(2025-04-21) Give a Man a Fish

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Author:	inkie
Summary:	Siamus pays a call on Count Lester Amerith in an urgent quest for information.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: The Red String Game

The manor of Count Lester Amerith stands in the mountainous region to the northeast of Stormwind, separated from the rest of Elwynn Forest by a squat iron gate, which at this hour stands open. Well paved for carriages, the road threads through a garden of roses, several plots of them in full bloom, difficult to appreciate in the dark except by a faint scent on the breeze, then loops around to the other side of the building where it widens into a proper driveway, offering stables and parking.

The manor itself combines two vastly different styles of architecture; the pale grey stones and towering columns of ancient elven design on one side, fading into the dark and brooding style of Gilneas on the other. For the more poetically inclined, the structure represents the phases of the moon, built by one familiar with two moon-loving cultures. For all others, it is the eccentric mind of the Count at work.

The only activity near the manor comes from a handful of grooms and stablehands milling at their posts, casting wary glances at the death knight who stands at the manor doors, still as a statue.

The neat clip of hooves on the road is audible in the quiet evening air before the horse itself comes into view: The smoke-dark animal emerges from the deeper darkness of the forest like a shadow sliding into view. The rider on its back is a shadow also, in a dark coat and tricorne hat.

As they pass through the gates, the horse halts smoothly at some invisible signal, and the rider tilts his head up to contemplate the manor's exterior. The shift reveals him to be an ordinary human man beneath the brim of his hat — well, he would say an extraordinary human man — and he appears to be carrying on his lap an oblong cloth bundle. In terms of the common analogy, this mystery object is just a little smaller than a breadbox.

Siamus studies the edifice in silence for a minute, and then drops his gaze to survey the people in the yard.

One of the grooms raises a lantern and beckons him over. He is expected. The death knight watches in silence, blue eyes casting an eerie glow in the dark.

Siamus directs his horse over toward the groom, and drops lightly down from the saddle, the bundle under his arm. "He'll bite," he warns the groom genially. "Keep him well clear of your mares."

Siroc is indeed eyeing the various grooms as if wondering which of them tastes most like chicken.

If the fresh faced young groom who takes Siroc is thinking about quailing, he quickly thinks better of it after a glance at the death knight. "Will do, sir," he says, and after a withering glance from one of the others, he amends, "Admiral, sir."

Siamus inclines his head courteously and turns to stride toward the door.

He pauses at the foot of the stairs to consider the Death Knight. He doesn't look uneasy so much as thoughtful. Is this: Security? The butler? A lawn ornament?

Jothran — the death knight — bows. "Your name, my lord?" he inquires.

"Fallon," says Siamus. "Admiral Siamus Fallon."

"Admiral Fallon," Jothran repeats, and there might be a bitter ring to it. "You are expected. Please follow me."

He opens the door and leads the way into a surprisingly bright room compared to the gloom of the manor's exterior, with white marble floors and red decorative rugs, lit by a large chandelier overhead. Two staircases sit on either side of the room, both leading to a balcony where begins the second floor. To the left of the door, displayed in a corner, is a set of saronite armor, sized for a woman, and Jothran spares it a glance as he leads the way towards the stairs.

"Ralaea is well?" he asks on the way.

"Aye, very well," Siamus says. He removes his hat and tucks it under his arm with his bundle. "Stationed in Hyjal at the moment, and a credit to her Company." His gaze finds the saronite armor as well, and there is just the slightest shift in his manner, the temperature dropping perhaps one (1) degree. He doesn't remark on it. "I trust the household here is well?"

"No unwanted visitors have been murdering our staff lately," Jothran replies. That's probably a good thing.

"That's probably a good thing," Siamus says, because he's like that.

The death knight takes a left at the top of the stairs, then a right down a short hallway where he pauses in front of the first door and knocks, two taps. Two taps echo back from the other side of the door, and only then does Jothran open it, gesturing Siamus inside with another bow.

