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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | Siamus and Ralaea arrive back home to House Fallon on the 23rd with a rando forest worgen and much news and conspiracies about the elusive, eccentric Count Amerith. Avrenne has information and context to give from her political chessboard, and Siamus has the instincts, expertise, and forks to give to finally begin putting the greater puzzle picture together. 14k~ words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Arc: The Red String Game
It is nearly four hours past when Family Dinner should have included at least two more people, the empty chair at the head of the table and another across from Finley a strange, unexplained circumstance that Lady Fallon shows no outward sense of worry or concern about, settling the wild imaginings of Isla, and the dark thoughts Finley thinks but doesn't voice.
The routine of dinner and post-dinner is followed to the same degree as if both Siamus and Ralaea were home, nothing altering up to a single point. For the most usual ending of the night would take Avrenne after dinner and Ery and the last of her business of the day wrapped, she would change out of her dinner dress, brush out her hair and ready for bed. Instead, she remains in her dress, a deep burnt umber velvet with gold embroidery that clings to her form, she has put her hair up into a professional chignon rather than the loose fall she has worn it in throughout the day, and unusually — the seastalk case is back around her neck, joined by a gold pocketwatch.
She does not stay in either her room or Siamus' but takes up a seat in the front foyer, taking with her a textbook of astronomy and navigation for light reading, as the night drags on closer and closer to midnight, the light above her illuminating the duchess with her singular composure as she waits.
Ralaea enters the house at sometime between 10pm and 11, startling when she sees Avrenne waiting there. "I'm not late," she informs her. "It's not twelve bells yet. Siamus said it's fine as long as I'm back before then, and I am." Whoa. She used his name. New feature.
Avrenne rises slowly from the chair, some of the elegance she usually has lost in the way she has to balance the twin! boys!, but her expression is as controlled as ever. "I see. You are not late by those standards," she agrees as she sets her hands in a light clasp over her belly. "May I ask what happened to necessitate a twelve bell curfew and missing dinner?"
Ralaea pauses to brush some plant life — not alive anymore, of course — off of her clothing. "Harvey wrote me," she says. "But only an address, and while I was trying to find it, I almost got abducted by Count Amerith."
There's a freezing of Avrenne's expression, and for the first time, Ralaea gets a glimpse of something under the motherly duchess, something very cold and dangerous that sets strange lights flickering in her eyes that suggests that she would not poison someone who evoked her true ire, but destroy them and their life utterly.
"I beg your pardon?" she asks, her tone carefully modulated with those strange lights in her eyes. "Count Amerith did what, exactly?"
"Well, I was considering whether or not to take him as a lover, because he seemed fine with death knights, but then I found out who he was and that he's met Harvey before, and that one of my former squad, Jothran, who is a death knight now by the way, is working for him," Ralaea says. "I was trying to be a good ward, so when he offered me his arm, I took it."
Avrenne cannot raise one brow so she raises both, so high that the lines starting to show there are very visible. "And what happened after that?" she asks, holding the other like, four questions that the rest evoked for the time being.
"He took me to the address," Ralaea says. "But Harvey wasn't even there, it was that paladin from the trial, Lathrik Dinnsfield or something, and his worgen girlfriend, and Siamus was there for a different reason, and there are tidesages involved. I got kicked out because there were a lot of secrets. Eventually Natalyah brought me to Harvey, but we found a Northrend worgen first."
Avrenne holds up a hand sharply to cut off the other information as it begins, her expression serious. "In what way did Count Amerith do anything to attempt to abduct you, Ralaea? That is a serious charge against a lord of the House of Nobles, not to be made lightly. If all he did was offer you his arm and take you where you intended to go, that is not anything other than a gentleman acting appropriately with a ward of House Fallon. Was there any threat, or attempt at taking you away from your destination?"
"Okay, so he took me where I wanted to go, but that's because I didn't know who he was, then. Everyone else got all paranoid about it, and he's got Kaela Mondragon's armor in his house, so obviously, he was going to abduct me," Ralaea says.
Avrenne regards Ralaea with a steady, no nonsense stare that makes her seem quite a lot older than the other woman. "Count Amerith is not an inherent danger to be treated so, and if he made no threat directly or indirectly, and it does not sound as though he did, then all he did was do you a favor, for which I hope you were polite to him about. What he does or does not have in his keeping, if that is indeed true, is still not a statement of intent of abduction. If he did not introduce himself, I assume that it is in part because you did not introduce yourself. He is a colleague of Siamus', and an associate of mine, and I will thank you not to speak ill of him without cause, or make such accusations so blithely, Ralaea. Your words have a different weight than they once did, so you must use them with greater care." This admonishment given, she gestures to the other chair in the foyer.
"Do sit down. I have further questions, and I would rather not be standing." She is carrying like three people on those feet, after all. She takes her seat once more. "Now, you met with Mr. Dinnsfield, and Miss Kensington-Whit, who I have been given to understand is in a relationship with him, and she took you to where Mr. Morningdew was, but you encountered a Northrend worgen? May I ask who that is?"
Ralaea grudgingly sits. "She said her name was Adamantia," she says. "And she was eating Harvey's kills. She didn't have a home, so Natalyah took her in."
There's no sign of disgust that ripples across Avrenne's controlled composure, and it's difficult to tell what she thinks of it at all. "I see. Did she mention specifically that she was from Northrend, or speak of a pack she belongs to?"
"She said she was from Northend, and poked around Natalyah's house before because she didn't have a pack," Ralaea answers. A pause. "I got kicked out because Siamus was there about the Count, you know. Because he was interested in Lathrik for some reason." Oh, we're back to that again.
"Siamus has his reasons," Avrenne says. The Vice Admiral always has his reasons. Avrenne might not know them yet, but in Siamus she trusts. "And you have spoken yourself of your difficulty with sensitive knowledge, Ralaea. I am certain Siamus did what he trusted was the best for you." She adjusts her hands over her belly. "What happened after you encountered this Miss Adamantia on your way to Mr. Morningdew?" Sorry, Ralaea, the duchess will insist on a train track of narrative.
"I met Harvey and yelled at him for ditching me because the new Lich King's in his head and he's worried about that, and then we caught up with everything we'd missed while he was sulking in Northrend. And he said he'd like for me to have a living man to be in a relationship with, but I told him I'd only do that if he was in the relationship still too. Oh. And Bren was there." That's it. That's all she has to say about her brother.
There's a flicker of something around the revelation of the Lich King (new) in Harvey's head, but only a flicker that slips past her guard. "I am glad you and Mr. Morningdew were able to come to an agreement on the matter, and it is good that you asserted your own preferences accordingly," she says. "How is your brother? Is he staying in good health, and is," his wife, "Auriga well and with him?"
"Bren's fine," Ralaea says flatly. "He was teaching some ogres in Duskwood First Aid. I checked on his horse while I was there, she's doing alright too. If she wasn't, I would've brought her back with me."
"I expect he is doing his best," Avrenne says with fondness. "Did you speak to Mr. Morningdew and your brother about your idea of perhaps working together as a team once more?" Was it Ralaea's idea, or did Avrenne just suggest that Ralaea do it, and now it's become their idea? "Miss Lynds will not be available for some time for additional fieldwork, but she will be here, and you could open the dialogue at the least."
"I don't think Tabiana wants to work with a death knight, even if it is Harvey," Ralaea says. "I wasn't there at the time, but… I guess her sister almost killed her and Harvey and Jothran had to step in."
"It's an understandable line to draw," Avrenne says neutrally. "That is not the answer to my question, however. Did you speak to Mr. Morningdew and your brother of you joining them for working together?"
"…No," Ralaea mumbles. "Bren would just be a brat about it."
Avrenne regards Ralaea with that direct gaze of hers. "Mm." Rather than continue to pursue this line of inquiry, or return to the matter of Count Amerith's intentions and Siamus' purposes, she instead begins to rise to a stand once more, adjusting her dress to ready for it. "Did you manage to eat dinner while you were out?"
