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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | Shine comes by Lena's sitting room to bring the promised glossary and diagram, and the two settle in for a rainy afternoon conversation over coffee and cookies. ~9800 words |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
A few days after her first sailing lesson, Lena's life begins to settle back into normalcy - or at least the usual for Fallon House. Though she often joins the household at mealtimes, Lena spends much of her time either quietly studying in her suite or seeing to Penelope in the stables. It hasn't been a good few days for riding or sailing, though, as the overcast morning she and Shine spent together has developed into what looks to be a week of intermittent storming. Mild enough not to be a concern for the house, but rough enough to curtail the activities of beginners at sailing.
Today, she's at her usual occupation, studying in her sitting room, which has acquired a possibly troubling number of books on the fel - theory and practice. She lies on her stomach across the bench in front of the window, listening to the soft, regular sound of water on glass. A book rests open in front of her, which she is staring down on with intense focus, her head propped on her hands. She hasn't turned the page in a while, but then, she is not a fast reader.
There is a quiet double knock at the door, almost too quiet to be heard above the sound of the rain-patter on the glass.
Lena glances up, pausing for a moment in uncertainty as to whether she'd heard anything at all. Then she pulls a ribbon out of her hair, leaving it to fall loose, and places the ribbon in the center of her book, closing it softly. She pads over to the door on bare feet, straightening the skirt of her casual green dress, and opens the door to see if someone is there.
Costentyn Shine is there, leaning on the doorframe, casual in a rolled-sleeves shirt and work trousers and boots. He straightens immediately when he sees Lena, and the brief, sweeping look with which he takes in her casual barefoot state and loose hair is obvious, though his expression remains bland.
He offers out a folded sheaf of papers. "The diagram," he says. "And your glossary. Sorry for the delay. Fallon's had me running."
"I wouldn't have expected it immediate," Lena says with a smile, reaching out to take the papers. "Lot of writing, and I know it's hard to consider what a person might not know, when it's all things you know like your own name."
Lena takes half a step back into the sitting room. "Come in? I've got tea… if it's not cold by now." She glances at the coffee table, where an abandoned tea service rests, with no snacks. She might have had that brought in before she started reading.
Shine looks past her to the tea service, and then at Lena again. "I won't be intruding?"
"No, not at all," Lena says, looking down at the papers. "I was just reading and… well, I suppose now I've more to read later. But it's just been a quiet day." She turns slightly towards the tea and says apologetically, "I'd warm it, like Her Grace does, but it might affect the flavor."
Shine laughs. "A little cold tea never did anyone harm. I've drunk worse things. I can send for fresh if ye want, though. A gray afternoon for it."
"Oh, sure, if… well, if they'd not be affronted I'd not fully drunk the last set," Lena says, biting her lip. "I got a bit distracted, I suppose. Or we could ask for coffee. Or whiskey, if you'd rather."
He smiles at her and folds his arms to lean in the doorframe again. "They will not be affronted ye didn't drink all the tea. I promise I can't think there's much ye could do would affront the staff in this house after what they're used to. Sending for a fresh pot of tea is five minutes' job for Cook she doesn't even have to pay attention to, and a minute's walk for Catrin. And you don't leave teacups on the stairs."
He raises his eyebrow. "… would you mind coffee, though?"
Lena flutters one hand dismissively. "Tea, coffee, either is fine for me. Let's say coffee, then. It's a day could use a warm drink, is all."
Shine flashes her a smile and straightens again. "I'll be right back."
He turns away, puts his hands in his pockets, and heads down the hall — in the direction of the servants' stair.
Lena leaves the door open, and moves to take the book she was reading and return it to the shelf, the green ribbon falling over the spine to mark its place. To one who noticed, it is a tome of demonology, a relatively new book documenting the various types encountered in Azeroth and Outland.
Lena steps back over to sit gently on the couch by the coffee table, cycling through the new sheaf of papers with their sailing terms while she waits for Shine's return.
It isn't long before he returns — and once again there will apparently be no wait for Catrin, as he is again carrying a coffee service. And some almond-flour cookies. He hesitates on the threshold as if contemplating knocking again despite the open door, and then does not knock but comes in casually and sets the tray down on the coffee table.
Lena sets the papers aside and turns to Shine, her eyes brightening as she notes the cookies. "Oh, they'd more of those in the kitchen? I think they might be my favorite." Surely Shine had not deduced that fact for himself by now.
He looks up at her. "Oh, aye? I hadn't guessed."
He steps back and gestures at the tray; ladies first. "And what have ye been reading, then? If I may ask."
"Oh, demons," Lena says casually, pouring herself a mug of coffee, and then Shine. "Not that I'm keen to learn to tie myself to any more of them, mind. I ordinarily make more a study of curses and energy flow and the like. It was just an idle musing, since the ship, to think if I might note which sort has influence on Aszera. I'm not certain it would show exactly."
"The girl who sets herself on fire, aye? How does it work, with her? Not the — setting on fire bit, specifically. She's not a warlock. A demon has… influence on her?" Shine takes his mug of coffee, watching Lena attentively.
"Mm, that's the one," Lena nods, taking a sip of coffee. "Spent a fair amount of time around her, the last few weeks on the Lady Blanche and below. Demonic influence, yes, you could say. Hell of a fighter, but not a warlock. More of a front-line sort, though I never saw much of anything I'd peg as obviously demonic. Might've been intentional, like sometimes I don't fight to the best of my abilities, if I think folk will balk at it. I know she's got some self-control - I warned her about the fire like you suggested, and she didn't use it. Still, she seemed to think she was enough demon I might be able to handle her, which is a disconcerting thought."
Shine pauses with the coffee mug partway to his lips and lowers it. "'Handle' her? As in — ?"
