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| Details |
| Author: | Athena |
| Summary: | The battle for Solari and the end of the Shadow Man has passed, which means it's time for Lathrik to start picking up the pieces of his life and finding out how they all fit together again now that he's gone from effectively living as an orphan to a man with a full family, complete with parents and aunts and uncles and cousins. It's not going to be easy, but when has it ever been? 11k~ words. Personal Plot RP. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
The Highlands Inn has grown progressively quiet in the past day and a half since a team of intrepid people infiltrated a Twilight's Hammer stronghold to rescue Solari Farrens from her captivity, and assassinate the one known as the Shadow Man before he could bring death and destruction to the web of connections of Almeiria Fey and Lathrik Dinnsfield.
The evening went late, and the next day went slow, most of the team trickling into the common areas for food and retreating back to their rooms to sleep or rest, and some taking their leave for other commitments. Now, in the late morning of May 10th, in the small room rented for Lathrik and Natalyah, the couple is packing their bag to prepare to return to Stormwind.
Natalyah's expensive battle robe still hangs in the closet, to be packed in last, and the lepidopterist is currently wearing a simple dark gray t-shirt and the dark pair of jeans knotted off at her left leg. She floats back and forth between the wardrobe and the bed where the bag rests open, folding her evening dress carefully.
Lathrik, too, is folding. A white shirt. Some brown pants. Another white shirt. Socks. Whenever Natalyah returns to the wardrobe, there is magically (or deliberately) more to fold, a cycle continuing in perpetuity. He doesn't say anything. Right now, his hands are doing all the talking, spinning a tale of avoidance and anxiety, despite his serious and intent expression.
It takes her a few minutes to realize what's been happening, caught in her own thoughts that show her mood as she flits from one feeling to another like an agitated butterfly even in her own mind. She takes another circuit from the wardrobe to the bag, and frowns at the contents.
"What a minute, wasn't there — " She turns fully to Lathrik, hands on her hips, an irritated scowl mixed with a strange sympathy in her eyebrows, complex in its duality on her face. "Lathrik! Are you unfolding things again?"
Lathrik freezes guiltily, an intentionally ruffled shirt dangling from his grasp. "We're not… There's no rush, is there?" he asks, turning to face her.
Natalyah huffs out sigh, and drifts over to Lathrik, reaching out to put her hands over his, although she lets him keep the shirt, as she pulls herself down closer to eye level.
"This isn't going to get any easier the longer it takes to get started," she declares. "No matter what you put in front of it, folding socks, or weeding the sea grass or whatever, or tea or coffee making, it's still going to be there, just looming. We have to talk to your parents about the curse, and if your mother can remove it and how, and then what's to be done with where they can go now that's safe for both of them, where they can be actual parents again. The sooner that gets started, the sooner we get to make it all normal again. We'll get through this part, and then we can go back to, I don't know, complaining about fire hazards at the Midsummer Fire Festival," she teases impishly.
"Ye know there're still plans t'have that, even with the business with the Firelands? As if the world hasn't seen enough fire recently," Lathrik grouches. "People out there, fightin' the Firelord, jus' seems insensitive, this year in particular."
A valid complaint, perhaps, if he wasn't still stalling.
"A valid complaint, perhaps, if you weren't still stalling," Natalyah counters archly. "Besides, it's over a month away. Everything out in Mt. Hyjal could be nicely not on fire by then, and then we can cheerfully set a few things on fire for fun and defiance." She tosses her hair, which floats strangely around her face for a few distracting seconds.
"Now. Finish packing," she orders, leading his hands to fold the shirt between them. "So we can talk to your parents. Which reminds me, do you want that to be — do you want to claim them as your parents, publicly, I mean? Or do we uphold the separation between Dinnsfield and Farrens, as much as possible? I suppose we could always try something like an aunt and uncle, to explain the name difference. You can't go back to Farrens, can you?" Certainly not while under the barrage of questions, that's for sure.
"Oi. Have ye ever stood guard beside one of those Light damned braziers in the heat of summer? Should've been a winter holiday," Lathrik says, grudgingly finishing his folding for real.
He pauses a moment, allowing time for his brain to pick through the deluge of questions. "I've no plans to announce my relation to the broader public, no," he says. "Friends'll know. Pennings. But I've got my current name for a reason, an' that's to keep the separation from Peril's work. Won't be changing it now."
"I ask because knowing your father for what little time I have, if he goes his own way, he'll be shouting from the city clocktower that you're his son, the Champion," Natalyah warns Lathrik, poking his shoulder. "So if we're going to keep him from doing that, we better make sure that's clear from the start. Not to mention that you have a lot of friends now, and if each of them tell their friends and so on, pretty soon the whole kingdom will know."
"I have a slightly larger number of friends," Lathrik protests. "And Fray wouldn't…"
He stops. No, Fray might.
With a sigh, he shoves the last pair of folded socks into place. "Aye, fine."
"Don't forget that among those friends are people like Siamus and Estel, who each have befriended probably half the continent between them," she points out. It might be only a slight exaggeration. "What do you want to do about —" She sets a hand over his rune curse, searching his face. "It's back to the way it was, but that wasn't good before. You do still want it removed, without hurting your mother, don't you?"
"It needs to be," he says, regarding her seriously. "The question is, will she do it? How do we even… communicate with her, and will she make it worse somehow? During the battle, I could feel her take control, force her will over mine. Right now she has a… a power over me. Would she willingly relinquish that?"
Natalyah's eyes narrow. "She'll have to," she says, the hand on his shirt half closing in a protective fist. "I saw it, in the battle. I knew it had to be her, because you were leaving." This is accompanied by a weak push, her face darkening in memory. "It actually made me wonder if something like that happened to her, all those years ago, when she left you and Peril. If someone else walked her off with their will when she brought herself to near death."
But this hypothesis is swept off into another thought with a gusty sigh. "I honestly don't know if she realizes what this does to you on a regular basis. She might think you just randomly become vulnerable for no reason, for all we know. Whether or not she can speak clearly, she does understand some things to a degree. She threw a carrot at you. Which was either because of your guilt spiral, or parental encouragement to eat more vegetables."
"Or she felt like throwing carrots," Lathrik says flatly. "Either way, it's dangerous. Even if she does understand, and tries to remove it, something could go wrong. We've got no idea how it works ourselves, and yet our only recourse is to trust a woman who's half mad."
"She's not our only recourse. Almeiria knows more about that particular type of shadow magic than probably every Church Shadow user combined," Natalyah says. "She didn't want to try anything before because the Shadow Man would know, but he's gone now. She might be able to understand or reverse engineer it, now that she has both you and Solari to examine up close."
"Aye, well, I'm not sure what to think of her either," Lathrik says. "She put a collar of some sort on Ralaea, yet somehow sneaks her way into Cobalt Company? Do you not find that suspicious?"