Ralaea shakes her head. "No. I wasn't… expecting everything to take so long."
"Of course, dearest," Avrenne says as she pushes her way back up to a stand, and holds out a hand to Ralaea the same way she might hold it out for Otto, or perhaps just to be there in the air to guide Ralaea into a course of the duchess' choosing. "Then let's come along. Cook has set aside a plate for you waiting in the dining room, and I can warm it up now that you are home. It's important to make sure you eat properly to maintain your health." It's a motherly tone, the set of her features in softer lines.
"Okay," Ralaea says, getting up. She pauses awkwardly at the extended hand… and sort of pokes at it with one finger on the way by. She saw it, she just didn't know what to do with it. "Siamus is visiting a tidesage, but if he's not back by twelve bells, I'm going looking for him."
Avrenne's smile peeks through the composure at the finger poke, but she merely moves her hand over in place as if nothing unusual has occurred, setting it back on her belly shelf as she begins sweeping towards the dining room. "Ralaea, Siamus is not bound by the same curfew by the giving of it. He does not have to return by twelve bells. If he remains out, he has reason and purpose for it, and you need your rest. He will come back; you can trust in that," she says with such assured faith in it that it makes it sound like an immutable fact of the universe, a principle of physics that if Siamus has gone away then he will come back of an action and reaction.
"Unless the Count abduc — intercepted him for business," Ralaea mutters.
"Even then," Avrenne says. "Count Amerith has no reason to do anything untoward, and if they are speaking on business, then Siamus will come back when it is concluded." She makes her way to Ralaea's place at the table where a plate covered by a silver cloche rests. At the head of the table is another one, waiting for its lord. Lady Fallon lifts Ralaea's off and sets it to the side, her hand hovering above the plate as she concentrates. It's a minor bit of magic, as she coaxes the fire up just enough to set the meal at a proper temperature. When she finishes, she steps to the side, indicating Ralaea should sit.
Ralaea sits… and starts eating almost immediately. She is no longer able to object to what motives the Count may or may not have, given the speed at which she is shoveling down food.
Avrenne sets a fond, motherly hand on Ralaea's head before leaning to drop a kiss to her hair. "If you eat too quickly, you may get a stomach ache," she warns, but she doesn't expressly forbid it. "I will be in the foyer if you need me." Waiting for Siamus for when he will come back™️, at least a little longer before she waits for him in her bed. She makes her way across the room back towards her chair and her astronomy book.
If Ralaea's cheeks are a little red after this, at least no one is around to see it.
Avrenne has barely had time to get comfortable with her astronomy book again when the front door opens and Siamus strides in. Oh no, it's This Again ™️ .
He is not dressed in the clothing he wore to the House of Nobles this morning; he is dressed like he's just come from the docks, and as he comes through the door he is unbuttoning his coat so that the pistols beneath it are visible. He looks like he is doing a great deal of mental math and — for once — not enjoying it.
There is a second person behind him.
Avrenne's expression lights up at the sight of Siamus, a brightness to her shining there for a moment before the Company Composure snaps over her fully at the sight of the unexpected person behind him.
"Vice Admiral," she greets, standing once more as she sets her hands together in a light clasp.
Adamantia strolls in, peering around, dressed in her armor of green and brown, a dagger on her belt. "So, is it even bigger on the inside?" she asks.
Siamus breaks into a warm — and relieved? — smile at the sight of his wife, and takes two steps directly for her. Then Adamantia speaks and he pauses and looks back. Right, yes, the other person.
Avrenne takes a possibly involuntary two steps towards Siamus, halting as he does.
He peers at Adamantia. "It's… not?" he says. "If ye measure the external footprint and the internal square footage, I think ye'll find that —"
Never mind. Wife.
He turns back to Avrenne. "Your Grace. This is… Ada. Ada, this is Her Grace the Duchess Esprit, Lady Fallon. My wife."
Her eyes flick from Siamus to 'Ada.' She gives a polite nod. There's nothing but a cool politeness to her as she asks, "It's a pleasure to meet you. Is that short, by any chance, for 'Adamantia'?"
Okay, that is super eerie, how did she guess that?
"Ralaea returned home just a little while ago and mentioned that she and Miss Kensington-Whit encountered a person by that name today," she says prosaically. Oh. Not another mystery or witchcraft. Welcome back to the world of clear, reasonable explanations.
Siamus relaxes almost imperceptibly. Not that it's not cool when his wife does witchcraft, but — "Ralaea's home?"
"Adamantia, yeah," Adamantia says. "But Ada's fine. Your husband can't seem to remember more than the three letters anyway."
Siamus draws back to look at her sternly. How dare. "Adamantia. I introduced ye only earlier to… Hartrim. And some people. Didn't I?"
Didn't he?
Avrenne's expression drops from cool to Ice Cold, and suddenly Adamantia might feel very much at home with the sense of Northrend's deep chill. She holds Adamantia's gaze for a beat before she deliberately looks away from her, almost a cut indirect, but not quite. "Ralaea is home," she confirms. "She is in the dining room having her dinner. Yours is on the table should you wish to have it. I can warm it if you would like if you do." Her eyes flick to Adamantia once more and then back to Siamus. "Does Miss Adamantia require anything of dinner or hospitality?"
"Aye," says Siamus, still regarding Ada a little bit sternly. "She's been living in the forest. Miss Kensington-Whit was willing to take her in but they haven't got more than two forks in that bloody doll's house they live in, so I said she'd be welcome here."
Adamantia, meanwhile, has taken to sniffing around the immediate area, investigating.
"I see. I understand Miss Kensington-Whit has been looking to purchase Lady Lucille's former house," Avrenne says. Holy shit, again how does she know that — "Priscilla has been holding off on the sale for it accordingly." Oh, right. Normal reasons, normal connections. "Miss Adamantia, are you in need of refreshments, or would you prefer to retire for the evening? The Botany room is not occupied currently, and it can be made ready for a guest shortly."
"Oh, no, I don't need any water yet," Adamantia says. "This isn't some like, animal museum is it? Botany room sounds like you're going to display me with a bunch of plants. You're probably not, but it sounds like it."
Siamus has had such a Day that all he can do is look at Ada. People do just keep saying things, don't they?
"No," Avrenne answers, with that no-nonsense allowed aura. "It is the name of a room in the house for its decorations to identify it. House Fallon is affiliated with the advocacy of worgen. I have been given to understand that worgen in general have an exceptional sense of smell, and if you are picking up others, one of them should be one you recognize of Lord Graves. He mentioned that he met you some time ago, briefly." Okay, now even with the explanation, it still sounds a little eerie, like she knows Everyone. Maybe she does.
"Vane?" she asks, as if she just expects the butler will appear if she speaks his name loud enough to carry.
Vane just appears when she speaks his name loud enough to carry. "Your Grace?"
"Please prepare the Botany room for our guest," Avrenne says. "And let Cook know to expect another for breakfast tomorrow."
Vane inclines his head. "Your Grace."
He starts to turn away, and then Siamus says, "Here, Vane," and steps over to offer Vane his pistols.
"Very good, sir," says Vane, accepting them. He glides away in unnatural silence for a man of his size, bearing pistols, to make a guest room ready.
"I remember him yeah," Adamantia says. "You sure know a lot of people."
"Yes, I do," Avrenne agrees. With a bonkers mental ledger to go along with it. Her cold gaze flicks from Adamantia and back to Siamus, warming automatically. She doesn't ask about the pistols or the outfit change, because she's holding those questions for the moment.
Siamus shrugs out of his coat, starts to toss it over one of the chairs in the foyer — a servant will get it, don't worry — and then remembers. He roots in a pocket for a moment and comes out with a notebook and, tucked inside the notebook, what looks like a slightly wilted bouquet garni.
He takes the latter out of the notebook and offers it to Avrenne with a flourish. "I beg your pardon for the delay, Your Grace."
Despite the flourish, his tone is a little weary. You would not believe the delay he's had.
