(2025-01-10) Conversations with Miss Curran

Details

Author:	inkie
Summary:	Aszera Sunstrike finds an opportunity to speak to the mysterious Miss Curran alone. Histories, loyalties, and unusual abilities are discussed, and détente is reached -- and then Miss Curran makes an urgent report to her employer, the Duchess Esprit.
Rating:	M for Mature 17+

The door to the Bird Room closes, and Aze leans against it on the inside, alone for the first time since her arrival. That's no fault of her host's — she's the one who initially requested no alone time. Still, the exciting and emotional Isla-Finley tour may have left her a little more tired than she'd expected. Casually, Aze surveys the room that will be hers for the duration of the visit, with whatever her odd sense of sight tells her of the room and its various ghosts or lack thereof.

The room is perfectly tidy — the only current indication of the presence of a guest is the bag and chest stacked tidily by the wall and the cane propped next to them. Aze frowns — she probably left the cane somewhere accidentally during the tour with Siamus. Those servants must have eyes like hawks.

Aze moves over to the case, opening it to reveal her twin swords resting safely inside. She runs one finger gently along the flat of the blade with a sigh, and then closes it again. Should she unpack? Should she not unpack? Instead, she paces around the edges of the room, pausing by the window at the head of the bed, and then again by the wall shared with Siamus's office.

A flicker of curiosity passes over her face and she strides quickly back to the door, out into the hall, and knocks lightly on the door to the Admiral's office.

There is a delay of nearly a full minute, and then the door opens. Standing at the threshold is not Siamus but someone substantially smaller. And female. It is the prim young woman in tweed skirt and button boots from earlier in the library. She is not wearing her tortoiseshell glasses; they are hooked casually in the collar of her blouse. In one hand, she's holding a folder.

Or, to Aze's sight, the young lady in the doorway is that roiling tangle of nature and shadow magics she saw when she met the household at tea.

"Miss Sunstrike," says Miss Curran. "The Admiral isn't here." She tips her head back slightly as if catching a scent on an imaginary wind.

"No," Aze says, agreeing without any sense of surprise. "It doesn't seem so. I was just next door and I thought maybe I could… am I interrupting… business?" That mysterious everything business you do for the Admiral, perhaps. She doesn't say it, but it's clearly implied.

Miss Curran considers the question for longer than it seems a person should. "Not officially," she says at last. "You thought you could…?"

"Come see who was here," Aze says, with a deliberately innocent smile. Not be alone, might have been another possible answer, or more accurately… "The Admiral did say I could come by the office if I was looking for company, though he probably meant himself. Does he store whiskey in the office?"

Miss Curran regards her steadily for a moment. "Of course," she says at last. She waits for a beat. "Did you need some?" she asks politely.

Aze considers that as if it is a serious question. Maybe it is. Then she shakes her head. "Not right now, I don't think. Anyway, maybe that's the sort of thing a good guest waits to be offered. I was just curious." She pauses, tilting her head a little. "And… I was curious about you, as well."

Miss Curran raises her eyebrows and considers Aze. "About me? Why in the world?"

"You seem… interesting," Aze hesitates, standing in the hallway, tilting her head as if listening for something. "Very quietly so, which only makes me more curious."

That elicits, startlingly, an actual laugh. It is a soft laugh, a few short breaths. Miss Curran's expression is no warmer, but she steps back from the threshold to allow passage into the room. "You may as well come in."

That invitation is enough for Aze, who follows her into the office and then closes the door behind her. She doesn't move towards a chair immediately, instead leaning against the wall on the side of the doorway by the corner of the room.

"If I may ask, then, how did you meet the Admiral?" Aze's attention is focused on Miss Curran, and her smile still has that same innocent cast.

Miss Curran crosses to Siamus's desk. She goes around to the Admiral's side of it and lays the folder at one corner, aligning it neatly with the desk's edge. "I was employed as a clerk by the family of his former fiancee. When Miss Grier threw him over, she sent me here to the mainland to break the news to him." The folder evidently arranged to her satisfaction, she steps back.

