to Kul Tiras, and look for something there,” she says. No, she isn’t kidding. “It’ll take me a while, I think, the funds, but if they won’t let the ship dock, I’ll just swim the rest of the way.”
Avrenne gives the idea a moment to be reconsidered once Ralaea has said it out loud. When it obviously isn't, it's time for intervention. "The relationship between Kul Tiras and the Alliance is already rather strained, and with the Tol Barad situation having progressed to where it is… you see, we have lost so many soldiers already with a situation rapidly escalating that they have been forced into another truce with the Horde, the very particular point on which Kul Tiras left the Alliance, after Theramore.
“Sailing there now under any banner at all would likely do far more harm to the relationship we must attempt to someday mend between ourselves and the islands, and that would distress Siamus, as would the potential loss of you, through conflict or exhaustion," she says, not unkindly. "Kul Tiras is very important to Siamus, but there is nothing there that you could bring him that would please him more than, well, you, as a part of Kul Tiras yourself. May I ask, has Siamus told you about how this House Fallon came to be?" Huh, how is that related to a possible gift gesture?
Ralaea is momentarily side-tracked by this. “I don’t think so,” she says. Now it is story time. Word magic at work.
"The line of the Fallons is a noble House in Kul Tiras, well established and significant. Siamus' father was the youngest son, and therefore would not have inherited any title, nor would have Siamus as his first born. After exemplary service to the Alliance, King Varian Wrynn offered to bestow upon Siamus' father a barony of Stormwind, and this would have elevated this younger son of the Fallons up into a title of his own. This, you see, is how a Kul Tiran noble swore oaths to the Kingdom of Stormwind, the creation of the Stormwind Fallons. By this very nature, this particular House is small, as they have no official claim of the relatives of Stormsong through this House of Stormwind, and are separated now by the lines of the Alliance.
"For a time, the entirety of the House was only Siamus and Sintha, two alone, until Siamus' marriage to me, where it gained not only a proper Lady Fallon, but also I came with my wards of the House. They are not in the line of succession, but they are part of the family. But mine are part of House Esprit, as my wards. Though he has an heir to the title of his House now in Ery as our House grows, there is nothing that prohibits Siamus and myself from taking on a legal ward of House Fallon, no matter even if that person has come into majority, but it would be a symbol of meaning, a gesture of what House Fallon means to that person." Avrenne pauses in her story time, for Ralaea to consider that.
Ralaea does consider it, and is silent for several moments, as the wheels slowly turn. “So you want to… surprise him when he comes home, with that?”
"It need not be a surprise, if you would like to write to him about it. But, I think that even if you were to wait and to speak to him about it when he comes home, that he would be extraordinarily pleased with such a surprise. He cares for you a great deal, and looks at you already in that light. It would be a formality, but there is meaning in the formality, in the gesture of a contract that would specify the rights of House Fallon to act in the capacity of your guardians," Avrenne says. "I would be more than pleased myself, if you would consider and agree to it. We would be most happy to have you as part of the family, officially, Ralaea."
Ralaea blinks. Oh. That was not where her wheels stopped, apparently. “M-me?” she asks, her voice nearly a whisper. “You… you want me to…?”
Avrenne smiles warmly. "Yes." She moves a hand over to where Ralaea has clutched the anchor pendant, to touch lightly against Ralaea's hand. "That is what this is a symbol of already. It is only down to your choice, of what you would wish, and you do not have to do so; it is nothing owed. You have a place here, Ralaea, and it is only up to you if you would rather it be in an emotional tie, or if you would like it to be official on a legal contract, inarguable and timeless. We cannot replace what was lost, but you can gain something new. If you became our ward, it would mean that no matter where you went, or what happened, you would have people, a family." It's a bit of an echo of what Ralaea spoke of for her blessing for Ery.
And the tears are back, only this time, Ralaea doesn’t hide them. “That’s…” She wipes a sleeve across her eyes, to little effect. “I th-thought we were just… going to go look for someone. That you… wanted my opinion on who might be… You’re doing it again, that… that word magic! How is that p-possibly a present for him when it’s what I want more than anything?”
There's an involuntary smile, the hum of a laugh at word magic, but then Avrenne's own eyes fill with tears. It's the pregnancy, okay? She's hormonal. It doesn't count. She gathers Ralaea against her, maybe to hide her own tears falling. "Oh, dearest. It is not written anywhere that a present cannot be wonderful for the giver as much as the one receiving it. In this case, it could only make him happy as a present if it is what you truly want. That is the nature of the gesture; it can only come from a place of wishing for it out of true feeling, not a sense of obligation or attempting to pay for something. Family is not about balancing a ledger, it is about unconditional support and being there, no matter what comes, through the calm and the storm." Her voice has a rough edge to it that she tries to clear.