"Like I do with demons," Lena says, grabbing a cookie. This is, apparently, not disturbing conversational content for her. "I'm not sure if I could, she doesn't feel like a demon to me. But still, it was an idea she brought up, which makes a person think."
Shine nods slowly. He has a sip of his coffee. "And have ye figured anything? As to what she might… be?"
Lena shakes her head. "It's all general characteristics of the demon populations. Which I could make guesses, but I've no idea what she was like before, so that's all it'd be."
"And what are they like? The… characteristics of the demon populations? To be curious. We haven't got warlocks in Kul Tiras, nor did the Legion come to us. And we weren't at Hyjal, because it is inconveniently a mountain. They've got demons in Tol Barad, but that's the Baradin Guards' affair." Shine wanders toward the bookshelf.
"I wasn't at the battle on Hyjal or Tol Barad, though I saw some of the outcome of the former. Most I've seen of the Legion is Outland and my own studies, plus books," Lena doesn't rise to follow him, but she makes no move to stop him from taking the marked book. "The one I summon the most is called a felhunter. Their natural tendency is to sniff out magic users, then drain them dry of magic and life both. Lot of mages are scared of them, for good reason. They're driven, but not got much personality. Can't talk. I see that as a bonus."
Shine glances up from the book and smiles at her. He has another sip of coffee and then sets the mug on the shelf. He holds the book up to show Lena. "May I look?"
"Sure," Lena says, finally rising to walk over to him. "It's none of it secret. Or at least I wouldn't keep it secret to you. Lot of the other sorts talk, which is how they try to trick you. Sayaads are slippery, for instance, good at manipulating folk."
He glances down at her and gives her another, faintly quizzical smile at that I wouldn't keep it secret to you, and opens the book to the marked place. He draws the green ribbon out carefully, sliding it down the pages, and holds it in one hand, weaving it between his tattooed fingers absently as he peruses the page with a knit brow.
The page shows a female demon with six arms, each holding a blade. Lena steps up behind him and supplies, "Shivarra. I've not have much contact with those, but they're supposedly deadly and charismatic and genuinely loyal. To the Legion, at least."
"Charismatic?" Shine asks dubiously. "That? With all the arms?" He squints at the image. "Perhaps it's the eye I'm missing," he says dryly.
Lena laughs. "I'll confess I'm not unhappy to hear demons don't look so compelling to you. Usually it's not the looks, though. Except Sayaads, who have kind of illusion and mind-altering magic. Still, even if a creature looks monstrous, it can whisper in your ear things you want to hear, or exactly the things you don't want to hear. Find the cracks in you and get a wedge in."
Shine winces. "Siren song. Aye. Not exclusive to demons, I shouldn't think. Though I'm not the demons expert here." He glances at Lena with a faint, amused smile. He's still weaving the green ribbon idly through his fingers. He genuinely doesn't seem aware he's doing it.
"Not exclusive to demons, no, but I'd not think well of one who made a practice of it for cruel ends," Lena says, stepping closer to place her hand on the book. "In that way, she did not seem demonic to me. Unless she's playing a much subtler game than I wager." Then she pauses, and adds, "I do suppose I'm about as much an expert as anyone by now. Warlocking is a young practice in the Alliance, and I came into it only about three years ago myself."
"I'd not think well of one who made a practice of anything for cruel ends, frankly," says Shine, who regularly cuts people's throats with cool efficiency. But IDK, maybe that's just efficient.
He watches her hand on the page for a moment and then looks up. "Since Hyjal, aye? Warlocking? How did you come to it?"
"Since…" Lena pauses, pulling her hand away and turning slightly to glance at the rain through the window. "The Alliance has had warlocks since Hyjal, yes. I came into it a few years after." She takes a sip of her coffee, but doesn't turn back to Shine. "It's not the prettiest story, I'd warn, but if you're interested. Or I can give you the shorter version, if you'd rather something cleaner."
Shine lowers the book, watching her profile. After a moment, he closes the book and sets it back on the shelf. He forgets to put the ribbon back into it. "I told ye," he says quietly. "I'm not much for storybooks and star-eyed maidens."
"The story involves… a man," Lena says, moving back over towards the couch but not sitting yet. "Maybe before I start I ought to mention he's dead now, most like. Just in case of any… I don't know. Anger, or jealousy, or what have you."
"From me?" Shine sounds faintly surprised. He moves toward Lena rather than away, to stand beside her. "Ye needn't worry about me. Tell me."
Lena turns to him with a slight smile, and says, "Well, then."
She settles down on the couch and grabs a fortifying cookie. "As we said, the Alliance started with warlocks after Hyjal. That's where my story starts, I reckon. My profession at the time was… not one a girl could do forever, as you know. Not much to move onto from there, and I was accustomed to relying on men for my livelihood. So. I found an exit strategy, a warlock. Charming guy, reasonably well-to-do, knew I was a whore so I didn't think that'd be a problem."
Shine remains standing, watching her with his head slightly turned, plainly focusing on her with his lone eye. He still doesn't seem to have noticed that he has the green ribbon laced between his fingers.
"That's how I came to leave Theramore, finally," Lena says, and pauses for a little almond cookie. "By portal, with the warlock. Went back to his place, fancy house in Elwynn countryside - not so fancy as this one, of course. Things were good at first, idea was we'd marry eventually. But little things crept up. He didn't like me going into Stormwind City, didn't like me talking to other people."
Shine folds his arms, his brow drawn down. "Didn't like you — ah. I believe I've… met the sort."
Lena smiles ruefully. "Not a terribly uncommon sort, I don't think. And anyway, he had the logic to back it up. I flirted with folk without meaning to. I didn't see how folk looked at me. Did I really know how to be a faithful partner? Sometimes I believed him."
Shine's frown is deepening. He doesn't look angry, exactly, but there is a still, calm cold settling over him.
