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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | It's the end of a long day for Siamus and Avrenne, and the couple unwind with a spot of herbal tea (jk it's fully caffeinated, a man doesn't need sleep he needs energy, he hasn't seen his wife for nearly two months) and [redacted] with [redacted] as they [redacted] with a [heavily redacted], and several considerations of lovers, politics, and lovers in politics. Romantic and Political RP, Classic Fallons. 13k words. Part FOUR of FOUR of A Second Brief Homecoming. |
| Rating: | A for Adults Only 18+ |
Chain: Siarenne
At 10pm
It's 10pm at Fallon House, now a mere ten hours before the Vice Admiral's brief visit home comes to an end, and the halls and rooms of the grand house have settled at last into a deeper quiet, the excitement of the day lulled into a deeper rest courtesy of not only a lush banquet of seafood by way of Lordaeron, but no fewer than fourteen separate, individual courses of chocolate themed desserts, which — to the shock of those who have seen her eating habits — the Duchess ate down to the last one she was served.
(What? She's growing twin boys! And she's mother to the World's Greatest Baby, who is still at the breast. She has also, admittedly, been building her chocolate tolerance levels up by leaps and bounds over the past year.)
The drinks were liberally dispensed, and if there were some somber touches to an otherwise day of glad news, a cause to celebrate and therefore reason to imbibe without restraint did not go untaken by many.
Most of the others, either not having the chocolate stamina of the Duchess, or having had enough to drink to feel the length of the day as long, retired to their rooms to collapse in various heaps on chairs and beds, or in one's case, a cozy enough position on the floor near her broken lamp that she really, really is definitely going to fix soon.
Avrenne has seen to her last business, as well as the removal of her Duchess raiment, her dress taken off, her jewelry put away, her bath taken, her hair dried and then brushed, and her robe put on. These all achieved, she has gone to Siamus' room, where there is no Siamus, still. After a few moments longer of waiting, and drawing down the bedclothes in preparation, Lady Fallon leaves off waiting to go find her husband, because she is capable of patience, but not on a day like this.
She does not have to go far to find her husband. He is standing in the hallway between his office door and his bedroom door, still dressed in his after-dinner Business Casual — no coat, waistcoat undone, cravat absent and collar loose — a sheaf of papers in each hand. He is frowning at the papers in his right hand. The papers in his left hand wait patiently.
Avrenne pulls up short in mild surprise, one hand still on Siamus' door, having not expected to find him so close, stuck in mid-transit of his usual route. She steps away from the doorway to move into his path towards him, the combination of the quiet pad of her feet and the near-silent sound of soft silk fabric of her robe providing little warning before there is suddenly the golden and white figure of his wife in front of him saying, "Siamus?"
Siamus startles, rattling the papers in both hands, and stares at Avrenne for a blank moment. Then his brain finishes climbing the stairs from Workland and the doors to reality admit him again. His expression warms at once. "Bhaile mo chroi."
It's followed almost immediately by a faint line of worry between his brows. "… Did I miss it?"
It is unclear what he might have missed, as Avrenne is standing directly in front of him, patiently.
Hey lady, whisper the documents in his left hand. Wait your turn.
Siamus either does not hear them or is ignoring them now.
Avrenne does not startle at Siamus', though her brows raise at the question, or possibly to the audacity of any paperwork that would dare attempt to claim precedence over the Duchess Esprit, Lady Fallon. It's likely though that she doesn't hear the paperwork at all.
"There is nothing left on the agenda," she informs him. "Officially." She smiles up at him, stepping in closer. "I thought to wait for you, but I found myself not able to hold the patience for even five minutes when I knew you were here somewhere, so I came to see what might have caught you, and if I might be of some use to free you from the shoals a little faster for my own benefit."
"Oh," says Siamus, and reconsiders the papers he's holding. What had caught him? Something inconsequential, now that Bedtime Wife is standing in front of him. "New tariff," he says vaguely, and arranges the papers together in a single stack (their tiny, papery shrieks of protest going unheard). "I beg your pardon, I didn't mean to keep ye waiting." He looks genuinely chagrined, and offers her his arm to escort her the three steps back to his bedroom.
She takes his arm for the simple joy of touching him there in the flesh, a warm hum of a laugh growing her smile up into a grin. "Oh, I can wait for business to conclude before any pleasure of your direct attention. I just would rather wait and have the pleasure of your company, than go without. Is it a new tariff to be concerned about? And a proposal of one, or one coming into effect?"
"Proposal," Siamus says. "Finster's. Bloody terrible idea. Current state of things, the only economy it'll boost is Booty Bay's, what wi'the explosion of piracy sure to follow. He's welcome to propose it again when we've a full navy at the ready. I'll speak with him tomo—" Oh, right. "I'll write to him when I'm back aboard."
He ushers Avrenne through the bedroom door, gentleman-like, and steps away from her to set the papers on the bureau. "Nothing left on the agenda, ye say?" he asks, and turns a Certain Smile on her.
"Officially," she repeats, continuing in through the room, and coming to a halt by the chair of his desk, turned in place to face him with a sweet smile. "There are still ten hours before Miss Coit's summoning, with some to be allocated for sleeping, and breaking of fasts, and the rest is unaccounted for into 'miscellaneous,' to do with as you wish, Vice Admiral." The hours aren't the only things for him to do with as he wishes, judging from her tone.
"A man can fit a great deal of miscellany into ten hours, if he uses the time well," Siamus observes gravely. "In fact, when he's been months asea, he might look forward to nine or ten hours' restful sleep in his own bed at home."
A man might, but that man is not Siamus Fallon.
He approaches Avrenne at the desk, undoing his shirt cuffs.
Avrenne looks up at him, reaching out to the buttons of his shirt, slipping them through their catches with nimble, swift touches, and then pausing to stroke a finger lightly with that way of hers that says he's something held closely precious and very much wanted. "He very well might. Shall I go ahead and schedule such a day for him? I do believe there's some time in February that could be put on the calendar as taken up by this remarkably restful day. Year 30, I do mean of course," she teases.
"I'm afraid I'm quite busy in Year 30," he says regretfully. "Ye may see about putting it back half a decade or so." He leaves Avrenne in charge of removing his shirt, and busies himself instead untying Avrenne's robe. (It does not take him very long.)
He is very good with knots. But in this case, it's definitely not in the realm of top 50 most complicated knots, that's for certain. A man might reasonably conclude by the bare minimum of the tie that it was there only by brief necessity to allow her to walk out his door without risk of revealing Siamus' favorite nightgown to see her in (none).
She laughs, the sound so readily lifting out of her that it might seem odd to recall the hours spent in Company where she never laughed even once, that so many people go in and out of Fallon House without ever hearing the sound. "I do love a man who looks so far forward," she says playfully, but also truthfully.
The opening of her robe exhibits Siamus' favorite of Avrenne's nightgowns, but also an additional little set that is new and noteworthy for its unexpected presence: a low hanging necklace of thin, gold chain with a circle of metal rests in the hollow between her collarbone, and from which there are loops of dozens of delicate chains that encircle and highlight the Lady Fallon's assets. Several links trail down the center of her chest, and then coil tantalizingly around and over her breasts, her nipples peaked between two strands almost pinching them, as the rest branch out along center and the sides of her belly in sweet curving triangles. It has some of the sense of an exotic twist of lingerie, a mermaid caught in a golden net, sparkling in her glory.