“Through the calm and the storm…” Ralaea repeats, her face buried again, so her voice is a bit muffled. “Then if I… wrote and asked him to teach me his waves it would be… like there’s another meaning, too.”
It takes Avrenne a beat for her to hear it, maybe as she repeats it to herself in her head, before her laugh swirls out, her real one, as warm and inviting as a summer morning. She runs her hand along Ralaea's hair, nodding slightly. "Yes, there would be," she agrees. "He would be glad to hear it."
Though Ralaea’s expression is hidden, the tips of her ears — what can be seen through her hair, anyway — are bright red. She makes a faint noise of acknowledgment.
"Part of what he might teach you of those waves is more of the Kul Tiran faith of the Tidemother. It's an important cornerstone of Siamus, his guiding belief, and one I believe in as well. But you should know, it is not a requirement to follow it personally. Whatever your faith is in, it will be respected, as we would ask in return of ours," Avrenne says.
“I want to learn,” Ralaea says, perking up, and scrubbing at her face with her sleeves. “I do. My father learned faith in the Light from my mother, but sometimes he left to visit the ocean, and when we took trips, he’d always stare out at it with this look on his face, like… longing, I think.”
"I know the look," Avrenne says, reaching over to brush away some of the tears on Ralaea's face more gently. "Nothing could keep Siamus from the sea for long. It's in his blood, and in his nature. My own family has some tie to the sea as well. My mother's side had land on the northern coast of Lordaeron, and while I might not share the same strength of that tie, I do feel at home here." She pauses, considering. "Would you like to start that letter to Siamus to write to him about it? I intend to post my own tomorrow, and we could send them together."
“Oh, I… I need more time,” Ralaea says. “I was… thinking about asking Priscilla for help. I don’t…write that well, and waves and ways sound like they could be spelled similarly, so I was thinking if I learned to paint waves it’d be more clear.”
Avrenne does not say that Siamus will get the play on words without the visual cue, because she is a diplomat first and foremost. Also, it cute. "If you would like, I could assist you with the spelling part, the words and the lettering, and you could ask for help with the painting. Finley is here as well, and he has spent quite a lot of time with his instructor on learning how to capture landscapes," she offers. "But it would be best to at least write out the words as well. If you do not practice your letters, you will not be able to advance them along. These things do not improve on their own. We must put in the work."
“I’ve been practicing…” Ralaea says, and there is a slight sulk in her words. “I’ve been writing to Harvey.”
"It is very good to keep up the practice, and it's always admirable to be a consistent correspondent," Avrenne says diplomatically. "Have you been able to read the letters you have received?"
There is something in Ralaea’s expression, a flash of uncertainty that gives it away before she even opens her mouth. “He, um… I haven’t heard from him yet.”
"Oh." There's a strong note of disapproval in the simple syllable. "Well, then." She sighs. "Perhaps he has been away from reliable mail service," she allows. "If he does write back, I would be willing to assist you in reading them, though it would be best for you to attempt them yourself first. If you would rather not share the entirety, if you could write down the words you cannot read, I could decipher those for you, out of context. I know that the relationship is important to you." A pause, a strange tilt of nostalgia and grief weaving a slim thread through her voice. "And I know that Mr. Morningdew has a tendency towards the erudite language himself — formally educated that is."
“Big words,” Ralaea corrects. “He uses big words.” Apparently formally educated is still too much for her. “And thank you.”
"You're welcome. The same goes for any other correspondence you receive," Avrenne says. "Have you heard at all from your brother?"
At this question, her expression darkens again. “Why would I? He’s off saving the world.”
Avrenne's brows raise. "That most certainly does not excuse him from maintaining a reasonable exchange of correspondence. Siamus has a daunting number of tasks before him, and he still always manages to find some time to write letters."
“He’s not going to write,” Ralaea says firmly. “And I don’t even want him to.” The lie makes itself known in the way she looks away as she speaks it.
"Well, perhaps he only needs a reminder that he should. After all, if one is not accustomed to a certain routine of letter writing, it can take a few exchanges to establish it," Avrenne says.
“He won’t,” she insists. “He’s mad at me.”
"Siblings do clash at times, and get angry at one another, but I doubt it is in his nature to hold a grudge indefinitely." Avrenne does not address Ralaea's nature. She might be less sure about whether or not it's in Ralaea's. "I know he felt that it was time for him to return to his work, which is an admirable impulse. He knows firsthand how significant correspondence is. Without people like him, I would not be able to communicate with the Vice Admiral. There are no mailboxes aboard ships, after all. What is it that your brother is so angry about that he would not write to you in return?"