"Seriously?" Aze crosses the room after her slowly. "That's pretty cold-hearted. I guess it does track with what he's told me about her, though. I take it you disapproved?"

"She sent me because I disapproved." Miss Curran smiles blandly. "She'd already become engaged to another gentleman, and Captain Fallon knew nothing about it. He'd sent her a dozen or more letters in that time, none of which she'd answered. I finally told her — I managed correspondence for the family, you see — that she ought to at least break it off with him decently. She said it was more amusing to let him dangle. I told her she was a spoiled little cunt." Miss Curran shrugs politely. "She said in that case, perhaps I ought to tell him myself. So I did."

"Well, I hope you told him she was a spoiled little cunt, if he hadn't figured it out on his own," Aze says mildly, leaning on the desk. "And not only that she'd betrayed him. That's a fucking brutal thing to do to a guy intentionally."

"I wouldn't say a thing like that about a gentleman's former fiancee to his face, Miss Sunstrike. And if I am to be perfectly honest with you, I believe he knew that about her when he proposed. The Admiral has… somewhat reckless tastes in his personal life." Miss Curran's gaze is steady on Aze.

Aze shifts nervously, resting against one hand on the edge of the desk. "I'm not… dangerous, if that's what you're getting at. Or maybe I am, but not to anyone here. He wouldn't have brought me here if he didn't know that was true — he's not that reckless."

Miss Curran smiles. "Oh, I don't believe you're a physical threat to Lord Fallon, nor to any of his family. But there's more than one way to be dangerous, isn't there? A senior officer of the Stormwind fleet, a member of the House of Nobles, connecting himself publicly to a sin'dorei on the eve of open war with the Horde? You and I must both hope for his sake that the Duchess has a steady hand on the tiller. And that you are willing to play your part, and not here to let the man dangle over a political serpents' nest."

She pauses. "Lord Fallon seems to have every faith in you, though. I do trust you won't break that faith."

Stepping away from the desk now, Miss Curran moves toward the sideboard. "May I offer you some whiskey, Miss Sunstrike?"

"Oh, thank you, I would love a drink," says Aze, tidily demonstrating how she ended up in this situation. She has never been one to refuse a gift she wanted. She trails her fingers along the desktop as she follows Miss Curran, pausing at the edge closest to the sideboard.

"Sin'dorei defector," Aze says quietly. "He's connected himself to a sin'dorei defector. I can't change what I am, but I can choose what I'll do. Don't worry, I plan on playing my part." Aze takes a breath and adds, "Though if you have any pointers on what that part is, I'll take them."

Miss Curran tips whiskey into a glass, then turns around to offer it to Aze. She only pours the one glass; she doesn't take any herself. "You will be better-served by Her Grace's advice on the matter," she says. "For my own part, I would say — " She tilts her head and studies Aze.

"Perhaps 'playing your part' is the wrong phrasing. Don't play a role. People will recognize artifice and only mistrust you more for it. Think of it as a flirtation." She looks Aze up and down and says aridly, "I suspect you know how flirtation works.

"But this must be an earnest one. You aren't trying to tease the Alliance or take it home for a night; you're trying to win it. Have you ever conducted a sincere flirtation, Miss Sunstrike?"

Aze accepts the glass, unconcerned that Miss Curran isn't drinking, and takes a sip, rolling the liquid in her mouth as the other woman speaks.

Then she swallows the whiskey and answers. "My every flirtation is sincere, Miss Curran. I've never been out to fool or ruin anybody, and I've never lied about what I'm after. But… I take it you mean trying to win someone forever. To own and be owned." Aze takes another sip and shudders. Maybe it's the liquor. "No. Have you?"