"Anyway, I used to read a lot, while he was off elsewhere, and that's when I started to learn a bit about warlocking," Lena says, looking away from Shine. "There weren't so many books back in those days, but K… he kept some of them in his library, so. It was just boredom at first, really. Can't say exactly why I hid it from him, that I was reading up on it. Instinct, maybe."
Shine nods. "Sound instinct, I'm guessing."
"Seemed to be, given what happened next," Lena says with a shrug, settling back into the cushion of the couch. It takes a little while for her to continue the story. She eats her cookie. She pours more coffee. When she speaks again, her voice sounds strangely detached, and she doesn't look at Shine. "At first, when I got pregnant, things were better. Finally getting wedding plans and all that. But then, somewhere in there, it started to turn." She sets down her coffee and clasps her forearms protectively, holding her arms against her torso.
Shine has gone very still.
When she makes that protective gesture, though, he moves forward — slowly, very slowly and quietly — and settles next to her on the couch. Not close to her; just next to her. He leans forward to put his elbows on his knees and keeps his head tilted to watch her in that grave, intent way. With his thumb, he absently strokes the green ribbon twined between his fingers.
"There was… an incident, then, that left me no illusions," Lena says, a little stiffly. "Felt a bit stupid, since I ought to have recognized the patterns, how it was like to end. Of course, I realized too late. I was well and trapped, with a fellow who thought he owned at least part of me. It was way too early to know if it was a boy or a girl, but he'd taken to calling it his son already. I didn't have any friends local, and I didn't know anybody in Stormwind well enough to even ask for help. I suppose he saw to that. So that was when idle curiosity turned to serious study."
Shine says nothing, just keeps watching her and smoothing his thumb over the ribbon.
"I was very careful, but that's how I learned to summon an imp," Lena turns to Shine then, and smiles faintly. "Little creatures of felfire, easiest to dominate, but useful. So I did that one night, and I ran, and I cut what chains had to be cut. Then I figured I had a marketable skill aside from the usual, so I started trying to market it. Met this really kind gnome from the 7th Legion by complete chance, and he put me up for a while in the inn in Loch Modan asking for nothing in return. He probably doesn't even remember by now, but it's just… I guess you never know where kindness will land, what it'll do for a person."
Shine nods slowly. He does not smile back at her smile.
"I'm sorry," he says at last, quietly. "But glad of that gnome. And glad ye came to be here. But the — I'm sorry, Lena."
"It's over and done with," Lena says, shaking her head. "It wasn't quite yet at that point, but it is now. As I said, he's likely dead." There is probably a story to go along with that assertion. "It wasn't long after that when I got my foot in the door with Cobalt, and they set me up with a proper warlock teacher… and then you know where I've ended up. But you asked how I came to it, and that's the honest answer."
"Aye. Thank you." Shine looks down at his hands, and with a slight start, seems to realize for the first time that he's holding the ribbon. He disentangles it from his fingers. "I'm sorry, though. For what ye lost."
He offers her the ribbon.
Lena takes the ribbon from him, her eyes flicking to the book that now no longer has her reading place marked. Still, she doesn't seem to mind. "Then thank you, for the sentiment. In any case, it's a story I've told a few times now, or some variations - folk always want those who turned to the fel to've done so for a reason they think is good enough. Not all the details, and… well, I guess I've skipped over some here. But I wanted you to know where I'm coming from, so if there's anything more you want to know, I'll tell."
"I think," he says, his eye on her face, "that right now I want to know as much as you'll tell me. And if there's more, ye can tell me it later when ye want to. I don't think it's an easy story to tell." He follows her gaze to the bookshelf, sits up, looks at the ribbon he's just handed her. "Ah, damn. It was the Shivarra. I'll put it back for ye."
Lena turns to him, holding the ribbon out. "If you wouldn't mind, so I can go back to it easier." There's still a touch of uncertainty in her expression, a decision half-made.
Ribbon in hand, he gets to his feet to go back to the bookshelf. He takes the book down and, with his back to her, begins paging through it in search of her lost place. "When you say you 'cut chains,'" he says without looking back at her, "ye mean that…."
The book is illustrated, but at least it's illustrated with images of demons and not of their works among mortals. Still, some are more hideous than others. A few, though, such as the male and female sayaads, have forms that some might claim have a certain disturbing appeal. It does not take him too long to reach the picture of the six-armed lady - it is just after the entry on felguards, and before the one on infernals.
Lena hesitates, watching him flip through the pages of demonic information, but finally, she says, "One had to know how to deal with those sorts of things, in my previous profession. The first time there was a need, I had healers. I asked them to explain what I was taking, the dosages and such."
She pauses, reaching for her mug of coffee, holding it at the base with an unnecessarily tight grip. Lena speaks to the table more than Shine as she continues, her tone defending against an accusation he hasn't made. "Then, after I left him, I needed not to leave a trail, to be harder to follow. So I… went to a few different apothecaries. Handled it myself, before… it would've been a tie and a responsibility I couldn't afford, and I don't even know if the fel would've done something to it already."
Shine lays the ribbon carefully in its place, closes the book and returns it to the shelf. He smooths the trailing end of the ribbon along the spine. "Aye," he says, and returns to the couch to sit next to her again. "I'm glad ye got free. But I'm sorry, again. At the cost."
He lays his hand gently on the small of her back for a moment, and then sits forward to take up his coffee cup again.
Lena startles slightly at the touch, but then draws a breath and forces her hands to relax. "Everything has a cost. That's one thing a person can learn from the fel. Part of your life, or part of your soul…" she tilts her head to look at Shine. "That part, I always felt like I understood."
Shine smiles a little dourly and tilts his head, this time to turn the eyepatch side toward her deliberately. "Aye. Life will cost." He turns his eye toward her again. "I don't think it's everything, though. Just — sometimes it's a matter of untangling the lines until ye find the one that fouled ye."