Avrenne reaches for the little bouquet with flickers of movement around her mouth, a careful hiding of a smile that still shows up in her eyes, and the way she takes it seems deliberate as she sets both her hands over his, soft and light touches that stroke along his fingers as she takes possession of the bouquet as if she might be trying to pick up some of his burdens along with it.
"Thank you," she says. "If you would prefer to refresh yourself upstairs, Vice Admiral, I can show Miss Adamantia to her room, and explain where she may roam within the house." Like maybe just also throw in an explanation about closed doors, just in case. Taking no chances with random forest worgen.
"I'll just say good night to Ralaea, if she's still here, and then — aye. I think I'll go upstairs. Could ye have them send up some tea?" Siamus asks.
Oh, no. Tea. It's serious.
"Of course. Ralaea is in the dining room," Avrenne tells him. When she addresses Adamantia again, the difference in her tone feels even sharper, that glacial note, "Miss Adamantia, if you will follow me, please." It's a polite address, and the words are a softened suggestion of an order, but it is definitely a Duchess Suggestion.
Siamus, meanwhile, heads into the dining room. He pauses in the doorway when he sees Ralaea and smiles. "Ralaea," he says, and crosses the room. Not to Rae, naturally, but past her to his own place at the table. As he passes her, though, he puts his hand on her shoulder briefly. "I'm pleased to see ye home. Ye spoke with Morningdew?"
He lifts the cloche over his dinner plate just in case. Maybe he's hoping there are peanuts. There are not peanuts, but he eats a thyme-roasted carrot anyway. With his fingers. Don't tell Sintha.
Ralaea glances up at him, devouring her last mouthful of food. "You're late," she accuses after swallowing. "Yeah, I spoke with him. And you spoke with the tidesage? Are they moving in?"
Siamus raises his eyebrows at the accusation. "Not twelfth bell yet, is it? And I did, aye. And they probably are, aye. Is Morningdew well, and did he have any excuse for his silence to ye?"
"He was worried about the new Lich King being in his head," Ralaea answers. "Said I deserved better. But I told him if we make a contract to be lovers with some other guy who's okay with me and him, then it'd work out."
Siamus pauses with a mouthful of carrot at that first remark, and a shadow crosses his expression. But then he nods amiably. "Good, aye. I'm glad to hear it."
He collects a second carrot from his plate and steps away. "I'll go up now, then. Good night." He crosses the room again to head for the foyer and stairs.
"Sure, night," Ralaea says, contemplating licking the plate when she's alone again.
Meanwhile, Avrenne escorts Adamantia through the common rooms of the games room and the library, explaining their purpose and the general use a guest may have of them, and the location of the dining room for breakfast, while pointing out the other rooms a guest should not go unless expressly invited, before she takes the worgen upstairs to show the bathroom she can use, and that in general the second floor is off limits to exploration, and that shut doors are to be understood as to be not accessible except by knocking and agreement of the occupant within. The third floor she marks as not for a guest to wander in at this time.
When they arrive to the Botany Room, Avrenne holds the door open for Adamantia. The room has a recently refreshed scent to it, the bedding turned down in anticipation of occupancy, and a robe folded neatly at the foot of the bed. "This is your room," Avrenne says. "Is there anything you need to be comfortable?"
"Does… the door have a lock, by chance?" Adamantia asks, stepping inside.
"Yes, of course," Avrenne answers, as she steps in with Adamantia, and steps to the desk on the right, opening a drawer and producing a key, and holding it out to the other woman. "This will lock the door, here, on this side, but you should be aware that we posses another copy of the key that will open it. However, as a guest, we will not enter your room here unless it is a matter of your safety or the House's. You are entitled to your privacy, Miss Adamantia, and we will respect it."
"Oh, good, it's a key," Adamantia says, taking it and looking it over. "Yeah, I'm not concerned about you coming in, do what you want and all that. I don't want to come out, is all."
Avrenne takes that in with the same composure she always possesses, but there is a telltale long pause. "I beg your pardon, could you explain that reasoning more fully? You don't want to come out of your room?"
"Sometimes I have nightmares and end up somewhere else when I wake," Adamantia says. That's… reassuring.
Something about the description makes Avrenne's hands squeeze together, her expression frozen for a long beat before she inhales and sets herself back into place. "Oh. Thank you for letting me know," she says with a cool graciousness. "That is not entirely unfamiliar for this household. We were afflicted by the Nightmare this past January, and we had several instances of sleepwalking." That… is a way to describe it. "I can assure you that the lock is sound, and the door very sturdy. I will be sure to let the staff and those of the House know what to expect so they are not startled. Do you have garments for sleeping?"
Adamantia raises an eyebrow at that. "There are clothes for sleeping?"
Avrenne may be feeling suddenly much more assured by her detailing about doors and knocking. "Yes." Avrenne looks Adamantia over with a scan that might feel oddly mathematical and clinical, like she's measuring the other woman precisely without a measuring tape. "You are just within a quarter inch of my ward, Isla. She has things she can lend you for the night. I will be back with one in just a few moments, if you would like to get familiar with the room." She doesn't wait for confirmation as she turns to go, making her way to Isla's room quickly and efficiently.
She is delayed only by running into Vane, to speak with him on the Vice Admiral's tea as well as letting the staff know they have a sleepwalking worgen guest who will be locking her door at night.
This is, again, a pretty normal evening for Vane.
After a brief exploration of the room, Adamantia collapses into a pile on the couch, resting her head on the seat, her green and brown color scheme fitting right in.
Avrenne knocks on the threshold of the door, before she steps through the still open door, carrying a soft woven white cotton nightgown with a pleasant frill at the neckline, that would reach to ankle length on a 5'4" person. "Here we are," she says as she lays the nightgown over the chair. Her eyes flick from Adamantia on the couch and the bed and back. "The bed is, of course, also completely available to you, as you like. Not everyone chooses to sleep in one, but I hope you know it is welcome for use. If there is anything more you need from the staff, pull on this cord," Avrenne steps forward to demonstrate a braided cord hanging from the ceiling, "and someone will be with you as soon as they are able to be."
Adamantia looks at the cord warily. "What happens if I pull it on accident?"
Avrenne raises her brows. "Then someone will be with you as soon as they are able to be accidentally," she says, her voice dry.
"Do… they have the key? Will they use the key?" Adamantia asks.
"Yes, they may have a key, but no, they will knock," Avrenne says, setting her hands in a light clasp over her belly.
"Okay, and if… I were to not answer, would they use it then?" Adamantia asks.
"No, and they are aware to expect sleepwalking. If they believe you to be in danger to yourself or others, they will retrieve the Vice Admiral as needed," Avrenne says calmly. "I should also tell you that I am a mage, and if for any reason you do find a way out of your room and sleepwalking in a way that could endanger someone, I can and will turn you into a sheep so that we may handle you safely and without harm to your person. You are a guest of ours, and we will do what we can to ensure both your safety and comfort as much as protect you from harm and doing unintentional harm."
"Oh." Adamantia relaxes. "Okay. That's cool. I don't want to… surprise anyone, with the… worgen stuff. It's… it might be bigger than… I've seen a few Gilnean females, and they were… smaller than me."
"I see. I should also tell you that I have met quite a few worgen myself. I was in Darnassus when the Gilnean worgens assembled there, in various forms, and you are not the first worgen to stay here, or visit in another form. My ward Isla has a friend named Mr. Thaniel Clay, who is equally comfortable in both. As I said before, we know Lord Graves as well, though he has visited only in human form. And our architect seeing to the building of our townhouse in Stormwind is Lady Merelda Vane. And there are others as well. I would be curious to hear about your different experience, if you would care to share more about it tomorrow after a rest," Avrenne says. "For tonight, do your best to get a good rest. Good night, Miss Adamantia."
Adamantia nods. "Okay. Thanks for letting me crash here. Hopefully no nightmares tonight."
Hopefully. Avrenne closes the door behind her, before she sweeps on towards not her room, but Siamus' door, knocking politely with the quick, efficient raps.
"Aye," says the familiar voice absently from within.
