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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | It's the end of the day of receiving a politically challenging visitor to the House, and the Fallons begin their coordination of social engagements that have been suggested, have discussion of crucial data regarding Siamus' powers as a tidesage, and establish previously undefined boundaries of their relationship in regards to lovers and privacy. 6500~ words. Personal plot and romance RP. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
Chain: Siarenne
The first thing Siamus might notice after he enters his room, starting to go about his usual routine, is that it's very quiet, and it ordinarily wouldn't be. This is the time when he should ordinarily hear Avrenne singing to the twins, as soft as she can, sweet arias of the north and old songs of the sea, seated by their bassinet as she rocks it gently. She would normally be waiting for him there, in her nightdress, one suitable for nursing, wearing an unfortunate amount of underwear (read: any), her hair down in a golden cascade, brushed out from its chignon captivity, and her cosmetics washed away to reveal the truth here in this place of her deepest honesty, her truest self. Her voice throughout the past few weeks has spun out from this position, curling through the air to beckon him through the open door, where he finds his mermaid on her rock, his secret wife of warmth and vivacity, smiling brightly when she sees him, eager for his arms to hold her to let her drift off to sleep in the shelter of him.
But tonight there is no siren singing. There is silence.
The second thing Siamus might notice, part explanation, and part additional question, is that the door between the Lord and Lady Fallon's bedroom is closed, fully. It's not the first time it ever has been, but it is the first time it has been closed and Avrenne on the other side of it, the wood separating the two Fallons, and even more unusual — never before used since the day a builder checked it after installing it — the door is locked.
Siamus enters, as per routine, absently reviewing the last of the day's work. He crosses to the bureau to set the papers down, and continues trying to read them as he begins undoing his cuffs.
And then he pauses, lifts his head, and looks around, a line between his brows. Something in here is Not Right.
He looks around again, doesn't catch it immediately, and does the thing that any gentleman who is used to having his wife collect his mislaid teacups would do: He goes to ask his wife if there's something different in his room.
That is when he discovers the difference.
He contemplates the door bemusedly for a moment, tips his head to listen to the silence, and then tries the knob.
The door is… locked? He did not know it could do that.
His brows knit, Siamus tilts his head toward the door to listen again. His expression sets in lines of genuine concern, and he lifts a hand to knock softly. "Your Grace?" he calls quietly. "Avrenne?"
The answering voice is the Duchess, composed and cool, who calls back, "A moment."
It's a long moment. It's much, much longer a moment than if a woman simply got up from her bed and walked to the door. The way it stretches could make any person unsure of what is taking so long.
The answer comes when door is unlocked, and opened, and there is Lady Fallon, her hair up in a quickly pinned twist, and dressed in a very formal robe she never wears that could be conceivably mistaken for a dress, her hands clasped in front of her, her social mask fully on. There is no difference in her here as there was of her at tea or dinner, something that has never been the case before, not once their doors to the rest of the house have been shut, and they meet here at their connected rooms.
"Admiral?" she greets him, as her eyes flick from him to his room, quick little darting glances as she scans it for another person. She does not relax at seeing no one else in her line of sight; she is very aware of all the places she does not have a line of sight to that a person might be. She returns her gaze to Siamus, brows raised. Her cosmetics have been washed away, and so she does look as tired as she truly is, but the light at least is forgiving, the room behind her softly lit by a single lamp.
"Your Grace?" he asks her in return, as though they are confirming one another's identities because something Sinister is clearly afoot. He looks deeply disconcerted. "Are ye — not well, mo chroí?"
Avrenne glances again at the room behind Siamus, pausing the way a person might while trying to listen closely for sounds of something if she cannot see it, but it's brief. "I am perfectly well," she assures him. How long this strange back and forth might have gone is something to consider, but Avrenne is tired, and so instead she asks, "Should I be greeting any guest in the room?" As if there were multiple possible guests, and one might just be hanging out, not speaking up yet, and she is just checking, for mannerly reasons.
Siamus looks sharply over his shoulder like there might be one he wasn't aware of, possibly sneaking up on him at this very moment.
"No?" he guesses, and turns back to Avrenne. He takes her in again — the hair, the robe, the manner — and now abruptly the math works out. "Oh," he says. "Ye were — Miss Sunstrike, d'ye mean?"