Siamus sucks in a sharp, startled breath; his gaze turns molten and he takes a step back, holding her robe wide, taking in the whole sight. "Ha'mercy on a man, mermaid," he tells her, rapt. "Look at ye. When did ye — where did ye get this?"
Avrenne smiles, pleased and the very start of a flush to her cheeks. "I started on it when you scheduled the journey out to sea, for when you came back, as I always do, for something on your return. I thought, perhaps something like the moon dress, and then I remembered my wedding dress with the chains for the 'net' and, well. Ms. Bethany had some ideas on how we might expand it into something between a dress and a necklace." It's certainly something like that. A very, very scandalous dress.
She raises her hands up to her breasts, cupping them, squeezing lightly as she looks down at them with the sort of pride like a farmer looking over a crop of larger than expected melons as her breasts strain against the confines of the chains. "It wasn't intended to be so tight when we took the measurements, but I've grown a little more since the initial fitting." A thought occurs in this statement. "Oh, I will have to remember next time Priscilla is here, to remeasure the both of us for Avrilla and Prenne," she says, that distracted tone in her voice as she makes the mental note for…sorry, who?
Siamus heard maybe 15% of that, because Avrenne is wearing that thing and doing the thing to her breasts and it is very loud in certain parts of his body right now. "Sorry," he says absently as he steps close again to help Avrenne with her breast exam. "Who?"
Avrenne loses an initial start of a sentence on a gasp as Siamus' hands make contact, the inhale of her chest straining the bounds of the chains a little more, that start of a pinch around her nipples. Still, he has asked a question, and she strives to answer it, her voice dropping a little lower, a little huskier. "Oh, it's an old joke of Priscilla and mine's. When we were younger, there came a point where it obvious that I was not to develop any further — well, so I thought — and that she was quite the opposite, and I made the observation that if one were to measure us both and find the mean of the curves, you would have two average sized girls, which I nicknamed 'Avrilla' and 'Prenne,' after us.
"It's been some time since I have done it, and with the alterations of mine and the possible changes of hers, I should redo it the next time she's here, and set some time and place for some privacy, and measure us both," she tells him, her fingers now articulating some of those pathways for measurement, tracing down the slope of her breasts and under, and then starting at the center of her nipple to a radius line, and a circumference. Avrenne, after all, is not a woman to make half-measures of a geometric shape by only taking a bust line and under-bust as a tailor might. "For accuracy."
Hold on, is she going to be doing that to Priscilla?
Siamus is still only listening with like 20% of his attention, because he is slowly trailing his own fingertips along the pathways demarcated by Avrenne as though it is a course he will have to chart from memory later. His hands come to a rest with his thumbs tracing light, warm circles around her nipples, and he looks up at her face. (She has a face.)
"Aye," he says softly, hoarsely. "You and Priscilla…." See? He's been following.
Wait, yes. He was following. But now he has caught up. His hands still. "You and Priscilla… sorry, ye what? Measuring? To average…?" There is a very slight, incredulous smile warming one side of his mouth.
"Mmhm." Avrenne watches his face, a yearning forward as he touches her, that tension building like a bow being strung by his hands on her. "It's been a tradition for, oh, it must be around a dozen years now. It's always been a bit of entertaining math of complex shapes, to take hers and mine and put them together then divide them into equal parts to construct the averaged models and measurements of Avrilla and Prenne."
There is only the slightest twitch of a muscle beneath Siamus's eye at put them together. He watches her face carefully, as if he is going to need to lip read to be sure she's saying what he thinks she's saying. "You and Priscilla… measure. Your tits. The both of ye. To… for the math. Naturally."
Her eyes flick from one of his to the other, searching for data to determine what impact this information is having on him, if she has ruined the mood of her present with revealing how odd and how far her mathematical proclivities stretch into her friendships. "I have a set of formulae I use for it, to account for all the cone and spherical qualities both. We don't possess the exact same shape both unbound," she explains, once again articulating this difference with her fingers, her wrists rolling as she loops a shape in the air that — given how far off her chest it is — must be the size and shape of Priscilla's breasts when they are free of constraints, something she apparently knows well enough to model it. "I give Avrilla my shape, and Prenne Priscilla's. Each gets the same amount of volume and surface area per model."
Siamus nods gravely and takes her wrist to move her hand in the air, a gentle suggestion that she re-indicate that shape of a moment ago. "And that would be the Lady Priscilla, then. I believe I recognized her." He turns that faintly smiling look back to hers. "I didn't know ye were so well acquainted in that fashion. I confess I am impressed at what the lady will turn her mathematical mind to. Have ye kept a graph?"
She drops her eyes to somewhere around his collar, and rather than re-articulate the shape, reaches out to finish the unbuttoning of his shirt and sliding her hands along his shoulders to remove it. "Yes. It starts in Year 22, of course, as I don't have the oldest records." For the usual reasons. "There have been a few times of adjustment needed. Until just this last year, always on Priscilla's side as hers grew larger, I was always the same within the smallest margins of increase or decrease. The last one of the points was not long after Ery's arrival. It's only a little bit of silliness, that's all."
Siamus frowns slightly, studying her downturned gaze, and when he has obligingly shed his shirt, he reaches up to catch one of her hands from his shoulder. He kisses her fingers. "First of all, there's nothing silly in the rigorous application of geometry, no matter how… unconventional the application. It's a delightful mind that will look at the whole world around her as a challenging or interesting or humorous use of mathematics. I smile because it is… humorous, a girlish entertainment between friends, but also because it's… hm." He tilts his head. How to put this?
"As ye may be aware," he says with gleam-eyed solemnity, "I am a great admirer of your tits. And not to speak too forwardly of a friend of yours, ye know I've noticed that Lady Priscilla also possesses… some exemplary tits. The idea of two very beautiful lady friends taking a private interest in the relative dimensions of one another's tits is… the sort of thing that might have overwhelmed the fevered nighttime imagination of a teenaged lad." He pauses. "Or occupied prime space in the more genteel nighttime imagination of a thirty-four-year-old gentleman officer."
"Mm." Avrenne turns her attention to the buttons of his trousers. There's no urgency to her actions, more the pace of someone picking up a task to have something to do, and reason to look down. "It's only because of the extremes, really. The 'hickory wooden board,' and the 'great tits' — they're little birds that Priscilla found an amusing joke. Both of us despairing as young girls, me that mine had stopped growing so soon, and Priscilla worrying that hers would never stop growing. Hence the joke of the enviable 'average girls.'
"It's not as lascivious as it sounds," she says, possibly mistakenly, depending on perspective and imagination. "Before, I had to detail the specifics of how to measure by letter with diagrams and explanations, and Priscilla was always unsure if she had done them correctly, not to mention that it was much more difficult for her to measure herself than it is for me to do my own myself. So with the complexity of the angles and curvature to account for, I do us both these days." That sure is a sentence. It also might be an image, to apply the movements Avrenne made with her fingers and realize that she has done the same to Priscilla.
Siamus makes a low, appreciative sound. It might be because Avrenne is unbuttoning his trousers, but he is gazing vaguely over her head now and it might be because he is picturing something else entirely. "No, I assure ye," he assures her, "it is entirely as lascivious as it sounds. In my head, anyway." He takes her by the hips and urges her back two steps until she bumps into the desk's edge, and then he lifts his hands to slide the robe from her completely. He fits his fingertips beneath the fine chain at her neck, and then runs them down along the delicate radiant strands. "You are a most lascivious lady, in my head, Your Grace." He smiles down at her wickedly. "But not just in my head, tides be praised."