Inside the room, Siamus has removed his boots and his shirt — as one does — and is now sitting at his desk in just his trousers with his head propped on his hand, fingers threaded into his hair, reading a notebook. There is a tray of tea on the far corner desk, and in Siamus' other hand he is holding a half-full teacup with his fingers around the rim, tilting it idly back and forth.
Avrenne opens the door, and closes it gently with a click behind her, walking over immediately to Siamus, to thread one hand through his hair, and reach the other to the side to cup his cheek to gently suggest he turn his head as she bends to kiss him. "Siamus," she says on her way down, a quiet, steady statement of his name.
He tears his gaze from the notebook and turns obligingly if a moment belatedly to meet her: he is deep in Brainland at the moment.
The kiss seems to summon him back, though, and he passes the teacup blindly to his other hand to set it down on the desk so that he can put both hands on Avrenne's hips. "Avrenne. Anamchara," he tells her. "Ye can't imagine how glad I am to be home. Ye would not believe the bloody aft— eve— time it's been."
He pushes his chair away from the desk, a silent invitation to Avrenne to sit on his lap.
Avrenne obligingly sits in his lap, with a little more wiggling to settle than she usually needs, setting one hand around his shoulders, as she reaches up the other to take a pin out of her hair and set it on the desk in an unerring parallel to the edge of it, the start of a neat row. "Oh, Siamus, dearest." Her hand pets lightly against his shoulder, her eyes warm and concerned as she searches his. "Will you tell me about it?"
Siamus gives a slightly despairing laugh and drops his head forward to rest his forehead on her shoulder for a moment. Then he sits up and nods, reaching for the notebook.
"Ye recall when Hartrim was here? He said some things to me at the time about Dinnsfield — ye know Dinnsfield, Morningdew's guard? — and Lester Amerith. In themselves I don't know I'd have paid the business any mind, but Hartrim — it looked tied to October the 2nd, aye? From last year. So I told Hartrim to let Dinnsfield know I'd want a word, and this afternoon after the session, I went by his place."
He pauses, holding the notebook suspended partway off the desk. "I've bought it, by the way. Am buying it. Dinnsfield's house. Also the street it's on. Can ye sponsor a lecture series? Scientific salon?"
Avrenne takes in the information with that attentive listening of hers, a blink of her eyes the only indication of mild surprise at the buying of the house, and the street. Any questions on that point are pending for later.
"Yes," she agrees. And then asks, "Of what subject in particular do you have in mind?"
"Butterflies," he says.
"Ah, for Miss Kensington-Whit," Avrenne says. "Easily managed. I will speak with her on it further for greater details." A slightly distracted sound enters her tone. "Priscilla will likely be able to do something perhaps with another art series if we need to expand interest for visibility, particularly for a rising profile of a worgen lepidopterist for political purposes. Well thought and done, Vice Admiral," she praises, moving another pin out of her hair and setting it on the desk, as she strokes her other hand through his, settling the frantic curls into some sense of wind-tossed order.
Siamus nods tiredly. Please pet the Vice Admiral. "How much does a Stormwind Guard get paid?"
Avrenne names a range of amounts, and names the average, to so exact and fine a number down to the copper that she can only have researched this recently and fully, likely after October 2nd, to have it at the ready, perhaps in anticipation of helping to negotiate a contract in writing of what Reniya can or should offer Tabiana for fairness of financial support.
Another pin is set on the desk in its little row, and some of her hair begins to slip out of the chignon. The concern hasn't fully left her eyes as she continues to pet his hair, her fingernails grazing ever so lightly along his scalp.
Siamus slumps back in the chair, a hand on the small of Avrenne's back, and closes his eyes beneath the petting. "Tides ha'mercy, that's it? No wonder the pair of them live in a box wi' no forks. How do we raise it? I'll have to put an earmark in the budget, aye?"
"Mm." For a moment she stares off onto a point on the wall, her voice that distracted, talking out loud tone. "If you propose it as an incentive to both strengthen the military support within the city post-Deathwing, as well as to provide stable jobs capable of supporting people within the local communities to accurately reflect the higher cost of living, and to avoid potential for civil unrest with Westfall as a cautionary tale, I think you may have the majority support excepting the usual dissenters. It may also be a way to provide more jobs for refugee Gilneans who were guards and police forces themselves, as they will be more likely to take the job than another that might pay better or go mercenary. Duchess Aspenwood and others will want the numbers in specifics at the first proposal. Would you like me to assemble those figures?" she offers.
He nods again tiredly. "The poor lads are bled dry, I expect, with all that's gone on this last year, and it's a pittance what we're paying them. The city — the kingdom — deserves a strong guard, and I expect most of them on it now are dedicated souls if they'll do it for so little pay, but it's that same sort of dedication we ought to be rewarding better." Collect your data, Avrenne; he's already drafting a speech.
"At any rate — oh, Dinnsfield's house, aye. Little box. Told them I was buying the block for redevelopment so they'd be more willing to sell — Miss Kensington-Whit bares claws if ye suggest anything like charity — but it's a sound plan. Old Town, good residential location. Could demolish and put up one side multifamily — mixed use multifamily, even, if we get the zoning — and the other side townhouses."
"Oh," Avrenne says, as she drags her fingers through Siamus' hair, a slightly firmer touch but still a light, precious movement down to his neck, as she removes another pin from her hair and the chignon comes down in full. "What an excellent idea, Siamus. Old Town has the best reputation for remaining intact, despite everything, and many would pay well to live there, but also it's a far more affordable district in the middle range. And, of course, we have Lady Merelda, as another high profile example of her talents. The construction guilds will be happy for the work as well, and with the rezoning, we have the potential to restructure Stormwind's displaced. There will be some management of resources for the construction, but that is simply a matter of negotiation and time. It's brilliant." Her smile, warm and bright and proud, is audible even in her voice as much as it shines on her face.
He lifts his face to smile back at her. "Aye. And I told them it would be to showcase Lady Merelda. Miss Kensington-Whit is also… touchy in the extreme about the worgen business. Ralaea may have… made an impression there." He shakes his head. "Understandable, aye? But bloody unfortunate on both sides. Had to make plain to Miss Kensington-Whit that I've already raised the colors for worgen acceptance. Did ye know her family cut her off? Poor lass was always charming."
"Yes, and it is not to do with being a worgen, at least not the impetus. In, oh, it had to have been year 18, if I recall correctly, her parents affianced her to a very distant cousin of hers of the Stormwind Kensington-Whits; the lines are very distinct now, and the Elwynn Kensington-Whits very minor and with little power and only one true title of a barony among them. Miss Kensington-Whit left for Gilneas in Year 19 to study a particular butterfly that was prevalent there, and it was against her family's wishes, as Gilneas was no longer part of the Alliance as you undoubtedly recall.
"And then the wall came up, with her on the other side. She didn't return, and after two years, her parents officially removed her in absentia from the House and installed her younger sister Lady Cecilyah to inherit. She married a few years after, and had an heir produced within the year, cementing her place. When Miss Kensington-Whit returned, as I understand things, she found her parents unwilling to reinstate her, and she was not welcome to remain within the house.
"She was always… uncomfortable with being helped directly, or having a direction of an order given," Avrenne says diplomatically. "Her parents treated her 'more like an object than a person,' is how I recall it being described in a letter, years ago. She was at the summit in Darnassus, and I found her a familiar figure, though we had never met. She reminds me a little of Isla, and a little of Finley, especially when he was younger."
Siamus frowns absently, stroking Avrenne's hip. "It was in 18 that I knew her. I think? 17 or 18. I wasn't ship's captain yet; that was in 19, and so was Betsy. To be honest, I only remembered the butterfly business, because she went on and on. She'd published — a book? An article? A paper? A thing about butterflies. Was excitable about it. Also got snappish at me once when I offered to fetch her a chair. It was charming."
Only Siamus "Danger Hugs" Fallon in his early twenties would have thought that prickly young ladies easily affronted at parties were charming. (He has since adapted to frostier climes.)