"Well, yes," Avrenne confirms. She does not drop her public self, no more than she would if the door to the rest of the house was wide open, and one of the guests might walk by at any point, or perhaps, as if the door to his room might open at any moment and a guest might walk in.
"Bhaile mo chroí," he says. "Will ye step in here a moment with me?" He offers a hand out to her.
Now the glance is behind her, as if to check for herself that the twins are unchanged for how she left them, but even before she turns back to him, she already moves to set her hand in his, her fingers curling around his hand as they might in a moment she is reasonably sure they are unobserved — there is nothing odd about the temperature of her hands, no heat that could indicate a temper, or a worry. The twins being content to remain on their own assured, she says, "Of course." She steps closer in anticipation, ready to move with him to change the location slightly.
He draws her all the way in to his room. "That's the bed you sleep in most nights," he says, nodding toward the broad walnut bed and its deep blue bedding. "It's your bed. This is Lord Fallon's room, and it's of a piece with Lady Fallon's room because they're sides of the same thing. Ye will never find Miss Sunstrike in this room, or — Graves, or Hartrim, or… anyone else. Lord Fallon's room is Lady Fallon's place, and no one will ever come through that door to trouble your privacy."
Whatever purpose Avrenne might have thought Siamus had for leading her into the room, it was evidently not that. She doesn't look at the bed; she looks at Siamus. He can see it, in real time, as if watching an ice sculpture melt to reveal a woman beneath, her eyes filling with the water of that melting ice, until it's only his wife, vulnerable and caught in some strong emotion, laid very bare before him.
"Oh," she breathes, swallowing hard, keeping her eyes wider to try to hold the tears where they are, to not let them drop, her brows tipping and moving as if little dark gold ships over swells of seas of emotion. "I would not — " She starts, and has to clear her throat to continue, her eyes dropped down to somewhere around his chin. "I would not begrudge you it, if you did, now. I would not resent you, or be angry. I thought that was what you might want, with Miss Sunstrike's visit. I realize that I might ordinarily be in your bed, but I am not now. Why should you go to bed alone, when there is someone very willing to fill it? I have my privacy in my room. I know I have very little to offer you at the moment, that it is only my own comfort you see to, and then you are left to an empty bed in the end."
It would seem the Lady Fallon does not hold herself, an exhausted mother, unable to provide entertaining or stimulating conversation, and unable to provide any other stimulating activities, as a highly desirable reason to give up a beautiful, enthusiastic lover for a nighttime partner. The choice must have appeared obvious to her.
Siamus steps closer to gather her up in his arms. "My wife, my Lady Fallon, the mother of my children: That lady is — you are, Avrenne — precious to me. I sit with ye for a comfort at night until ye sleep because it pleases me to do it. Knowing that I can be a comfort to ye, in a time when there's not much else I can do to help, makes me glad. Knowing that I'm near for ye at night, for you and the boys, that makes me glad, and I rest easier for it myself. And your privacy is precious to me, and I'll protect it." His hand moves slow and soothing on her back. "Ye know I love to see my lady with her hair down in our rooms." There's the trace of a smile in his voice. When he speaks again, though, it's gone, his tone somber. "And I'd never have her think she needs to lock a door against me to have her own private space in her own house. Your seawall should be your shelter."
He draws back a little to look down at her. "I saw Miss Sunstrike earlier in the evening; I went to her room for a few minutes to see how she was settling in. And then I went to my office to finish some work as usual before coming to see to you and the boys and go to bed myself. I know ye don't grudge it, anamchara, but if I share the young lady's closer company while she's here, it won't be in this room, and it won't be for the night. She knows that, too, and doesn't expect it; when we talked of her visit, she made no assumptions but asked whether we'd keep company at all. It's not the purpose of her visit, and I'd certainly never have invited her here for that purpose. I promise ye she'll never tread on your privacy in our rooms. This is the Lady Fallon's domain alone, and it's for my own sake as much as hers. I love to see ye at home."
His shirt grows a little damp, as Avrenne lets the water fall, pressing her face into him, her hands on his back pulling him closer. She doesn't sob or anything so harsh; it's a quiet emotional relief, a trickle for some pressure allowed to escape to reset the equilibrium.
