(2025-04-20) Two Gentlemen of Kul Tiras

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Author:	inkie
Summary:	Following their recent encounter in Stranglethorn and the encyclopedic letter about trolls that Arric Falrevere sent to Admiral Fallon, Arric receives a personal invitation. Horse boy BFFs.
Rating:	T for Teen

The note is delivered to Arric's Elwynn home early on the morning of Sunday, April 20th. In a distinctive calligraphic hand, it reads:

Falrevere -
Just back yesterday. One of our mares has foaled. You're welcome to come and see, at your leisure.
Regards,
S. Fallon

Late afternoon on the same day, a smallish Tirasian chestnut mare can be seen cantering along the road toward Fallon House.

On her back is a ginger-haired man who displays an almost centaurish meld with the rhythm and intent of the mare even as she takes a what appears to be an unscheduled flying leap over a perfectly avoidable dead limb that has partially fallen over the road. The man is dressed finely in polished brown boots, a deep forest-green jacket, gloves and breeches of a pale golden-tan that puts one in mind of fresh scones.

Lord Arric Falrevere's subtle hand on the reins slows the mare to a trot as he approaches the gravel courtyard of the estate. He looks around with a pleased smile and a sharp eye for staff and other signs of life.

A wiry, bowlegged man with a leathery tan and a permanent squint steps out of the gatehouse to approach horse and rider. He is dressed in a groom's livery, his jacket and neckcloth in Fallon blue, and he touches the brim of his cap respectfully. "Sir. She's a lovely one. Ye don't see many her like around here."

To a non-Tirasian, that would have sounded like, "Sarees'nluffly'n. Yedanzeeminyarlak reindeer." But as Arric is himself a Tirasian, it is possible that Thredd is about to find himself understood on the mainland by someone other than the denizens of Fallon House.

Arric beams and pulls the mare to a stop beside the leathery man, dismounting smoothly. His own vowels shift just a bit to the northwest as he responds, though they'd still be intelligible to a local or a Lordaeronian.

"I was only able to bring two with me," he says rather mournfully. "But she's a good girl, and I've had the training of her since she was a foal. Autumn Witch-Dance, she's properly called, but we all just call her Dancer. And what should I call you, sir? I'm Arric Falrevere, here to see the Admiral."

Thredd looks faintly startled and then deeply gratified to have been understood. "Thredd, milord, begging your pardon. The Admiral's back at the yard himself, if ye'd like me to show ye the way. Shall I take her for ye?"

"Yes, thank you, Thredd," Arric says, handing over the reins even though they're headed the same direction."The Admiral has invited me to see the new foal," he says as they walk, "and I happened to have the afternoon free, so I thought I'd not waste time about it."

Arric looks around at the estate admiringly, slipping off his gloves and tucking them into an inside pocket of his coat.

"I hope my promptness doesn't come as an unpleasant surprise," he says to Thredd, "but my schedule tends to fill up so quickly these days. I thought I'd err on the side of seeming over-eager rather than get bogged down in all sorts of appointments and then end up wandering over here long after the Admiral had forgotten about the invitation."

He laughs good-naturedly, seeming to think it perfectly normal to be having a little walk and a chat with someone else's household staff.

"Things are well here, I hope?" he then asks directly of Thredd, his manner indicating that Thredd is just the person who would know best.

"If the Admiral invited ye, he won't be put out to see ye. He's a busy gentleman himself, and he'll appreciate another gentleman who prioritizes fine horseflesh." Thredd is casually at ease making conversation with a toff. "Things are very well, aye. He's just got back from sea and brought a prize with him, and that's always well cheering. Lady Ery's learned a word or two and is making a right terror of herself, or so my sister says. And it's foaling season." The groom smiles complacently. All's right with the world.

"A prize?" Arric echoes curiously. "He's taken a ship, then? Or just something from a ship? Well, I suppose he'll tell me, won't he, if he likes." Arric smiles.

Meanwhile Dancer seems well contented to be led by a stranger; unlike certain of Arric's other horses, she is a good and cooperative girl.

Thredd grins. "He will, at that."

Ahead of them, the distant dark lines of fencing and the low-slung bulk of a building are beginning to resolve into their proper dimensions: a broad stable-complex surrounded by a patchwork of fenced paddocks. Perhaps one-third of the paddocks are occupied at present; two each contain a heavily-pregnant mare enjoying the luxury of a private graze, and in another a trio of still-leggy yearlings romp merrily.

A smoky grey stallion penned at some distance from the others raises his head alertly as Dancer approaches with the two men, and then trots over to the fence to stretch his neck out toward the distant arrival.