“Because… I tried to stop him.” Ralaea stares angrily at the wall. “And I’m not going to apologize for that.”
"You tried to stop him from returning to work? May I ask why?" Avrenne's voice has a careful tone to it; she isn't judging, yet. She is waiting for more information.
“Because he’s my brother, and there’s a giant dragon flying around incinerating people, and it almost killed me.”
Avrenne's hands twitch, and it takes her a moment to gather her thoughts, a steadying of enforced motherly calm. "I understand your perspective, Ralaea. It's not an easy thing to let go of a loved one enough to send them out into a world that is very obviously filled with danger. Any reasonable person would be worried, given what is happening. I will admit that I worry every time Finley goes into the city, given what happened." Even speaking of it has Avrenne's shoulders squaring off, her chin lifting, though her hand petting along Ralaea's hair continues its light, soothing path.
"But the world cannot come to a halt and wait for the danger to pass. It doesn't work that way. It's difficult to ask it of ourselves, to be willing to offer up those we love to the world to work towards a safer future, knowing that it might cost us everything we care for to achieve it. Do you know, my own House Esprit has a tradition spanning across generations, that we commit a second son to the military. We trade in military contracts, you see, and it was felt that the only way to ensure that we remain honest and true in our dealings is to make it personal. We take things differently when it is not a faceless soldier, but our sons, our fathers, our uncles, and so on. I know that I have paid more attention to the safety regulations of frequent couriers attached to the military since knowing Mr. Westwind. It's not easy to know he is out there, but what he is doing is extraordinarily important work, Ralaea. We cannot deny him his right to fight for the world he wants to see."
“But Bren’s never even… He hasn’t died, and I don’t know if he can come back,” Ralaea protests. “He’s the last of my blood, and I… I’ve paid for this world. I’ve paid so much. If I have to lose any more I… I don’t know. I can’t. I just… can’t.”
"I know," Avrenne says, pressing a motherly kiss to the top of Ralaea's head. "I know, dearest. I know what it is like to be the last few drops of one's blood family. Even a resurrectable soul is no guarantee, and it doesn't ever get easier, much as I wish I could say that it does. My choice is to remain where it is safest, to give that opportunity for a new generation, a family that is bought with the efforts of those willing to go out into the world, to face the dangers, and hold them at bay long enough. It does not mean that I want to ever pay those costs." Her voice creaks momentarily, and she forces it lower, more controlled.
"But someone must. Difficult as it is, much as the world might try to break us with the loss, we must accept that sometimes those we love and admire for their bravery and selflessness, will put themselves in danger's way, that the very things we love most about them might get them killed. You are no stranger to the front yourself, Ralaea, and it will be hard for both Siamus and myself to see you out there again, but we will not stop you from doing what you feel you need to do, whether that is out in the world, or here at home, helping keep the House as safe as it can be. For as much as we need those willing to leave to protect it, we need those who will stay and hold here," Avrenne says.
“He didn’t even ask me…” she says, her voice shaking. “He just left, and when I found him, he was already…” Okay, so she might not be talking about Bren anymore.
Avrenne considers it for a moment. She's a canny woman. "When who left, Ralaea?"
“Harvey…” Ralaea says. “And then he… died, and Bren is going to do it, too.”
"What happened to Mr. Morningdew was a terrible, deeply unfortunate tragedy," Avrenne says, and there is genuine feeling in the words, not a rote phrase. "But that does not mean it will happen to your brother. I know that it is difficult to stand the thought of another loss, but even if he were to remain here, that is no guarantee he will be safe. I lost — " A small hitch. "I lost both my brother and my sister at their homes, when the Scourge came to them. They should have been safe, but there is no real perfectly safe place. The world is only as safe as we make it. Your brother is a smart, appropriately cautious young man. He will make the best choices he can, and sometimes that is all that we can do."
“Yeah, he’s so cautious that he befriends death knights and got hurt because of it,” Ralaea mutters. Old wounds.
"He befriended death knights who hurt him?" Avrenne asks. This is definitely News.
“Because he tries to befriend death knights, when he encountered a Scourge death knight, he wasn’t prepared and got hurt,” Ralaea says. “That’s how his… leg thing happened.”
Avrenne sighs, her lips pressing together tightly for a moment. "That was an unwise choice. But, much as I wish he would be more cautious with the undead, he cannot be blamed for mistaking a Scourge death knight for a member of the Ebon Blade. As I understand it, there is no way to tell except by their actions. Still, I expect that it is not a mistake he will make twice. He's young, Ralaea." The way she says it makes it sound like he's like, thirty years younger than Avrenne, rather than the maybe ten years she's got on him. "We all must be allowed our mistakes at times. He's made intelligent choices about his healing, and his horse for his work."
