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| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | Leric and Eulysses meet in a pub in Stormwind, and take a moment to get acquainted over their common luck in surviving horrible experiences in Kalimdor. ~2600 words |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
This evening, the Crowned Lion pub in Stormwind is bustling with its usual clientele — irritated noblemen out of session, off-duty officers, and also a smattering of locals. The tenor of the conversation is tenser and quieter in these still-early days of war.
At one small table not too far from the bar sits Lieutenant-Commander Leric Azuredown, a faintly hollow look in his eyes and a nearly full glass of beer in front of him. He's still dressed formally today, but not in armor, his lengthening dark hair loose and the usual crest pin at the side of his chest. He scans the crowd as though looking for a distraction, something the beer has failed to deliver.
Eulysses Reeve strides into the pub soon after. He goes to the bar and orders himself a pint before scanning the room for a place to sit. He notices Leric sitting around what had been something of his usual spot while he was still waiting for the Achillea to finish repairs, so he decides to take a seat with him.
"Excuse me," Reeve speaks with a natural growl in his voice, "Is this seat taken?"
"Oh, no, by all means, join me," Leric gestures to the empty chair. He sits back, possibly so that his gaze can trail up to meet that of the tall, imposing, grey-furred and fanged worgen. It's a credit to the progress of HOWL, other initiatives, and military experience that Leric doesn't seem to find his presence distressing.
In fact, Leric seems to recognize something about the worgen. He opens his mouth, his brow creasing slightly as if he's about to ask a question, but then instead he holds out a hand to shake and says, "Leric Azuredown, Stormwind Army. I don't believe we're yet acquainted."
Reeve reaches out and gives Leric's hand a careful shake, "Eulysses Reeve, Alliance Navy." He pulls out a chair to sit, "A pleasure to meet you, sir."
"You as well," Leric says, nodding politely, but there's a turning of gears behind his gaze. "Reeve… I've heard that name. Were you in the Kalimdor theater this summer?"
"Aye." Reeve tries very hard to sip his beer rather than lapping it up with his tongue, "I was one of the few that made it out of the attack on Northwatch."
"Ah, then you are that Reeve," Leric nods, raising his own glass towards the worgen in a suggestion of a toast before having a sip. "I heard rumors of the ship Achillea and the man that held it together in that hell. Long enough to get to Theramore, which you survived as well. We're a pair, then. I was at Triumph, then Theramore. And now, they tell me, I'm still alive. I don't seem translucent to you, do I, Reeve?"
Reeve makes a low rumbling noise in the back of his throat, "So you've the devil's luck too." He comments, "And no, I'm afraid you're still quite real."
"Good to hear," Leric says with a wry smile, settling his glass on the table. "I prefer it that way. It means that I can still influence the world around us. If I may ask, how did you manage? I've heard there were only a handful that made it out of Northwatch."
"True enough." Reeve raises his cup as well, "As to how I managed, however, Light can only say for certain. As I watched our forces be crushed by the Horde I felt I had a responsibility to save my ship and my crew. Fortunately she is a sturdy ship with a sturdier yet crew and we were able to send word to command."
"That's valuable," Leric says with a nod. "It's a hard thing, to know when a battle is lost and the most strategic thing to do is retreat. It was similar on my side. The bastards called up… something… from the earth, beneath our feet. The fort was lost, and our General badly wounded and unconscious. I was injured myself, and in no fit shape to lead a charge. It was a strategic decision, to bring General Twinbraid to safety. The Alliance only has so many talented Generals, after all." He nods to Eulysses, "And only so many ships. Less now, but not for want of yours, thank the Light."
"Aye." Reeve gives a sober nod, "We'll need to keep pace with the Horde if we want to have a chance at winning this war. I only pray that the people are able to endure it. We have been through so much. Not just the Gilneans, but all of us."
"All of us," Leric says with a low sigh. "It's a tragedy what happened in Gilneas, as well as with Theramore. It feels a bit like the human nations are crumbling one by one, some days. But it binds us closer together, doesn't it? Lordaeron, Gilneas, Theramore, Stormwind… and possibly Dalaran," Leric's mouth twists in anger. "That's where I was, when the bomb hit. Out in the marsh, looking for the Kirin Tor that turned traitor."