There is enough startlement in her expression as she lifts her head at his movements, to suggest that she had, mistakenly, believed his ardor had been cooling at the revelation of her odder mathematical applications with a childhood friend. She braces her hands against the edge of the desk, looking up at him, like a woman who doing some rapid recalculations, having misplaced a decimal point or swapped x for y and now she must reorder things as he plays with the chains of her net.
"You like the thought of it," she tells him (he knows this, but it may occur to him that she did not take this fact for granted), with the tone of someone still reading the printout of her data from her formula and drawing her conclusion on the fly, but growing more sure of her hypothesis with each second. She lifts her hands from the desk back to her breasts, fingers now working in those particular lines that denote the necessary lines for geometric formula, watching his face for additional data points.
"You like the thought of me putting my hands on Priscilla's tits, like this, nothing but a thin chemise between my fingers and her skin, enough that I can feel the heat of her and she can feel mine, being oh so careful not to touch her nipple until just necessary, pressing my finger against it, the barrier of a measuring string between her and me, while I cup her just like this, circle her like so." The live demonstration certainly leaves little to the imagination but the size and presence of the other lady in question.
Siamus watches her hands, entranced. "Ye — I like — ah, tides, Avrenne." There is a strange, pained waver to his expression, like he'd meant briefly to close his eyes to get hold of himself, but it proved physically impossible for him to stop watching. Instead he presses closer against her, pinning her against the desk's edge. "Tell me," he demands. "Tell me how it is. D'ye like it, pet? Does she?"
He seems to have forgotten again that she has a face.
He misses the expression forming, but he can hear it in her voice, a sweetly wicked smile. "Mm. I've always been so careful with her, only gentle touches, a lady's touch, so she feels cared for, and she always smells so sweet and good up close. You know, I can't fit even half of a single one of her tits in my hand, I have to cup her in stages, and the weight of it is so different from my own, but the softness is so pleasantly familiar. There's only a little fabric between us, because any brassier or stays would alter the shape, so I've never had her skin to skin, never known anything more than these little touches." Is this where it will end then, just a little tease of reality? Now what would be the fun in that?
"But, if I were, this next time, to suggest that the chemise interferes with the measurements, distorts the data more than it should, and she might allow me to slip it off her shoulders, to take her bare, married woman to married woman, no longer bound by virginal restrictions. In fairness, I would do the same, let her see me as unclothed, offer that she can touch me while I touch her, feel the way I fill her hand, let her explore the differences in how our nipples feel. I know hers are larger than mine, I've felt them peak under my fingers, and now I would get to know the precise texture. It changes the shape of things, the slope just here, to have them so erect, and I would want them at their highest peak, so I might pinch them," she demonstrates this on herself with an involuntary jerk forward of her hips, "suck on them, pull them into my mouth one by one, blow on them until she's aching with it." For the sake of pure Science and Data, obviously. "I can't put my own mouth on mine, so I will let her do it for me, her mouth on me, her soft, sweet lips closing over me, unable to halt my cries when she does."
Siamus gives the soft, despairing laugh of a man embracing his own fate. "You're killing me, pet. Don't stop." He lifts her — carefully, a little awkwardly thanks to the twin! boys! — and sets her atop the desk, and then he bends to apply his own lips and tongue to her breasts, a willing stand-in for the phantom Priscilla.
She lives up to her predictions, unable to halt the way she cries out of sensitive skin touched in this way, one hand leaving a breast to hold onto his head. The instruction to continue has to compete with the growing mental distraction, and her voice grows into an increasingly breathless smoke. "I have only ever taken the measurements standing, but it's not the full picture of the shape of them. So this time, I draw her down to the floor with me, spread out her hair. It's so lush, her hair, like the rest of her, you can just bury a hand and see it lost in the thickness. Now with her down, I can trace the new shape of her tits, how they'll rest into globes, holding them in place, testing the way they fall together and apart with mine, exploring how different she is from me, and what's the same.
"But I know how it feels to be teased so," she tells him, a fact he's very well aware of, as the one doing just so now. "I couldn't bear to leave a friend in such need, and so I could tell her to lean back, let me pull up her chemise, bare the other part of her, set my hands to new unexplored ground, unfamiliar and yet still known. I wouldn't deny her anything I would want myself, setting my mouth on her, my tongue seeking out the taste of her. Stroking her. Licking her." Some of the plot is starting to grow thin, as Avrenne shifts her hips restlessly and rhythmically seeking out friction for herself. "Listening to her. Feeling her. Squirm against me." The telltale flush that she's growing increasingly close to her own pleasure peak may explain where her eloquence has started to fail.
With Fantasy Avrenne so occupied seeing to Fantasy Priscilla, a gentleman might consider if he would offer a third in this scenario, to see to his gracious, generous hostess of a wife.
Siamus shifts so that he can slip a hand between her legs; his fingers make a slow, teasing examination. "And d'ye like it?" he murmurs against her skin. "D'ye like doing that to her? The taste of her, wet and wanting? The sounds she makes?"
"Oh, yes," she says. "Oh, yes!" It's possibly a little unclear if she's speaking entirely in answer to his words or his actions, but given the state of her, wet and wanting herself, her cunt swollen and hot enough to fire a forge, one might surmise that it is both.
She makes quite a picture there, her head thrown back, eyes open, dilated, and fixed on some imaginary point where she can see this tableau before her. As if she can't quite get enough from imagination itself, she raises her hand up to her mouth, her index and middle finger sliding over her lips, slightly parted, her tongue caressing the edges of her fingers and her lips, her mouth moving as if she can feel Priscilla there, imagine what it would be like to bring her friend to climax. She slips her index finger into her mouth, rolling her tongue along it, sucking gently, a stand in for a different bud, her eyes fluttering in the thought of what she would be doing with the real version.
"I want to hear her. I want — " She's getting closer, grinding herself harder against his hand. "Siamus, please." It's nearly only a reflex, a phrase for being this close to the edge. "Please. Please. I want you there. I want you to take me. With me buried in her. You buried in me." The words are barely coherent, almost lost in the high pitched little gasps she's making, thrusting her hips harder as she seeks more for herself.
He slips fingers inside of her, his mouth back at her breast for a moment, but then abruptly he draws his hand away and shifts between her legs. The head of his cock presses against her entrance and then pushes within, and then with a sharp, sudden movement he buries himself all the way inside her.
He lifts his own hand to her mouth, replacing her fingers and the imagined taste of Priscilla there with his fingers and the actual taste of herself. "Go on," he encourages her roughly. "I have ye. I'll take ye. Go on with her."
Whatever finale Fantasy Avrenne does to Fantasy Priscilla is left only to the mind, as Avrenne suckles on Siamus' fingers, frantically moving against him, her legs wrapped around his waist to pull him as deeply into her as she can, her eyes on him now, dark and pleading as she whimpers, gasps, and then opens her mouth to cry out around his fingers his name, coming in a sudden cresting wave, flushing hotly under the gold of the chains.
The intensity of it leaving her slack in its wake, leaning forward into him.
Siamus wraps his arm around her, and with his other hand strokes her hair. He has not yet finished himself, but he holds his spent wife and listens to her breathe.
After a little time, he asks huskily, "D'ye like that, then? Thinking about it? We talked about it once, I recall, but ye weren't sure."