Natalyah tosses her hands up in the air. "Of course I do," she exclaims, and then she points a finger into Lathrik's shoulder. "But, I also saw how when the moment came to get revenge on her terrible family at the cost of abandoning her allies, she chose us. I saw the way she kept singing the Divine Hymn for everyone even after she was hurt.
"She's had a dozen or more chances to choose herself over everyone else, and she didn't take them. Harvey spoke of her like that before, that if we could convince her it was in her best interest to help us, she would. But whatever reasons she had in the past for being selfish and self-serving, obviously something's changed. She's trying to be good, or better than she was, and doesn't that mean something?" The question is loaded, a deeper fear of the worgen's own past behavior lurking under it.
"That was something," Lathrik says, relenting. "The Hymn. Both of ye did well. I only wonder, if she can call the Light like that, why does she still choose the shadows?"
She blooms in the praise, a little sapling growing in confidence under an internal storm. "I don't know. You could ask her," Natalyah suggests. It may be her solution to all such wonderings. Science has questions! The world has answers. "It sounded like her family abandoned her into them, and well. Maybe it's harder to leave them if they seemed like home, or power and safety in it, for so long. I hated so much about the nobility and its stupid rules, but it still never really occurred to me that I could just… leave it."
"Ye did leave, in a way," Lathrik says, sitting down on the bed. "Maybe not the best way. I have a feeling asking Almeiria anything won't deliver a straight answer. The lass likes her secrets."
He gathers his hands in his lap and gazes at the ceiling. "Here I was all this time, thinking I had no family but Peril, and all along we had cousins, an aunt, an uncle, all wandering about, perfectly healthy."
"'Perfectly healthy' might be a bit of an overstatement for some of them, but I take your meaning," Natalyah says as she drags herself down next to him, releasing the levitate with a sudden whoosh of her weight on the bed, and sticks her head onto her favorite place on his shoulder. "Is it something you want? A bigger family, I mean, with your aunt and uncle and all your cousins. Some people hold to that whole thing of 'family always,' but I don't know if I have it in me to forgive anything and everything just because someone's related. But if you wanted it, I'd try."
Lathrik hums softly and slides an arm around her. "That woman, Matrielle? Seemed about as bad off as my mother. Needs help, I expect. The man was defensive, ready to start a fight on her behalf. I doubt they'd be reacting like that if they thought they'd done right. The lad seemed like he didn't want any trouble. His mother's outburst didn't surprise him, either, so I'd guess it's happened before, and not infrequently. The lass, though, didn't seem to know the whole situation."
There, he has analyzed them all. He doesn't, however, answer the question.
"That's not really an answer to the question," Natalyah says. "But it's not like you have decide right this moment, I suppose. If you do want it though, you'll have to choose it. I doubt they'll be knocking on our door looking for reconciliation." She frowns in a stormy thought. "Do you think Almeiria really does have a curse? Or had one? Or do you think it was just an excuse for how they treated her and something they didn't understand?"
Look, he can have some other questions instead, as a treat.
"I'm no expert on the Void," Lathrik says, shaking his head. "I don't suppose it matters either way. What's done is done. Fray seems to like her."
"I like her," Natalyah declares, as stubbornly about it now as before with Almeiria's parents. "And I think she'll help, if we ask." What is she basing this confidence on? Maybe that same headstrong optimism that sees her through at times.
"We could try talking to your parents first, though, and see what your mother can and can't do at this point. Are you ready for that?"
"No," Lathrik says. "But I haven't got much of a choice. It's what we came for, after all."
He sighs and gets to his feet, offering a hand to her, while his other hand seeks a mana potion from a familiar pouch at his side.
It says something that she doesn't even hesitate before she takes his hand, the Levitate taking hold so that she becomes strangely weightless, hovering above the ground.
"You do have a choice. We came to save your life from the Shadow Man and find a way to get to your mother. If what you really wanted was to just pick up our bags and run back to Stormwind without them, then I'd do it with you," she insists, a hand back over his rune, gentler now. "But you deserve to be free of this, if it can be broken without death involved. You deserve to have a life where you don't have to go from mana potion to mana potion. You've lived with this curse long enough, Lathrik.
"Besides, just think," she adds, her lips curling in one of her wicked smiles, "if we're preoccupied with the logistics of undoing this curse and establishing your family, that means you can put off talking to Elle about dancing lessons."
"We danced just fine," Lathrik mutters, his shoulders hunching in embarrassment. "But no. It'd be an insult to everyone who came this far with us if I ran from this now. I've faced worse. Ye know my first time really noticing Elle was when I saved him from an abomination? Big undead horror, a number of creatures stitched together, fought with a big metal hook in one arm and a meat cleaver in another. Never thought I'd see a thing so ugly again. Void creatures come close."
He seems to realize he's stalling, and drains the mana potion. "Right. Let's get this over with."
Fray and Solari are not in their room. Or the inn's common room. They are outside, and they are not alone.
Joelle sits in the sand with Solari, who is combing her fingers through his sleek black hair, free from its usual confinement. Fray stands nearby, a faint smile on his face as he watches them.
Natalyah can't really drag Lathrik around while she's the one floating in mid-air, but she gives it a try anyway, tugging his arm towards the others. "See, look how normal everyone's being," she observes to Lathrik encouragingly (?).
"Normal?" Lathrik asks, frowning. "That's… a word for it. Oi, Elle. What's —"
He immediately silences as Solari's gaze shifts to him.
"What's what?" Joelle asks, tilting his head.
Solari makes a noise of protest, and he straightens out again.
Lathrik gestures at the… situation. Joelle, unfortunately, does not read that level of vagueness.
"She likes hair," Fray says, helpfully. "Did mine earlier." He points to one side of his head, where a tiny braid is settled in with the rest of his hair.
Natalyah takes note of it, as she tries to drift towards the group. "Is that a new interest, or an old one?" she asks. "It's probably a good sign regardless, isn't it?"
"Aye, it's an old one," Fray says, a faint smile on his face. "She used to sneak a braid into my hair whenever something significant was about to happen. Something of a good luck charm, she'd say. The day I left for the army was one of those days. She loved Hann's hair, too. Those Ebek lads take good care."
He gestures demonstratively to Joelle, who Solari is still enraptured with.
"She's being gentle," Joelle volunteers, his gaze intently on Lathrik.
"Aye, well, that's… good," Lathrik says. There is still an obvious hesitation in his step, and he does not move closer to Solari than Fray himself stands.
Natalyah puts a hand to her own hair, gathering it slightly in a hold at the nape of her neck, as she leans back and away as if someone might demand that she sit for a braid, or to have her hair brushed, regardless of how she feels about it.
"That's all very well and good, but I don't like other people touching my hair," she says with a tart note that speaks of bravado. It's also not entirely true, but her list of who counts as other people might not include certain people like Lathrik.
"So I suppose it's not a surprise then that today's significant, because it's time to talk about removing Lathrik's rune curse connection," Natalyah continues in that abrupt, lightning-strike straight-to-the-point way she has.
