(2024-10-24) Asking for Trouble

Details

Author:	inkie
Summary:	Siamus Fallon needs information, and sends for his favorite source of it. Relevant to the Stormwind Guards plot.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Red String Game

His office door opens abruptly and unceremoniously, and his sister stands sharply to attention in the doorway. Sintha makes a painfully crisp salute. “Vice Admiral, sir! You sent for me, sir!”

Siamus lays his pen down on the desk and sits back in his chair, folding his arms. “I don’t mean to tell the 7th Legion how to conduct its business, but in the navy, sarcasm to a superior officer is a court-martial offense.”

“Really?” Sintha swans into the room and drops into a chair across from him. “How many times a year do you face a court martial, then, and why in the world do they keep letting you off?” She slouches in the chair to put her feet up on his desk, crossing her ankles. “And you aren’t my superior officer anyway. ‘Brother’ is an accident, not a rank.”

“And what a happy accident it was for me,” Siamus says dryly. He doesn’t bother to push her feet away. “How is the 6th E.U., Master Sergeant Fallon?”

She beams at him. “You remembered, gosh. The 6th E.U. is doing well. I suspect Captain Hall may be warming up to me a little, as she has now smiled at me twice. Crowley continues to be unseasoned potatoes, and Greywatch continues not to talk — which is marvelous of her, really, we ought to have a dozen more like her — and our new priest is a very… earnestly priesty sort, but I suppose priests are like that, it’s why they go in for priesting in the first place. Sergeant Captain Tyrrell continues to be beastly but in a rather more literal fashion, which is I’m sure awful for him; we both know the man hates to be obvious about anything.”

“‘Sergeant Captain?’” Siamus knits his brow.

“That’s what we call him these days. Unofficially, of course. Saion started it. Have I mentioned Saion? I adore him entirely, Shay. He is absolutely the dimmest, most cheerful man, and he will sleep with anything when he’s not hitting anything else. He’s a sort of enormous, idiot puppy with very low standards. He reminds me so much of you.”

“Well I’m touched to know you adore him, then.”

Sintha narrows her eyes at him. Siamus smiles back benevolently.

Sintha makes a moue and pushes her hair back behind her ear. “Suppose you tell me the reason for the summons so we can get that over with and I can go visit my niece, because I’ve brought her a present. I mean Ery, naturally, and not Ralaea Westwind, unless you think Ralaea is a connoisseur of plush toys. Which for all I know she might be.”

Siamus considers this. “I suspect that, given a plush toy, Ralaea would attempt to weaponize it.”

He appears to be considering giving Ralaea a plush toy.

“Stars above, what did I get poor Avrenne into?” sighs Sintha. “I really feel I ought to have warned her better about you.”

“Her Grace is a valiant lady. I believe she’s taken it about as well as can be expected.” Siamus sits forward again to lace his hands together on the desk. “If ye wish either to apologize or commiserate wi’the lady, however, I expect ye can do so directly once we’re finished here; she’ll be in her room. But I had a request to make of ye.”

“Of course you did.” Sintha raises her eyebrows and beckons impatiently: Out with it.

“What can ye tell me,” Siamus asks her, “about Lester Amerith?”

“Count Amerith?” Sintha’s eyebrows vanish beneath her bangs. “Absolutely nothing, as he’s a member of the House of Nobles and therefore a figure of national security. The actual sort. Besides, I expect your wife knows at least as much about the man as Himself. Ask her.”

Siamus nods. “I did. In that case, however — what can ye tell me about either a lady called Ilanya Ravendusk or a man called Lathrik Dinnsfield?”

“Ravendusk,” Sintha repeats thoughtfully. “Like the late so-called noblewoman.”

Siamus nods again. His expression gives nothing else away.

Sintha huffs irritably. “Nothing springs to mind, but I can certainly check some corners. And… Dinnsfield, did you say?”

“Aye.”

She tips her head back and frowns thoughtfully at the ceiling. “I don’t think… hm. I can look into it.”

“His birth name, if it helps ye, is Farrens,” Siamus tells her. “Lathrik Hazard Farrens.”

“Lathrik Hazard? Stars, can you imagine? Almost as silly as having three middle names….” She sits up abruptly, dropping her feet from the desk. “… Did you say Farrens?”

“I did.” Her brother watches her, his gaze gleaming.

Sintha watches him back, brows drawn together. “Like… the newspaperman? To use the term loosely? Azerothian Interest?”

Siamus nods solemnly at her. “Just like.”

Sintha breaks into a slow, broad smile like the little girl from the GIF. (You know the one.) “Why Siamus Aidan Parrish Westry Fallon. And it isn’t even my birthday.” She hops up from her chair and leans over the desk to pat his cheek. “I will absolutely let you know.”

He smiles back up at her, narrow-eyed. “Thank ye kindly, little moon.”

Sintha turns to sashay from the room. In the doorway she stops to flash a smile at her brother over her shoulder. “Did I mention that I adore you?”

Siamus leans back in his chair again, grinning. “I believe ye did, aye.”