There's something bordering on shy to her now, a little curling up against him, keeping her head tucked against his shoulder, now that the clarity of some thoughts has returned. "I… well, I — " She halts, clears her throat. "I had the hypothetical consideration of a woman as a lover, and that a temperament such as Priscilla would suit," she agrees. "I hadn't really… expected to enjoy the thought so much myself, I meant that for… you." It did certainly start that way, before it went off on different rails for the narrator, enjoying the fantasy as much or even more than the intended audience. "It was something of a surprise to actually picture it and articulate it and — " Answer the question, Avrenne. There's a nervous sort of flutter of her hands as she sets them on his back. "Yes, I liked that thought. Of Priscilla. That way."
He puts his fingers in her hair, clasping her gently against his shoulder where she hides her face. "I promise ye it was for me as well," he says, amusement and a huskier note in his voice. "But I'm even better pleased that ye enjoyed it yourself." He turns his head — a somewhat awkward angle — to kiss hers at his shoulder, then draws his fingers through her hair and traces the line of her spine with his other hand. "Would ye like to do it truly, or is it just to think about?"
"I — I suppose I'm not entirely sure. I don't know what it might alter in our friendship if it were to happen, but it doesn't exactly seem like something only a fantasy," Avrenne tells his shoulder. "That is, of course, even assuming she would want, well." She sighs against him. "She's only ever really had eyes for Lord Bertrand since they met, and he for her. They're very wrapped up in each other, as they were before and now in their honeymoon newlywed manner, and even if that were to fade off a little in time, now that they can at last sate it, I truly don't know what their arrangement or agreement of their marriage is. It's very possible that neither allows for a lover, or it may be that they didn't specify at all, not thinking that they needed to, and therefore leaving an opening of potential when it's not so new. I would have to draw out some of that knowledge, and get some sense of her own personal preferences, to even consider a path forward in months and years forward, if I did pursue it at all," she concludes, that distracted tone entering her voice, the perpetual planner of courses and payoffs often years in the planning.
"Hmm," muses Siamus, as though he has not already considered this exact situation in (perhaps exhaustive) detail. "There's no reason we have to unwrap them from each other, aye? The both of them, and the both of us?"
"I did rather like the thought of you watching us, and then you there with us," Avrenne agrees (he knows, he was there). A considering pause follows. "I suppose it isn't off putting to think of Lord Bertrand there as well." Not necessarily appealing as another for her, from the sound of her voice. "Although I very much doubt either would have much interest in me in reality," she says, with the specification of herself implying that she assumes both would potentially have an interest in Siamus, "although from what I've observed of them, I don't know that they would have any interest in anyone other than the other. But, it's all moot if their marriage agreement is only to the other, and so I will need to know that first. Otherwise, it's only a little fantasy of a thought exercise." Which is what the doctor ordered — wait, no, she ordered actual exercise. Well, close enough.
Now Siamus draws back a little, attempting a look down at her face. "Why would neither be interested in you?" Fail to appreciate the hotness of the Ice Queen? Inconceivable. "And ye know that Bertrand has in the past declined my invitations. I couldn't tell ye whether it was because of his dedication to Lady Priscilla, or because he's no interest in men. So it's just as likely neither of them would care for me. But let's not tack for a wind we're not in yet; it's worth the finding out, I suppose, if the both of us are interested."
What little he can see of her face and expression has a wistful, half-pained smile that she banishes by pressing kisses to his shoulder, and rather than answering his question, she shifts her hips forward pointedly. It's been at least twenty seconds, Vice Admiral. Her recovery time is much shorter. "Mm." She lifts her head up once more, a sweet smile on her face now, as she adjusts the set of her arms over his shoulders. "Well, I cannot resist you any more than the sea can fight the pull of the moon into the tides. You had me from the first, impossible to deny the draw of you."
Siamus makes a soft, almost-pained noise at the movement of her hips; he is not yet on the twenty-minute clock for seconds, having not finished his first course. He smiles back down at her, dark-eyed. "Now, I would never have guessed it at the time. Ye seemed a lady quite impervious." He strokes her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "And let me tell ye what a delight to find that not the case, that first weekend ye came to us. A man does like to feel not all his charms are wasted."
"One can hardly expect a lady to resist the charm of a man asking about the details of her decisions regarding the benefits and drawbacks of high efficiency trebuchets," she teases, leaning up and forward for a kiss she cannot quite manage to get on her own without his gentlemanly assistance.
Siamus, a gentleman, is only too happy to assist.
Time Passes, Discreetly for Once
Siamus draws back from kissing his wife — not the same kiss, that was a while ago, keep up — and touches her cheek tenderly, a smile in his eyes. With a contented exhale, he shifts away from her to stretch out on his back, but catches one of her hands as he does so to lay it possessively on his chest.
Avrenne is only too happy to keep it there, her fingers moving lightly over his skin, a soft petting. From the way she rests now, one might suspect the Lady Fallon of having started to run out of steam, even with fourteen chocolate desserts fueling her, but only physically. The rest of her mind is still wheels turning again, having regained operators once more in the wake of their pleasure break.
"8am," she says quietly, tracing the number on his chest, a set of near perfect circles as if she contains a drafting compass in her fingers. "Back to the sea."
"Aye," he says, and fits his other hand beneath his head, gazing up at the ceiling. "Still some hours between then and now. And I won't be gone more than… a week or so, this time. Tides willing. And then it's — shore business and politics for a time, I suppose." He's quiet for a time and then says, "Whatever else comes up, I won't leave ye before the boys come, at any rate. I'll stay wi' ye from now through that. From next week through that," he amends.
Avrenne smiles at this, dotting his chest with little taps — it might strike him that they're in groups of seven, which means she may be adding up the coming weeks he will be home against her internal calendar of pregnancy weeks — and then halts. "Oh, that does remind me, with you being sure enough of remaining, I should write to Lord Graves to tell him of your plans to be here. He came to visit, as I mentioned, while you were at sea, hoping to see you. It was on the 19th past, and he got caught in the weather for some time, but it gave me an occasion to speak with him at length. I did what I could while I had the proverbial window of opportunity to encourage him to pursue an interest in you if he had one, and to be clear that would there were no impediments on my account if the thought had occurred to him, and he left with the expression of an earnest sentiment to be pleased to come back when you returned. I told him I would be sure to let him know when that would be." Don't worry, Siamus, a potential booty call will redial. And if it wasn't a booty call before, it might be now, with the application of a certain silver tongued siren.
Siamus lifts his head to peer at her, startled. "Graves — ah, right, ye mentioned as much in your letter. Damn, I had told the man he could call when he liked, I didn't mean to inconvenience ye by it. " He lets his head drop back. "As ever, you are the most gracious of ladies, considerate of wives." He pauses. "Did ye really… encourage him to pursue an interest?" There is a thread of laughter in his voice.
"Well, of course. You are interested in him," Avrenne says, as if this is the most natural conclusion. "Politically speaking, he's a beneficial connection, and while I don't suspect him of being the sort to make significant decisions on attachment to a lover, I expect that it would nonetheless help him feel more grounded in the Alliance." Yeah, grounded in the Alliance. Grounded in someone at least. Look, Avrenne is not above offering out a willing husband to entice political and social connections.
"He needed very little encouragement, I should say. We spent the greater part of the afternoon speaking of you, with him bringing up the subject, and he mentioned specifically in clear words that he liked you —twice — and he admired your forthright nature, how you were a pleasure to deal with. When I approached the topic of him considering marrying at all, he wasn't opposed, but he did say that pragmatically, it might be best for him to focus first on forming connections." U kno. Like, bachelor connections.