"Ah." Fray turns his blue-eyed gaze onto Lathrik. "About that time, is it?"
"Think she'll be able to?" Lathrik asks, his tone and demeanor casual, as if he doesn't care one way or another.
"Couldn't tell ya," Fray replies, moving to collect his wife. "You scared of her?"
Lathrik shrugs. "She looks harmless," he says.
"Aye, but you know better, don't you, lad?" Fray crouches down to offer Solari his hand.
Solari's expression brightens at Fray's presence, and she takes the offered hand, distracted at once by his fingers.
"Are you saying I should be?" Lathrik asks, his eyes narrowing.
Fray makes a small sound of amusement, rising back to his feet and drawing Solari up with him. "I'm sayin' you should be honest," he says.
Solari peers at Natalyah from her place at Fray's side.
Natalyah looks directly back, moving her hand off her hair in order to encircle Lathrik's arm in a better hold. "I'm not scared of her, which has nothing to do with how harmless she does or doesn't look," she states boldly, and it has the fortunate/unfortunate ring of truth to it, which may or may not increase the worry level of other people. Then again, she's not scared of Harvey or Almeiria, so her threshold for fear is probably skewed.
"Oi. What makes ye think I'm not being honest?" Lathrik asks, a defensiveness to his tone.
Fray rests a hand on Solari's shoulder, gives Natalyah a nod of acknowledgement, then regards Lathrik with a familiar seriousness to his expression. "I've seen wounded men, exposed to the harsh realities of war, too afraid to touch a sword for fear of being cut just in the holding of it. It's natural to fear the things that've hurt you. At that age in particular."
"I was a child, then," Lathrik objects. "I've fought battles since. The Scourge, the… ye saw the thing we just killed. So why would I be…"
Lathrik's voice fades as Fray nudges Solari, and she begins to walk towards where Lathrik and Natalyah stand.
"She seems to like you, Natalyah," Fray says, watching as Lathrik completely freezes up.
"Yes, well, she doesn't know me very well yet. Even my own mother doesn't like me," Natalyah counters, tossing her hair as if it doesn't bother her, when it so clearly does. Her own defensive posture grows stronger, like she's trying to block a blow from landing on Lathrik. "And Lathrik has every right to be afraid of something, even if he isn't scared of her as a person.
"It's terrifying to love someone and not know if they hate you, to wonder if someone who made you abandoned you because you were too difficult or did something wrong," she continues. "And that's not even encompassing what it's like to live with something that lets someone else just take over your body. If you've never felt what that's like, to lose time and agency over yourself, you can't truly know how deep that terror goes. If I ever saw the worgen who cursed me again, you could not get me to walk towards them for anything in the world." In an effort to defend Lathrik, it seems she's willing to throw her own fears out into the open.
Fray crosses his arms, studying the pair for a moment in silence. Then, "I'm afraid of squirrels," he says. "Used to chase 'em as a child. Fell off a cliff one day, followin' one. Laid there for… must've been four hours. Couldn't move. The thing came by several times to mock me, those dark beady eyes staring into me like some sort of soul-sucking demon spawn. Still can't stand 'em. Mark me, they're a sign of misfortune.
"I'm not askin' him not to fear," he explains. "I'm telling him to own up to it."
Solari, meanwhile, has stopped, her expression creasing uncertainly at Natalyah's defensive posture, as if proceeding a few steps more would mean touching a blazing fire.
Natalyah's expression is a conflicting storm of partial expressions ranging from skepticism to judgmental to sympathetic that combine into something difficult to read for all of it all at once. In the end, she turns her back on the others to fully face Lathrik, sliding her hands down his arm to gather up his hand between both of hers.
For him, her expression is softer and fiercer all at once. "You don't have to," she tells him, as if they were alone in a small room, although she doesn't seem to care that her voice will still carry to the others. "But even if you are afraid, you should know that it's all right. I'm not going to think less of you for it. You'll still be the bravest, most courageous man I know. And no matter what happens, or what you do, I'm not going to leave, or run away from you. I'll be right here with you, come hell or high shadow water. That's the deal."
Lathrik seems to remember he can breathe, and he gives her a thin smile. "Aye, I'll be alright," he tells her. "But perhaps we don't do this out here."
"Your room, then," Fray says, stepping back to Solari's side.
Joelle, who has been there the entire time, stands up and prepares to follow, but Fray pats his shoulder. "Elle, lad, we'll be looking for a bit of privacy for this," he says.
Joelle glances between Lathrik and Fray. "Oh," he says. "Okay."
Natalyah smiles back at Lathrik, as if she knows a secret that he does too, and tucks herself back onto his arm. At the exchange between Joelle and Fray, she looks for a moment like she starts to say something, and deliberately catches it before it fully hits the air. Instead, she asks rather than orders Joelle, "Do you want to wait outside the door for us?"
"I…" Joelle glances between Lathrik and Fray again, as if seeking permission.
Lathrik gives him a mild shrug.
"Okay," Joelle says. "If…"
Whatever he was about to say doesn't make it out, as he seems to think better of it. He looks to Fray, who gives him an encouraging nod, then bends down to murmur something to Solari, offering his hand again. She latches onto him, and they head towards the inn.
Solari peers back at Lathrik as they walk, her gaze drawn to him as if by magnet. Joelle follows quietly at the rear of the procession. If Lathrik is a little sweaty, it's probably just the weather. Which is strange, because it's actually fairly cool out.
Natalyah floats along with Lathrik. As they walk, she glances at Lathrik, and something stirs the impulse for her to stretch up and smack a kiss on his cheek in that impulsive affectionate way of hers. There may or may not also have been a brief lick from the worgen.
The more that Solari peers, the more Natalyah peers back, adding in a finger-wiggling wave in the silent procession.
"Aahh," Solari says, twisting to reach back towards Natalyah, as if she is planning on grabbing the fingers.
Her sudden change in direction forces Fray to slow so he doesn't trip them both. Lathrik flinches at her reach, slowing his own pace, and Joelle nearly runs into him. They are now moving at a crawl.
Natalyah sets her hand back on Lathrik, shaking her head. "This isn't the time or place," she says, and this time that habitual imperious noblewoman tone creeps back in. "We have a room to get to, so hurry on." She tugs again at Lathrik with no actual ability to force him to move whatsoever.
Fray glances back at them, then makes a jingling sound in one of his pockets. Solari turns to look up at him, eyes wide. Jingles? When Fray pulls a coin from his pocket, she reaches for it, taking it and turning it over in her hand. Distraction. The pace picks up again.
When they reach the room, Joelle takes up a position just outside, and Fray closes the door behind them.
"Let's have a look, then," Fray says, easily pulling off his shirt to reveal the rune on his arm.
Lathrik hesitates, but slowly, reluctantly, removes his own shirt. Solari is still distracted by the coin. She takes it into a corner and sits down to look at it.