"Then it shall be so," she says, as quiet as a promise, as steady voiced as a decision, tipping her head back up to look at him. This is the wife he knows that hides behind the cold, composed duchess who has no sentimental feelings, no moments of weakness. Her eyes are red rimmed above the dark smudges, the faint wrinkles visible where exhaustion and emotion have left a trace, and the warmth of her expression as she smiles at him with a soft glow like a lantern in a dark room.
"I should lie down," she admits. "I'm tired. Will you take my hair down?" The bun she has that sweeps up her hair isn't pinned as securely as she'd wear even around the house; it was obviously done quickly, after he knocked, meant to hold it up for a brief conversation.
"I will gladly," he says. "Will ye turn for me?"
Her smile goes sweeter, a leaning of her body into him, the start of an arch of her back, but all she does is say, "Gladly." If the way she turns is a mite suggestive, if she doesn't need to present her neck that way, leaning her head to her right shoulder to expose the long line of her throat, well. There's a reason she has been on a potion to prevent pregnancy since the end of her last one.
There aren't as many pins as usual, but Siamus takes his time sliding them out of her hair, carefully loosening and finger-combing and shaking out her hair. It may be more painstaking a process than a tired mother of twin infants signed up for, but eventually he is finished, which fact he signals by drawing the unbound curtain of her hair aside to kiss that offered neck.
"Go and lie down," he tells her. "I'll be in to sit with ye in a moment."
Was she dozing while standing? Maybe. The quick intake of breath at the kiss could have been only the sensitive pleasure, but also, it might have been her rousing from a semi-asleep-state. She takes a deeper breath, looks over her shoulder to smile at him, and then does as she's told — well, not entirely only as she's told. She removes the robe, laying it down over the foot of the bed where her feet never reach, leaving her in the nightgown that exposes her arms, and dips very low over her breasts.
And, as is the more usual routine, she sings. It's a soft, clear lullaby of ships going into the west, the notes winding gently through the air to touch on the sleeping twins, and reach her sailor both. She sits up, her back barely touching the pillow, her head tipped back slightly, and her eyes closed, just to rest them.
Siamus steps in quietly a few moments later. He's barefoot, his cravat gone and collar undone, and he's rolling the sleeves of his shirt as he approaches the bed.
He moves soundlessly over to it and pauses a moment, considering his weary wife with a soft smile. He begins to hum along with her, taking up a low thread of harmony, and eases up onto the bed beside her.
Avrenne opens drowsy, heavy lidded eyes, as he slides in beside her, and it's clear she enjoys the moment of weaving their voices together, her eyes brighter, a fresh wind in her metaphorical sails. She holds herself there for the time, watching him as she sings.
When the song finishes, the last note left to linger lightly, she relaxes, and curls herself into him, tucking her body against his, breathing him in deeply, contentment obvious in the loosening of her limbs, a picture of a woman feeling safe in repose.
Siamus smiles down at her and slides her hair back to slip it behind her ear. "Will ye sleep now, pet, or will ye wake a little longer?" he asks quietly, his voice pitched so as not to trouble the twins.
"Mm?" Avrenne winds a leg over one of his, entangling herself more, a tiny four armed kraken. "I'm awake still. I had some items to discuss with you, either tonight or tomorrow morning if you had been occupied this evening." Oooh, items to be discussed, that's Fallon Bedroom Business talk, that is. No one should ever be surprised that the Fallons run their snuggle pillow talk like a business meeting, not by this point. "Did you have any for me?"
Siamus fits an arm around her comfortably, securing his tiny kraken against him. "Only the dancing-party that ye discussed with Miss Sunstrike and the children at tea. Can we — " He pauses. "Lady Cressidha and Silentstep, really?"
"Mmhm." Avrenne settles her head so she can look up at him. "I suppose it's not too surprising. He was raised to be a gentleman, after all. There's certainly some amount of irony in that the only Sullivan who ever might have really achieved the family's greatest ambitions to rise into the ranks of nobility will be the one that left the family altogether. I suppose for someone like Lady Cressidha, knowing that Mr. Silentstep is a man of such principle to have done so, legally, tells her much of the character of the man, to be someone who is not reaching for her rank, but the woman herself. I hadn't thought her much of a romantic, but I can understand why she might prefer a suitor who sees her more for who she is than who she is related to, especially after so long engaged that came to nothing, and not having ever really been part of the marriage market. Better a friend that she trusts than wading into that unpleasant sea."