Siamus raises his eyebrows thoughtfully. "I'll confess it's more than the man's ever expressed to me. But I'm no siren, I suppose." He turns his head to regard her, heavy-lidded and smiling. "So ye believe it would be to the Alliance's good, then? I suppose it's my patriotic duty to continue to seduce the man. Though perhaps I should just let ye handle the whole of it, seeing as ye got more out of him than I've done."
Avrenne laughs, the way one does when someone's said something intentionally ridiculous, as if Siamus has suggested that Lukas might be interested in the selection of Avrenne's teacups. "Oh, I expect he's not looking forward to speaking with me again at all. He was very clear in saying how he does not care to play politics with diplomatic sorts, of which we both acknowledged that I most obviously am. He did stay for some time, but it was more…" She pauses, moving her hand lightly in the suggestion of a circle. "Chivalrous sympathy. I was in a state of wanting a distraction on the 19th, with the hurricane before, and your letter not yet arriving on the 20th, and I had little enough business that I could focus on instead. He was shrewd enough to realize that I found a welcome thought of you and politics, and so spent the time in such, indulging a lady at his own expense, and allowed me to busy myself in asking him questions.
"I think he made it clear enough that of the two of us, he would much rather deal with you than me in all regards, political and personal," she says, as if this is a sure thing, and not an opinion, that of course Lukas would not be interested in her in any way. "But unfortunately, I will need to try his patience with diplomatic talk again when he's next available."
"I seem to recollect he had some admiration for ye on your first meeting here," Siamus points out. "But go on, then, what trials will ye be putting the man to?" He pauses and adds judiciously — okay, maybe a little impishly — "And some men enjoy that sort of thing, being put through trials." (Thanks, Reniya, for keeping that near the forefront of Siamus's brain.)
"Admiration for me having turned out much like my father and a credit to my House, certainly nothing of a personal interest. Honestly, Siamus, he even made something of a point of it when he was here, to wonder why you would keep a portrait of me in the front foyer, for it's certain I am no painterly beauty that would be a usual choice, and he knows all too well how far I fall from the beautiful side of my family," Avrenne says, having interpreted the question of the portrait thusly. It doesn't sound as though it bothers her any more than compliments to her physical appearance please her.
"As for the trials I am about to put him through, I am certain he will not find any enjoyment in them. I had a visit at long last with Lady Kenelly, and I will not be supporting her efforts, having found that she has none of the necessary components and a great deal of contradictions in her math." Oh, yikes. Bad math. That sounds bad. "I'll have to discuss with him that we will need to seek other avenues for addressing the concerns that we have more directly, and therefore necessitating him to deal with me more often in political waters to begin with, as there will now be more work than anticipated."
Siamus frowns thoughtfully at the ceiling, tracing her fingers where they lie on his chest. "What sorts of concerns, and what sorts of avenues?"
"When I spoke to Lady Kenelly at Priscilla's wedding, it was specifically within the context of creating an organization of public relations for worgen, imminently and immediately needed. You may recall when Lord Graves was here to speak of it, he mentioned that Lady Kenelly had grown past this proposal, and into considering a multiple direction approach from the start, of which he expressed his doubt in being able to be effective, and I agreed. And, there was also already some concern about just how much non-worgen should be directly involved, with finding a balance between support and management.
"Lady Kenelly, rather than refocus, instead appears to have, in subsequent months on her own, decided to continue her momentum past as if all the issues had already been settled to satisfaction in regards to worgen in the Alliance, and instead appears to be structuring some sort of Gilnean focused worgen aid society, as if she has the connections and resources to provide such, where as far as I can see she has not even found her way to approaching other packs beyond her own, and with structures of non-worgen ruling over worgen, and considering invitations of leaders of this aid society such as the daughter of Darius Crowley, yes, that Crowley who led the Civil War. Honestly, Siamus, her proposal was such a disaster that even if she were to return with one at last of public relations, I am not certain it would be worth my time to consider it," Avrenne says, a high damnation from the Duchess.
"What it really means is that we have lost some valuable time in waiting for the construction, and there will be no soon to come launch of something that is ready to tackle the immediate concern of how worgen are to be regarded and treated within the Alliance. I am not willing to allow more time wasted while precedence gets set in action if not law, where in the absence of guidance permits bias to form and reign as accepted attitude among civilians and military both. So, my intention is to do it myself, of establishing the necessary components of a public relations initiative that will address the primary concerns, and then step back once I am certain they have the reins and proper direction. Lord Graves will need to be one of those who does pick them, and take up more work himself in the building of it."
Siamus winces at the ceiling at Avrenne's description of the problem. "Aye," he says. "Is she young, this Lady Kenelly? Bit of an idealist, if I recall from what Graves said?" He shakes his head slightly. "But, then, perhaps if you and Graves handle the public relations side of things, she can muddle along with her aid society until she's learned a bit from experience. Public relations is not the kind of thing ye want a young lady — a young Gilnean lady — learning from experience at this juncture. Better to have a master hand like yours on the wheel, aye?"
"She was meant to be young enough to have the energy and time to do the grueling groundwork of assembling such an organization that would need to be built, while young and flexible enough to know very well to take the advice of her elders, and defer to the traditional arrangement of these types of matters. Given what I saw of the way she intends to carry on, I will have to inform Lord Graves of her intended methods, for I expect they will not be to his liking as a man who is in such control of himself and has put so much of his own reputation on the line for his pack. She seemed to have some misguided notion that leadership should come from the middle of a pack, as if from the middle of a House, and that any coordination among pack leaders was to be likened to a rebellion against the king's authority, which leads me to believe she truly has no idea how a House of Nobles works," she says, her voice dry but unamused.
"It would have been my preference to have someone with much more time on her hands to do the work of gathering these connections of worgens, some of whom will require actual legwork, as they will have no set address or residence yet, which given my own condition, and restrictions for my health, I will rely on someone else, but it's my hope that Lord Graves will be willing to give the order out to some of his pack.
"The first orders of business must be to gather leadership that has formed of worgen, of as many packs as possible now, because each pack, as I have observed, will be operating essentially as another form of a House, and therefore with their own goals and traditions forming. They cannot be allowed to pull in different directions in how worgen are to be seen and treated within the Alliance, and they cannot be allowed to isolate. It's important to realize as well that worgen are not only Gilnean; there are worgen of several different origins. As you know, Captain Tyrrell is of Lordaeron and Stormwind, both, and doesn't intend to join a pack. Miss Natalyah Kensington-Whit, who has been cast out by her family here in Elywnn, had no pack yet as of her attendance to Pricilla's wedding," Avrenne says, not pausing for the consideration of that name as being significant.
"Though I have not found one to meet properly yet, I have heard of the worgen from Northrend, some of whom may be seeking to repatriate into the Alliance, and the worgen of Duskwood that may yet be returned to sentience, and of course, there are the kaldorei themselves who may have those worgen among them that are once more in control. A Gilnean worgen approach is too narrow in scope to encompass the reality.
"Once there are enough together of worgen who are attempting to act within the Alliance, they can speak of the specific difficulties they are facing and biases they have observed, allowing for a culmination of immediate concerns faced by the variety of worgen, to be assembled and presented to a person of authority capable of moving through legislative channels, such as yourself, who can speak with those such as Lord Demasco for legal specifics, and the House of Nobles can propose the necessary legal contract that protects both sides, worgen and the Alliance, to King Greymane and King Varian, ensuring that first efforts are given structure and fairness." Mm, structure and fairness through legal contracts. Fallon pillow talk.