The difference between the two runes is apparent immediately. Not only is the symbol depicted different, Fray's rune is more curved and rounded, while Lathrik's contains sharp lines and edges.
Fray examines it, then nods thoughtfully. "Aye," he says. "I've got no idea what that means."
Natalyah takes up a spot near Lathrik, floating ominously, crossing her arms. "That's not unexpected. You're not the shadow expert. Even the meager offerings of those in the Church of the Holy Light didn't really know what it is or how to fix it, except with extreme solutions. What it means functionally, in case it's not obvious that it's not just cosmetic differences, is that Lathrik's doesn't work the way yours does.
"It's a constant low level drain on his mana, for one thing, which is what the Shadow Man exploited and made a dozen times worse. He lives off mana potions to stave it off. It also lets Solari take over Lathrik when he gets near death, or runs out of mana, which has been happening more and more in the past year during his sleep. And the rune's location is close enough to his heart that forceful removal was expected to kill him in the trying, which is why the caster's help is essential, even if she needs help in doing it," she says, upending the metaphorical bag of information onto the metaphorical table.
Fray strokes his chin, then calls, "Solari? Would you come here a moment, love?"
Solari looks up, her expression noticeably brightening as Fray calls her name. She has been addressed! With a bit of difficulty, as though she has forgotten exactly how to regain her feet, Solari scrambles upwards, seeking handholds on the wall. When that doesn't work, she crawls over to Fray's pants, nearly pulling them down as she seeks a higher elevation.
Fray holds his pants up with one hand, and offers her his other arm, allowing her to finally regain her feet. Now upright, Solari wiggles her fingers at Natalyah.
"We'll see how much of the situation she understands," Fray says.
Natalyah wiggles her fingers back, but she keeps them to herself, glancing over at Lathrik again.
Lathrik's gaze on Solari is keen and assessing, as though he is recording her every move, trying to piece some puzzle together and make her actions make sense. He does not seem to notice Natalyah's eyes on him.
"Solari," Fray says, getting her attention again. "Do you know what this is?"
He points to the rune on Lathrik's chest, drawing her eyes to it.
Solari makes a soft "Mmm," sound, quickly looking away from it and back to Fray.
Fray tries again. "Do you know it?"
Her gaze follows his finger, but once again, the rune seems to make her uncomfortable. She tries to squirm away.
Natalyah, watches and then, ever a woman of science, reaches out and deliberately pokes Lathrik's rune with a long finger and holds it there. Poink.
Solari, her eyes drawn to the movement, once again follows the finger, but when it stops, and stays there, she begins to grow distressed. "Eehh!" she cries. "AAAHHH!"
Real fear flashes onto her face, a fear soon shared, as images force their way into the minds of those present.
Hulking green monsters lumber into view, searching. Hunting. Kicking over furniture, tossing through cupboards. Two children huddle against her, eyes wide with fear. Discovery is death. Not just her own, but theirs. The smell of wet blood chokes the air, crimson fluid plastered across green skin, armor, dripping from axes. She holds her breath. A pair of amber orbs rise over her makeshift barricade. Eye contact. The creature shouts in a deep, guttural language, fangs bared in triumph. More are coming.
Fray swears and clutches his head, fighting to force a calm. Lathrik all but dives across the room for his weapons. The images end as soon as they started, leaving the two men breathless as the adrenaline fades.
Natalyah erupts into her worgen form, both hands thrust out in front of her as she tries to shove away something that isn't actually there, her eyes wide, the start of a high pitched fearful whine, perhaps even the start of Lathrik's name —
— that chokes off suddenly, the worgen calming instantly, arms falling back to her side. Her eyes are an unnatural brilliant gold, pupils mere pinpricks in the center, of a consciousness that stares out from Natalyah's face, studying Solari with an ancient weighing and measuring.
Apparently when she mentioned the terror of living with something that can take over someone's body, she really wasn't speaking in hypotheticals.
Lathrik slowly sets down his sword, calling tentatively, "'Talyah?"
Fray, recovering enough to notice the sudden worgen in the room, assesses Natalyah, brows drawn together. The fear suddenly turned off like the flick of a switch, the eyes, gold and ancient. The way something is now focused on Solari.
Ultimately, he defers to Lathrik. After all, what does he know about worgen? He devotes his attention to collecting Solari, who is now a frightened puddle on the floor.
Natalyah claws her way back up into control, the gold fading back into the velvet brown, the worgen panting with effort as she looks around the room wildly, the expression of someone trying to link two moments with a blank space in between them, snagging on Solari's fear.
"Did she — did I — " she gasps out, and it's only when she puts both of her arms around herself that she realizes what form she's in. She forces the shift back to human, sweat glistening all over her exposed skin, panic of a different sort of fear laid naked over her face, as she slams backwards against the wall. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… did I hurt her?" she asks desperately of Lathrik.
Lathrik takes a breath, trying to appear calm, but his eyes still hold a battle-sharpened focus. "No, I… I don't think so," he says, struggling to sort back through his own overpowering reaction. "Fray?"
"She'll be alright," Fray says from the floor, Solari wrapped trembling in his arms. "Nothing physical, just… lingering damage from a time long past."
Natalyah curls into herself, shame written in each curve, as she presses back into the wall. "There, you see. I told you her liking me wouldn't last," she says, a scathing note in her tone, the kind meant to burn the speaker. She turns to Science and Reasoning for comfort. "She's using a form of projection. What should have actually been called 'Mind Vision.' It doesn't seem like she's in full control over it, or at least not in sending it so intensely."
"Aye, she does it when she's afraid," Fray says. "During the battle with the Twilight creature, she wouldn't let me near the thing. Kept showin' me visions of her pain, and forcing my fear to take hold. I don't think she realizes it. Look at her now, see? In her own world."
As Fray said, Solari's gaze does not seem to be registering any of her current surroundings. Her eyes stare unfocused at some spot on the floor as fear overwhelms her senses.
"Now what?" Lathrik asks, reaching for his shirt. "If she can't even look at it…"
Natalyah shivers from cooling sweat, and avoids looking directly at Solari as she thinks.
"I doubt it'll work for long enough to do anything with the rune, but for getting her out of being trapped in her fear right now, there may be something that might work at least briefly as a line back to the present," she says, as she tentatively unwraps one hand off her arm, long fingers moving in an organized, precise looping way, as she casts a [Fear Ward] over Solari. It has the vague energy of someone shoving a ward into their hands before running off.
As the magic of the ward settles over her, Solari's trembling lessens, then stops altogether. Her focus returns from wherever it had been cast off to, and she peers around the room from the safety of Fray's arms. There is no accusation, or anger, or fear, or anything really, just the same quiet curiosity she always displays when calm.
"That's done it," Fray says approvingly. "Good work."
Lathrik, dressed once again, takes a seat on the bed. "I remember… pieces of it," he says. "Of that moment. The orcs. There was… not much left once she… It was like they were burnt. Charred into unrecognizable shapes. The shadows consumed them, in the end. At least it seemed like."