Count Amerith's office is surprisingly normal and extremely well-kept. To the left is a small seating area composed of two couches and a coffee table, to the right, a floor to ceiling bookshelf lined with folders, binders, and notebooks meticulously organized, and at the far end sits a large wooden desk, a personal mailbox set up beside it.

The Count himself sits at said desk, writing, a member of his staff positioned beside him. The long light brown cascade of hair, blue eyes and fair features are easily recognizable as belonging to Adrien Velart, the female lead in the play The Briarthorn Witch.

Siamus approaches the desk and then pauses courteously. "Amerith," he says. "Brought ye a fish." He turns to the young woman and inclines his head in greeting. "Miss — "

A name might have been meant to go there, but it seems like Siamus got to that point, came up blank, and decided to leave it as-is.

"Adrien Velart, Admiral," she says with a polite curtsy. If she has taken any offense, it doesn't show.

Lester stows his pen in a nearby inkhorn and looks up, meeting Siamus's gaze before rising. "A fish," he says, his lips twitching in amusement that only faintly reaches his eyes. "Cooked, raw and wriggling, or metaphorical?" His tone suggests that any would be fine. "Ah, but pardon my manners. Come, sit. Would you have anything to eat or drink?" He gestures towards the couches.

Jothran quietly dismisses himself.

"Live," Siamus says genially, and sets his burden on the desk to lift the cloth from it. It proves to be a modest, sealed fishtank, which is occupied by a large, extravagantly-colored fighting fish. The fish swirls menacingly back and forth, trailing iridescent fins like veils.

"I'd take a glass of whiskey, if ye have it," Siamus says.

"Oh —!" The sound is a light, airy gasp from Adrien, her normally unreadable expression melting into an almost childlike amazement as she bends down to observe the fish. She straightens quickly, embarrassment flushing her cheeks, and tries to hide her face with one hand, which is not at all successful, fighting to keep her eyes from trailing back to the fishtank.

Lester's eyes flick to her, reading information like he would a book or pamphlet, his own expression eerily unmoving. Then he spends a moment taking in the fish, before at last his gaze returns to Siamus.

"It would seem your gift is well-received," he says, inclining his head. "I thank you on behalf of myself and my household." His hand moves to his chest and he performs a courteous, if not slightly unnecessary half-bow, a smile faintly on his lips. "Adrien, if you would bring the whiskey?"

"Of course, my lord," she says, moving out from behind the desk and performing another perfectly executed curtsy. "My lords."

Siamus smiles faintly at Adrien and then ambles toward the couches. "I admire the style of the place," he says as he settles comfortably. "I don't recall I've seen it before. Did ye witness the eclipse a fortnight back?"

"I did indeed," Lester says as Adrien sweeps out of the room. "One of my associates is quite keen on astrology. I've been too busy to host a proper party for it, unfortunately."

He moves to the couch opposite Siamus. "Now then. I expect this is not a pleasure visit?" His smile remains, as if he knows exactly what Siamus is going to say, and is simply waiting for him to say it.

Siamus smiles back at him. "Ye don't think I bring a man a fish from the goodness of my heart, do ye?"

"Some men, perhaps, but not this one," Lester says, allowing the suspense to build. He is a fan of dramatics, after all.

Siamus considers this thoughtfully. "Fair, I suppose. I'd like some information that I understand ye to possess. Ye seem, by the way, to have a singular talent for gathering information of interest to other people. I suppose the sewers do all drain to the same place. Metaphorically speaking." There's nothing in his tone or manner to imply an insult, just a matter-of-fact observation from one man familiar with the movement of water to another.

Different kinds of water, but.

"A happy coincidence, surely, that my interests and yours align," Lester says lightly, unbothered by the metaphor. "What would you like to know?"

"As I know ye to take an interest in your employees and investments, I wonder what ye can tell me of the whereabouts of your newspaperman's father. Fray Farrens." Siamus smiles pleasantly and crosses his legs.