He has a sip of his coffee. "I think, sometimes, the world some of us have known, it's harder to unpick the tangle. Over here — on the mainland, that is — no one under thirty remembers a time before orcs, before wars and kingdoms falling and homes lost, and the plague and the Scourge. It's all — even those who came up relatively idyllic, those things were always on a horizon, always just over a border. Aye?"
He shrugs and drinks coffee again. "I suppose Kul Tiras never paid all of that. That is — we paid, and dearly — but the orcs never came to us. We went after them. The plague never touched us, nor the Scourge. We never saw the Burning Legion. Kul Tiras has the sea to keep her safe, and even when… we suffered, it was because we went hunting for trouble. It never came to us. We were privileged to know a different sort of world than the mainland was, I think. Which makes it not such a snarl to find where we paid the price, when we did."
He sets his cup down again. "It's never a storybook world. But not everything costs."
Lena does not look entirely convinced at the conclusion, but she nods. "But then again, sometimes the snarls in the lines are what make a picture. If you untangle it, you might find yourself with something else and lose what was there before."
She pauses for a sip of coffee, before adding, "And maybe you're right, about the mainland, but there's value in the suffering, too. I would never be caught off guard, like my parents were. That luxury - that assuming that problems over there would never be problems here - that I don't have. Maybe Kul Tiras still does, I don't know. But there's something to be said about being aware of the illusion of safety. Even all of this," she gestures around the well-appointed sitting room. "It's one wave away from wreckage. There's value in knowing that, in understanding it."
Shine surveys the room himself and considers her words thoughtfully. "I think a good deal of that is fair. I think there can be value in suffering, mind; not all suffering's valuable. And I agree that ye shouldn't be taken off-guard. But that's — it's the Tidemother all over, aye? There's always a next storm coming. This place? This isn't an illusion of safety; Fallon knows better than most that the world's unsafe. This is defiance, like sailing close to the wind. Or facing down a tidal wave.
"But ye note the other thing Fallon does — this House does. They're open-handed, and they're loyal. They reward loyalty themselves. Because there's always a storm coming, and ye better your odds against the storm when ye have a steadfast crew. The late Lord Admiral understood that; it's why he joined the Alliance even when the storms hadn't touched Kul Tiran shores, and it's why he held so fast to it when other nations were falling away.
"That, I think, is what Kul Tiras has forgotten without him. They know there will be storms. They think to stand against them alone. Perhaps because the mainland's storms never yet touched them direct; they don't see that it was a privilege we had, a lucky wind. That's an illusion of safety. It's hardest to stand alone against a storm. It can be done, of course, but it's bloody hard. And it costs dearest."
"The Tidemother, yes. And it seems the winds and the tides favor skill and boldness," Lena says with a faint smile, angling herself to better face Shine. "And maybe loyalty. Still, it's better to be alone than with the wrong crew. I've learned that time and again, to my own sorrow. This crew, though, I think… I think it's a good one to stand with, against a storm."
Shine shifts to face her as well, folding a leg up on the couch, propping his elbow against the back of it. "I think it is. And I've sailed with it a long time. Literally and metaphorically." His faint smile is wry, and then it fades and he is just watching her seriously. "I hope it will be, for you."
Lena doesn't answer that directly, but she smiles at him. Then she raises her mug and says, "Anyway, where did we start from that ended up here? Demonology? I'll show you sometime, if you like. The demons, I mean, the ones I have bound, at any rate. Or the diagrams, if you're more interested in those, like Fallon was."
He watches her in silence for a moment, his expression mild, and then he shifts from his companionable, casual sideways-sit to face forward again, both feet on the floor. He picks up his coffee cup. "I'd be interested in both."
"Then I will," Lena says with a firm nod. "Maybe not over coffee today, but sometime soon. A bit of an exchange in knowledge, as you continue teaching me the sailing. And it might prove useful, anyway. Demons are around on Azeroth, even if they've not made it much to Kul Tiras."
"Aye," says Shine, and has a sip of his coffee, gazing at the fireplace. "And I'm not on Kul Tiras any longer."
Lena glances up to the wall, at the paintings of Tiragarde Sound. "Though reminders of it all around. One day. Any of these places you know?"
He looks up too. "Oh, aye," he says. "All of them."
He gets to his feet to approach the fireplace. "Well, I couldn't tell ye where the Fleet is in that one," he says, tipping his chin up to indicate the painting of a hazy, green-sailed armada swathed in morning mist. "But that one there —" He indicates the painting below it with his coffee cup. "That's a sunset behind Boralus. That's Proudmoore Academy, in fact, in the back there. The Tradewinds Market is on the water — here, wi'the ferry-docks in the foreground — and then back behind that is where ye find the dockyards and Hook Point. Ye can't see it here, but to the south — the left — is Upton Borough and Proudmoore Keep." He stands for a moment gazing at the painting.
Lena rises to follow him, looking at the painting more closely with the context provided, a sprawling green-roofed city. "Boralus. I'd like to see it someday. The Academy you went to and… well, I suppose all the places you and Fallon used to wander, right?"
Shine nods, still gazing at the picture. "Upton Borough's the posh side of town, and if Admiral Fallon ever asked, it's where Fallon spent all of his time. Hook Point's where we actually spent time, where all the filthy sailors' pubs and the like were. Playing at being filthy sailors." He smiles wryly. "Hard to make a convincing dockside lout when the dockside's right next to the Ashvane Shipping Yards and ye happen to be Lady Ashvane's nephew."
"I'll remember that, then," Lena laughs. "And I'm sure you both made for unusually charming filthy sailors. Is there in Boralus where you got your…" Lena brushes her fingers over his knuckles, the tattooed letters.