There's neither fear nor disgust on Natalyah's face at the description, and she looks over at Lathrik, but stays on her wall, arms wrapped around herself like she's containing something. "My working hypothesis has been that she might have tried to cast something by instinct in a moment of dire panic, and it misfired or didn't have proper constraints, and led to the unintended result. Light and Void magic both operate a great deal on intent to order the magic, much like how the arcane requires focus, but there's an element of chaos to the void. Her intent may have been one thing, but her control over the casting is another, something barely understood."
Natalyah shakes her head, her hair floating limply around her face, pieces sticking to her cheeks. "So, even if she shows us that exact moment of decision, or what she felt, it won't likely explain to us any better what went wrong, or what went right. I have learned a great deal about the Light in the past months, but unlike 'Professor' Bueller or Mr. Chidiwick, I know when to admit to not being an expert. The only person we know who may be qualified to understand whatever Solari might show us of what she did is Almeiria."
"Almeiria did communicate with her before," Fray acknowledges. "And at a distance. We'll just need to find her, and —"
"Ah," Solari interrupts, possibly without realizing she's interrupting. "Aahhh."
She is once again gazing at Natalyah, wiggling her fingers at her.
"She's probably back at Count Amerith's manor, assuming it's still standing," Natalyah says, avoiding making eye contact with Solari, trying to make herself smaller. "It's out in Elwynn, which is just a portal to Stormwind and ride out into the forest away. Lathrik and Peril have a horse and a buggy that can carry at least a driver and another person like Solari, if we have to go to her. I can run alongside it. And if she'll come to the city, Lathrik and I have a house."
"I know where Lord Amerith's manor stands," Fray says. "Least, I did before the war. The… first one. Orcs. Is it still there?" He pauses, then shakes his head. "Ah, never mind, you might be too young to say for sure."
There is, perhaps, a small expression of disappointment on Solari's face as her finger wiggle is not returned. She looks at her fingers as if they have done something wrong.
Lathrik notices Natalyah's avoidance, and gets up, moving to the wall to stand beside her, a quiet gesture of support, his gaze both a question, and concern.
Not to worry Lathrik, the weather of Natalyah's feelings ever changing with each shift of wind has her now drawing herself up in indignant anger (wait, maybe still worry, Lathrik), and a particular sort of noble posturing Lathrik knows all too well that hasn't shown itself in some time.
"I'll have you know that my age has nothing to do with whether or not I know that is, in fact, in the exact same place it has been since the first bestowing of the land with the Amerith title. Disowned I may be, but the Elwynn Kensington-Whits have held land in Elywnn for centuries, and I am — was — the niece of Baron Clarindon, whose ancestry stretches back to the early settlers of the Arathi," she retorts tartly, an insulted flush to her cheeks that makes her freckles stand out even more.
The room falls silent enough that they can almost hear the clicks as puzzle pieces slide together in Fray's head.
"Second son!" he suddenly booms, at least five notches louder than necessary on the volume dial. "You charmed a lady of Society?"
Lathrik winces. "Oi, there wasn't charm involved, at least not from me. I met her, and then I… kept meeting her, and…"
That's it, end of story.
Natalyah not only winces, but actually covers her much more sensitive ears, scowling harder. Then she points a finger menacingly at Fray. "I was a lady of Society, but I was officially disowned by my parents nine years ago when I left to study the Zebra Longwing in Gilneas and got trapped behind the wall and it was a convenient excuse to rid themselves of an unmarriageable burden they never wanted in the first place," she bites out.
"Then I was mauled to near death by worgen, which left me cursed and feral for years, and when I finally regained my sanity and returned, my parents decided to uphold the disownment, since I am even less useful to their purposes now being a — cursed creature." There's enough of a brief hesitation to tell that another word nearly slipped in, caught only by a deal made and upheld.
Natalyah turns the same look and pointing finger on Lathrik, poking his shoulder, a clash of annoyance and affection waging war on her face. "And as matter of fact, you did charm me, because you're a charming man in your own way that I happen to love about you, even if you didn't do it on purpose to be charming." So, there.
"You're not unmarriageable, you're spirited," Fray declares, only a little quieter. "A warrior's heart, with the mind of an academic. Speaking for both of us, we're proud to welcome you into our family. Aren't we —"
Fray abruptly falls silent as he glances down at Solari's face. In a rare moment of clarity, the older woman is gazing at Lathrik and Natalyah with a motherly smile, unobscured by the veil of confusion that clung to her every action. For once, she looks her age.
Natalyah's expression wobbles around at Fray's assessment, difficult to parse flashes of electric emotion, and then she, too, is caught by the change in Solari, a storm coming to a sudden standstill.
"Solari?" Fray calls softly, the sound stretched thin with hope, yearning. "You're still… I knew…" His voice cracks with unshed tears.
Solari opens her mouth as if to speak, but no sound comes out. Slowly, the confusion returns, her focus, awareness, and that glimmer of intelligence in her eyes fading away, leaving behind the perplexed expression of someone who forgot what she was just doing.
Fray is silent for a long while, then finally pulls in a breath. "She's still in there, your mother," he says, his smile betrayed by the deep sorrow in his eyes.
Lathrik's own expression has become one of pure devastation, as, for the first time, he seems to have realized that the relationship between his parents was one of love.
Natalyah throws her arms around Lathrik, setting her face against his neck, holding onto him fiercely and softly all at once, eyeing the older Farrens with a war of compassion and something between fear and horror waging over her face. "It must have been horrible," she says eventually, that touch of open hearted sympathy. "To lose someone you love like that, have them out of reach all this time, and not be sure you'll ever really see the person you knew them to be again."
She's starting to crush Lathrik a little in her grip on him.
"Aye," Fray says, tucking Solari close against him, his voice a soft rasp. "But until recently, I thought I'd lost my sons, too."
There is a faint shine to his eyes as he looks up at Lathrik. "They've done just fine for themselves. Peril with his paper, out there making his name known. Lathrik, a proper lawman with a beautiful lass who'd risk everything for him. Solari's proud of you both. I know she is."
Lathrik holds Natalyah firmly, but keeps his grip loose enough that she can break free at any moment, if she chooses to. He squeezes shut his eyes, hoping to halt the flow of tears, but it only delays the inevitable.
"How are you… so strong?" Lathrik asks, almost pleading in tone, as if the key to Fray's strength could be passed along in the telling.
Fray snorts. "Strong? I'm not strong, I'm stubborn. And so're you, from the look of it. Flows in the Farrens blood. It's why your name's got 'hazard' in it."
Natalyah makes a little huffy laugh, even as she reaches up a hand to cover Lathrik's eyes, in an attempt to shield them from sight with a protective covering. He's not crying, he's just got sudden extreme light sensitivity, and she's helping.
