(2024-10-24) Nightmare Sleepwalking Worgen Free To Good Home

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Author:	Athena
Summary:	With the knowledge that their newest rando guest at House Fallon has a nightmare sleepwalking problem and only two (2) doors between her and those most vulnerable at the House, Avrenne calls in support from the Gravehowl Alpha, Lukas Rhenardt, to ensure both the safety of House Fallon, as well as the well-being of Adamantia. 1900~ words.
Rating:	T for Teen

The message is sent out early in the day, just after breakfast at 7am, from Fallon House to Lord Graves, in the Lady Fallon's hand, that there is something that she needs to speak with him about at his earliest convenience, and that if perhaps that earliest convenience could be that same day at 11am onwards, she would be most grateful for his time. Included as a post-script of what she may deem relevant information that might make a man more conveniently ready is that the Vice Admiral is still at home for the time being.

At precisely fifteen minutes past eleven, Vane answers the door to Lord Graves, who is dressed exactly as he was on his last visit. It seems as though he may have acquired a new suit recently, but he only acquired one (1).

Vane informs the gentleman that he is to wait in the foyer, and that Her Grace will be along to meet him shortly. He does not even crack a smile when he says shortly.

Lukas nods courteously and moves to one of the windows along the hall to gaze outward. He pointedly avoids looking at the Terrifying Lady Portrait by the stairs.

She descends the stairs in regular, measured stately steps, the swish of her gown louder than her footfalls, elegant and carefully placed in serviceable walking shoes. She's a vision in autumnal dark gold and deep red, beautifully embroidered in sumptuous glittering gold silken thread, the dress a suitable style for walking that flows over her ever growing pregnancy, the warm colors setting off the golden ivory of her skin, and the even brighter gold of her hair caught up in a well formed chignon. She wears only small stud gold earrings, and her wedding ring. A closely observant person might note that she has more cosmetics on than usual, and that even they do not quite cover the darker circles under her eyes.

But her expression and demeanor remain unchanged — composed, and cool, if not cold, a shuttered stainless steel lantern undented. She keeps her head held carefully, as if poised by a string above her head. "Lord Graves," she greets as she gets into view of him. "I am so pleased you were able to lend me some of your time. It is most appreciated."

He turns around swiftly, as if startled, though with a worgen's senses and reflexes, he surely can't have been. Then he stands still for a moment, staring at Avrenne as if he has forgotten where he is or how do conversation person. His expression is a stony blank.

"Your Grace," he remembers at last, gravel-voiced, and makes his curt bow. "Always a delight." He sounds like he has never been delighted in his life except maybe one time and he's still kind of angry about that time.

A small wry smile slips out, as if perhaps he has made something of a joke, before it is caught and tucked back away.

"I will try not to keep you for long," she says, in the tone of someone who believes that is desirable. "Will you join me on another walk? Our gardens are coming along well, and I would like to take a turn about them for my daily exercise. We can speak of some new information regarding our common interest of worgen integration." Efficiency!

She looks towards the door, as if expecting that by looking at it, Vane will open it.

Vane steps to the door to open it.

Well, now Lukas has no choice. The door has been opened. "Of course, Your Grace," he says, and eyes her Female Condition a little warily.

Her female condition, delicate though it may be, doesn't do anything unusual even under wary scrutiny. She pauses, however, with an expectant air, as if waiting for something, like an offering to take his arm in an escort.

Lukas takes a step toward the door where Vane is waiting. Vane stares him down. Vane is not an alpha. He is just Large.

Lukas looks from him to Avrenne and belatedly remembers the thing. "Your Grace," he says, and offers her his arm. It would almost be gracious, if he hadn't blanked on it for those fifteen seconds there.

He ventures a smile as well. It looks a little painful.

Avrenne flicks her gaze from Vane to Lukas, stepping forward to take the offered arm with a careful, light touch, as if it might be a somewhat unwelcome, but an expected courtesy he is now providing. The flash of her own returning smile is small and wry. Her steps out into the cold, dreary late October air, however, are sure, and she seems unconcerned by the weather or her companion in it being gray and generally foreboding.

Once the doors are closed behind them in a way that isn't at all ominous, it's clear that by a walk, the lady means a slow, ladylike stroll. And either it's his imagination, or she feels warm at his side, like he's traveling with a heater turned onto a low setting.