"I did learn myself that ye never can know when your wading will carry a mermaid across your path," Siamus observes, and glances down at her with a slanted smile. "It's interesting to hear ye speak of it from Lady Cressidha's perspective — I'd been thinking of it more from Silentstep's. But aye, I can see the sense in it for the lady." He threads his fingers idly through her hair again. "I know Miss Sunstrike would like all the younger Aspenwoods to come, and she's good friends with Silentstep as well. And if Miss Coit will be there, then I'll lean on Shine. Who else would ye say?"
"Well, let's see, if we think of it from the necessity of forming pairs as a base," Avrenne says, the whirls of gears in her mind of connections only metaphorically audible. "Isla and Finley. Although, if we could get a friend of hers to accompany her, then she would not need to pair off with Finley, something I am sure she would prefer to make it feel more like an event and less like a standard dancing lesson. In that case, I might invite another for Finley. But the one that I am not yet sure of is Ralaea, and the matter of her starting partner. It should be her fiance, and were he any other person, it would be a matter of course, but he is not. If we invite him, it will be an endorsement of the marriage, and if we snub him, he may take it personally, damaging a relationship that seems likely to continue on in our future. Ralaea has considered the potential for another living partner within their relationship, and if I can think of someone suitable who I might pair off with, say, Finley but truly mean for Ralaea, it would give an opportunity for both Mr. Morningdew and Ralaea to meet such a person that better meets with our approval than she might meet in less controlled environments."
The woman never stops; every event is just another opportunity to further control the strands of the politics she weaves.
Siamus nods seriously. "If we set aside the question of Morningdew, who would ye invite for Ralaea? And would — " He pauses. "Is Isla old enough? She's not out yet."
"No, she's not. This would be informal, a simple gathering of friends, not a ball. So, whoever we brought for Ralaea, would need to be someone known to at least the family already. If not for his other connections, I might have suggested Mr. Reniya Hartrim." But now, that'd be possibly awkward. That's Dad's Friend now. "I had the thought perhaps of Mr. Ebek. His association with Mr. Dinnsfield and therefore a connection to Mr. Morningdew, would make that a potentially smoother course to start. A guard would not be a unreasonable position to have in relationship to a possible lady of a title. He's not exactly a close friend of the House, but he's not a stranger either. Ralaea has been taking lessons from his mother, so it's an easy enough leap of friendship in general, and the family is respectable. Finley could spend a day or two getting to know Mr. Ebek, and therefore send an invite on that line as a friend.
“It would mean we would need to invite Mr. Morningdew. Ralaea would most likely resist a set-up of her and another if done too directly. But in a casual setting of regularly swapping partners for different dances, it could be a way to have her consider the option. The younger Aspenwoods have no particular negative opinions about death knights in general, and Lord Colson specifically was willing to testify for Mr. Morningdew. I am sure with the current selection, Mr. Morningdew would not be left without someone willing to dance with him while Ralaea circulates."
"Hartrim would be no good wi' Ralaea anyway," Siamus dismisses. "A Kul Tiran would be good, but he's not serious enough for Rae. He'd laugh at half what she says, or think she's joking when she's not, and she'd be upset. Ebek, on the other hand …." He gazes into space. "Ebek could be a good choice. Ralaea's sharp and he's not — I don't mean in wits, I mean in manners — which will suit her, and they both do better wi' plain speaking, and share interests in the engineering and mechanics. She seems comfortable in his company and to see him as… a peer. Aye, that might do nicely. Good-looking lad, as well."
Siamus nods firmly. It is decided: Ralaea has a boyfriend. Now to tell Ralaea.
"I will speak to Isla about what friend might suit. It would be perhaps a good show of a certain statement of the Alliance's willingness to work with a variety of people who swear their loyalty if Mr. Clay would find it agreeable to attend. I will ask. If not him, then perhaps Mr. Westwind," Avrenne says. The political wheel literally never stops in her head. "Priscila won't be able to attend. Perhaps Sintha might want to, and we could invite Lady Alaisa accordingly. And that should cap the event off nicely of pairs. Isla - To Be Determined, Finley - Mr. Ebek, Ralaea - Mr. Morningdew, Miss Coit - Shine, Lady Cressidha - Mr. Silentstep, Lord Colson - Lord Mordecai, possibly Sintha - Lady Alaisa, and You - Miss Sunstrike."
