09. Taretha arrives in Stormwind - Anticipation

[moonshadows]

Dawn comes far too soon, and habit has me out of bed and wrapped in a dressing gown within minutes. I had expected to not be bothered until at least the second or third hour after sunrise, but there is a plate of sliced fruit waiting for me in the sitting room. Judging from the still-white flesh of the apples, it has not been waiting long. A note tucked half under the plate reads 'It was a late night; I'm going back to bed for a few hours. I hope you'll join Anduin and me for lunch. -V'

I must admit, it's flattering that he remembered, but at the same time I can almost hear the spectral echoes of hounds closing in on their quarry. If I accept this invitation, I put myself in the position of not maintaining my social defenses against a man I have no desire to like, much less allow to be friendly with me, for the sake of the good rapport I've established with his son during the week-long voyage.

The apple slices crunch with satisfying volume as I force my breathing to slow. This is not a trap. Varian is not going to disarm me with kindness, then overpower me and take what all men want, as Blackmoore did. Anduin is well aware that I verbally flay his father. The peaches are delightfully tart; we don't get them often in Durotar. The boy is intelligent enough to not jump to conclusions, at least, and he did witness my unorthodox greeting last night. The lack of outrage Varian displayed should be enough to cue his son in as to how our normal interactions go.

Melon, too, is a rare enough treat and the sweet flesh practically melts in my mouth. As a peace offering goes, this is deceptively simple and devastatingly effective. I think I could almost tolerate the brute for this. By the time the last slices have been devoured, I am reconsidering being awake. Sleeping for another few hours is beginning to sound very reasonable indeed, and I have about convinced myself that not tearing Varian into strips with my tongue in front of Anduin would be a show of weakness. A writing desk provides me with quill and ink, and the note is tucked back beneath the empty plate with 'well played' scrawled on the bottom of the sheet.

 

===========

 

Three or four hours later, I again emerge from my bedroom to find a pair of maidservants waiting for me.

"Good morning, Miss Foxton," they chorus cheerfully, and their accents speak of the hills of Alterac. Close enough to be familiar, but not the peculiar Alterac-Arathi-Lordaeron accent of Hillsbrad.

"King Varian has assigned us to you for as long as you want us," one of them says. "We're to be your maids."

"He left a note for you, there on the table." The other one points.

 

Taretha-

I look forward to your lively wit at lunch.

We will dine at mid-day.

 -V

 

Well, that could be either an invitation to unsheathe my tongue, or a plea to not skewer him too badly in front of his son.

"What time is it?"

"Hour and a quarter before mid-day, Miss Foxton," the first one says with a curtsy.

"I dine with the king in an hour and a quarter."

"I'll draw you a bath," the first one chirps, while the second one squeals.

"What will you be wearing, Miss Foxton?" she asks as the first vanishes into the room that must hold the tub.

I lead the second girl into my bedroom and sort through my trunk. Clothing is as much a weapon as mere body covering, and I want to make a statement with mine. It is clear that Varian has, with the exception of his own words, made an effort to ensure that my lack of rank is expressed properly. Between that and the lack of hostility last night, I am coming perilously close to feeling a small amount of kindness towards him. My attire, then, should reflect that I am deeply rooted and immovable. The dresses from Theramore are set aside, and I bring out the solid, robe-like dress the tauren sewed for me a few years back. The girl's eyes widen as they take in the feathers, beads, and bits of carved wood that adorn it.

"I will be wearing this." She blinks as I hand her the garment. It's not light. "There are matching boots in the smaller trunk," I say, already moving to the third for the hawk feathers and beaded leather ties that will be braided into my hair. The enameled Frostwolf pendant, as big around as my fist and hanging on its massive copper chain, completes the ensemble.

"Very good, Miss Foxton," she says with the slightest hint of nervousness in her voice.

The first girl pokes her head into the room and announces that my bath has been drawn. I wash with all the mindfulness of a tauren warrior ritually cleansing himself before a vision quest, and dress as though donning armor. This room comes furnished with a variety of cosmetics, but I wave them off. One cream is scented with juniper, and I rub it into my skin as though it were aromatic war paint. The two braids that fall from my temples are adorned with the smaller leather thongs studded with polished wooden beads; the rest of my hair sports hawk feathers and heavier, clay beads that click against each other at the tail of the braid that restrains my waist-length hair. The pendant on its chain is a comforting weight, like an enameled breastplate protecting my heart with more than its bulk.

There is a knock at the door as I finish lacing up the soft leather boots, and Golthak peers inside. The two maids go still and silent.

"Servant here to take you to the king," he says shortly in orcish. Then he grins. "You're not going to lunch, you're going to war."

"Just reminding him that pretty words and melon slices won't buy my favor," I reply in the same language, then switch to common. "Send him in."

The unfortunate Joric edges nervously past my guardian and bows low. "Miss Foxton, his Majesty King Varian requests the delight of your company for lunch. If you would...?"

Chin raised, eyes steely, I follow Joric to lunch.