"Fray Farrens," Lester repeats thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. There is no surprise on his features, only the calm expression of one who has prepared for this eventuality. "He hasn't officially been seen in a great many years. Many assume him dead. Why the sudden interest, if I may?"

"Because it's only recently come to my attention that he's not dead, and there's information I'd like to get from the man if he has it." Siamus spreads his hands in a sort of shrug. "I'm not going after him with a military collar or the like, if ye can believe it of me."

Lester breaks into a wide, possibly disconcerting grin. "Fallon, Fallon, my dear, precious colleague, I know you for a man of character, not one to betray the trust of friends and allies," he says. "You are acquainted with Peril, are you not?"

The enthusiasm dials down a notch, the grin fading back into the shadow of his mustache. "Would this by chance be… a time-sensitive matter?"

"I am acquainted with Peril; I've not said a false word to ye," Siamus tells Lester. "Even if I haven't told ye all the words. As you're correct: I don't care to betray a man’s trust." His own expression sobers, and he uncrosses his legs and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "As a matter of fact, there is some urgency to the business, aye."

Lester rises, moving back over to his desk to find a clean sheet of letterhead. "I've heard there has been an urgent reshuffling in patrol shifts among the Guard," he remarks casually. "Something about Dinnsfield taking ill?"

"I couldn't tell ye anything about the Guard's shifts," Siamus says, "but Dinnsfield's not been well, aye. As I've only learned recently myself."

"It is a recent thing, I've been told," Lester says distractedly, scribbling something down on the paper. "Yesterday morning, in fact. And now you are here, but a day later, for an urgent matter involving Fray Farrens."

He lets the words stand, folding the paper and dropping it into the mailbox beside his desk and pushing a button on its surface.

"Aye," agrees Siamus equably. "That does seem to be the sum of it."

Lester remains behind his desk, as if waiting for something to come back out of the mailbox any second. "If you are aware the man is alive, perhaps you are also aware he has been pursuing the Twilight's Hammer cult?"

"Ah," says Siamus. "I didn't know for a certainty that he'd been pursuing it, but I was aware they might come into the business somehow. I've a friend pursuing them as well, at the moment — for Cobalt Company, though, not any reasons of his own. He's up in the Highlands at the moment."

A letter falls out of the mailbox and onto Lester's desk. He picks it up. "He has been for some years now," he says, sliding a letter opener through the envelope. "A wild miracle he has not gone mad himself." There is no emotion behind the latter statement, just a cold observation of facts.

"Are you setting out to help him? Put an end to his quest at last?" Lester skims the letter. "Or is it only his information you seek? With the right information, I could put your friend in contact with Fray Farrens this moment, it seems, or one close to it."

That genuinely startles Siamus, and he considers Lester with his head tilted back, brows raised. "Is that so? And if I ask ye how ye manage that, would ye give me a plain answer?" There's no rancor in the question.

"Your timing is simply that impeccable," Lester says, holding up the letter. "My wanderer has circled back around to him after a visit to Tol Barad to check on Ilanya. He has eyes on him as we speak, and since both are conveniently located in the Highlands, all I need is the quickest way to contact your friend. Or a physical description. Either will do."

Siamus contemplates this for another moment in silence.

"Shine," he says at last. "Tall, dark, one eye, ye could pick him out as an officer even in a dark alley, the way he carries himself. He'll be at Highbank, most likely. That's where they're stationed."

Lester begins his scribbling again, somehow able to speak at the same time. "I will set my wanderer to flight in his direction. In the meantime, it may expedite things if you also give your Shine his instructions. My resources are at your disposal." He gestures over the desk with writing utensils, and the mailbox, before folding his own letter and sending it away.

It is at that moment that another of his resources (whiskey) arrives in the room, carried by Adrien who tries her very hardest not to look at the pretty fish while pouring the expensive whiskey into a glass. She offers the glass to Siamus in silence.

"Thank ye kindly…" (There is definitely a pause there.) "… Adrien." Whew, nailed it. Siamus inclines his head courteously as he accepts the glass.