"No," says Miss Curran. "I do not flirt, and I let my loyalties speak for themselves. We don't speak of ownership, Miss Sunstrike, but of devotion. You would not say that Lord Fallon owns Her Grace or is owned by her, and yet they are deeply devoted to one another, each loyal to the other's aims and causes."

"No, I wouldn't say that," Aze says, looking down at the desk. She traces a pattern on the surface absently. "Then okay. Devotion and loyalty. That, I can do. I have done. Maybe not in flirting, but in friendship. In war. If it's returned…"

Aze's shoulders tense, and she sets the near-empty glass on the desk. "It didn't go perfectly well, the first time I tried sincerely to aid the Alliance. But it's different with the Admiral. Lord Fallon. He values what I am, even if it's inconvenient, and not just as an expendable shield. I've sort of… tested that, already." Aze gives a nervous smile. "And anyway, I'm not just here to aid… I mean, I am here to aid the Alliance, but the goal is to be a part of it."

"Tested it?" Miss Curran tilts her head, watching Aze. "How so?"

Aze sits against the desk, facing Miss Curran, the whiskey largely forgotten. "Maybe not directly, but I've observed enough. The Admiral took an interest in my family and friends before I ever met him — my family and their associates, the Ebon Blade. No one would've cared if he sent them to die, but he didn't. Even with the murder case, he didn't toss them over. So. The Admiral is a person who can be trusted, even if a person is… unusual in some way."

Aze's attention is fixed on Miss Curran at this last, like she's trying to read something that persists in blurriness.

Miss Curran considers this, still watching Aze. There is the barest suggestion of a smile now at the corners of her lips. "He is, yes. The Admiral is a man of his word, in the strictest and strongest sense. He repays loyalty with loyalty, and will honor any promise or pact. He is entirely trustworthy." She tips her chin down to regard Aze primly over the top of her glasses. "And he is that peculiar blend of superstitious and rational that will accept that some people are… 'unusual in some way,' as you say, but will not assume without reason that they are by nature dangerous, or their motives malign."

Her smile twists wryly. "Or perhaps that's simply more recklessness."

"Yes, well, maybe I match him for reckless," Aze mutters, her hand tightening on the edge of the desk, then she continues, "That's when I met him, when he was working with my family in Northrend. It was a very pleasant and sincere flirtation, and I didn't…" Aze hesitates, searching for the words. "He invited me to come here — I wasn't angling for it. I'm happy to be here, and I wanted to come. Just… that's all it was to start, a simple gift received with trust. No malign motives."

"I wasn't accusing you, Miss Sunstrike," says Miss Curran mildly. "I said the Admiral won't assume ill intent without reason. That doesn't mean he won't recognize it when there is reason. He may be open-handed and sometimes reckless; he's not a fool. He's invited you here to his home, among his family; he trusts you."

She moves away from the sideboard, passes around Aze to the front of the desk and takes one of the armchairs there, crossing her legs and arranging her skirts carefully. "To be clear, I don't believe either that you have ill intent. I suspect you may have too little intent for the seriousness of the situation in which you've placed him, however. You are a young lady of several remarkable skills, but forethought has never been one of them, has it?"

She cants her head. "Younger daughter of Salazurin and Erissara Sunstrike, you have always lacked the gravity and responsibility of your elder sister, Syarra. A professional dancer, few ambitions beyond entree into certain hedonistic social circles. You joined the military not from duty but at your sister's urging, and proved quite accidentally to have a talent for combat. You served beside your sister in the Third War — where you lost your parents — and were selected for the honor of accompanying the Sunstrider prince to Outland, in search of a new refuge for the sin'dorei. And then for the additional… honor of serving Illidan Stormrage. I wonder how carefully you considered either course, or whether you were willing enough to go along when told you had been chosen specially."

She is silent for a moment, watching Aze. "I don't need to tell the rest of the story, I don't believe. You understand me."