Shine glances down at the touch and reflexively spreads his hand. He considers the letters. "In Hook Point, aye. That was well after the Academy, of course. In 19, when Fallon took the helm of the Wind-wise."
"Nine years ago," Lena says musingly. "You would've been… twenty-six? And I was still in Silverpine. Your first ship together with him as Captain?"
He smiles down at her. "That's right. And a hell of a year it was. Fallon was just twenty-five and the youngest Captain the Fleet had seen in… tides alone could tell. A century or more? Ye've seen his tattoo?" Shine touches his own right shoulder.
"The kraken?" Lena nods. "Did he have that done the same time as your Wind-wise?"
Shine shakes his head. He sets his coffee cup on the mantel and pushes up his right sleeve, turning his arm to show her the tattoo on the back of his wrist that extends down to the back of his hand: a kraken superimposed on a compass rose. "Every man aboard the Wind-wise that year has a kraken marked on him somewhere. A little piece of ship's pride, a little piece of Fallon swagger. The kraken's always been their emblem, but in that first year with Fallon at the helm, we captured eight ships. Eight ships, eight arms on the kraken: seemed a nice piece of symbolism." He smiles at Lena and takes up his coffee cup again. "In peace time, hunting for pirates and smugglers or Zandalari ships, a good captain might catch two a year. Eight is… a great many. Fallon caught a commendation from the Lord Admiral himself, and we were all princes of the Fleet." His smile takes a wry twist and he looks up at the painting again, his gaze soft with nostalgia. "His father was livid about the tattoo, naturally, but not even he could say a word across his son that year."
Lena runs her hand above the back of Shine's arm with a soft smile, not quite touching the skin. "It sounds like one hell of a year. Makes me wonder what kind of a person I might've been, if I'd been born there." Then she looks up at Shine. "I sort of assumed the tattoos were a common Kul Tiran thing, though, given yours and Fallons. His dad was against them? Was your family?"
Shine laughs. "My family? No, my family are normal. My father's got half his life's history on his arms. But the Admiral — and Fallon still calls his father 'the Admiral,' if that gives you a notion — was the coldest stone bastard you ever met, and his son was perfect or he was nothing. It's that word ye said there, aye? Tattoos are a common Kul Tiran thing. Admiral Fallon's son was born an officer and a gentleman and nothing could be common about him." Shine makes a sour face.
"He sounds exhausting," Lena says with a wry smile. "And I expect we would not get on well, were he still around. But I'll take I shouldn't say as much to his son. So… all your tattoos are pointing to parts of your life story, too, then? Is that the common way? Here on the mainland, I've known some folk who seemed real serious about their ink, but also some fellas who just wanted to be able to look at a mermaid with big tits on their arm whenever they like."
Shine laughs. "I don't know many sailors would object to mermaid tits, but no, they're mostly a way of keeping a history. It's a language in symbols. When the lot of ye were in Northrend during Her Grace's last pregnancy, we began playing billiards together at night, and she asked all about it and then I believe interviewed half the lads at Fallon Harbor, too. She's mad for that sort of thing."
He sets his coffee cup down again to show Lena his left hand and wrist. Around his wrist a rope is tattooed; on the back of his left hand is a pair of crossed cannons with a single black spade and the letter A tattooed between their upturned muzzles. "Rope about the wrist means ye've worked as a deckhand. Crossed cannons mean combat service. You'll see Kettering has crossed anchors here — " He spreads his hand and touches the space between his thumb and forefinger. " — and that marks he's a bosun, or been a bosun. Baird's got a single gun marked there because he used to be a gunner's mate before he moved up. The swallows and the stars are all for finding your way safe. And then every man has some of his own meanings as well, like the Wind-wise and her krakens."
Still with her mug in hand, Lena looks over tattoos she's seen before, but now with new meaning. "Mad for tattoos and billiards - not exactly my view of Her Grace, but I suppose folk have hidden depths." She flicks her eyes up to meet his one, and flashes a quick smile, adding, "I think I'll settle myself for only asking you, though, and not half the lads in Fallon Harbor. The interest might be taken different from me than it would be from the Lady. What do the letter and the spade signify, then?"
"Ah," says Shine. He smiles faintly again and closes his hand. "Ace of spades. The death card. Means I kill people. Not — that is, we all kill people. But not as Fallon or most of the rest do, swords and guns and open combat. Close and quiet. A throat-cutter." He looks away from Lena, up at the painting again.
Lena drops her gaze to the tattoo, tapping one finger against her mug. "I usually kill people as the rest do, I suppose. But there was a time in the Fjord, when we were sent after vrykul - to kill them asleep, so they couldn't fight us awake. Ralaea hated it, I warn you now, but I could see the value in it. Less of ours dead and more of theirs, and does it really matter if they didn't get a chance to fight back?"
Shine shrugs mildly. "If someone wants you dead, best kill them before they kill you."
He takes his coffee cup from the mantel again and returns to the table to pour himself some more. When he straightens, he gestures at the painting directly over the couch. "That's a view across Tiragarde Sound, and on the far shore — in the distance there — ye can just make out the waterfront edge of Bridgeport. Where I'm from."
"Was it terribly different there from Boralus?" Lena asks, peering across at the painting. "I don't know how spread out things are there. Where I was from, it was quite different from Dalaran or Gilneas City or Lordaeron City. We were a bit… out in the woods, and the city folk were a distant story, for all one could walk there if one were persistent enough."
Shine considers. "It's different from Boralus, aye. Boralus is… built up, been built up over time, the markets and the dockyards and the inner city all layers on layers. The scale of it is hard to describe. The sea wall and the tide gates would dwarf Stormwind Harbor, and the channel to the Sound runs from the tide gates straight through the city's center, below Proudmoore Keep. And there are ships and ferries coming and going all the time, all hours. Imagine the Stormwind Harbor at its busiest, and then imagine a whole city like that round the clock.