“Fine,” Ralaea says. “He can go out and do dumb things, and I’ll just… I’ll go kill the dragon.” There, problem solved.
"Ralaea, Deathwing is a dragon aspect, not something that can be slain by a single person," Avrenne warns, a motherly scold. "If you want to be a part of the forces that will potentially remove him from the world, if such a thing can be done at all, that is one thing, and an admirable goal that many have. Charging out alone would accomplish nothing but becoming someone else's cautionary tale, and that is not acceptable. You are not expendable, and you cannot shoulder this burden alone of protecting Azeroth from this threat." She brushes back some of Ralaea's hair. "You know, you might think to speak to Siamus about how you feel on the matter. He didn't find it so easy a thing himself when Sintha decided to join the 7th Legion and leave the safety of home. For a long time, she was the only other part of his House."
“If someone’s working on it, I wish they’d do it faster…” Ralaea says. “I know, it’s… not that easy. But he left before I could even say, ‘by the way, don’t die to the stupid dragon.’ I’d protect him myself, only he wouldn’t let me do it. I'll… talk to the Lordship when he gets back. It doesn't really seem like a put-it-in-a-letter kind of conversation.”
"I think that is the right decision, and he would be glad to spend time with you when he is back ashore. Why would your brother not allow you to protect him, if you were to join him on his routes and work? I realize that it can be difficult for some siblings to work together, but you have quite a lot of combat experience yourself, as I understand it. If you were to mend — " For some reason, there's a touch of a pause, perhaps a reconsideration of a word choice. "The relationship from where it is now of anger, I don't think it would be an unreasonable compromise if you two were to work together. You have the advantage of working with Cobalt Company, and I know they receive a sizable difference in pay from most bounties thanks to their reputation for exceptional reliability. You could both benefit."
“He thinks that I think I’m better than him,” Ralaea says. “That only I get to be the hero, and that if I was there, I’d just do everything and take all the credit and he wouldn’t be able to help. We used to work together fine, but that was when… when it was all of us. Tabiana, Harvey, and us. In… Outland.”
"I do understand his perspective on the matter. It can be difficult for a younger sibling to want to step out of the shadow of an elder sibling who has accomplished more, and established their name already. If it would help to spread out the credit, such as it were, why not do so? With how dangerous some places are, there would be significant benefit if you did so." Avrenne hesitates. Is she really going to encourage Ralaea to spend more time with a death knight to potentially fix the relationship between the Westwinds? Sometimes, one has to make payments in installments in these things. "Why not ask Mr. Morningdew and Miss Lynds if they would be willing to work together with you and your brother once more? There is no harm in asking."
“I… I don’t even know where Harvey is,” Ralaea says. “I haven’t seen him since I came back from Northrend. For all I know, he’s still up there somewhere.”
"You could write to him as you have been, and if he does not respond, perhaps it is time to see if someone else knows where he is. Siamus has contacts with the Ebon Blade, after all, and they may know where Mr. Morningdew is," Avrenne says. She does not sound thrilled by the prospect, but it is a connection. "House Fallon has many resources to locate a person."
“I might ask Emerine,” Ralaea says. “She’s good at finding people. Maybe she can…I dunno… check on Bren while she’s at it.”
"I think that's an excellent plan," Avrenne encourages. "Emerine is very capable, and she will be able to give an accurate assessment of how much danger your brother is in, while you consider what you would like to do going forward. Now, shall we get started on the letter to Siamus, perhaps sitting at the desk?" Well, Ralaea can sit at the desk. Avrenne can sit on the cushiony bed, and get her pregnant self off the floor.
Ralaea nods and gets to her feet, then offers a hand to Avrenne to help her up. "What I would like to do going forward is still kill the dragon," she says. "But I guess I can wait until we can do it right."
Avrenne takes Ralaea's hand, and actually uses it to rise to a stand. She's not as elegant with the twins on board, and it shows. "For that, I will be speaking with the military advisors of the Alliance again soon, now that we know more about the situation of Tol Barad. They will know what the current status on the dragon aspect is, and what the military is deciding on for a course. I would expect that it is likely Cobalt Company will be contracted in as specialists, and you will have the opportunity to be part of it, if so. It's not easy to be patient, but these campaigns must be done properly, or we risk an unacceptable loss of life in rushing. We must be properly supplied, and with sound strategy." She smooths her dress over her belly. Speaking of which. "Where is your stationary?"