At first, Aze simply turns to follow Miss Curran's movement, listening to her words. She starts to stand at the first question, ready to protest the assertion of her lack of intent or forethought, until Miss Curran begins to recount the story of her life. Aze's frame slowly tenses, as the details — some rather personal — emerge. She doesn't respond at first, her smile replaced by an expression almost of physical hurt, as she curls her arms around her torso. Then she takes a breath and grabs the glass, finishing the whiskey in a last gulp and setting it down heavily on the desk. She moves swiftly over to settle into the other armchair, skirts swishing, and considers Miss Curran with a slightly harder-edged new smile.

"The facts, yes, I shouldn't be surprised someone who does whatever the Admiral requires would know in advance," Aze says, her attention focused on the other woman. "And I don't dispute them. But you… did you talk to people who knew me? Was it Yara?" Aze winces and shakes her head. "No, I'm not asking that, not really. It doesn't matter. You make it all sound so simple, but nothing ever happens for just one reason. Why shouldn't I have followed my prince, back then? He was supposed to lead our people. He was supposed to be trustworthy."

"I did not talk to Syarra," says Miss Curran mildly. "I doubt that your sister would speak to me of you anyway; she has her own loyalties. But it's true that nothing ever happens for one reason alone." She watches Aze.

Aze doesn't say anything else for a long moment. Then she leans against the armrest, turning slightly towards the windows, and says with reluctance, "There was the mana addiction, you didn't mention that. We didn't know what it was, at the time, just that a lot of us were sick, exhausted. It hit some worse than others. It hit Yara worse than me. Sunstrider gathered up those of us who were still able to fight."

She takes a breath, and continues, "We weren't initially going to Outland. The plan I was told was that we were helping Lordaeron. I wanted to help, against the Scourge — I wasn't just honored to be chosen. And I couldn't stay…." A flicker of pain crosses her face. "I couldn't stay there. In Silvermoon City. I just couldn't. And after that, things just sort of… followed, with no exits in sight. It was like all the decisions had already been made, and I hadn't realized I'd made them. Everything kept changing around me, but I was loyal. I was devoted. Until… until it broke me. Or rather, until the people I trusted asked me to break myself."

Miss Curran raises her eyebrows. "You were loyal, until the people you trusted asked you to break yourself," she repeats thoughtfully. "How familiar that sounds. And what did it teach you of loyalty, then?"

"That it was misplaced," Aze says. There's a layer of anger under the words, but it is clearly directed at a memory rather than anyone in the room. "That loyalty, anyway. In general, to be more careful about who I give it to. For it to be a conscious choice, and not to follow blind…" Aze winces, and the anger dissolves into a brief laugh. "Three years, and I still walk right into those sometimes."

Miss Curran's smile is audible in her voice when she asks, "Do you think you've been successful, then? At giving your loyalty more carefully in the years since?"

"I think so, yes," Aze nods, her posture relaxing slightly. "No one, for a while. Then Sil, and I swore I would never be against his friends. And after that, my family, I guess, eventually. And then later, in Northrend, the Argent Crusade. And now."

"And now?" Miss Curran prompts.

Aze reaches down with one hand to trail along the golden embroidery at her waist.

"The Alliance, I hope. If you'll have me. It's never a certain thing." Aze smiles again. "I may be guilty of lack of forethought, and this whole plan might have been a simple, reckless desire on my side, to start. But then, I've had months to think about what it would mean, my coming here. So now, I didn't do it without intent."

Miss Curran nods once. "That will do," she says, and smiles again, this time more genuinely. "Mind that you listen to Her Grace, and defer to her in political and social niceties. It is her specialty. I will warn you — in case you haven't gathered — that you and she will not be friends. Do not take it personally. Trust that she always has her husband's best interests — and therefore yours, where those overlap — at heart."

She sits up a little. "Another drink?"