"Bridgeport isn't remote or isolated. It's right across the Sound, an easy ferry away. And it's a proper town, with its own docks and waterfront, paved streets, business district, all of that. But our docks are shallow-water, for ferries and fishing boats, not ships, and it's nothing like the sprawl or pace of Boralus. Just a town."
"Still, it sounds like it wouldn't have been so much of a shock then, when you moved to Boralus," Lena says, pausing for another sip of coffee. "And then the Stormwind Harbor must feel a little lonely sometimes, for you and Fallon."
Shine smiles faintly. "Stormwind Harbor is… aye. It has its times, but it's a fraction the size of Boralus' waterfront and dockyards."
"Even Theramore felt like a whole other world to me," Lena says. "And it's not near as busy as Stormwind. Still, full of so many people, impossible to know them all. It felt a bit like becoming invisible."
"Being invisible can have its uses," Shine observes dryly, and looks over his shoulder at Lena. "But I assure ye you'd make a very poor throat-cutter. You've never been terribly invisible."
He looks at the painting again.
"Would you like to take me there, if it were possible?" Lena asks, following his gaze. "To Bridgeport, that is."
"I would," he tells the painting. "If it were possible. And if you'd like to go, someday."
"Someday," Lena echoes. "When the ports are open again. I can sail and summon you there. As you said, they've not much experience with demons, so I doubt there will be much prejudice against my practice."
"There won't be," Shine says. "I can promise ye. If Fallon and I aren't example enough." He glances over to flash her a slant smile.
"Might mean there'd be more of a need for WEB there then, if one day the place is more open," Lena says with an answering smile. "I'd be pleased for the lack of prejudice, but the practice does send people in bad directions if they're unwary. And with no history, they're like to not be wary."
Shine concedes this with a tilt of his head. "Aye, fair. We'll take you to the isles and set you up there as WEB division branch chief." He scrutinizes her, a fading spark of humor still in his gaze, though his smile has vanished. "And should I be warier, d'ye think? I'd confess you're the only warlock I've known personally, but I don't know that confession's needed: ye must know it already. We've had Tyrrell round regularly, of course, but I can't say I know the man personally."
"Of demons, I'll wait to see how wary you are now before I answer," Lena says, her smile lingering. "Of warlocks, maybe just the same as people in general. I'd be wary of those who only spend time with other warlocks. I think their idea of what's acceptable and what's not tends to… drift over time. Tyrrell's not one of those, and nor am I."
"I'll have a care, then," Shine tells her solemnly. "And perhaps I'll borrow one of your demon catalogues to brush up before Outland." He gestures at the book on the shelf. "I promise to leave the summoning to you."
"I'd be happy to lend," Lena says with a nod. "And yes, I expect more than I'd warn you against summoning demons. But… if you ever think you need to, talk to me first, alright?"
Shine smiles at her again. "If I ever think I need a demon for some reason, I'd ask you to handle the summoning. Leave the experts to their expertise, aye?" He surveys her. "And if you ever need a throat cut, I suppose ye know where I live."
"I don't expect I…" Lena starts, and then trails off. "If I ever did, I expect you'd notice before me."
"I'll have an eye out for you," he says. "But just the one."
Lena smiles, but does not quite laugh. Maybe she's not sure if she's allowed to laugh at jokes about someone's missing eye. "You might not think I'd have much skill as a throat-cutter - and I don't - but I've… I reckon I've managed well enough against those that have threatened me, intentional or not."
He sobers. "I expect ye have. You've had a hell of a journey and managed it on your own. And I wouldn't suggest ye can't manage. Only that if ye find yourself feeling ye could use a hand sometime…." He shrugs. "With anything."
"I will," Lena says with a smile. "And I have, with the sailing at least, so you know that much is true."
Shine flashes her another smile. "I do know it, aye." He glances toward the window. "I'll hope for clearer weather soon, so we can get on the water again."
He turns away from the paintings altogether to step over to the couch and settle again comfortably. He takes a sip of coffee and then looks up at Lena. "If I wear out my welcome, feel free to run me off. I won't take offense, I know ye have your points of sail to study."
"Oh, I wouldn't run you off. I rather like it when you're around, and it's just an idle sort of afternoon for me," Lena moves over to the couch to settle next to him, cradling her coffee mug in her hands. "Best to take advantage of the quiet days while we have them, right?"
He smiles and stretches an arm along the back of the couch behind Lena, then drops his head back onto the couch to gaze at the ceiling. "Aye. I'm down to Stranglethorn soon, playing at… errand boy or amateur sleuth — I never can tell — for Fallon again. A quiet day in is a sight better than I expect Booty Bay will be."
"Sleuthing in Stranglethorn?" Lena asks, shifting a little closer to him. "I did some of that, a few years back. It was all on problems with the trolls there, they were trying to resurrect the Soulflayer and… that's probably not what you're after. Anything you can talk about, or is it secret?"
"Trolls raising the Soulflayer?" Shine whistles. "Now that's important work. I expect ye have stories? This is — I can't say unimportant. It's important to us, to people in the House. But beyond that… no risen gods or ancient evils, I'm afraid. Not even piracy or goblin tax evasion. Looking for a cartographer who was down that way last we knew."
"I've some stories," Lena allows. "Though we didn't actually fight any risen gods, mostly just did the initial legwork of figuring out what they're up to. Me and… hm. I guess Paluuva's the only one of that crowd still running in the same circles as me. As for yours, a cartographer? Fallon wants a particular map?"
"Fallon has a particular map. Arrived while the pair of ye were asea. No one knows where it came from or how."
"A mystery map?" Lena turns towards Shine curiously. "What's it of?"