Wait, where's Avrenne? She's not on the list at all.
Siamus is preoccupied by something before that. "Lady Alaisa? Lysander? For Sintha?" He laughs incredulously. "What about Winton? Raphe Winton. Or one of these Gilnean fellows? Why Sintha would — " Now the second thing strikes him. "And where's yourself, anamchara? We could…" Oh ho. Inspiration. "We could invite Graves for Miss Sunstrike, aye? And I can trade off with him for some, if ye were there."
"Lady Alaisa is a friend of Sintha's, and this is a party of friends," Avrenne explains. "The other gentlemen are not as well known, and I must consider Isla's status. This is, after all, not a ball, simply a gathering of friends for an afternoon's entertainment. I might have considered Lord Arric for Sintha, but I am of half a mind to introduce him to Miss Lynds, and I wouldn't want her to get a certain impression. I don't know that Miss Lynds would feel comfortable at a dance party, especially with Mr. Morningdew there. As for Lord Graves, he was quite clear when I asked him that he does not have an interest in dancing. I'm not certain that he would even accept an invitation for a dance party, or be pleased to be paired off with someone he hasn't yet met."
And now she's run out of other things and must address the other question asked. Her eyes drop down to somewhere around his chest. "As for myself, there is little point in my attendance. There is no one there but yourself who would wish to dance with me, and even you, surely not for my dancing skills, and yet many who would find themselves obligated to do so as partner shifting occurred. It's not a ball where a great gathering of people not dancing might be and I could remain among them, not at all out of the ordinary, and not depriving a set of exact partners. It would be strange if I was the only odd person out, unpaired, or if I refused everyone to dance except for you, thus making the person I refused then need to stand on the outside with me all the same. It's an activity of dancing, and while there will be times that people take a moment of a break, there will be many times when everyone is dancing. That is the point of it, after all.
"So I would have to accept every offer of dancing partners, and I told myself after what happened with, well, Captain Tyrrell, at first the Remembrance Ball and then the Charity Gala of 27, that once I was married, I would be at last done with the farce of having men dancing with me, obligated and reluctant, while they wished that they were dancing with the far more beautiful, skilled dancer debutante or lady or what have you. There's nothing I need to achieve on that specific day to have conversations while dancing that I could not have afterwards for tea or so on, or individual invitations. If it were a ball, I would be there, and just wait for when they weren't dancing. But I cannot do that at this small affair.
"It would be…" she articulates a circle in the air with a hand, "unpleasant to be back in the midst of it, again. I have never enjoyed dancing, like it even less when it comes with men pretending at interest in me or superficial flirtations or pleasure at my unskilled dancing, and I have been glad to be free of them as much as I can be. Those who want my conversation may have it. There's no need to bring dancing into the equation."
Siamus listens, gazing down at her with a line between his brows that only grows deeper, his gaze more troubled, as she speaks. He strokes her hair in silence for a time when she's done. "Well then I won't subject ye to it, pet. I'm sorry it comes wi' such bad memory, and I'd never like ye to feel any less than the jewel of any room. I'm sorry as well that ye did. And I regret that I didn't have a dance of ye at the Gala, though ye did grace me wi' more than my honest share of your company." He shifts a little bit, turning slightly toward her in her full-body kraken-grip of him.
"Dancing is… I'm no'skilled in it beyond the rote myself, but I don't dance for itself because I enjoy it. It can be an obligation, and a tedious one. When I enjoy it, it's chiefly because of my partner. And ye will say, 'Ah, but we could have talked of logistics at the side of the ballroom and not had to dance while we did it.'" He pauses. "To which I would say, But then I could not have had ye so close or laid hands on ye while we talked. It was a very pretty introduction, and I remember it fondly." There's the suggestion of a smile in his voice.
"But now we're married and I can lay hands on ye while we talk whenever I please. And I could never in conscience press ye to do a thing that gives ye a moment's grief. If ye don't care to dance then ye mustn't, and I'm only sorry it was so spoiled for ye."