"I had gathered," Aze says a little dryly. Then she shrugs and adds, "At least, definitely not right now. Sometimes people come around, over time. Either way, I'll still listen, and I'll follow her lead. As for whiskey… yes, I'd love one, if you're offering. Though I'll warn you, my tolerance is a little high, thanks to the whole…." She gestures at her chest. It is probably not because of her chest. "…demon situation."

Miss Curran purses her lips, amused. "I'm not trying to get you drunk." She rises from her seat to take Aze's glass off the desk and return to the sideboard. "Unless you're concerned about drinking all of the Admiral's whiskey, to which I reply: He'll get more. You should see the cellars of this house."

She pours Aze another drink and returns to hand it to her before taking her own seat again.

Aze sips the whiskey with appreciation, and then rests it against the armrest. "Hm. Good to know it's bottomless. I suppose I also meant to clarify — I know what I'm doing. With drinking, anyway. I know I can come across as a little… careless, but I won't get disorderly. It's just the easiest way to make things stop spinning around and around in your head, if you know what I mean."

"Mm," is Miss Curran's noncommittal reply. She studies Aze's profile. "What can you see?" she asks.

"In general, or of you?" Aze asks mildly, taking another sip of whiskey.

Miss Curran looks briefly startled. "In general," she says. "Obviously despite your condition you can see, or see enough to fight frostwyrms with the Argent Crusade and naga with the fleet. I'm curious what it is you do see."

"Ah, well," Aze considers, and raises her free hand to circle around her head. "I don't have eyes, so it's not exactly anchored there, if that makes sense. I try to remember to turn toward things, for other people. A lot of what I can see is energies, shapes… it was hard to make sense of at first, but I've gotten more used to it. Supposedly, others figure out how to control it, to also see just like they did before. I… can't. There are benefits. I can see through walls, sometimes. And drawbacks. I can't read — books, or people's faces."

"Do you expect you'll learn how to control it further, as others did? As time goes on?" Miss Curran looks curious. Aze, who cannot read people's faces, probably can't tell.

"I really don't know," Aze says with a sigh. "That would be nice? As much as Stormrage tried to standardize the process, we all ended up a little different. Damaged in different ways. So it's hard to say what I might be able to learn, and what I might just… be. Well, that and I left not long after. I found somebody to help teach me in Nagrand a while back, which helped, but he's vanished. I'm just figuring things out as I go now."

"Hm," says Miss Curran. "So you can't actually… see any of us. Do you have a heightened sense of smell? How do you recognize people? Pick out the Admiral from the rest on a crowded ship's deck, or know which direction to curtsey to Her Grace in a room full of people?"

"The Admiral has a certain look to him," Aze says, considering. "I'm not sure how to describe it. He stands out — it's different from just about everyone around him. His daughter has a little of the same look, I think, taking after him maybe. Then again, maybe I was just mixing the two of them up. He was holding her. Her Grace, too — he'd told me she was a mage in advance." Aze pauses there, faint puzzlement on her face, then she shakes her head. "Anyway, everyone looks a little special in some way, once you get used to looking for it. I guess it's sort of like asking how can you tell faces apart when they've all got two eyes, a nose and a mouth. There's differences."

"Interesting," says Miss Curran. She considers it. "So, all right, those are three that stand out. Her Grace… because she's a mage? You said he'd told you so. What if there had been another mage in the room? What if someone were perfectly mundane?" She pauses. "… and the Admiral has the same look as his daughter? What look is that, exactly?"

"Her Grace was mostly a guess, though in the end, I probably shouldn't have…" Aze's brow furrows, maybe as she remembers Miss Curran wasn't there. Still, she doesn't question it, and continues, "And there's still size and shape to recognize people by, even if I don't have an easy handle. The Admiral is kind of… silvery? Shimmery? I don't know — it's pretty though."

"Interesting," says Miss Curran thoughtfully. "And he still is? That is, he's always been, since you've known him?"

"He was, and still is," Aze says slowly. "There was something… off, when I visited the fleet at Vashj'ir. He started looking a little better after the whole Plane of Water battle, so probably it was just stress."