"I don't believe I ever met a sister. She might not have been out before I was a captain?" He shrugs. It is 100% possible that he met the sister and has no recollection whatsoever, because she did not have a Special Interest or get mad at him.
"She is much younger than Miss Kensington-Whit, and of no social importance," Avrenne says, rather coldly. "Miss Kensington-Whit published a book on the Painted Lady Butterfly, and then went on to revise several other books of her colleagues with her methods, and published several shorter papers that were considered highly accurate." She sounds a bit like she's reading off an internal ledger of information, with no emotional investment in it. Butterflies. This is not war or resources or a Language In Between.
What she does have an emotional investment in is Siamus, and she strokes her hand along his shoulder, and down a pectoral towards the new tattoo, as her other hand moves to start unbuttoning her dress at her neckline. "Did something happen with Miss Kensington-Whit and Mr. Dinnsfield?" she prompts.
Oh, right, that whole thing.
That Whole Thing.
That Whoooooooole Thing.
Siamus picks up his notebook again. "There's something — aye. What Hartrim told me is that Amerith has had Dinnsfield under surveillance? There were some… connections with the October 2nd business beyond just Dinnsfield and Amerith's involvement, so I went to speak to Dinnsfield about what's been going on."
He drops the notebook emphatically back on his desk. "I have no bloody idea what's going on, but it's… something? Amerith has strings in all sorts of things beyond the surveillance on Dinnsfield, and the lass he's had on surveillance has taken an unwholesome-seeming interest in Hartrim himself, trying to pry information from him with odd games. I suspect she knows he's a tidesage, which means it's possible Amerith knows.
"Oh, I also suspect Hartrim's a tidesage. His mother and sister are likely arriving tomorrow. Possibly his father as well, I've no idea."
Avrenne is less surprised by the tidesage reveal than she might have been. Kul Tirans suddenly in their lives and Ralaea mentioning that Siamus was speaking to tidesages, the math was there. "I see. Well, I can have Vane make up the Summer Suite upstairs in case it is both parents, and I shall see what room might fit the sister best according to her preference tomorrow. We have several possible still." Done and done. Next.
"Count Amerith has been keeping Mr. Morningdew's guard from the trial under surveillance. And you suspect that it has something to do with his assassination attempt on the 2nd of last October. Do you think that Count Amerith still holds Mr. Morningdew and his associates in suspicion for his connection with the late Kaela Mondragon, because of the letter that was found that implied that perhaps Mr. Morningdew was being steered towards a direction she wanted him to go?"
Siamus rubs his brow. "I have no idea what I think. I have… half a book's worth of notes and they're all mad, at the moment. And I finished the evening in such a paranoia I went and collected my guns from Brophy's, in case. The Twilight's Hammer comes into it somehow — there was an assassination attempt at Amerith's manor recently, by a Twilight's Hammer operative, and Amerith lied about it to the Guard. It was likely directed at Almeiria Fey — the witness — who is staying with Amerith at present. And Amerith's been collecting information about Dinnsfield's family that not even Dinnsfield knew."
Avrenne continues to undo the buttons of her dress, to the point where she's revealed the nicely made black bra, and her current Assets filling them. "Mm." She reaches up to add her own hand to gently rubbing at Siamus' other temple. "It is certainly like Count Amerith to perhaps, obscure information," she says, diplomatically, "on behalf of someone under his protection and interest. If Miss Fey had connections to Twilight's Hammer, he may be willing to take on the personal risk to himself, rather than damage her reputation."
Siamus considers this, frowning. He does understand protecting a lady's reputation. He taps his thumb thoughtfully on the desk. He may be reshuffling notecards.
"The cannon," he mutters, and takes his hand from Avrenne's hip so that he can lean past her a little awkwardly, take up a pencil, and jot another note in his impenetrable thorny math.
She tries to lean a little more out of his way, but honestly, there's not much she can do. The bump extends significantly outward. Avrenne waits until he has stopped writing before she asks, "The cannon?"
"The cannon," Siamus repeats. "Was non-lethal." He looks up at Avrenne. He is maybe doing wild eyes. "Elle raised the point. Everyone who's talked of Voldrune said — but Elle pointed it out."
Avrenne is doing steady eyes, as she tries to follow these sentences with very little context. "The cannon that was at Voldrune, the place where Mr. Westwind was rescued from, that Mr. Morningdew was accused of aiding and abetting the kidnapping for?" she asks to confirm, and then pauses. "A non-lethal cannon such as the sort of the Darkmoon Faire?"
"Aye." Siamus lays his pencil down. "Everyone who was there thought it was a proper cannon until they got a close look at it. They saw the Scourge had a cannon. Amerith provided the cannon; we know that. But also… it was a non-lethal cannon. Was he meant to provide something else, or promised that he would, and then supplied the carnival cannon instead? Was it something like that that made him a target on the 2nd of October? If the Scourge couldn't do anything about a false cannon because it was all they had, and so they set it up to deceive all the same, but in fact…?"
He picks up his pencil again for, apparently, the exclusive purpose of manic tapping on the desk.
"Mm. The question I might ask is why the Scourge would have asked Count Amerith for a cannon in the first place. I cannot say that Lord Amerith is a natural patriot, but to judge him by his actions with the war in Northrend, I would not suspect him of being considered an ally enough to ask for a weapon, not with so many other avenues of accessing one, including as you mentioned, those selling the looted goods off the sunken ships." A brief moment for residual anger to surface and submerge once more. "If he was pressured for some other reason into being forced to help, I can see how he might play them false to a letter of the agreement and undermining the spirit, and willingly allowing himself to be a target to avoid assisting the Scourge. I can also say that a suggestion to use a cannon to fire people places would be something the Count might make, especially if he was told little context, or given too open a request for him to interpret as he wills. He frequents the Darkmoon Faire, and supports it in many ways, and would be highly familiar with the type. He has many connections in that sphere."
The manic pencil-tapping increases. Siamus nods, gazing into space. "I have… a third of something here, I think, and somehow it keeps becoming… a larger and more complicated something without ever being more than a third of it. Amerith is sitting at the middle of it, and he's playing false; he and his lass are playing a game of some sort. It has to do with the Mondragon business, as that's where it began and it involves… the same players. People who approach it just keep… being added to the game. I can't tell how much malice is in it, how much opportunity, how much — Hartrim's mother has a notion the Count is interested in tidesages, looking to 'collect novelties.'"
Avrenne frowns, a shadow passing over her expression. "Count Amerith finds the unusual and rare interesting, and he does often treat people in a way of creating a game that he watches unfold for his amusement, especially if they will surprise him. He cannot be depended upon to act in a moral manner, and he does not carefully consider the impact of his actions for harm done where that amusement might be made. If he came into the knowledge of tidesages, he may very well attempt to cultivate the connection out of curiosity, and he would be even more intrigued if he learned how secretive it is, enough to follow any lead he found even if the methods were an abuse of his power and position. Has he approached the Hartrims on the matter?"
"Not that I know." Siamus sets the pencil down to put his hand on Avrenne's hip again. It is his Thinking Hip. "I don't know where she took the notion, to be honest, but the woman has… a bad history with her gift, it seems. When I turned up, she thought first that I was there to… buy her? Or one of her children? None of it was clear to me. But hearing her particular fear about Amerith on top of the rest…. And the fact that I'm reasonably certain the Ravendusk lass knows or believes something like it about Hartrim…." He grimaces and shakes his head.
Avrenne twitches at the notion of someone even considering that Siamus would do something like buy a woman or her children. Her frown gets darker, and her tone more distracted as she thinks out loud. "If someone had spread the rumor to her that you were not to be trusted, to try to keep a family of tidesages isolated, I suppose that would be one way to do it, to give them incentive to not seek you out as a known Fallon. I can speak with her more when she arrives, if you would like, to try to understand where her perspective came from. Naturally, no rumor could survive the meeting of you to know that you are a man of honor, so at least that is to rest. But I would like to know who started it and when, if there is a reason behind it, to know if it ends in a political enemy of yours." She flicks her gaze to Siamus once more. "Count Amerith and Miss Ilanya Ravendusk having an interest in Mr. Hartrim, is that recent, since after their arrival here at the house on the 2nd?"