At the paddock enclosure closest to the stable entrance, Siamus and another man are standing at the fence watching the field's occupants. Siamus is dressed almost as casually as any groom, in coarse trousers and workboots; the man he's standing with is a lean, looming beanpole of a man with tufts of silver hair for eyebrows and no other hair on his head. He wears a long country workman's smock and has his hands in his pockets.

Within the paddock, a grey mare — still round-sided — crops grass placidly while a spindly foal stumbles and frisks around her. The infant is a shade of charcoal that is not-quite-black.

Arric's face lights up at the sight of Siamus, but although he looks just on the point of calling out to him, he instead approaches silently, mindful of the mare and foal and watching their body language to gauge how close he should come. As he approaches, his eyes sweep over the two animals in a focused, directed way; he know exactly what he's looking for, and seems to approve.

The stallion in the far paddock, having realized that he is not going to get to view this new mare's Tinder profile, gives a shrill whinny. Siamus looks toward the sound, and then toward what the horse is looking at — "Falrevere!" he says, stepping away from the fence. He keeps his voice pitched low, but the exclamation point is still audible. "Ye came! And with your lovely lady." He admires Dancer briefly. "Lovely, Thredd, aye?"

"Aye, sir," the groom agrees. "And a lovely gait, coming up the drive. Shall I turn her out for ye, sir? Or will she go in a loose box?" These last questions are addressed to Arric.

"Oh, the latter should be fine," says Arric, his tone implying that he would never presume to linger overlong. He reaches out to clasp Siamus's hand as he approaches, his delight evident. "Oh they're just lovely," he says, his eyes straying toward the mare and foal. "Nursing well, it would seem, from the look of them both."

Siamus shakes Arric's hand firmly and then steps away to usher him closer to the fence. "Aye," he says. "Doing beautifully. This lad is Carina's first, but we've high hopes of him. Falrevere, this is Maldon. He's an animal physician. Maldon, Lord Arric Falrevere, a fellow islander and horseman."

The tuft-browed man nods amiably to Arric. "M'lard."

Arric reaches for Maldon's hand as well. "Pleasure to meet you, Maldon. A man such as yourself is worth his weight in gold, and then some."

Arric turns to watch the foal stumbling about, a contented smile on his face that turns slightly wistful after a moment.

"There must be foals back home by now," he observes. "The time really has flown."

Siamus reaches over without looking to drop a hand on Arric's shoulder and squeeze it. "How long is it now?" he asks.

Arric's expression warms at the shoulder-squeeze, and he turns to look at Siamus. "A year and a half now," he says. "Your sister has been a tremendous help in getting me integrated. I feel almost like a native already. Not that I'll ever forget where I came from, of course," he adds hastily.

Siamus smiles wryly, still watching the foal. "Aye. I suppose Ta's more than half mainlander by now. Ye feel yourself at home, then?"

"Oh, I manage to feel at home wherever I am," Arric says. "Some of the logistics are a bit troublesome, as I wasn't expecting not to be able to return home at all, but the people and the land itself have been more than welcoming. And you, sir! You've certainly made your mark on the kingdom, haven't you? You must be very proud." He smiles warmly.

Now Siamus turns to look at him, a brow arched. "I have my oaths, aye. I serve my kingdom. I know I serve her well, but that only makes me a man of my word." He pauses, and there's the flicker of a smile. "And the finest bloody naval commander Stormwind's got." He cants his head modestly, his black gaze gleaming.

"Indeed!" Arric agrees with unhesitating enthusiasm. "I'm honored to know you. And your sister. The 7th Legion! Astonishing. There's greatness in your blood, no doubt, and I'm certain your children will prove the truth of that as well. Everyone is healthy and happy, I hope? I know how it can be, with several small children about at once, all sorts of sniffles and little fevers, but I would not be surprised to hear that your brood are beyond such inconveniences." Arric laughs good-naturedly.

Siamus contemplates this prospect blankly. A Fallon? Ill? He nods slowly. "Aye, well. We've not been much troubled by contagion. But I suppose we're a bit of a closed system here. The children have only been to the city once. Ery, that is, not the twins. We have guests come and go, but by and large Fallon House is an island."

He hears himself and smiles crookedly again. "The fourth island."

Arric returns the smile knowingly, and then his gaze wanders back toward the mare and foal. He watches them for a moment in silence, his gaze assessing and approving.

"I hope my Stranglethorn team's… eccentric behavior did not put you off terribly when you encountered us in Booty Bay," he says. "They're truly good people, bright and skilled, though due to their disparate backgrounds they are perhaps unfamiliar with the larger-scale concerns of gentlemen."