If Miss Curran were an animal, her ears would have just pricked up alertly. "Off. Interesting." She smooths her skirt absently over her knee. "I don't mean to harp on a point, but I wonder if you could describe the… off. I promise I won't trouble the subject again."

"Hm," Aze traces a shape in the air in front of her with her free hand, thinking. "Darker? I could still tell it was him, but a lot of the silvery-ness was… maybe dulled is the right word. I don't really know what that means." She pauses, and adds, "I don't really know what yours means, either."

Miss Curran had taken a breath to speak when Aze said dulled — possibly to break her promise about further questions immediately — but she is silenced by the next remark. "… Mine?"

"Yeah," Aze considers her carefully. "Besides 'this is Miss Curran'. It clearly means something, but I don't recognize it."

Miss Curran's expression fades to neutral. "What does it look like?"

"It reminds me of… nature," Aze says, reaching out as if brushing the edges of whatever she sees. "But dark? Not that dark is bad, I'm pretty f– pretty dark myself in some contexts."

"How interesting," says Miss Curran. She is silent for a time and then says matter-of-factly, "I'm a… shapeshifter, of sorts. Similar to what the kaldorei call 'druids'."

"Hm. I didn't know humans could do that. You could probably call me a shapeshifter of sorts, too, but… maybe don't. I'm not like a druid," Aze sits back lifting her glass, and asks, "What do you change into?"

"They're… constructs, of a sort," Miss Curran says. "Beasts, but woven of thorn and vine and bone. Most people find them… unsettling. A number of the Tirasian staff avoid me." She is matter-of-fact about this, also. "It's an old Tirasian magic, you see. Not humans in general. Thornspeakers, we're called. The most superstitious Tirasians think we're witches."

"Isn't a witch just a term for people who use magic?" Aze asks, enjoying another sip of whiskey. "Or does it mean something specific, where you're from?"

"It means something very specific, in Kul Tiras. Tirasians don't take witchcraft lightly, by and large." Miss Curran thinks for a moment. "You are familiar with the Emerald Dream, and its twisted counterpart, the Emerald Nightmare?"

"Yeah, my sister got stuck there once," Aze nods. "My brother-in-law went in the Dream to save her. I kept clear, except… well, I mean we all had the nightmares, even if we weren't stuck in them."

Miss Curran nods. "I was there as well. If you imagine… that Thornspeakers, like druids, belong to the Emerald Dream, then witches belong to the Nightmare. A mirror-inversion, a twisting. They're related magics, at the root. But they're not the same."

Aze frowns in thought. "Thornspeakers in the Dream and witches in the Nightmare. I don't think I'd like meeting any witches, then. I have bad enough nightmares anyway, but back then…" Aze shivers and takes another sip of whiskey. "They were too vivid. It was hard to realize I was dreaming, in the moment. It was a surprise when I woke, each time."

"Do you have nightmares, Miss Sunstrike?" Miss Curran peers over her spectacles again.

"Do you not?" Aze asks, startled. Doesn't everyone?

"Oh, I meant… in the chronic sense. The way you said 'I have bad enough nightmares' — I wondered if it was a regular trouble of yours." Miss Curran raises her brows.

"I… well… yes?" Aze shrugs uncomfortably, and finishes her glass of whiskey in a gulp. "Not as often now as before, even when I don't drink. Don't worry, I've never had a problem with sleepwalking." She does not elaborate on why she thinks that might be relevant.

"Ah. Did Miss Lenaire tell you the story of our worgen houseguest?" Miss Curran looks wry.

"Yes, part of it," Aze says with a laugh. "Exciting worgen, sleepwalker, possible howling at night, only stayed the one day. Don't worry, if I have any nightmares here, I'll keep them to myself. At the very worst, I might cry out once."