Siamus shakes his head. "Hartrim posed as Dinnsfield at one point to serve as… a distraction. He used a potion that changed his appearance, to convince Miss Ravendusk that Dinnsfield was at a tavern all evening. She was… not fooled. Because she licked him? And I am told she has referred to him as 'the Salt Man' since then, and I believe their interest — her interest, at least — arose around that time?
"I am also not clear what sort of person is able to deduce another person's identity — or that their identity is false, at least — by licking them." He pauses. "By licking a person they have not licked previously," he amends. "So I can't be sure whether Miss Ravendusk isn't something other than she appears. Amerith keeps peculiar pets."
He focuses on Avrenne again. "And I would appreciate, aye, if ye would take some time with Mrs. Hartrim. To find out… her situation, and to know where she's taken her notions, and to see whether she can't be reassured." Another pause. "She fainted, when I came in. She invited me in to the house, to be clear — knew who I was — and then fainted."
Avrenne's brows raise. "Oh. Well." She smiles at him warmly, setting her fingers lightly against his shoulder, trailing down along his arm. "And from that to coming to the house on invitation. As expected of my charming gentleman of a husband."
Siamus shrugs a tired but modest shoulder, and gives Avrenne a wry smile. "There were some other moments in between. I do believe her husband would have liked to toss me out at one point."
"But he didn't. So we shall see if he arrives with her tomorrow then, and if not, if he simply needs to hear the right song to be convinced." Avrenne focuses back onto Siamus, stroking her fingers back and forth in a light petting motion, as she places things into contexts in her own mental ledger. "The matter of Mr. Dinnsfield and Mr. Hartrim seeking to create a distraction specifically for Miss Ravendusk, may I ask why they were doing so? Is the guard investigating Count Amerith on suspicion of something?"
Siamus hesitates. "They were trying to discern the nature of Amerith's interest in Dinnsfield, and so Dinnsfield entered his house. Illegally. It was done well before I came into it, obviously, and I trust Dinnsfield's… motives were in the right place, if not his methods, but what's most useful about the business I believe is that it was the same evening the assassin entered the place, and the Guard were able to arrive uncommon fast because Dinnsfield and his friends were aware, and knew their duty as to the Count's safety." He grimaces. "That's also how they know what Amerith withheld from the Guard as to the assassin's identity."
Another pause, and a frown. "Did ye know — Amerith employs a death knight? One of Mondragon's erstwhile cohort, in fact. Known to Ralaea; the news of it upset her. They also believe — 'they' being the Guard — that Amerith has possession of Mondragon's armor. They weren't able to confirm that, I don't believe? I'll have to go through my notes. Those were some of the first things presented, and there were — a great many more after that." So many more.
"I wasn't aware he had hired on a death knight guard, no, but it does sound like something he would do. It would not surprise me to find out he has a death knight butler, or any number of other positions one would not expect to be employed in such a manner, that is very much his way. However, that he has hired a specific death knight who was one of the former associates of the late Commander Mondragon, is an oddity that may be too far, and a rather damning association to have given his involvement with Voldrune," Avrenne says, a note of strong disapproval in her voice.
"Ralaea mentioned that earlier, that she believes he has her former commander's armor, and therefore some ill intent towards herself. Which I must admit, that he would collect the armor on its own merit is very much like something he would do, for the novelty, and the ability to potentially startle guests with the story of it should they notice it, particularly at this time of year, but it might also suggest other, far worse, implications of his sentiments regarding the incidents of last year. Do you recall the identity of the death knight guard?"
Siamus leans toward the desk and pages back through the notebook. "'Jothran,'" he says.
Avrenne stares at a point in the room. Beep boop, ledger retrieval in progress. Retrieval complete. "Jothran Silvertone, the paladin, second-in-command, a 'big brother to everyone.'" And then she frowns. "Ralaea did not believe he was raised, at least as of earlier this year. It does not, of course, mean he wasn't, only that I may not have enough information to say one way or another then if his hiring by Lord Amerith is suspect or him finding an unexpected ally against what may have been a threat to his safety from the late Commander Mondragon."
Siamus again takes his hand from her to lean around and get his pencil again. This is very awkward and yet he makes no effort to dislodge her from his lap. She is his Thinking Wife. He jots some more notes. As he writes, he observes absently, "Ralaea said something as to that, but I didn't take it down. She was distraught."
"Of course. These were her companions, and it's reasonable and natural that it's upsetting to learn of their fates. She also came home today claiming that after, in what I can gather was nothing more than a gentlemanly offering of assistance to the ward of a House he knows well, that Count Amerith 'tried to abduct her.' I still am not entirely sure where her impression of it seems to have come from, as she said she did not recognize him, but if she learned of him after in the context of the armor and the hiring, perhaps she was reminded too keenly of the situation last year that required her to be under constant protection from ill intent," Avrenne says.
"To my knowledge, Count Amerith has never kidnapped or held a person against their will. He does on occasion seem to take an interest in a person and encourage them into his home, but no more so than could be said of House Fallon to view both from the outside. He did have a recent unfortunate experience of taking in some young man who was living on the streets of Stormwind City who caused a house fire that burned his Stormwind home to the ground. I don't recall the Count taking any action against the young man, but I admit I have not kept up with it."
"Mondragon," says Siamus, looking up from his notebook. "Another Mondragon. Alysson. D'ye remember — oh, no, ye weren't of the House yet. It was at the Gala. Kept having to be carted out of the bathtubs. Kaela Mondragon was his aunt, evidently."
Avrenne's eyes narrow as she marks down the information in her own mental ledger. "That is far too close a connection to be a coincidence, and a very different context. The question I may have is why he would do so. If that was for Mr. Alysson Mondragon's own protection, such as our taking in of Ralaea, if he was in danger of being set to the same fate of killed and then reanimated, and the Count took him in for such a reason." She considers another angle. "I wonder though if not with such honorable intent, if the Count has simply taken an interest in the late Commander and those around her, if she was the one who tried to have him killed last year on the 2nd. It's hard to say with him. I would be more inclined to assume his interest in someone who attacked him, to perhaps even deliberately take in those of her association, before ascribing to him motives of an honest desire to do good."
"I would not," Siamus says dryly, "assign the man an honest desire to do good, no. I'm not sure I'd assign him motives at all, so much as…." He pauses, frown, tries to think of a word for the antithesis of a motive. "… the antithesis of a motive," he finishes with visible dissatisfaction.
"He thrives in a certain amount of chaos, and especially when he can engender it, or create an air of mystery purposefully. He very much enjoyed the stir he was able to cause when he began parading that 'Lady Ravendusk,' of 'House Ravendusk,' around, with her odd mask. She was no lady, I can say that without a doubt, as I expect Sintha would tell you. 'Lady Ravendusk,' lacked the mannerisms and understanding of the social elements of one raised in it. There was something very odd about her as well, a sense of darkness to her though that …lent her… " Avrenne trails off on a thought, and although they aren't visible, the formula of her mind sing so loudly that they almost are. It gets a little odder as she holds her hand up in the air, as if hiding something with her hand, perhaps a picture of a person in her mind.
"Wait a moment. Almeiria Fey. She was Lady Ravendusk. I am sure of it. The assassination was false, or at least the identity was assassinated truly, but she's returned in another. It may have even been part of a ruse to keep her safe, hidden behind the mask and a false name. How strange," she says faintly, as if in awe of peeking behind a door and finding it filled with webs.
Siamus sits up so sharply he nearly tumbles Avrenne from his lap. "She — what, now? Almeiria —"
He snatches up the notebook and pages to the back, past a numbered and bullet-pointed list of some kind, to a haphazard chart: just a web of names, really, connected by lines. Almeiria Fey's name alone is underlined in red pen, but — "Look," says Siamus. "Here. D'ye see? Lady Ravendusk, in Amerith's column. She's the only one without a strand tying her across. Everyone else in both columns connects across, but Lady Ravendusk sits alone with Amerith. I had thought it was because she was a phantom, some outside plant — but it's because she's already here."