Shine shifts his arm from the back of the couch to drape it around Lena's shoulders. "Kul Tiras. But different. After the Shattering, we assume. But we've no way to verify any of it, nor any idea who sent it or why, or how it got through." He's silent for a moment. "If it's accurate, then Fallon and Lady Sintha have lost their grandparents, Thredd and Lyra may have lost family. Vane's worried about his lady in Stormsong." Another silence. "Bridgeport looks… the same. On a map at least. But tides know what's come of the people in it, whether a wave swept the isle or not. I'd think, with the whole land full of sages and the Shrine, that they could — well. It's all speculation. So Fallon wants facts."
Lena leans back against his arm and says, "Kul Tiras… makes sense they'd have been hit too. Even if it's real the people still might've got out. But I can see why you'd need to follow it up urgent. If it's just a work of fiction, someone who knows the island setting up an imagining of what might've happened… that'd be a cruel trick, but people are cruel sometimes. This cartographer, what do you make of him?"
"He's an honest man, Briarly. One of the few Tirasian cartographers on the mainland. Fallon knows his work and knows this one isn't his, but hopes he might recognize the work of a colleague. Annai couldn't get hold of him last week — he was traveling — so we spent the time instead trying to chase down the ink… it's a long story." Shine laughs a little. "I won't bore ye."
"You couldn't bore me," Lena says with a smile, and she shifts to put one foot on the coffee table without thinking. Then she seems to realize what she's doing, and she drops her foot to the ground, blushing faintly. Not a farmhouse, Lena. "Was there something special about the ink, made it worth tracking down? I'd have thought one is much the same as another."
Shine smiles and draws her a little closer. Deliberately, he puts his own foot up on the table. "Not of the map itself, mind. Or at least, not to look at. But there was a tag on the map case when it arrived, addressed it to 'Stormwind Fallon' — and that itself is a Kul Tiran touch, to distinguish Stormwind Fallon from Stormsong Fallon that way; on the mainland it would just be addressed to 'Fallon,' aye? But also that ink is distinctive; an odd sort of peacock shade, with a… I won't say it shimmers, but when ye tilt it in the light it has an… iridescence. The light shifts."
He shrugs the shoulder Lena is not semi-propped against. "So it's unusual to the eye, but also — inks are made of things, of herbs and so on, and if ye have an alchemist with the proper skill, they can test even just bits of it to try to unravel its ingredients. So Annai scraped some of it off and brought it to a woman out in Lakeshire, and that woman said the ink contains — among other things — anchor weed. Which is a Tirasian plant and, despite the word 'weed,' one of the rarer ones."
"The anchor weed - I've not encountered that before, naturally, but would it be the source of the iridescence?" Lena puts her foot back on the table, resting more firmly against Shine's side and shoulder. "Shimmer could be some sort of magic, but it could also just be some sort of shiny bits mixed in. And the plant itself - reckon it could grow outside of Kul Tiras, or be preserved? Might be from someone who stayed out when ties were cut, like here, and kept their own plants, or could just be dried and stored for… I don't know, maybe not the latter, using part of a dried and stored Kul Tiran plant in an ink seems a weirdly indirect way to send a message. Or, I suppose, it could just be from there. Kul Tiras."
Shine nods. "I think it's possible, as ye say, that it's someone here with their own… I don't know about plants, but their own store of ink, at least. And I also don't think the ink was meant as any kind of message on purpose; I don't know many people who'd expect a card they'd written two words on to be subjected to such a forensic analysis. Not everyone's aware how unlikely Fallon is to leave any mystery — let alone a deliberate one like this — alone. He can't stand a puzzle unsolved, particularly not one like this that seems intended to obscure.
"It's the map itself in combination with the ink that makes me think it's from the isle. It's an elaborate setup for a mainlander: An altered map, whether accurate or no, plus an unusual, Kul Tiran derived ink on a card — ye wouldn't think the latter was a necessary step. It seems more likely the mapmaker just wrote the card with an ink he had to hand, and it happened to be a Tirasian one. Possibly because the mapmaker's in Kul Tiras.
"It could also be a mainland mapmaker who'd traveled there extensively or is particularly interested in the place — or is an expat, like Briarly — but in that case, how did they get or make a map post-Shattering?
"Or we can assume the whole thing's fictitious, and someone went to the trouble of inventing a detailed map and writing a card in an unusual Kul Tiran ink, addressed as a Kul Tiran would, for no end beyond — a prank, or driving Fallon mad with just this sort of puzzle."
He smiles at the painting of Boralus above the mantel. "But recall what I said about playing the ruffian right next to the Ashvane Shipping Yards. Fallon's never been a family favorite, but he does have powerful kin. The man's a magic touch with money but he didn't invent it all here; this is family money, from Kul Tiras. It seems to me most likely that someone with the ability to shift strings over there shifted them just enough to get him some word of home, particularly as it affected his own kin."
Lena nods along as Shine explains the logic behind the conclusions drawn so far. "It does seem a long way to go just to torment the man, and I wouldn't imagine he'd have so many enemies that would feel so compelled. At least, all I've seen of Fallon is he aims to make positive ties with all sorts of folk, with little prejudice." She is, clearly, not considering the Horde in this assessment.
"But then I suppose the question is who, and why'd they leave it so mysterious?" Lena says, tapping a finger against her forearm. "They could've put a few words to clear that up if they cared. Unless there's some reason they want him to have the information and also want him to not know where its come from."
Shine nods. "And so ye see the question Annai and I are working with. Well, mostly Annai. I'm just extra hands because the lady can't be everywhere at once. Fallon's fallback investigator when Annai's got her hands full. Which she often does, for him." He smiles faintly and traces fingertips lightly up and down Lena's upper arm, an absent gesture. "But that's a little mystery, of interest to the House alone. Tell me about your trolls and the Soulflayer? Fallon seized some ships off the east coast of Stranglethorn around that time, took some troll gold. There's a necklace Her Grace wears."