"Well, you won't draw notice in this house," Miss Curran says. She studies Aze for a moment and then seems to come to some decision. "If you require anything while you're here, I am glad to help. I'm often in the Blue Study downstairs, and my rooms are the next ones over from here, at the end of the hall between the Admiral's office and his own rooms."

There's a moment of surprise that passes across Aze's face, and then she says, with sincerity, "Thank you, I'll remember. Do you have some kind of power over nightmares, since you're connected to the Dream?"

Miss Curran shakes her head. "No, I'm afraid not."

"Ah, well, worth a shot," Aze says with a brief smile. She rises from her chair and adds, "I should leave you to your unofficial business, Miss Curran. But if you do ever want me for anything, I expect you'll know where to find me."

"I will," agrees Miss Curran, rising as well. "Good evening, Miss Sunstrike."

---

Avrenne is near the end of her nighttime routine, having first seen to the twins with their nursing, Francine having then tucked them into their bassinet in Avrenne's room, and now having finished with her nursing of Ery and settling the baby to sleep, she exits Ery's nursery with the intent to go to her room to finish the evening care and ready for bed. She is still in her dinner dress, a beautiful deep navy blue wool with white pearls on the collar amidst the lace, her body shaped by whalebone stays, and it may be partly what is keeping her looking so upright and awake.

She shuts the door to the nursery lightly, and turns to start towards her room, in the shortest line of distance possible between the two locations.

Miss Curran pounces.

No, Miss Curran does not pounce. But she is right there, apparently waiting for the Duchess. She steps away from the wall outside the Duchess's bedroom door. "Your Grace." Her dark eyes behind her false glasses are mild and steady, but there's some slight, indescribable tension in the set of her shoulders and the way she has her hands clasped before her.

Avrenne gasps in a startle, clearly not expecting someone in the path of her usual routine, but recovering swiftly. "Miss Curran," she greets back. It takes her only another second to note the tension, and she frowns in concern, an automatic little reaching of one of her hands as she steps closer. "Is something amiss?"

Miss Curran considers the question for only a moment and then shakes her head. "No. I don't believe so. But there's something… I thought you might like to know? I thought — it's most relevant to the Admiral, truthfully, but I don't know — well. You'll understand."

"I see." Avrenne sets her hands in a clasp, raising both brows as she then waits for more information to understand.

"I do not think," says Miss Curran, "that I would like to discuss it in the hallway. If we could step aside somewhere we do not chance the Admiral or any of the staff coming on us? We can step into my room, if you like." She gestures down the hall toward the door of her suite. "I apologize, Your Grace, I realize it's late and you are tired."

"It's no trouble," Avrenne tells her, as she starts towards Miss Curran's room with that stately walk of hers, no evidence of exhaustion allowed to rear its head now. "Your room shall do fine, I'm sure. I appreciate you taking the time to bring it to my attention, whatever it is."

Miss Curran opens her door and steps gracefully aside to usher Lady Fallon within. When she has shut the door behind them, without further invitation or preamble, she asks, "Are you aware that Miss Sunstrike's means of perceiving people involves their… energy? That is, she does not see, naturally, but she identifies and recognizes people by their particular auras, or… metaphysical presences."

Avrenne clearly did not know the full extent of this information, as she blinks and frowns more heavily. "No, I was not. I was aware that Illidari are capable of perceiving their surroundings in some fashion, that they are not as blind as one might expect, as it was part of the military tactics involved in Outland when it came time to fight Illidan's army, but I hadn't realized it involved an actual sight, nor its nature."

"I don't think it's sight as we understand it," says Miss Curran. "She could perhaps clarify it for you herself. I asked her, though, how she recognizes individual people; she didn't seem to have any difficulty, once introduced, in finding people in the library to look toward them, and although the Admiral was moving about with the Lady Ery quite a lot, she was able to track him.