"They named their horse 'Risk,'" Natalyah informs Fray with a toss of her head that does little to disguise her own tear-bright eyes. "So you should add 'horse grandson' into that family tree."
Fray lets out a clap of booming laughter. Sorry, Natalyah, he's Loud. "Your horse is Risk, is he? That mean you don't hate us?"
"I don't," Lathrik says. He is much quieter than Fray, speaking barely above a whisper, but the words are firm. "I never did."
"Hating people is easy. Lathrik never does the easy thing just for that with people. He's kind, and compassionate. He tries to understand people, and he forgives them for their mistakes, especially if they make them against him, when they're trying to be better," Natalyah says with such wealth of a combination of love and exasperation that it overflows. She floats there in silence for a few heartbeats. She's thinking about something, or searching her own mind as she comes to a decision. "I don't hate you either."
"As I was tellin' young Shine, he sounds an idealist, like this one here." Fray nods towards Solari. "The world needs people like that. The ones always striving for better, helping who they can along the way. It's nice you don't hate us, but I couldn't blame you either way."
"I'm not saying I completely understand or forgive it all, because I've seen the damage it caused," Natalyah says. "But I don't know that I'd make any better decisions either, or if there was any to make that would have actually turned out for the best. Besides, I've done worse, so who am I to point any fingers." She turns her head from Fray and Solari, tucking herself under Lathrik's chin, her foot brushing the floor where she hovers a breath above it.
Lathrik's arms around her take up a more protective positioning, as if he can somehow lessen the pain of her mistakes if he holds her just a little closer. "Right, so, Almeiria," he says. "And I'll want to hear from Ren directly about the Amerith situation."
"If we're for Stormwind, I'll collect my horse," Fray says.
"Dare I ask the horse's name?" Natalyah asks from Lathrik's neck.
"Thunder Reckoning!" Fray announces dramatically.
"Aye, that's… Think I'll keep Hazard," Lathrik mutters.
Natalyah's cackle sounds out, and she lifts her head to kiss Lathrik's cheek, and dart a look over at Fray over her shoulder. "And we've already called 'Jinx' for the next horse, so cross that off your list," she informs him imperiously. Still, the laughter seems to have settled a turmoil in the worgen, although she does nothing to free herself from Lathrik's hold on her, remaining comfortably in the protection of it.
"I suppose he can probably stay with Risk and Peril. Lu — our house doesn't have a stable. But it does have some extra room, where you could stay while we figure out where you can more permanently reside. There's a room that used to be a workshop that might be open enough for Solari to — " She examines the older woman with sympathy. "I don't know what she'll find more comfortable. I'm sure we can find something, though."
"We've come this far, against the odds," Fray says with confidence. "We'll make it work, from here."
"That's the spirit." Natalyah glances at Lathrik's face, lifting her hand to peer at his expression. "At least Lucy's – our – house has been built to withstand tinkering and inventing explosions," she quips to him. "It'll probably survive Fray Farrens."
Bold assumption, but here we go.
Time Passes
The portal to Stormwind lands the party abruptly into the large receiving room of Stormwind's Mage Tower, the one constructed after the first Fall of Stormwind, made of stone from a long defunct Stonemason's Guild. The tower is pleasantly cooled compared to the warm spring afternoon outside, with a hum half-heard and half-felt of power that infuses the tower.
Conversations from mages and students drift in and out of audible range, and skilled portal mages dot the room, a few glancing over at the arrivals, while others ignore the mundane experience.
Natalyah catches her balance on Lathrik as she briefly loses her [Levitate], and then makes an annoyed huff as she recasts it.
Fray's expression is a twist of uncertainty as he peers around, glancing at the mages, the neatly organized room, then staring forward at yet another portal to take them to a lower level, the promise of civilization beyond. Solari decides to stare at one mage in particular, making that woman's life just a little stranger for the duration.
Lathrik, for his part, is immediately back in work mode, throwing casual greetings to the mages he is more familiar with; at least one of them was present for Reniya's dramatic demise.
"Now, ye can fall off the tower ramp without getting hurt too badly, but we're not in a rush, and I don't want t'have to cut you out of that tree alongside," Lathrik explains to Fray. "It happens at least once a year, someone roughhousing or reading a book, not watching where they're going, and they end up falling and getting caught."
"Sinners and martyrs preserve us," Natalyah mutters, as she gets her bearings again, floating out ahead. She is not anywhere near as accustomed to portal travel, and she looks from one side to the other at the identical looking portals, one of which leads to the ramp and the other that leads to… a brick wall, actually. "Mages are always ever so dramatic about it all, and never want to admit it's just for show. I once had a man who had been studying magic try to convince me that towers must be built so high because atmospheric pressure 'enhances the magic.' I pointed out that if that were really true, then mages really ought to be building on the tops of mountains, and not in the middle of a sea level city. He did not care for that."
"Real reason's because mages like to look down on everyone," Fray says, his voice booming through the small, quiet space.
That draws more looks, and Lathrik, knowing exactly the direction to escape the tower, ushers them all through the correct portal. "Light's bleedin' mercy, can ye wait until we're not surrounded by mages to go about speaking ill of 'em?" he asks.
"I'm not speaking ill, it's what they do," Fray objects.
"Oh, you haven't seen anything until you've known an elven mage," Natalyah escalates. "It's frankly amazing their eyebrows stay up the way they do under the weights of their egos."
At least she lets herself be ushered along, although there's no escaping the fact that she's doing it by floating ominously — and then again that hiccup of levitation as she passes through to the ramp, where she falls abruptly with a gasp of shock, a hand flailing out for Lathrik or the wall, anything to regain her balance.
An unknown mage somewhere nearby snickers.
Lathrik grabs for her hand, the Light springing into being around him in case it isn't enough.
Fray's expression darkens at the laughter and he whirls around, issuing a battlefield shout. "Who laughed? Think that's funny, do you? Face me!"
Solari is peering curiously at a table. Fray's tone does not seem to bother her.
Natalyah gets herself back on one foot with a near-painful grip on Lathrik, a hot flush staining her cheeks. It takes her an extra second of concentrating while Fray glares around them to get herself back up into a Levitate.
No one makes eye contact with the giant yelling man. What, no, it wasn't them, they didn't laugh, they were looking at this…book. And this… uh, candlestick. And wow, Solari is right, this is a fascinating table. It's got, uh, real… something potential.
A mage instructor looks up from a grimoire, blinking at the noise, and frowning as she tries to piece together why everyone is shouting, and if she's supposed to intervene or…?
Only Lathrik sees how Natalyah's eyes go straight to a young human mage with tallow colored hair that falls awkwardly into watery blue eyes, and thin shoulders that hunch as he tries to look busy investigating his robe sleeve. He'd never stand a chance against someone Fray's size. There's a dangerous anger in her eyes, a raging storm that seizes her face and body, and yet she deliberately looks away.
"Doesn't matter," she tells Fray, waving an imperious hand dismissively. "Let's just get out of this ridiculous place."