"What? Oh, no, not at all," Siamus assures him. "Ye know I work with all sorts, aye? I should introduce ye sometime to my marine engineer, Niksi Knockfathom. Absolutely brilliant lady. Genius. More than a touch eccentric. I suspect it comes wi' the great mind. And I've a draenei shaman who works wi' the fleet, though she's off wi' the Earthen Ring at the moment. Lovely people, very learned, fascinating technology."

Arric nods enthusiastically. "I've benefitted greatly from my team's expertise," he agrees. "The draenei has all manner of knowledge relating to the wildlife of Draenor that has opened up entirely new vistas for me, and I've been learning to make my own rifles, explosives, and clever traps and such from the gnomes. I believe the Alliance truly benefits from such a wide range of natural talents and interests." He smiles and tips his head slightly. "The gnome friend you describe reminds me of some of the ones back home — they tended toward the nautical in their ingenuity, for obvious reasons. Such an adaptable people."

Siamus nods firmly. "I've said myself many times that the strength of the Alliance is in the diversity of its people and their breadth of expertise. And I tell ye — not to diminish any of the gnomes on the isles, as I've seen some brilliant work done on the Fleet's behalf — but I tell ye I think Knockfathom could teach them some things. She's built submersibles that can descend fathoms farther than I've ever heard, withstand pressure and all, and she built the signaling device that helped us to rescue the sunken Vashj'ir troops. Built it while trapped wi' the rest of them in an underwater cavern, mind ye." He shakes his head admiringly.

Arric's eyes widen slightly as Siamus describes Niksi's accomplishments.

"Oh, I simply must meet her one day," he enthuses. "What an extraordinary person. You know, I had heard about the trapped Cobalt squad and followed the newsletters quite anxiously for details. Simply a miracle of combined fortitude and ingenuity, that everyone was able to return to us."

He lets his gaze return to the horses, pensive for a moment. A line appears between his rusty brows. "It's quite a standard to live up to," he says quietly. "But I must try."

Siamus looks faintly startled. "Beg pardon, what standard is it that ye mean?"

"Cobalt Company," Arric says, turning to answer him squarely. "It's my best foothold toward being genuinely useful. But despite my best efforts, I'm a long way yet from appearing anywhere near fit to run with the best-paid of the lot."

He colors slightly, then, his complexion once again betraying him. He averts his eyes, finding the horses again.

"I beg your pardon," he says with a slight inclination of his head. "Crass of me to bring up coin."

"Tch. Modern world runs on it though, aye?" Siamus claps Arric gently on the shoulder again. "The entire House of Nobles spends most of our days bickering about coin lately. And Cobalt's a very fine lot, perhaps the only creditable mercenary company I've run across, and they're very creditable indeed. I've said before that we ought to just take them on as an official Alliance special force — but then half their effectiveness, I believe, is that they're not bound up wi' military bureaucracy. The fact that you're with 'em at all speaks well for ye, and I know they promote their people fairly."

He watches the foal totter over to its mother and nose at her flank for a moment in a quest for milk, then focuses on Arric again. "D'ye know Shine? I can't recall."

"I haven't had the pleasure," Arric says, a touch of pink still lingering around his cheeks, ears, and nose despite his otherwise dignified expression. "Though I have been reading about his service in the newsletters. He's a credit to your household."

Siamus smiles warmly. "Ah, I've done nothing but stand in the man's way. He's a credit to himself. And to Proudmoore's navy. Ye ought to meet him if ye have the opportunity. The pair of ye representing the isles well to Cobalt and the Alliance."

"I'd be delighted!" Arric says. "Once he and his team have wrapped up their business in the Highlands, perhaps he and I could meet for a drink in the city or some such. I've another upcoming Cobalt Company assignment — a moderately-paid one, and across the sea, but better than none at all, hm? But I'm certain there will be a time when I might meet your Shine, and hopefully learn well from his experience and expertise."

"Across the sea?" Siamus studies Arric. "Kalimdor's a bloody disaster right now. Where are they sending ye? Ashenvale? The Barrens?"

"Desolace," Arric says. "The Cenarion Circle is doing some work down there restoring the natural balance after some business with an elemental princess cursing the land. I suppose they thought my way with wild beasts would be of use?"

Siamus nods approvingly. "They're appreciating your talents, then. That speaks well."