"I am not certain if you could tell, but we have a worgen in residence as of yesterday evening," she says as an opener. Straight to business, small talk discarded, perhaps left in reserve for later. "You mentioned you met a Miss 'Ada,' before. We located her, by chance, through a mutual acquaintance, Miss Kensington-Whit, as you may recall me speaking of before. 'Ada' is short for Adamantia, no given surname, and she is from Northrend. She has been living without secure housing in Elwynn forest until recently."

"Ah," says Lukas. "I had thought — yes. In the house." He frowns. "Northrend? Those are… not ferals. Cultists. Aye?"

"As I understand it, yes," Avrenne says. Azeroth is loaded with cults. "I have not spoken with her yet for the details, but I thought it prudent to involve you as soon as possible. She arrived last night with the Vice Admiral, with very little to her name, so I suspect she left without support. She revealed that she suffers from nightmares, and in these nightmares, she sleepwalks, in her other form. She was conscientious about speaking of it, and taking reasonable precautions such as locking her door. She is not cavalier about the danger this poses.

"It is obvious she cannot remain out in the wild, and we are lucky that nothing has happened thus far, as far as we know. However, we also are not able to provide the necessary housing ourselves. We have a warlock, several trained former marines, and I am a mage, capable of polymorphing a person, but I am advisement to not use most of my magic, for the pregnancy. And in balance of our strengths, we have an infant in the house, soon to be another expectant mother, and more children coming." She pauses only briefly. "And House Fallon did not escape the effects of the Nightmare unscathed, if you have heard of the phenomenon earlier this year."

Lukas glances at her Female Condition again and then away, his expression even stonier. If that's possible. "No, naturally, that's unacceptable. In your present… state, and with the child already." He pauses. "I have heard very briefly of the Nightmare, yes. I cannot say whether we were afflicted or not, but I understand that for those who were, it was nightmari— that is. Terrible."

Avrenne looks up and out over the garden. "Yes, it was. We had several 'sleepers,' and we were forced at one point to barricade them into spare rooms to protect them. It was not a pleasant few evenings." The way she squeezes her hand on his arm, pressing closer, some reflex of seeking a comfort in a thought of memory, gives the sense of the excellent submission into Understatement of the Year of that statement.

"I can attest to a certain point for our doors being able to withstand a significant force, but I would rather not have them tested to their limits with so much to lose, and that even the mere attempt would evoke unpleasant memories for several of the household for even a temporary solution. On both sides, that is not a desirable outcome, for protecting our people, and also giving proper shelter to someone who is already carrying a wound of some sort. I am speaking to you out here, where I have hope she will not overhear, because I don't wish for her to feel as though she is a burden, or frightening, or other such thoughts, for something she cannot control and is not to blame for." Not so cold as her father then, not by half, for all that she seems to try to emulate him.

Lukas surveys her profile, his brow furrowed. "That is… considerate of you, Your Grace. For your people and for the girl. It would be my privilege to assist you." Too much? Too much. "That is — I will take the girl off your hands. Gladly."

"I am aware that your own circumstances may be a work in progress, and it is not my intention with each invitation to meet with me to continually set more and more on your broad shoulders." Was the specification entirely necessary there? Maybe not. But they are nice shoulders, she's just saying.

"House Fallon will be more than willing, even insist if I must, on backing her keeping financially until she is well on her feet, if you can find a way to provide her the necessary housing and security of shelter she will require. It benefits all of us if she is comfortable, safe, and well provided for," she says, turning her head a little to try to keep the wind from blowing her hair out of her chignon. She's not entirely successful, as several shorter strands work their way free and lash lightly across her face. "She has much to offer in her perspective and insight into the Northrend worgen and their differences, as well as a voice of what she has experienced for the purposes of integration into the Alliance, having had a very different introduction as a worgen."

Lukas continues to watch her profile intently; his gaze flickers for a moment with the distraction of her loosened hair, and then he focuses on her face again. "Indeed," he rasps. "It will be interesting to hear of her experience." That interesting sounds not entirely approving; the whole thing sounds a little like he is agreeing to invite an incarcerated teen to speak to assembly about the dangers of drug abuse.

"I am happy to take her with me for the time being. My present accommodations are not ideal, but among the pack we will certainly be able to find her a suitable situation."

"I have no doubt of it." Avrenne's strolling has taken them to a section of the garden still under a level of construction, more bare than the rest, with some beds standing empty awaiting the coming year after the last frost to plant, and within this area, is a selection of familiar Gilnean roses in a large appropriately sized container, not yet fully rooted in the ground for all that they have been set amongst the garden with intent to find some proper place for them, in an unintentional yet oddly apt metaphor.