Though Lathrik smiles a light, lazy smile, his gaze takes in every detail of the young mage, until Fray starts preparing to shake some of the others down more physically.
"Oi, Fray," he calls. "We're passin' though, today. Don't bully the mages."
There is the tiniest emphasis on the word today, the chill of a warning hidden within his loose demeanor, but Lathrik doesn't let it settle, his attention turning fully to his father. "Got to show you around."
Fray responds with a growl, but he turns reluctantly from the mages, taking up Solari's hand and guiding her after Lathrik down the ramp.
Natalyah takes a breath of fresh air and shakes out her hair as they get out onto the ramp with no handrails.
Stormwind in the late spring afternoon is a pleasant sight — if someone ignores certain areas that darken the cityscape like lesions not yet healed. The old barracks and Park District buildings are gone, missing entirely from where they should be off to north. Scaffolding still dots around, and the gates of the city just barely visible from where they stand still burn with unfading lava settled into the furrows of the stone.
That is perhaps the biggest change from a Stormwind of pre-First War memory: stone, stone, everywhere stone. This is a city built to withstand a siege and conquering army. Walls rise up where there were never any before, closing the city inside its shield made of rock and metal, a grim reminder of what was lost when they built a city never expected to be overrun.
The high rising towers of the new Stormwind Keep peek over the roofs, all of which are now color coded by district.
A gryphon swoops overhead nearby, followed by three more, all the riders dressed in the guard's armor; it's an air patrol, new to the city that now allows for licensed flight of anyone capable of paying for it.
There are trees all around them in this district, some that seem like old growth, but they are not all truly so. Many of them have been enhanced by druidic power, helped along from where the Horde's army razed the ground, cut down those trees that had grown in a world before orcs.
So little of the old city remains, barely visible here and there with a familiar old bend of a street, a building that might have been partially salvaged, a scent from an apple tree.
Fray pauses at the top of the ramp, his eyes seeking something, anything familiar, his eyes settling on the distant mountains, at last. "Well," he says. "It's in the same place as it was."
"Ye not like it?" Lathrik asks, glancing back at him.
"Aw, my sons live here, how could I not?" says Fray. "Might need a more current map."
He pulls a faded, well-worn map from his travel pack, the creases from repeated folding adding to the fragility of it. It is a map of Old Stormwind, complete with small, handwritten markings where Fray had made note of important landmarks; the cheapest tailoring shop, Solari's favorite food stall, the local blacksmith's shop, and finally, in someone else's handwriting, a little heart and the word 'home.'
Natalyah doesn't even remotely pretend she isn't peeping at the map. She cranes over it, and then points at the home with a single long finger. "If that's where you used to live, then it would be…" she trails off, trying to reorient the location of the place in the new Stormwind.
Lathrik, too, crowds the map, scanning over it as he cross-references it with a map in his head. "Oi, that's…" A frown creases his brow.
"You know it?" Fray searches Lathrik's expression.
"'Aye," Lathrik steps away, starting down the ramp. "Same street as I used to live. Fallon's been seein' it redeveloped. Didn't realize I was… so close to it."
Natalyah titls her head in a canine way, as she tries to fit the old map into her known understanding of the street. "I can't tell if that would be the chocolate shop or — " She breaks off midthought, seizing onto Lathrik's hand. "Oh, but it's Siamus. I'm certain if we asked him, we could get it back for your parents. He would surely know how to get the land restored, and he would never be cut throat about it to buy it back from him if not. Even if it's sold, that wife of his can probably convince anyone who already bought it to buy somewhere else. She seems the type to be able to sell someone Badlands beachfront property."
Avrenne would never, but yes, she probably could, as a hypothetical thought exercise.
"Aye, that's… an option," Lathrik says, stopping again and glancing back at Fray. The look on his face suggests he is doing math about how much more money he should try to earn to help cover yet another house.
Fray grins and tousles his hair. "You let me handle your Adm'ral," he says. "I'll pull the funds together. I'm a man in his prime!" He flexes demonstratively.
"Really?" Natalyah says archly, eyeing his muscles with an open skepticism. "Far be it from me to deter a man who wants to find out what throwing out his back in his prime feels like, but you do understand that this is the sort of transaction that requires a bank account? Legal identity in the eyes of the kingdom? As it is, if it were anyone else besides Siamus Fallon, I would say it would be a lost cause."
There's an awkward sound of someone clearing a dry throat behind them.
"Um, sorry to — " The voice cuts off as Natalyah whirls on the person.
A young woman with a face almost entirely made of freckles, her cheeks already hot with embarrassment, and dressed in simple robes, points to the ramp. "Could I just… get by… I'm - I'm late to a, uh, prayer group and…" And she hopes that now she will melt into a puddle and ooze away from these people. Forget she said anything.
Lathrik steps easily to the side. "Course, lass, it's not a problem," he says. "Fray, clear off. And keep — Ah, blast. Fray, your wife."
Solari leans dangerously over the edge of the ramp, peering at the flowers below them.
"Whoops," Fray says, stepping aside and sweeping Solari into a one armed embrace. "Good call."
Natalyah floats to one side, frowning.
The young acolyte inches and then rapidly scoots around the group, rushing down the ramp at an alarming pace almost guaranteed to have her trip at some point; it's a Light miracle that she doesn't.
"I know for a fact there is not a single prayer group in the Cathedral worth that sort of haste," Natalyah remarks archly, as she starts hovering along down the ramp.
"Might've been intimidated by the man in his prime," Lathrik says, the lazy smile for an instant becoming genuine.
"Awestruck," Fray corrects. "Dumbfounded. She's off to tell her friends about my heroic visage."
Fortunately, it is a heroic visage that continues the descent down the ramp, greatly reducing the chances of further traffic jams.
Natalyah snorts in a distinctly unladylike way. "I'm sure. I'll have to listen for rumors of giant 'heroic' visages next time I'm in the Cathedral."
The city unfolds at the street level into a difficult place of familiarity and strangeness. There are the sounds of Stormwind City accents, and the guard's classic armor.
But there are the kaldorei, the Gilneans, even some draenei, passing along broader city streets of one of the most diverse cities on the Eastern Kingdom continent.
Here are the scents of bread and the canals, the faint hint of the salt breeze of the harbor.
But there are the new ringing bells of the enormous cathedral, and the clang of the clocktower.
The cobblestones are the same, but the roads they pave are different. The city has become something so much more than it was before, hints of things that it might have been and unexpected growth in other ways, like a son not seen since he was a child and now known again as a man nearly fully grown.
"It's really startin' to hit, just how long we've been gone," Fray says as they walk. "Stormwind's grown. Beautiful, but changed. The wilds of the dwarflands feel more familiar than here. Now, I've seen the purple elves. Didn't spend much time in their cities for all the looks I got, but I've seen 'em. I'm not as familiar with the… what are they, the Nether creatures?"