"When I asked her this, she explained to me the basic notion, but she also said that Lord Fallon 'stands out,' because he looks — that is, his energy looks — different from anyone else around him. She described him as 'silvery' or 'shimmery.' But when I asked her whether this was a constant, she said no. When she went to see him at Vashj'ir, there was something different. He was 'darker' or 'duller.'"

"Oh," Avrenne breathes, a ripple of pain over her expression, as she squeezes her hands tighter together. "After the… tidal wave. Yes, of course."

Miss Curran nods once. "But then she said… 'He started looking a little better after the whole Plane of Water battle, so probably it was just stress.'" She regards Avrenne steadily. "She said that he was and now is that… silvery." She pauses. "Has he… said anything to you?"

Hope dawns over Lady Fallon's face in such a way that it makes her seem abruptly younger, much closer to the 31 years she has, rather than the great many more she sometimes claims through force of personality. "He what? He is that silver — " She catches herself, swallowing her emotions back down, but the shining light in her eyes is not suppressible. "No, no, he hasn't said anything. But if he's… if that silvery isn't only his energy, if it is an indication of his tidesage blood then…" She looks at Miss Curran with that terrible hope, squeezing her hands so tightly together that it probably hurts. "Then perhaps it is not lost altogether, even if he can't use the power itself, can't hear the world as he did before."

Miss Curran nods. "I didn't want — this is why I wished to discuss it with you rather than directly with him. If he hasn't said anything, or hasn't noticed it himself — I wouldn't like to — you understand." She hesitates again. "She said that the Lady Ery looks similar. She wasn't certain, because Lord Fallon was carrying her around so much, but she believes they have that same look about them."

"Yes, I understand." Avrenne closes her eyes briefly on some strong emotion not permitted access to either her face or words. Then continues, "That would appear to confirm then that silvery nature to be some connection to a tidesage's gift. But you say she said the brightening happened after they aided the Plane of Water, and Siamus was out there, working to help. Perhaps, if She saw it, how he was working to calm the waters against those who have disrupted it, enraged her, and then they were successful in that endeavor, that some measure of the gift was granted back to him." Maybe the ancient eldritch being they worship was pleased, and has given Siamus a little bit of his magic back. It could be how it works. Who can say?

Lady Fallon considers it, and then resolves to a course, as her chin lifts. "I will have to tell him now, even with so much unknown. He must know, so that he might make a decision from here what he will do."

"You will know best," Miss Curran agrees. "I didn't wish to — raise his hopes. He has said nothing to me, but naturally there is no reason he would. I thought perhaps you would know if anything was… different."

Avrenne's eyes drop for a moment, before she raises them back up. "No, he's… well, he's been Siamus," Avrenne says, as if that is an entire explanation in and of itself.

Miss Curran nods. She gets u, sister. "When you speak with Miss Sunstrike yourself" — she seems to know that Avrenne has not yet Spoken With Miss Sunstrike, that this will be an Event for a later date — "perhaps she could explain it better than I have at second-hand."

"I trust your questions were well thought and astute, and her answers as clear as Miss Sunstrike is likely to be with the context she has, and that I could not improve on them," Avrenne says. She settles her shoulders to square off, exhaustion held at bay through willpower. "Thank you for letting me know. Your discretion and caution are most appreciated as well. There's a fine line between reasonable expectation and unrealized hope, and like you, I would rather Siamus not suffer the sting of disappointment if it is not more than only a return of the gift in his blood, and does not signify a return in full." She nods to Miss Curran. They are united in their Best For Siamus goals.

Miss Curran nods back. They have an Understanding. "Thank you, Lady Fallon. I do apologize for interrupting your evening."

Avrenne waves off the apology with a movement of her fingers. "I am grateful for it," she says. "Do be sure to get your proper rest, Miss Curran." It's a motherly sort of reminder, habitual from the Duchess. Is Avrenne going to get her proper rest? Look. This isn't about her. She lives by a different set of rules.

With that, she sweeps from the room, headed to her own bedroom, to mull over the implications of her husband once again being silvery and how to tell him that.