Reeve nods, "The Kirin Tor have tried to remain as neutral as possible in the face of all the threats that plague Azeroth. I can appreciate the notion, but now the Horde may finally force their hand to stand firm with the Alliance."
"They did, at Theramore," Leric confirms. "And so in a sense their hand has already been forced. They were strictly there for defense, so they claim, but there were a number of them, standing firm with us. All dead now, of course, except for the Horde traitor hidden amongst them. We never did find him, but… admittedly after the blast there were other things to consider."
"Of course." Reeve sips his drink and thinks for a moment, "Where are you posted now? With the situation in Kalimdor having been so severely shaken."
"I've been… promoted," Leric says, looking down at his drink. "And I've been here in Stormwind recently for… perhaps obvious reasons. New companies formed with the remainders of the old, and all that entails. Now that Northwatch is reclaimed, they may send me back there." The hollowness in his eyes becomes a little more pronounced, though there's no other sign that this would be an unwelcome posting. "Then again, perhaps I'll be sent to the north. The Forsaken have been expanding over the last year, and I imagine it'll cost more Alliance blood to hold that line. What about yourself? Where's the Achillea off to next?"
Reeve nods understandingly, "I understand your position. I've been handling paperwork for ages now dealing with crew transfers, promotions, pensions for the deceased, not to mention my own promotion." Reeve huffs his snout, "I've yet to get to where exactly I'll be sent to once the Achillea is ready. I imagine the admiral has much to consider before sending his limited fleet into battle."
"I'm not sure which I'd say is worse off," Leric says with a sympathetic grimace, and takes another sip of his drink. "That might be the navy, as it takes more time to build a ship than to put a footsoldier through basic training. Then again, every life lost is a significant loss to the Alliance. And we have lost so many recently… "
"Aye. Now it lies to us to make sure that none of those losses were in vain." Reeve offers Leric a supportive look.
"Indeed," Leric says with a thin smile. "Something I've tried to do since I was a child, if we're being honest. The enemy has taken far too much from the Alliance as a whole, and from me, personally. Not that mine is an uncommon story, and likely less fresh in mind than yours." Leric lowers his head slightly in respect. "But it's up to us to keep them from taking more."
"Aye. That it is." Reeve polishes off his pint, "I've often been told I'm a gloomy sort, but I simply see no use in sulking. If there is a place for me to act, then I'll happily take it."
"Maybe it's an assumption from the… darkness of your fur," Leric says, and for the first time there's a touch of discomfort in his tone. Was he supposed to acknowledge worgenness? Was he supposed to ignore it? Standard rules of propriety are shockingly unhelpful on this point. "I don't mean to give offense — it's entirely possible you meant that the observation predates the curse."
Reeve lets out a short laugh, "They've been saying that for far longer than I've had it, I'm afraid. Though admittedly it doesn't exactly help the perception. Or perhaps it does in that now folk tend not to question it so much." He jokes dryly.
"Or perhaps it is less remarkable, as this form suits you better," Leric says, with a dry smile of his own. "I admit, some days, I wouldn't mind a little extra speed and strength myself."
Reeve raises an eyebrow but concedes a nod, “I would be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I must admit that I find this form rather agreeable for all the awkwardness it does present.”
"I suppose there are things more designed for different shapes," Leric agrees, nodding towards the beer glass. "But some of it is to be expected with any mixing of peoples of different forms. I expect doorways here are a head injury hazard," he raises a hand to his forehead, maybe remembering a particular personal injury, "but they likely are to the kaldorei as well."
Reeve makes a low noise in his throat, “True. It seems with each new addition to the Alliance, we humans seem smaller and smaller. Well, excepting myself and the others who’ve turned, of course.”
"The gnomes must find it especially disconcerting," Leric says with brief chuckle. "It's a good thing we don't judge our allies in the Alliance by strength alone. My own little sister has the strength of a songbird, but that hasn't stopped her from traveling up to the Plaguelands and palling around with a paladin, a child and a death knight." He pauses, perhaps hearing how strange that sounds, and then amends, "That is, my sister is a priestess of the Church of the Holy Light. And the child is supposedly a squire now — I likely just think of him as such because he was so small when I last saw him. Children grow so quickly."