"Mm," says Siamus, gazing at the ceiling vaguely, his brows knit. "I agree wi' ye as regards the pack leadership. I suppose the lass might fear that a cohort of pack leaders might seem like a potential opposition House of Nobles, in fact, setting itself up as independent of the Kingdom's House, which could lead to clashes in governance. Coming particularly from a nation that's just undergone — well, 'just' is relative, but just prior to the curse, at least, had just suffered a rebellion against their king. I can see Lady Kenelly's concern from that perspective, I suppose?
"But I agree that it's the leadership as ought to lead, particularly as there will be some measure of comfort to the displaced in familiar leadership, at least as representatives to Stormwind." He's silent a moment, still gazing upward with a faint frown. "I wonder if… no, they'd never countenance it."
"It's also that if a pack leader were to join, they would draw their pack with them into working together with other worgen, and that as far as I have seen, worgen within their pack defer to their leader on all major decisions, so no matter if a pack leader is officially in place or not, they will inevitably end back there, leading from behind the position, and it would better for efficiency and honesty to begin where the power truly is. There is no stopping the formation of the packs, it appears part of the nature of worgen that most will seek it out, and the intent of an organization such as this for fostering cooperation between them would be to construct alliances rather than allow each pack to grow isolated in a 'protect my own,' mentality, throwing other worgen under the carriage so to speak to achieve their own pack goals.
"Steering away from forming an independent governance of power and instead forming one of dialogue with the Alliance, with advisors and counselors of outside voices, was exactly why I directed her to speak with Captain Tyrrell for the way the WEB operates to gather up warlocks for a constructive and united purpose of ethical meetings of minds without becoming a toxic ground as the grouping of the Slaughtered Lamb before it, but it seems she took little away from his advice.
“As it is, I suspect Lady Kenelly's concern was hidden beneath something else, given her intent that a daughter of a rebellion would be on this 'worgen council' as a leader of it, though she is not a worgen herself. To add to this information, that Lady Kenelly said she had hoped that I would serve on this council of three, to have non-worgen leading over the worgen, and yet when I offered my opinion a moment later based on my observation, she said I could not possibly have any advice worth offering on worgen, as I was not one myself. But as I said, her math was lacking logic in the extreme," Avrenne says, moving her fingers along Siamus' chest as if to brush a speck of dust from him. "What would they not countenance?"
Siamus' mouth twists downward thoughtfully. "Ye've got myself and Morgauna on the House now, and we can speak for Lordaeron and — well, not that anyone wants to hear from Kul Tiras, or that Kul Tiras wants to be heard, as far as I can tell, but there's the pair of us to lend… perspective, aye? A broader view for humankind. But Morgauna and I qualified by the fluke that we managed to be Stormwind nobility, even as foreigners. Tyrrell would have been the same.
"But there were seven kingdoms, and Stormwind one of the only two still standing, and Kul Tiras isn't at present open to outside exchange. So Stormwind's become the de facto human nation, and voices from outside it are heard just now, wi' myself and Morgauna, but Kul Tiras and Lordaeron are only two of the other six kingdoms, and four go unspoken for.
"I'm more than willing to speak up for Gilneas where I can, as I did for the Ebons, but I can't promise I'll do them justice in all matters, if there are issues where the Gilnean perspective and mine diverge. But it doesn't seem… likely that Stormwind would be willing to open its House of Nobles to a voice from each of the other nations-in-exile."
He narrows his eyes at the ceiling. "I could propose an… advisory council, or the like, to represent all the other six kingdoms to the House or to the King, but I can't see it being any more than a sop to the dispossessed, because I can't imagine Stormwind making their recommendations or views in any way binding for consideration."
Avrenne smiles at him, watching his face with an open enough adoration that she might as well just say it out loud. "I think it's an exceptional thought, and a worthy one to pursue if you have the mind to do so, and I would argue that even a sop is better than silence, because one never knows how much the simple hearing from one voice of the dispossessed to someone with the power to act on it, where the speaker could not, could be all the difference, with or without the binding of anything but a person's honest conscience compelling them to act."
Siamus nods ruminatively, drumming his fingers on his chest. "I can float the idea among some of the others and see. It may be shot down immediately, but worth taking some initial soundings." A pause, and his fingers stop moving. "The other five kingdoms. I don't suppose Dalaran needs a voice so long as that woman has the King's ear."
"Nor should she be given the power of two votes by any means, and it may even be useful to have Dalaran with its own voice if they would at times disagree with her, though I doubt they would," she says with a streak of cold in her voice, and for a brief moment, too many reflections of firelight in her eyes before it is pushed away. "I would caution though, that a deliberate exclusion of their voice in the human kingdoms at this point, of where they stand in the Alliance already with one foot out the door from the doings of Archmage Aethas Sunreaver, encouraging the inclusion of the Horde and the establishment of Dalaran as 'neutral,' and we may very well push them entirely away from the Alliance, rather than firming up their commitment to this side in a war."
Siamus turns his face toward her, though his eyes remain focused on some distant Elsewhere. "Aye," he says at last. "Aye, ye have the right of it, then. Invite them to the table and remind them which side's theirs, remind them of their historic bonds before Sunreaver turned up."
After a moment, he focuses on her again. "Touching near the subject, in fact — that is, on historic loyalties and those who remember them — I've invited a lover to come and stay with us for a time."
"Oh?" Avrenne's brows both raise because she cannot raise only one.
He rolls onto his side to face her, propping his elbow to rest his head on his hand, setting his free hand lightly on her belly. "The Ebons I was dealing with, for the campaign to bring them into the Alliance — those Sunstrikes? Ye recall that Mrs. Sunstrike was an elf in life?"
The warmth that Avrenne has had vanishes in an instant, the smile gone behind a composed veil, but she seems to be waiting for additional information. "Yes, I recall."
Siamus nods. "She has a sister, a living one, called Aszera. She acted as a sort of… liaison between me and the pair of them in some of our Northrend dealings; that's how we met. She is not Horde. She's not Alliance either — yet — but she's supported her sister and brother-in-law in their work toward Alliance citizenship, and she joined the Argent Crusade and worked in a squad of Alliance paladins. Most of her friends are Alliance, including a number we know — Ralaea, Silvestre Silentstep, Ben Hazan, Colson Aspenwood and his husband — and I'm of the view that she's only a stiff breeze away from tipping over the line to us."
He moves his hand in idle, slow circles on her belly. "Her history is… unpleasant, but also what makes her valuable. She wasn't wi'the elves when Theron sold them to the Horde; she'd gone through the Dark Portal with the Sunstrider Prince before then." His hand stops moving; his expression is grave. "She was sent by the prince to Illidan, and became an Illidari."
His hand resumes moving. "At that point she realized the whole business was madness, and defected — went to Shattrath City and settled in with one of their neutral factions. She came back to Azeroth to help cleanse the Sunwell, from there went back to Silvermoon where her family'd had property, discovered it wasn't the place for her under Horde control, and left to join her sister in Northrend. That's where she joined the Argent Crusade. She fought wi'them in Naxxramas, and hunted frostwyrms in Icecrown. She is a formidable creature, and she's an open hand away from honoring the old pacts and joining us.
"As I say, she has a great many Alliance friends, and expressed some sorrow to me that she'd be alone when the war in Northrend ended and her Alliance friends went where she couldn't go wi'them. Her sister and brother-in-law mean to come to the Alliance, and they're her only kin. So I invited her here to the House to see what she'd gain as well. She is every bit the fighter that the Ebons are — she's been aboard killing naga with us these last few weeks — and I don't want to leave her isolated and thinking the Horde's the only door open to her. An Illidari.