Lena draws in a breath at the touch, and then she answers, "Oh this was way back - early in Year 26, not long after I joined Cobalt. Trolls in Stranglethorn were more active than usual - we found they were doing all sorts of things with crystals that had properties sort of like my soul shards. We figured they were trying to get them more stable, so they could hold a soul for transfer. Then we found out what they were after - have you heard of the Soulflayer before? It was an ancient Gurubashi deity, aimed to drown the world in blood."
"I hadn't heard of it in particular, but I assumed a loa or the like. And with a name like 'Soulflayer,' I assumed not one I'd like to meet on the street." Shine's tone is dry. "I confess I have some strong feelings about drowning the world in blood."
He glances down at her, his fingers still moving idly on her arm. "And go on? The world isn't drowned in blood, I note, so ye must have been successful."
"Well, we found out more or less what they were after," Lena shrugs. "They were gearing up for the big ritual in Zul'gurub, the old Gurubashi capital - mostly ruins now. I suppose we were sucessful in that, but then we handed off the mission to others. A larger Cobalt team went in to fight some of the troll high priests, and the Alliance military in the end, I think, went in to stop the whole Soulflayer business."
Shine nods thoughtfully. "The Zul'gurub business — am I remembering aright that the Zandalari were involved? So-called allies?"
"Yes, they were against the Gurubashi," Lena says with a nod. "On our side. Reckon they also didn't like the idea of a world drowning in blood. They were up in Northrend, too, recording the fall of the Drakkari. Seems like they're just next to an awful lot of troll things, saying they're on our side."
Shine drops his head back against the couch and laughs humorlessly. "Oh, aye, on our side." He gazes up at the ceiling. "That would be why I recollect Fallon went over there. To the east of Stranglethorn. Because of word the Zandalari were involved."
"You have a lot of experience with the Zandalari?" Lena asks, turning to him curiously. "I've not a clear idea where their homeland is."
"I wouldn't say I have a lot of experience, not personally. But Kul Tiras is well-acquainted, aye. They fancy themselves a naval power to rival Proudmoore's Fleet, and while I won't dignify that claim, I will say the Alliance is bloody lucky they haven't thrown in wi' the Horde while we've been sat here without a proper navy of our own." He grimaces. "They're located — they're an isle as well, I'd guess dead west of here, and near dead south of the Maelstrom. They're south and west of Kul Tiras, maybe three times again as far from the isles as we are from the mainland. Fallon could show ye on a map."
"Then I'm glad they seem inclined to only poke their noses in from time to time at curiosity," Lena says, drawing a breath. "They've caused problems in Kul Tiras, then? Or with the navy, at least?"
"Not in Kul Tiras," says Shine, and there's the slightest note of disdainful pride in his tone. "They wouldn't get within sight of the coast if they came with hostile intent. It's mostly a question of rivalry on the waters, aye. Over trade routes, discoveries, the like. There've always been skirmishes, we've seized ships, they've seized ships — they're not Horde, those are the Darkspears, but they weren't well-loved in Kul Tiras even before the Darkspears threw in with the Horde. Trolls as a general matter are a bloodthirsty lot of savages."
"That does track with my experience of the people," Lena nods, relaxing against Shine's shoulder. "Even towards their own. Did you hear that the Drakkari, up in Northrend, were slaying their own gods to absorb their power? And the Gurubashi with their blood god. For all the Zandalari haven't done anything terrible yet here on the mainland, I'm sure they're just as savage when it comes down to it."
Shine nods and resumes tracing with his fingertips on her arm. "Bloody cannibals, the lot of 'em. They all worship those… loa, the beast gods. They're not like the wild gods of the elves — the loa are a bloodthirsty lot themselves. Serpents and spiders, death gods and so on. Blood sacrifice and the like. But the Zandalari pretend civilization better than the rest. They're an empire to overshadow all the rest of 'em, which is why I expect they haven't bothered with the Horde. It probably looks pretty shabby alongside themselves."
Lena rests her hand casually on Shine's thigh. "Then it might be worrisome, that they're starting to meddle with affairs in Northrend and Stranglethorn. We don't really need another enemy right now, especially not one as makes the Horde look shabby. Let's beat the shabby one first, then we'll be placed to handle another empire. Or who knows? Maybe they're content with poking about, and there won't ever be anything more to it."
Shine is quiet for a moment; his fingers keep up their absent tracery. He might be thinking about Lena's remarks. He might be thinking about the hand on his thigh. He might be thinking about global finance, who knows? (It's probably not global finance.)
At length he says, "Aye, we've enemies enough to keep us busy now." He regards the painting of the fleet in the mist, above the hearth. "Will we go sailing tomorrow, if it clears?"
Lena hums something that sounds like assent, following his gaze with her own. Then, maybe because that wasn't clear enough, she adds, "I would like to, if you're free. And the weather behaves. I expect there are still all other sorts of knots you could teach me."
Shine laughs quietly. "I'll be free. I'll make sure of it. And we can spend as much time on knots as ye like." He glances down at her and then, because she is now looking forward at the painting rather than toward him, he bends his head to kiss her temple and then the edge of her ear, lingering a moment before drawing away again.
There's a slight pressure from Lena's fingers on his leg at the kiss, and a sound of her quietly drawing a breath. But if either of those reactions are ambiguous, the smile she wears, gazing up at the ships in the mist, settles the matter.
"Then it's settled," she says aloud, turning back to him with the smile still lingering on her face. "And I expect I shall be a quick student with the knots, provided there's good incentive to get them right."
"Hm," says Shine; his smile is visible only as a light in his eye. "I'll have to think of something." He bends his head to kiss that lingering smile.