Reeve nods, “I’ll have to take your word for it. I was the youngest in my family, and with the civil war and worgen situation I didn’t have much opportunity to interact with children.”
"Ah," Leric says, wincing slightly. "Well, I hope that changes for you in the future, if you want it to." There's a question in there somewhere, but he's too polite to voice it.
“I honestly haven’t given it much thought.” Reeve ponders it for a bit, “Perhaps that’s yet another topic that’s eluded me in the chaos of this world.”
"If we continue to survive, you and I, it might be something that needs thinking on sooner or later," Leric says with a nod. "No chaos lasts forever. At least, I hope it doesn't."
“Light willing.” Reeve pauses, “So do you have some lovely lass waiting on you then?” He inquires.
"I do, in a sense, yes," Leric says, his expression lightening a little at the reminder. "My wife, Kalindra. She's quel'dorei — we have a lodge out in the Redridge Mountains, should you ever find yourself over in that direction. I realize it's a bit landlocked for a navy man. My family has been army, historically. Well, and we've mines, that's where most of the wealth is from."
Reeve raises his eyebrows, a little surprised, “My my. I thought ‘Azuredown’ sounded a bit exotic. You took her name then?” He asks, “Or perhaps there’s some even older connection.”
"Ah, yes, perhaps I should have said…" Leric gives a brief laugh. "I'm of the Redridge Tennerows. The second son, though — my elder brother Devon's the one leading the house, and with a seat on the House of Nobles. When I married, the goal was to preserve her house, help her find a place here in Stormwind. That, and, well…" Leric grins. "I'm rather fond of her, as it happens."
Reeve cracks into a bit of a smile too despite himself. It’s only a little scary looking, “Well congratulations then. I know that those born into privilege don’t often get the luxury of choosing a partner that suits them.”
"Yes, well, my brother Devon…" Leric considers how to phrase this for a moment. "He's always valued people over politics, which is a bit of a flaw in a nobleman, I have to admit. It means he sometimes makes decisions for the family based on sentiment rather than advantage. Though he's been lucky in his friends — I wouldn't seek to take advantage, were I you."
“I see. Well in that case I am glad to hear he is surrounded by staunch allies.” Reeve nods, “I suppose I ought to consider matters of legacy some as well. My sister isn’t getting any younger, and I’m not aware of any protege of hers waiting in the wings.” He pauses for a second then explains, “Our family runs a shipping company. Most of our fleet was destroyed in the Cataclysm, but we still have a few ships left.”
"I'm sorry for your loss," Leric says automatically, and then seems to recalibrate and amends to, "Well, and pleased to hear what remains. Your sister — elder sister? Is that a thing you might leave the navy for? Or perhaps a child — though any child would need decades to learn a trade like that."
“Elder sister, yes.” Reeve thinks a moment longer, “I’m quite pleased with my position now, even if it was acquired under less than favorable circumstances. I’d be loathe to give it up now, but I owe it to her to consider our options at least.”
"Maybe you could find her a protegee instead," Leric says, with a shrug. "Someone in the fleet, skilled in sailing but more suited to civilian occupation."
“True. It would simply be a shame to allow all this tragedy to destroy the company our family has built up for generations.” Reeve says.
Leric gives a reassuring smile, and takes the last sip of his beer. "One never knows what the future may hold. It might be this sister of yours will end up with children of her own. Or find a protegee worthy of entrusting with the family legacy. These things have a way of working out, don't they?"
“I’m not generally one for baseless optimism, though I appreciate the sentiment.” Reeve gives Leric a small smile.
"Neither am I, though I might offer it to others," Leric says, with a brief laugh. "I am, however, usually one for applying myself to problems I can solve. When, regrettably, I am faced with one I cannot, then optimism may be the only thing I have to give."
Reeve grunts, “Perhaps. That is one thing the draenei are helping me see. The power of clinging so tightly to hope.”
"When there is so much uncertainty about the future," Leric says, smiling at Reeve, "I think one could do much worse than cling to hope."