"Mind ye," he says, "I'm aware there will be consequence. Lescovar will use anything against me. I mean to speak wi' Tennerow — Devon and Leric, in fact — about Leric's quel'dorei fiancee and her pact wi' them, how it's been received and how we might join efforts. There's the kaldorei view to factor in — I know that she and Miss Coit have talked of it, as Miss Coit's familiar to a lesser extent, as a warlock — and the Temple shamans in Outland. The… Ashtongues? But both of those groups are loyal to the Alliance, not to me personally; Aszera's loyalty at this point is personal in all regards — to me, to her kin, to her friends. And I mean to persuade her the Alliance is her proper place, and to see for the Alliance that her blades go to proper use."
He hesitates and makes a sour face. "There's been a bit of scandal around her already, though it was one of her Alliance friends trying to start up trouble wi' me because he thought I was treating her — and you — dishonorably. Lieutenant Hazan. I can't, to be honest, tell whether I smoothed it over wi'the lad or no. He's got a sore spot, a personal one, about adultery, and he took our relationship for that."
Avrenne listens with that attentiveness of hers, holding her questions until he comes to a stopping point. Her expression has that composure to it, calm and controlled. If she has any opinions on the matter, they aren't visible on her face. "I see," she says, eventually. "I will attempt to sing her the siren song of the Alliance then."
She has a slightly distracted tone to her voice, like she's thinking half-out loud to herself, as she adds, "I could speak with Lieutenant Hazan, and if necessary, Lord Ference, should his son pass on the information, if you would like. There may be other gossip that follows, if Miss Sunstrike is as forthcoming to her other friends here, such as Ralaea and Mr. Silentstep. Mr. Silentstep I don't know well enough to say what he may or may not say to another, or what his connections would be. The Aspenwoods I am not concerned with, as they do not deal in gossip. But, Ralaea will most certainly need coaching as quickly as possible, if you intend any discretion going forward, regardless of what Miss Sunstrike will or won't tell her directly."
Siamus nods seriously, a line between his brows. "Ye may be able to sound out Hazan better than I could; as I said, he believed he was defending your honor as well as Aszera's," he says. "And Silentstep knows it already. He was aboard wi' me in Northrend when Aszera and I first met and she began to visit. He should probably be asked for discretion. I've asked Miss Sunstrike herself, by the way, for discretion so long as she's here. I wouldn't like the children to find out and misunderstand."
"I see," she says again. "There will need to be some preparation then with Ralaea, now that she's fully of the House, and also Miss Lynds, to have her apprised of her understanding in regards to how House Fallon will have lovers, which I anticipate being a simple matter, and that I intended to begin when she moves in at the start of November, but the rest will have no issue of course. I made certain of that the day our marriage contract was signed, just as Priscilla has known from the start three days later. She's a very loyal person and protective of me. It would not have done to wait until a moment of crisis where she would think ill of you by misunderstanding when I could easily prevent it from ever occurring to her to doubt that you are always a man of your word and honor.
"Isla, like Ralaea, can be sometimes over forthcoming with information, but in this she has been coached extensively to be prepared for any indication of a lover of yours, whether open or not. She knows not to mention things in certain ways. Otto understands that there are certain topics that he is not to discuss, in as simple a way as that. Finley, of course, knows his duty that if he hears gossip of you taking a lover or having them, to smooth it out as best he can with discretion to point to you being a loyal man without ever setting up that you would not take a lover or imply monogamy, and all he does is await information from myself for direction of acknowledgment publicly of any lover."
She's a planner, Siamus. Control of reputation and political maneuvering is a game she plays long, when she's playing it.
Siamus lifts his head off his hand to consider Avrenne, his brows tilted upward. "The children… know it already? I was sure Finley and Isla would be unhappy, wi' Finley's loyalties and Isla's… notions. I'd no idea they already…." He looks perplexed.
"You said it from the first, 'I will have lovers.' Of course I prepared them for that eventuality, immediately, to give myself the best advantage of having it before I needed it, of being certain to present them with the best reasonable perspective." By this she means, uh, her own. "It gave me time to properly persuade Finley, and time to coach Isla in full. Daisy was…well." She halts that thought, a moment of tightening around her lips before she sighs and continues. "Irrelevant now. Otto has no guile and will often repeat what he has heard as truth, but he understands firm rules, and I went through every scenario and variation of phrasing as I could." However long that took.
"I have always been prepared for the possibility of it emerging into public knowledge that you have lovers, as I said to Captain Tyrrell when he worried over the portraits of what it would mean, where I had begun the strategy of it should he be outed as such the moment I understood that he was your lover, and especially after taking him as mine."
Avrenne settles her hands together in a fold over her belly. "Contingencies have been put into place, and expectations among certain figures have been ensured as best as possible, with very careful wording of speaking of our marriage, to never have it ever implied that it is closed. As I said before, with Lord Graves, when I was speaking with him of you, I made certain that he was clear, as someone new to the Alliance and your acquaintance, that he could trust you entirely as you have represented yourself as a man of honor, and I could vouch completely that you would never operate outside of the strict bounds of our marriage contract as negotiated, and thus any offering you have made to him is with the fullest respect and loyalty to me and our agreement. I will do the same with Lieutenant Hazan, and others as necessary. I have only lacked specifics if there have been other lovers, or knowing your intent for when you will bring it into public view."
Siamus curls upright — abs, gosh — and gazes down at Avrenne, the angle of his brows now reversed as he does some mental calculations. "Prepared them. Contingencies —" He rubs the backs of his fingers absently, meditatively across his jawline, frowning. "Ye've… lacked specifics?" He considers her for a moment, faintly puzzled, and then looks up to consider a point across the room, the line on his forehead deeper. "Would ye want — that is, I'm used to… managing this sort of thing for myself, aye? And didn't think to… trouble ye with it." He looks down at her again, his dark gaze searching. "Should I give ye specifics? For… contingencies?"
Avrenne's gaze back is steady. "Lovers are like any other association you have, they will always have an impact on you in positive and negative ways politically, some because they are lovers rather than any other form of friendship or companionship. There is always the possibility of a lover springing the information on me in a public place, as, after all, every lover you take will always know of me, one way or another. The information I have from you of your decisions regarding your associations of sort will always be of benefit to how well I can support it, and so I can be sure to guide the ships of public opinion in the course you want. I don't ever want to be guiding in a direction that seems contrary to your own. We are a team of ships at all times, and I will never act against your direction once you have set the heading, and your course is my course.
"If you prefer to manage it yourself, I will not interfere, as I have not, and I will support you with whatever decisions you make when I become aware of them. I told you, take whatever lovers you wish, Siamus. I trust in your judgement and discernment for who and how you will manage them, and I will be at your side no matter the consequences or costs of any lover, to be sure to right any ship that has strayed on the shoals of scandal."
She pauses and continues, "And as I offered, if you want my opinion on any of bed you may want to avoid or pursue deliberately for political reasons, I am willing as always to offer my advice accordingly, as like with Lord Graves. If you do not want my opinion, that has no bearing on whether or not I will still aid and support you in the decision you have made. It's true that I am at my most effective when I can offer the advice before it happens, rather than after, to close off any potential undesirable routes into unnecessary icebergs and hurricanes before you set sail, but if all you use me for is for repairs back at the Harbor, I am always ready to act in that capacity."
Siamus continues to regard her. His gaze is steady, but something in his manner suggests that on the inside he might be doing the math_lady.gif.