Avrenne is making a study of his chest. "Well, of course, that was the point that evening. Dancing is a type of flirting. It's why on the night of the Lordaeron Remembrance Ball of 27, with an agreement for negotiations with Captain Tyrrell, I did what I had not done for well over three years — I said yes to any man who asked me to dance, as a subtle way of opening the potential for a suitor now that I was once again on the market, but it was only for that one day. There was only one man whose dancing I enjoyed at all, for both his skill of me in his care, and for the pleasure of his company and conversation, and I married him." This lifts her head, to smile at him, tired edges around her eyes.
"By the Gala, I had fulfilled my obligation and was ready to once again refuse most, unless they were one of the House potentials or on the short list of potential suitors, in which case I was willing to do what was necessary. If you had asked, I would have said yes, and it would have been, I admit, an indulgence for myself of an opportunity to be closer to you. I took advantage often enough every other time I could, a hand to stand, an arm to hold. Ten years younger and I might have even considered finding an opportunity to swoon where you might catch me," she teases. She probably would not have actually gone through with it, even then, but the point stands that she would at the least have thought about it.
"I had planned to find an excuse for the afternoon, schedule someone for business on the same day, especially if I could find one whose social calendar is difficult. But, perhaps Lord Graves would be willing to once again play the gallant and suffer through my company to provide the service of a welcome excuse. I did hope to speak with him again."
"Well, then, there we are. If Graves can be of service to ye that way, I'm sure he'd be honored to play your gallant." He shifts again so that he can bend his head to kiss the top of hers. "And I will continue to regret that I missed my chance to ask ye to dance at the Gala, but I take solace in the fact that I did timely ask ye to marry me." He pauses and then bends his head again to address her in a confidential tone. "I would have caught ye, too, if ye'd swooned. Though I confess to being out of practice. Until Mrs. Hartrim put me to the test, it had been eight or nine years."
Avrenne laughs, quietly. "Goodness. Unfortunately, I get the distinct impression that she, on the other hand, has all too much practice in swooning," Avrenne says, not unkindly, so much as an observation. "Then that is settled then, for the dancing afternoon. And you must know that you may always ask me to dance, if you wish it, for any reason. I will always say yes to you. I might not enjoy the dancing itself, precisely, but I have a feeling it will be the easiest and most enjoyable it ever could be when it's with you."
She brushes a hand up along his cheek, skimming the edges of his hair. Her face grows solemn, no teasing or amusement. "I have something else that I must speak with you about." He knows that it is serious because she lifts herself up off the bed, from the comfortable position she's taken, to straddle his hips, her hands on each of his shoulders, so that she can look him full in the face.
"Oh," says Siamus, slightly disconcerted. "I — what?" He rests his own hands lightly on her hips and peers at her. Solemnity + straddling is Mixed Signals.
"Have you and Miss Sunstrike spoken in depth at all about how she 'sees' people? The energy of her 'sight'?" Avrenne asks, watching his face closely in the dimly lit room.
Siamus frowns, casting back through his memory. "We've… spoken about how she sees things? That is, I know she can, in… her own way. She's said something about 'energy,' but we've not discussed it over-much." Deep conversation is not their strong suit.
"It's been brought to my attention that the energy she perceives is not a general one, not simply the same glow, perhaps, of life the way my physician's assistance has described her own sense of the Light in babies. Miss Sunstrike appears to have developed a vision that sees power." Avrenne lets this hang for only a moment.
"When you and she first met, she saw you as silvery, your energy. After the tidal wave," Avrenne says, as her right hand moves to slip into Siamus' hair, speaking in soft, clearly spoken words, unhesitating. "You appeared 'duller.'" She doesn't linger in it. "But, she has not spoken of it to you, it would seem, because during that time aboard your ship, just after the Alliance aided in righting the wrongs of the Plane of Water, you looked silvery once more. You look silvery to her, now. The same silvery that Ery looks like to her." Avrenne searches his eyes as she speaks, her whole attention on him.
Siamus looks blank. "Silvery?" he repeats. This is all news to him; he is caught, perhaps, on the wrong details.
"Silvery. An unusual energy color, it would seem. You might ask her for the details to better describe it. But it would appear that those who are tidesages, their energy looks silvery to her," Avrenne says, quietly. "And yours changed, dulled, but after the actions taken to clear the sea of the taint brought into it after Deathwing's destruction and corruption, it has returned, at least in part that she can see." The math is mathing, Admiral, and Avrenne is looking at those numbers and wondering at the end equation. "Siamus, have you noticed anything? A return of the sound of the world? A sense of rightness or connection?"