He picks up his pencil and draws an emphatic line between Lady Ravendusk and Almeiria Fey.
And then he adds a ? next to the line, just to be fair.
He looks up. "But why did —" He slumps back in his chair, thinking. "So she wasn't assassinated. She vanished, so she could drop the ruse? But something did happen to Amerith the same day. Unless that was a smokescreen. And it looks as though someone is attempting to assassinate her now."
If he knits his brow any harder it is going to stay like that. "Miss Coit?" he asks his notebook, which is not named that and thus does not answer.
Avrenne looks at the haphazard chart, her eyes flicking over the names, and the web of connections, as she balances on Siamus' lap carefully. She gives him a moment before she reaches out to draw a hand lightly over his brow. "Miss Coit?" she prompts.
"Miss Coit," says Siamus.
After a moment he seems to realize that was not a complete sentence because Avrenne does not share his brain, much as though it may sometimes seem that way. He looks up at her. "She's the one introduced me personally to Miss Fey, after the trial business. Brought her along, that is, to the Onslaught assault. They know one another."
He looks down at his web again, frowning. "And Hartrim says that Ravendusk — the one that didn't disappear, that is, Ilanya — works for Amerith. Was working for him already, I mean. Before she was attached to 'Lady Ravendusk.'"
"Mm. I don't recall her in his household before that, although I could ask Finley to be sure," she says. "But if that is true, then it would mean that Count Amerith set her up in a false name on purpose, or perhaps if she knew his reputation and felt she was in danger, a way to achieve his protection would be to do exactly that: create an identity and mystery for him to turn his chaos to her purpose. That may have put Count Amerith in the crosshairs of this," she says, pointing at the line connecting Almeiria to Mondragon.
"Almeira Fey clearly came out on the side of Mr. Morningdew against the late Kaela Mondragon. For some reason Count Amerith provided Kaela Mondragon with a non-lethal cannon before that and it caused an assassination attempt, real or feigned. If it were that he had made some sort of deal of protection for 'Lady Ravendusk,' and as you have said, provided the wrong cannon, perhaps that was why he evoked such ire.
"Now that he has taken up the protection once more of Miss Fey, in her truer form, I think it's possible, all elements considered thus far, that Count Amerith may genuinely care for Miss Fey, and has been trying to act in her best interests in his own…unusual way."
Siamus frowns disapprovingly at his chart. Is… that the conclusion here? Really? Lester Amerith… likes someone?
"Possible," he concedes. "She's marked because she's the first one I meant to speak with, as the apparent intended target of the assassination at Amerith's house. I was going to go to her commanders in Cobalt to arrange it, but possible Miss Coit could extend a… more cordial invitation?"
His frown deepens. "If we posit protection of Miss Fey — from what or whom? Mondragon? The two of them — Fey and Mondragon — are linked. Or the Twilight's Hammer? They're allegedly after her now. Both? In which case I must wonder about Miss Fey's background and life choices."
"Miss Fey is undoubtedly a strong shadow user. Perhaps her use of it was learned under less than desirable or appropriate circumstances," Avrenne says, diplomatic as always. "With what I know of Count Amerith, I would be inclined to suppose that he has been making decisions to protect an interest of his, and found a woman who has a blend of constant mystery and danger that appeals to his sensibilities, causing him to act accordingly. I would as soon rather speak to him about it than assume though. But he will insist on a game rather than speak plainly.
"I am afraid I don't think I have any other insight as to why he would be looking so deeply into Mr. Dinnsfield, beyond that he would do so if he found something interesting about the man." She draws finger along the line between Dinnsfield and Peril Farrens, and two more Farrens names. "May I ask, what is the connection here?"
"They're brothers. Dinnsfield must have changed his surname at some point." Siamus traces the line between Lathrik and Peril himself, an echo-gesture. "I mean to have Ta look into the why of that. Amerith didn't know until — for some reason — he decided to track how Farrens — Peril — has been spending his money." He looks up at Avrenne. "Amerith is the backer behind the Azerothian Interest. Farrens used the money in part to get his brother a house, which is how Amerith found him. But now " He traces the lines to the other two names. " Amerith is interested in their parents. He's got information on, at least, the father, which neither of the Farrens brothers had before.
"That's my second task — to try to find records from the Stormwind military prior to the fall. I… can't imagine how there'd be any, or many, at least. But Dinnsfield is concerned that if anyone catches up with his father, the man will be hanged for desertion. Which is… preposterous, frankly." Siamus puts a hand in his hair. "He vanished in the war, in the fall of Stormwind, was presumed dead. It seems he's not dead, but he never turned back up to the army. But wi'the number of losses they took, the chaos it was, the… entire shambles of the thing — and for all we know, the man didn't desert but was… held hostage by orcs, or the like."
Or Jaina Proudmoore. Just spitballin'.
Avrenne frowns, and in thought as Siamus speaks, unbuttons her gown further, beginning to slide it off her arms, though she doesn't yet get up from his lap. She's the Thinking Wife still, and it appears to please him for her to remain. "I see. For the Stormwind military before the Fall, I think Lady Lysander will be your best connection to trace back as far as possible for anything that was stored within the Keep's records. What we may lack in physical copies, she may likely still recall of the ones that were lost in the First War and subsequent chaos, or know exactly where the fragile remaining copies are held of original records.
"A military connection though is not like Count Amerith to take an interest. He finds the military in general boring, and war even more boring." For some completely inexplicable reason, she does not say, but the tone suggests it. "A name change might intrigue him, especially with Mr. Dinnsfields involvement in Mr. Morningdew's case that involved Miss Fey as a key witness. But I can't imagine that would keep him interested for long. Why he was looking into the finances of his employee… the Count does misuse his power at times, although it is often difficult to prove exactly when it happens. A number of people often seem to 'owe him a favor,' or are at times strangely willing to help for 'no charge.'"
Siamus looks stony with disapproval. He would, naturally, never barter 'favors' with anyone.
Roper turns to look directly at the camera.
"It's Farrens who has title on the little box — the house, that is — and I mean to buy it from him. Whether Amerith takes note of that or is done following Farrens' money, I can't say. I haven't met Farrens at all yet, but I am told —" He hesitates. He is clearly about to say something Delicate in front of a lady. "… Dinnsfield suggested that Farrens has no contract with Amerith for the finance."
Avrenne winces, the expression of someone who has learned something she did not want to know and regrets knowing it. She slides her arms out of her dress, and lets it rest in place held up by the pregnancy for now. "Count Amerith is certainly not above acting in such a way of something under the table, for one reason or another, from amusement to a way to prevent his name from being associated. He may have held something over Mr. Farren's head to begin the process without security, or he might have found an interesting reason to proceed without security on either side, as a man might enjoy fencing with live steel and no protection for the thrill of it. Especially if he knows that he has the money to hire a healer in the metaphor, and thus win the game even if he were stabbed."
"'Under the table,'" Siamus repeats a little direly. There are many things Siamus will do under a table, but shady hiring is not one of them. How do you pay the taxes correctly that way?
"Yes. Count Amerith makes it exceptionally difficult to prove, but the way he sometimes has connections as he does, behavior around him, it would be statistically unlikely without such explanations for it. I will say I have never caught him at it, but he has passed a threshold of probability that he does not engage at least at times with such methods, shell corporations or through another hand listed as the official contributor, who owed him a 'favor,'" Avrenne says. She's done the numbers and they point to Odd and Possibly Shady. "He openly supports enough eccentric causes through charity, and he has always been careful to not be caught at anything illegal, pays his dues correctly, that I have nothing at all but that unlikelihood for my conclusion." Her math is there, Vice Admiral, but she has had to solve for x by probability, not exact numbers.