At last he nods slowly. "I bargained for a siren, aye?" he says. "Not a carpenter. I'd only —" He pauses again, looking troubled. "I prize your trust in me, Avrenne. I wouldn't… like it to seem I don't trust you. I married ye for your canny mind. I suppose I'm just… too used to plotting my own courses. And I'd no idea of the… contingencies and things ye'd already laid, so far out." He reaches down to draw his fingers through her hair. "I will… have ye look over my charts before I set out, in the future." He smiles at her faintly, his eyes still troubled and searching.
"Prepared them," he says again. "I'd no — I didn't know it. I'd only thought to… protect them. And here y'are building walls around the harbor long before the storm."
"Not all of them," Avrenne says. "I will speak with Ralaea tomorrow." She reaches up to unclasp the necklace set, drawing the chains of them off her to set them on the nightstand. "And I will schedule a meeting with Lieutenant Hazan for his earliest convenience, to be certain that connection is preserved, as it's a very worthy one. I have had from upon meeting him as well as his reputation the impression that he is a respectful, thoughtful, and honorable young man, and I think once he has reassured his conscience entirely that no one has been harmed, hearing it from my own perspective at least, assuming Miss Sunstrike gave him hers, that he will be satisfied."
She settles back into place. "When do you intend for Miss Sunstrike to arrive?"
Siamus shakes his head. "I'd not given her a date yet. I told her I'd advise her when was acceptable. She's been aboard the Blanche, as I said, but she won't be returning with her next week; she's gone by now back to Shattrath already." He traces her collarbone with light, idle fingertips. "And Aszera did speak with Hazan about it. He ought to know she doesn't count herself harmed."
"I see. What date you are considering, then?" The faint rustling sound is just Avrenne opening her entire mental calendar, mental pencil at the ready.
"Toward the end of the month," Siamus says. "I'll be home next week, and will want a fortnight or so without distractions, to settle properly back into my affairs here, and you and Ery and the children and so on. And I want to look into this business wi' Dinnsfield, and that would be best served wi' minimal other political distractions. There's naval business to talk over as well, wi' the new vacancies…."
He rubs his jaw again idly and gazes into space. "The end of the month or beginning of next. Miss Lynds comes on the 1st of November? Perhaps best to wait Aszera until after that. I'll arrange to speak wi' the Tennerows before then, to be sure we're steering the same course."
"There is also for consideration that I will be having Lord Graves to the house to speak on the worgen issue, and I must move rather quickly on that, as so much time has already been lost," Avrenne says. "I expect that if he must be forced to deal with me so extensively for the political aspect, that he might dread it far less if he knows he has the balm of your company to look forward to afterwards." It seems, by the tone of her voice, equally given as Of Course that Lukas will not want Avrenne's company, and also succumb to Siamus' seductions. This is Avrenne Math. "It's likely he will still be visiting through the next few weeks until next month, so I will need to learn of his particular concerns ahead of time involving the various aspects of Miss Sunstrike to avoid any surprises there, unless you have heard him speak of them yourself, of course.
"And, for scheduling of yourself personally, if you would want Miss Sunstrike here at all while Lord Graves will be, to consider if you would need to arrange the balance of that for your satisfaction and your… health," is the word she eventually settles on there for finding out if you can die by having too many lovers, "although I will say that if Lord Graves is favorable towards Miss Sunstrike, and she him, and agreeable to the idea, you might find some efficiency in the pairing of them together with yourself." Efficiency Threesomes! What can't the woman put into the Efficiency Meter.
"And there is the consideration of Mr. Hatrim, and when you would prefer for him to stay, and for how long, so that you may enjoy each other's company and speak of boats," Avrenne adds. Throw him on the pile, she guesses. How many guests and lovers is Siamus balancing this time ashore, exactly?
Siamus's eyebrows have been gradually creeping upward. When Avrenne is finished, he is silent for a time, and then he says dryly, "Tides ha'mercy on me, I may have… over-scheduled myself."
He shakes his head. "There's no reason to think Graves or Hartrim will come to anything" — so to speak — "and I promise ye also that despite my behavior toward my lady wife, I am capable of self-restraint." Sometimes. Maybe. "Hartrim's tangential to the Dinnsfield matter, so if he wants to visit in a time that overlaps wi' that, it might be useful to have him here for questions and whatnot."
Siamus pauses, possibly to contemplate the prospect of Reniya usefully answering questions.
"Graves ye have political business with and it's of the essence, so no sense delaying him at all, we must have him out to do the work. With Hartrim, I chiefly do want to see the man's boat — that is, his vessel — his craft —" Siamus stops himself. "I'm trying to sort how to say that so as not to sound a euphemism. I want to see his nautical means of transport. Tides take me, that sounds worse somehow." He drags a hand through his hair. "And possibly talk Dinnsfield business. Anything else…." He shrugs. "So Graves, Hartrim. Miss Lynds the beginning of November, Aszera thereafter. — I am not putting Miss Lynds on that list to any purpose, ye note, only for the scheduling of new people in the house."
Avrenne almost misses the necessary notes for who to schedule when and how because she starts laughing at the second attempt at a euphemism and it only gets louder as Siamus tries to avoid the euphemism, and she's almost wheezing at nautical means of transport, shaking with the laughter with her head thrown back, the sound pouring out of her like a ribbon reaching out to wrap him up and laugh with her.
She can't even make a sound for the general agreeing, as she tries to catch her laugh back. In protest, the Twin Boys™️ roar up to life, kicking with a fierceness of either wanting to join the celebration or doing the fetal equivalent of a downstairs neighbor hitting a broom on the ceiling to tell those raucous kids to knock it off up there.
Siamus sits grinning at her, pleased and abashed; his look is abruptly reminiscent of a gawky schoolboy who just tripped and took a pratfall in front of the whole cafeteria, and then looked up to see the Cute Girl smiling at him.
"It wasn't," he insists. "A euphemism." But he's laughing through the words now too.
As Elliot and Eamon — or Eamon and Elliot — begin their protest march around their mother's innards, Siamus turns a stern look downward, and lays a hand on her belly again. "Oi, ye pair o' swabbies. In order for the lady or I'll see ye mast-headed."
Avrenne runs a hand over her belly, trying to once again, uselessly, soothe them from the outside. The Twin Boys either think that being mast-headed sounds like great fun, or now they're doing the sibling equivalent of, yeah, you stop, no, YOU stop, NO, YOU. Or maybe they're just kicking around because there was a minor earthquake as far as they were concerned and their legs are baby twitchy, who can say.
"It wasn't a euphemism, yet," Avrenne teases him, wiping at the edges of her eyes. "You can be sure I will be hearing it like that now. I can just see it: at least three events, with Not A Single Word where you cannot say boat, vessel, and then c-craft." She almost doesn't make it through the third one, a giggle squirming its way to the surface. "Speaking to Duchess Aspenwood and having to keep a straight face while you refer to Captain Taylor's 'Nautical Means of Transport.'"
Siamus effects a pained look, but he's teetering too close to the threshold of laughter to make it convincing. "Ah, ye wouldn't, my star. At a naval banquet or the like, can ye imagine?"
(He is definitely imagining. He is definitely just Putting That Idea Out There for hilarity's sake. It's not as though half the navy doesn't already think he's batshit.)
She laughs again, a helpless sort of guffaw that only grows and sounds more like a cackle, utterly unsuitable for the cold mannered Duchess who never laughs outright in public. No, she's a Very Serious Duchess.
She'll stop laughing any moment now.
Any moment.