He rises, glass in hand, to go to Lester's desk. He sets the drink down there to take up pen and paper, and bends to write.

Lester gives him space, returning to the couch rather than peer over his shoulder like a curious child. "Adrien, my dear, if you would find a place for the newest member of our household? Somewhere Amalia won't take interest."

Adrien manages to keep her smile within acceptable levels of enthusiasm, as she moves to retrieve the fishtank from the desk. "Pardon me again, my lords," she says, heading for the door. She is far too busy gazing at the fish to show any interest whatsoever in what Siamus might be writing.

Siamus appears to be doing complex mathematics on the page rather than writing per se. When he finishes, he folds the letter up crisply and drops it into the box. Then he takes up his glass again and returns to the couches. "And how is your industrious flower girl finding Tol Barad?"

Lester hums softly, stroking his mustache. "Unfortunately, it seems my reputation had been getting in her way. Her superior mistook her methods as inability, and had her making shirts out of spider silk, rather than participating in combat. Now she is missing, and a certain mutual acquaintance of ours is rather unhappy about that."

Siamus's brows go up and his expression shifts coldly. "Give me the name of her superior," he says.

Lester regards him impassively. "And what would you plan to do with it? My two little birds would be most displeased if a scene were to be made from this. You can be assured that many orcs still faced her wrath — at night, when no eyes were looking her way. Almeiria is working with Cobalt Company in that region now, and means to locate her, alive or otherwise."

"I have no intention of making a scene," says Siamus. "The military doesn't operate well on drama. But nor does it operate well by overlooking assets and misapplying skills. If the man's made one such mistake, I'd be curious to know whether it was a single mistake or whether it's a pattern. We've lost enough good sailors and soldiers in the last few years to incompetent commanders, and how a commander measures his people will give ye the measure of the man himself."

"I fear I can hardly blame the man for his reaction to being sent 'the maid of an eccentric nobleman,' but military matters are more your concern than mine," Lester says easily. "His name is Captain Drake Tarstan, of the Stormwind Third Division, sent to Tol Barad after the resolution of the kraken issue. Do what you will with that."

"I will," says Siamus. "And thank ye kindly." He pauses. "I hope Miss Fey is able to find her. Alive, obviously."

"It would be unfortunate if she were to lose the game at this juncture," Lester agrees. "Now, with that settled, I do have one request. Being a military man yourself, if you should happen across the man who came for my life and claimed one of my girls in your dealings with Fray Farrens and the Twilight's Hammer, ensure his death with your own eyes, hmm? I fear I would get in the way if I came along."

Again Siamus raises his brows.

At length he nods. "It would be my genuine pleasure, Amerith. I assure ye." He raises his glass to Lester, then has a sip. He makes a reflective sound and contemplates the liquor.

"My wanderer will be at your disposal for as long as you need him, but do try not to get him killed," Lester says. "Combat is not where his strengths lie."

Siamus pulls his attention from his whiskey. "Can ye clarify for me — I realize ye hate to do it, but as we have a common goal here — who or what this 'wanderer' of yours is?"

Lester is silent for a moment, as if rolling a die in his head. At last, he says, "He will likely introduce himself to your friend as Luqe Peregrine. You would know him as the man behind the portrait of your Hartrim's murderer. A man of many talents, the bulk of which I will let him explain to you, if he so chooses."

Siamus nods again. He turns his glass of whiskey to study it idly in the light and then takes another sip. "A skilled portraitist, at the very least. I'll leave disclosure of the rest to the man himself." He tips back the last of his drink in a single long swallow and sits forward to set the glass on the table. "And a fine whiskey, thank ye kindly."

He rises to his feet. "I hope your lass enjoys the fish. Ye must tell her not to put a mirror up near the glass or the creature will injure itself trying to fight its own reflection. As some people will do, as well, I suppose." Siamus nods courteously. "I'll let ye enjoy the rest of your evening, Amerith, and see ye in chambers tomorrow."