This time he processes, and he stares at her in wide-eyed, strained silence for a moment. "No," he whispers roughly at last, and then clears his throat and shakes his head. "No. I can't hear — I don't hear it, Avrenne." He pauses and lifts his head as though trying to listen for something in the distance, and then the faint, cautious glimmer of expectation fades. He shakes his head again. "Sometimes, when I'm out with Ery, or with Hartrim… but that's them. That's me feeling… it's like a phantom limb, sometimes, aye? I think I can feel it, I'm just at the edge of hearing, but it's not… me. It's them, and memory."
"I don't know for certain," she admits, "but I don't think that Miss Sunstrike would be able to see an echo, especially not out on the Lady Blanche, where neither Ery or Mr. Hartrim was. That math of the when she saw the changes, I don't think it can be a coincidence. I fully admit that I'm in unfamiliar waters of how it all might work, but I cannot deny the timing has meaning, especially with the observations of someone who it doesn't seem has any notion of the significance of what she is seeing, so she cannot influence the results by hoping or wishful thinking.
"When we spoke before of the anger you felt in Her, in the sea, in the Tidemother, what if that is the key to the bargain that you made? What if when you are part of ridding Her of those harming Her, She in turn gifts you back parts of what was taken? It's worth considering that perhaps that is what Miss Sunstrike has seen: a sliver given back to you, and those echoes you feel, those moments with Ery or Mr. Hartrim out by the sea, there is a true thread of connection. Not enough, not in full, but a piece granted back for your faith and your actions. It seems a possible logical explanation of the data we have." In an Azerothian magic kind of way. "You could even consider running a test with Miss Sunstrike, see if that silvery grows brighter when you are by the sea, or when you try to reach for that edge." Who doesn't love Science? "But either way, what we know is that after something happened on the Plane of Water, something changed in you that someone who sees in energy could see."
Siamus is gazing straight ahead — at Avrenne, but without seeing Avrenne. His expression is a seawall, the movement of the waters beyond it invisible from view.
"I'll talk to her," he says at last. "To Aszera. And find out."
Avrenne searches his eyes, and nods at his answer. Her left hand skims a light touch over the edge of his cheekbone. "No matter what you choose, no matter what comes of it, no matter what it has meant, whether you have a piece returned or not, whether you gain it all again, or never, know this — it will never change how I feel about you. I love you." She leans forward, to rest her head against his shoulder. "You will be my Siamus, anamchara, and everything that you are to me, always."
He lifts a hand to slide it into her hair, clasping her to his shoulder. "Aye," he says quietly. "I know. Bhaile mo chroí. Ye have me."
A heaviness starts to pull at her, a sinking of her limbs down over him. Uh oh, she's getting comfortable again. "I would give so much to return your world to you," she mumbles at him, a soft sigh against the skin of his neck, a deeper breath of him like she's trying to take some of him into her. The flutter of her lashes is a brush against him, and he knows she's closed her eyes. "Thank you, for staying."
"How could I leave ye?" he asks her softly.
He tips his head down at an awkward angle to peer at her. "Are y'asleep, pet?"
"No?" It's only half convincing, and it does sound like a question. "I'm awake." She tries to prove it by rolling her head along his shoulder, and then up off it so she can look back at him, blinking her eyes back open. There's an involuntary smile that brightens her expression when she sees him again, even though she knew he was there.
He smiles wryly back at her, a soft light in his eyes. "My good girl. A fond little mermaid. Here, now." He shifts, turning with her to lay her down on the bed beside him, and then tugs the bedding away from beneath her carefully so that he can draw it up over her. "Ye need your rest. I'll be here until ye sleep, and then I'll just be through there, aye? Just a call away."
"Mmhm." She's a snug little wife in her covers, the wheels of her mind slowing down as the political factory closes down for the night. Some thought tugs at her, and she keeps her eyes open through will power. "Siamus? If you did want a dance with me on the day of the party, we could have one after it was over. Just for you."
"That would please me very much," he tells her softly, still smiling.
There's a hum of satisfaction and pleasure where her laugh is caught in her chest, her smile brighter for a flash, and then her features relax into that little curl of her lips, the sweet softness of her brow, as sleep takes her.