"Draenei," Lathrik says. "And night elves. They won't be too keen on ye calling them otherwise."
"Aye, them," Fray says. "I've seen more gnomes in recent years."
"That's because there was a… situation with their home, and…" Lathrik sighs. "Might be better having Peril explain."
"Or Hana," Natalyah suggests. "She helped me with so much of it all. I wasn't gone as long as you were, but I still missed — " She shrugs self-consciously. "A lot. I hadn't seen the city for almost a decade, and I hardly recognized some parts that have been rebuilt since Deathwing destroyed them. You get used to it."
"Hana!" Fray roars, a wide grin on his face. "Kaede's girl! By the Light, I haven't seen her since she was…" He trails off sheepishly. "Well. You know. She's gettin' on, then? Her folks, too?"
Lathrik sobers. "Ah. Elle didn't mention it, then," he says. "Hana's parents are… Missing's the short of it. The rest'll require some explaining. It's near certain they're no longer with us."
Fray's expression falls into a grimace. "Hann was always close with his sister," he says.
"Hann?" Natalyah repeats. "You mean Johann, Elle's father?" She crosses her arms as she floats along, frowning. "So, then, you all knew each other before? Lathrik and Elle are some sort of second-generation friendship?"
As they pass through the city, the group gets an odd look every now and again.
The woman floating over the cobblestones get a few in particular, although the moment they also realize she's missing a leg, the viewers rapidly find something else to stare at.
But, Stormwind's seen weirder than any of them appear to be, and for the most part the people continue on their ordinary day.
Over the bridges of the canal, through the winding streets growing warmer with every passing minute, the sight of Old Town at last shows its face. Of all the places in the city, here is the most like it was, several buildings in restored condition of what wasn't burned down in the First War, the older styles and lines staunchly remaining.
"It's a bit more complicated," Lathrik says. "I didn't develop any familiarity with Elle until the Scourge hit Stormwind Harbor just prior to the Northrend campaign. Saved his life during that, and Ren already knew 'im, so he started… following us around. I met Hann through Elle, but I never knew the man was close with Fray, and I can't speak to whether or not he recognized me. I was goin' by Dinnsfield, after all. S'pose he was an avid reader of the Interest."
Fray suddenly seems a lot quieter, and he's taken up Solari's hand as they walk.
"Well, coincidences do happen," Natalyah allows scientifically.
Among several buildings that date all the way back to the pre-First War is one cottage in particular. It's a lovely old place, two stories, with cheerful peaks and Stormwind style paned windows. Outside are flower pots and beds exceptionally well weeded with an unusual selection meant not for beautiful flowers or secret coded meanings as some might plant, but for one purpose: butterflies.
And oh, in this spring air, there are butterflies, a noticeable gathering of them lazily and purposefully fluttering around the house — brown with orange spots and white spots, and a touch of blue and red. It's been a long time since one of them has been seen in the city, but here they are, lured back after all this time.
"Oh, Lathrik, they're here!" Natalyah cries out, seizing his arm and shaking it, a powerful electric storm of pure, unabashed joy finding some physical outlet. "The Stormwind Sister!"
"Aye, the Stormwind Sister," Lathrik allows, glancing uncertainly between the butterflies and the house. "Are we… okay to go in?"
From his serious tone, it's clear that he is actually considering surrendering the house to the butterflies, at least temporarily.
"Oh, for Light's sake — yes, of course we can go in," Natalyah says, attempting to drag him forward with absolutely no success whatsoever. "They'll come back even if we scare them off for the moment. They're attached to the coast live oak in the backyard if they're this close to the house, and they'll come back to it. They're most likely out looking for a little nectar or have just finished up a bit of mud-puddling from the moist ground of the earlier, wetter morning."
As she speaks, some of the butterflies flit off, circling back around the house.
Natalyah turns excitedly, all fire and spark alight of a passion, to Solari and Fray. "Do you recognize them at all? They were much more common in the city around here twenty years ago. The rebuilding of the city with fewer of the oak trees caused a steep decline, but this house is one of the few where you could still see some."
It's…it's just a butterfly, Natalyah, and most casual observers wouldn't be able to tell much of a difference between this one and any number of other similar varieties.
"I'm probably the wrong person to be askin' whether I recognize any butterflies," Fray says, a hand combing through the back of his hair. "Solari kept a little garden, so she might know a thing or two, but…"
Recognition aside, Solari does seem interested in the butterflies, her eyes tracking them as they float around the house.
Lathrik starts tentatively towards the house, moving slowly as if to scare as few as he can.
Natalyah laughs impishly, and just as spontaneously leans over to kiss Lathrik soundly on the mouth in a torrent of affection. At least it's mercifully swift, as she then sets her head on his shoulder and squeezes his arm.
If Lathrik's cheeks are a little redder than before, maybe it's just the heat. He fumbles awkwardly with the keys.
Mostly the butterflies ignore them, going about their business, fluttering in their strange, meandering flight patterns.
"This is home," she tells Solari and Fray. "It used to be the family house of a dear friend of mine, Lucy Moore. It dates back to before the First War, and was fully restored relatively closely during the rebuilding of Stormwind. Lucy died fighting the Lich King over a year ago." Grief still rings raw in her voice, an instant rain across the joy of a moment before. "Her sister sold it to us a few months ago. She's Birdie's wife, Priscilla Aspenwood now."
"Not full sure what happened with all that, I only heard the echoes of it, but I'm sorry for your loss," Fray says solemnly. "The Aspenwoods have a seat on the House of Nobles too, haven't they? A fine gentleman, Lord Bertrand."
Solari doesn't seem to recognize the sudden change in emotion, still peering intently at the butterflies.
"That's right, but of course that's expected. Everyone knows the Aspenwoods and what they're like," Natalyah claims with the sort of narrow experience she sometimes forgets she has. "They lost their eldest son when the tidal wave hit the city last year. Lord Amadeus. You'll never be able to tell though if they feel anything about it, except for Birdie. He's the normal one, more like his father." The blunt assessment is spoken like fact, although it's more of an opinion.
"They lost… When the what happened?" Tidal wave is apparently news to Fray.
"The dragon's fault," Lathrik says, opening the door and stepping inside. Immediately, he begins to deposit his gear on the table by the stairs. "Lot of things are."
"Losing a child's a hard thing," Fray says. "I'm sure they feel something, even if you can't tell by looking. Some folk are good at hiding it. Hann's one of those. Elle seems it, too."
"I'm not," Natalyah says entirely unnecessarily, but honestly. "You'll know what I think of something when I think it. I don't play mind games, and I don't lie unless something much more important is at stake." She considers for a moment. "Or if I'm already lying to myself as well."
Inside the house is a lingering faint scent of jasmine, vanilla, and earth labdanum, mixed with the stale air of a house that hasn't been occupied for more than a week.
"Home sweet home," the lepidopterist declares, shutting the door behind them.