Siamus is frowning at the chart in his notebook again. "Item one," he says. "Ask Miss Coit if she can arrange an interview with Miss Fey. Item two. Arrange a meeting with Peril Farrens regarding his dealings with the Count. And to purchase the house. Item three. Look into Dinnsfield. Is there a reason we can identify that Amerith is so interested in him?" He looks up for a moment, stares into space, and then looks down again. "Item four. Evidence that Amerith takes a specific personal interest in shadow magic. Item — sidebar: look into the military record of Fray Farrens. Sidebar: look into awareness of or interest in tidesages by Amerith or Miss Ravendusk."
He sits back and regards Avrenne like he's seeing a little through her, and then he blinks and focuses. "Initial action items."
Avrenne nods, leaning into him, brushing his hair back from his face, searching his expression, as she pets him lightly, some of the concern back in her dark eyes. "I will wait for you to tell me when it will be best to speak with Count Amerith directly, or at least indirectly, for your purposes. I have a cause and reason if we need something that is not so obvious, but if he is already aware of your interest in him, my own actions will inevitably be known to be purposeful. He is simply more likely to engage in the game if we both begin with an opening of pretense for the game. Lady Kenelly has provided a Gilnean rose bush, and Larabie and Otto have been learning to care for it. Count Amerith has a special interest in roses and rose varieties. He has nearly the entirety of the rose section of the Floriography in his garden, although not in alphabetical order."
"I'm fair certain he knows or will know I'm in it," Siamus says. "We went to collect Hartrim from the barracks and ran into Miss Ravendusk just leaving. She goaded — tried to — Dinnsfield a bit. I told her to give Amerith my regards."
"Mm." Avrenne continues her petting, unconcerned by this drawing of interest potential from Count Amerith. "Your interest in him and, I expect, Miss Fey in particular, will in turn make him interested in you. Though, there is no reason for him to consider you an enemy, and I recommend to not be quick to make him one unless he has true ill intent towards House Fallon or the Alliance. He has his uses, and I keep him as a strategic ally for those uses, particularly in the field of arts and entertainment for turning public opinion as we wish it to turn. It may be that he has been working for good purpose in unnecessarily mysterious and underhanded ways for amusement of a nature that does not bend naturally towards innate goodness. However, if he does decide to make House Fallon an enemy, or has betrayed the Alliance in his dealings, he will regret it," she says, her voice low, and something dark and cold in her eyes before it's blinked away, replaced by that softer warmth. "And you know that whatever you choose to say or do with him, I will support it."
Siamus shrugs. "I'm not worried about his interest; I did it a'purpose to let him know I've taken interest, and to give him another distraction, if he'll take it and it draws any pressure from the others." He considers his chart again, sets it aside, and rubs his brow. "They've got two forks, Avrenne. Amerith's got resources, he's dangling money over their heads, and even in the best case, he's playing with them. He knows they don't like it, he knows it's worked them to a pitch, and if his motives were entirely benevolent, he'd put them at ease instead of… setting that girl among them to behave like a cat among pigeons. Ye can practically hear the man giggling. So even if at the bottom of this he means well — or doesn't mean ill, at least — he's going about it in a bloody nasty way.
"I know he has his uses, and I'll concede he's not been an opponent in the House — not like Lescover — even if he does take his odd notions and sit on them now and again. But if this business is aimed at a worthy goal, he's taking a damned twisty path toward it, with no thought to —"
He frowns and looks through Avrenne into space again, is silent for several moments.
Then he lays his free hand on her thigh. It is his Thinking Thigh. "I'll want ye to speak with him, aye, but when — not yet, at least. I want more light on the business first, give him less room to play his games at us."
Avrenne listens, threading her hand through his hair. "Yes, although I can dance fast enough to hold his attention on a game for a time, the way I manage him is that I don't attempt to halt him, because he cannot be prevailed upon to stop. There is no better nature to appeal to for it, and he has no benevolence, only his own interests, and he does not consider how his games sometimes break his toys. But I can redirect him, take the cat away from the pigeons and into the barn with the rats where he can be set to purpose, if he can be convinced there's enough interest in it for him.
"At the moment, I don't know how or what that would be, not for certain. I have had his interest before because I never allowed him to hear my true voice, only my songs, and I, too, am a lady in a mask. But that means, as you say, knowing the right song to sing, and singing them at the proper time. When you are ready, I will enter the stage on your cue," she tells him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek.
"I trust your instincts, Siamus. Something here has caught your mind, and that means there is something more, something at work that isn't only a nobleman abusing his power for an amusement, or taking in a dangerous possible lover. I know that you will untangle it, and whatever stands at the center we will manage. This, being part of a House that has all the forks it could ever need so that when something dangerous comes to call, that we can do something about it, not sit on the sidelines and try to herd a chaotic cat into action by small nudges, was always a dream of mine." She gives him a smile, lambent and sweet, a glow of happiness in a woman deeply content with her place.
Siamus blinks, distracted out of his thought-labyrinth. "Are we going to… wield forks against danger?"
He is maybe trying not to smile.
"Against Count Amerith, it would be a viable strategy of an opening bid to refocus," she teases, her own smile wider and brighter at the hint of his. "Send him twenty silver forks for no discernible reason. You will get his attention."
Siamus drops his head back to gaze at the ceiling. "D'ye know, after the evening it's been, I'm — considering that. Actually. Just from spite." He pauses. "Because of course they won't match the rest of his silver," he says very solemnly.
She laughs, a pleasant sound of a warm hearth gently heating a man after a long, cold day. "Well, you have my support, as always," she says as she rises to a stand, to shimmy off the rest of her dress, letting it drop into a soft thump of a heap of cloth, leaving her in her underwear. She can be delayed from a course, but rarely stopped in truth, and she was supposed to be undressed and ready for bed.
"I think I shall need to send for Lord Graves tomorrow, as soon as could be reasonably expected for him to be here," she tells him as she starts towards his bed. "Our newest guest has a particular problem that needs to be addressed. She apparently suffers from nightmares, and sleepwalks, in her worgen form." Sorry, Siamus, it's still That Kind of Day. "She has locked her door, and the staff has been apprised of the situation for the evening, and they will let the children know. Emelia has the door to the nursery locked as well for tonight."
Siamus blinks twice: once because he has realized his wife is undressing and he should be paying attention to that, and then the second time because there is a sleepwalking nightmare worgen in his house. He gets to his feet. "The — tides ha'mercy. Should we bring Ery in here?"
"I thought of it as well, but whether she is in the nursery or here is same principle of a two door protection. Moving her now will wake her, and it may take quite some time to return her to sleep. Any amount of noise that would be a worgen knocking down a door we will hear, and we will have the benefit of another locked door while we open ours." Just information presented as she turns down the bed. "I have informed Miss Adamantia that should that situation arise, I will be polymorphing her, and we will do what we must to keep her and the household safe. Tomorrow, I will ask Lord Graves if he knows of a better option for the long term."
Siamus looks warily toward the door, clearly torn. He nods at last, reluctantly. "Ye said that Vane knows it, aye?"
"Yes, Vane and all the staff have been informed, and they will have let the rest of the household know already about our guest and her nature. If she does something like howl in her sleep, I don't want it startling anyone or thinking we are under attack," Avrenne says, as she removes the rest of her clothing in preparation for bed. I specify bed rather than sleep for obvious reasons. "And especially if she shows up for breakfast tomorrow in her worgen form, I would rather not have an incident of being unprepared." Prepare people with information, the Avrenne Esprit Fallon way.
Siamus nods, still warily, and glances toward Avrenne. His expression changes: there is the slow smile, the wicked glint in the gaze. What nightmare worgen? "Your Grace," he says. "I apologize for neglecting a lady so long."
Avrenne sets herself up onto the bed, with open arms held out to him, and a sweet smile on her face. "You have had quite a day, Vice Admiral. Will you let me ensure it ends well, at least?" It's a suggestion, but a wifely suggestion.
Siamus's hands go to the buttons of his trousers as he approaches the bed. "Your Grace," he says seriously, "is the most considerate of ladies. And a very good girl."