"It is an honor, to be sure," says Arric. He hesitates though, looking maybe a bit less than honored. "I do worry a bit, though," he admits, "that there won't be very much use for an animal expert in their more elite assignments. You know, they don't send someone to the front lines of a world-shaking war because he's got a way with wolves. And it isn't that I feel I'm above the sort of work I'm doing. I do know that it's important. It's less about my image and… more of a practical concern."

"A… practical concern? Of what sort?" Siamus knits his brows.

Arric fidgets uncomfortably. "Well, it's… as I alluded to before… I'm… concerned about… financial matters." He winces visibly. "As we mentioned, it's been a year and a half. I've done the best I can, and what money I was able to bring with me I've attempted to invest rather than spend, but the cottage has needed all manner of repairs, and the trees aren't producing fully yet, and I refuse to pay my staff an iota less than they deserve. At this rate… well, by year's end I'll have to start letting them go. And some of them may be difficult to employ elsewhere."

Arric wrings his hands slightly, looking down at them. His ears begin to turn quite red.

"I am not irresponsible," he says, a touch of an edge to his voice as though he is rebutting a voice Siamus can't hear. "No one informed me when I left that it was to be permanent. I've been doing the best I can. But the sorts of assignments I can get from Cobalt Company, well, they are only delaying the problem."

"Falrevere." Siamus sounds genuinely shocked. "Why didn't ye say it straightaway, man? We can sort something out. I don't — understand me, I don't mean charity, you're a gentleman and I know ye won't have that. But there's any manner of arrangements, contacts that might be made, so on. Hell, you're a man that knows the handling and training of Tirasian horses, and that alone's worth good gold on the mainland."

Maldon, who has heretofore stood silent at Siamus's other shoulder, nods solemnly past him at Arric. ""Tis," he agrees.

"Oh, well, you've already got a splendid man for that!" Arric protests with a gesture toward Maldon, having known this man's splendidness for all of about thirteen minutes. "But if you do know of any other opportunities or chances for me to distinguish myself — you certainly are well ahead of me when it comes to knowing who's who in these parts, so I'd be grateful for any leads and repay you however I might."

His body language is a strange show in contradictions. As he stands straighter and squares his shoulders, his expression shifting to one of forthright confidence, his complexion continues to grow redder.

"And if you really wished to be forever in my debt, if you or someone you trust wouldn't mind looking over my books sometime of an idle evening for any opportunities I'm missing to tighten up expenses without harm, or to raise income on the property… that would be a tidesend. You see it was really my brother Strand who got the more detailed education in all of that, so I'm not too proud to be told where I could improve."

"I'll do it," Siamus agrees immediately. Speaking of tidesends: A little bit of money management, for a treato? "Be happy to. And if there's anything I think ye might re-source for supply, or markets ye might find a foot in, I'll pass ye over to the Duchess. Her Grace knows every merchant and market on the continent. Delighted, really."

"Oh bless you," Arric says. Did his… eyes get kind of shiny before he looked back at the horses? "I don't know what I've done to deserve such kindness other than amuse your sister on occasion, but I assure you it will be well repaid in the fullness of time."

"No doubt at all," Siamus agrees. "And we're old friends and countrymen, Falrevere. Ye mustn't hesitate. Ta and I were new to this place ourselves, I know what it's like."

'Old friends' may be a bit of a stretch, but Siamus is flexible like that. Just ask him.

Arric's shame-red turns more of a pleased-pink as he nods. "I can only hope," he says, "that in time I'll come to serve my new home as well as you have."

"No doubt at all," Siamus repeats with a smile, and then gestures at the foal who is once again stilting around the paddock. "And what d'ye think for a name for this lad? D'ye know your stars, Falrevere?"

"I do," Arric says, eyes aglow, "though surely not as well as an Admiral of the Alliance Navy! What are his sire and dam called?"

"Carina's his dam — for the constellation, y'understand, the Keel. And Siroc's his sire. That's the noisy bastard in the far field. Named for the wind, he is, rather than a star, and either will do. But there are more stars than winds." Siamus looks wry. He steps forward to lean on the fence.

Arric gazes at the little shadow-colored foal for a moment, his eyes soft and thoughtful.

"If he's a star out of Carina," Arric muses, "he might be Avior, the bright one. I don't know what the name means, but it always put me in mind of the old Arathi for bird, and if he's got the wind under him, too, well, that might suit him, don't you think?"

"Ahh." Siamus exhales and turns to gaze at Arric. Arric could not be blamed if he were to wonder for a moment whether he is about to get kissed.

(He does not get kissed.)

"That's brilliant, that is. Aye, Avior he'll be." Siamus turns his gaze back toward the foal, but as he does he reaches out to clasp Arric's shoulder again. "Good man, Falrevere."