Bricu wouldn't say who he'd had to bribe to find lavender tea at this hour. They'd used the last of their own days ago and hadn't been back to the little shop on the canals that sold it. But there it was, steaming away in one of the Rose's prettiest teapots beside a vase of white and yellow asters.
"Yeh were brilliant last night, love. Both o'yeh."
"She had it easy. Slept through most of it while everyone doted on her." Threnn set Naiara down in the cradle the Bells had made for them, rocking it gently while Bricu poured the tea and laid breakfast out on the desk.
"Oh, aye. But did yeh see when Ilanna had her? Our wee girl reached right out an' held onto her finger. She's gonna be a fighter, someday." Bricu leaned over and adjusted the blanket Aely had given them the night before.
Threnn sat down slowly, watching him as he tucked a corner in here, smoothed out a wrinkle there. He's just doting. Leave it alone. But what if he wasn't? "Did I do it wrong?"
He stopped mid-coo and blinked at her. "Did yeh do what wrong?"
"The blanket. I wrapped her in it while I was feeding her, and it didn't seem too tight or --"
"Och, Threnny. I was just fussin' with it. It's fine, love."
See? It's nothing. "I'm sorry. Still a little tired, I guess."
A frown creased Bricu's brow as he watched Threnn lift her spoon and make slow circles across the top of the oatmeal. "I want yeh ta take it easy today. Is yer mum comin' by?"
Of course she was. Thenia had been gracious enough about her younger daughter banning her from the room during Threnn's labor, but she'd been extra-vigilant about daily visits ever since. "In an hour or so, yeah. And Anna this afternoon."
"Do yeh want me ta stay home with yeh? The tourney can do without one o' its mystery knights for a day."
Bricu and Thenia, in a small space together. They'd been doing all right for a while, but... "No. No no no. Go on out and knock more slick ears on their splendidly-armored arses. I'll be all right." To prove the point, she shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal into her mouth... and instantly regretted it. "Oh, fuck, hot," she said around her burning tongue.
"Oi. 'Earmuffs' next time." He said it gently, a smirk playing on his lips, but even then, it took her a minute to realize he was joking, not chastising.
Threnn forced a smile while she reached for her water glass. "She doesn't even know what ears are, yet."
"Ballacks. She's a clever girl, just like her mum."
"Her mum, who just burned herself on hot oatmeal?"
"Aye, the same. I won't tell anyone if you won't."
"Deal."
When breakfast was done, she helped him don his armor. "I'll bring home some books for yeh," he said as she double-checked the buckles of his breastplate. "One o'the smiths at the tourney who isn't all that useless said he had one that might interest yeh. Promised ta have it for me today."
"All right."
The lines on his forehead deepened at the listlessness in her voice. He caught her elbow and waited for her to look up at him. "Threnny, what is it?"
"Don't exactly have my hammers."
"We'll get Annie ta bring 'em back. But that's not what I mean. Yeh've been quiet."
"Told you," she said, standing on her toes to kiss him. "Just tired, is all. Being up every few hours starts to wear. And last night was maybe a little overwhelming. Too many people."
He searched her eyes another minute before letting her go. "All right. Today, yeh take it easy. Tomorrow, I'm stayin' home, an' yer goin' out, even if yeh just go sit in the park awhile."
"Sir. Yes, sir." Her hand came up in a lazy salute. It seemed to satisfy him for the moment.
He swung his cloak around his shoulders. "If yeh need anythin', no harm in askin' Annie or yer mum ta come over early. Or see if Ilanna's around. She's near as much in love with our wee girl as we are."
"I will."
Naiara started fussing as Bricu's boots clumped across the floor below. Threnn lifted her out of the cradle and carried her to the window, where she could see Bricu making his way along the street towards the gryphons. He turned after a moment and waved up at them. "He'll be home tonight," she murmured, plastering on a smile and lifting one of her daughter's tiny hands to wave.
It's not like the Scryers. He'll be home for dinner. It's just jousting, and Northern pride. She retreated to the rocking chair her mother had had delivered, and let the gentle motion lull Naiara back to sleep. It didn't take long; even though she'd dozed through most of it, Naiara'd had just as busy a night as her parents. Threnn waited a little longer before she stood and set her back down in the cradle. It still amazed her that this tiny girl was here at all.
After a while, she straightened and moved back to the window. The thick curtains hissed along the rod as she pulled them closed, blocking the morning sun and making the whole room dim.
She sank back into the rocking chair, feeling the smooth wood of the arm rests beneath her palms. The bed was yet unmade, the desk could use straightening up, and there was a trunkful of baby clothes from Anna that needed sorting through. Her mother would be there within the hour, and she'd see all the nothing Threnn had done.
She never stopped moving, after she had us. Tending the sick, delivering meals, mending clothes, not even a moment's rest. And here I am, the war half a world away, and I can't even muster the will to smooth out the bedclothes. She could imagine the disapproval on her mother's face, the comments her father would hear when Thenia returned to the shop.
She could picture those things, but it didn't matter. It didn't spur her to action.
Threnn rocked slowly, and let the tears come.
Blue
Moderator: Guild Officer
Re: Blue
A week ago
The numbers weren't making any sense. For the last two days, Threnn had sat at the desk, her ledger open before her, staring at the neat columns and rows just as she had every week for the last two years. She knew the rhythms of the seasons at the Pig, how the weather and the goings-on of Stormwind affected what they needed to keep in stock. In the winter, she always upped the quantity of whiskey to account for merchants seeking a few moments' shelter from the cold as they passed through Old Town. Springtime called for sweet wines, autumn for dark, rich reds.
The advent of summer meant keeping the basement stocked floor to ceiling with casks of ale. There were more sailors in port, wandering the streets in the evenings. The bards came around and kept common rooms full while they sang, which meant bartenders needed to keep patrons' glasses full as well. She knew the proportions to order in -- how much Nethergarde Bitter, how much Southshore Stout. She read the published reports from the Brewers' Guild to know who was cutting good deals, and kept track of who was going to Westfall, so she could restock their supply of Thunderbrew Lager when needed.
Week in and week out for two years, Threnn had taken care of the Pig's booze orders, and never before had it been this hard. The orders she'd placed at this time last year didn't help at all; referring back to them actually made it even worse. The words simply didn't mean anything to her, and she didn't know why.
"Don't be pushin' Threnny fer her order fer the Pig."
She flinched as though Bricu were in the room with her, repeating the phrase into his buzzbox for all the Riders to hear.
The night had started off poorly, with his pronouncement that he'd be staying home more followed by the suggestion that she pick up her hammers again and head out to the forge as soon as possible. It was a twofold blow -- the notion that she needed help taking care of Naiara and the intimation that she wasn't pulling her weight financially.
Took him three days to notice Anna'd brought my hammers back, and three minutes to tell me to get out and earn money with them.
That wasn't fair. It wasn't what he'd said, not exactly. He'd couched it in terms of wanting her to have time to herself, to do the very thing she'd been missing for months. For so long, she'd missed the heft of the hammers in her grasp, the tang of molten steel on the air and the heat of the forge on her skin. She should've been delighted, taken him up on it right away.
But.
But from the moment Annalea had set them down beside her workbench, they'd only filled her with dread. When her sister was gone and Naiara sleeping soundly, she'd run her fingers over the well-worn grips and lifted the lighter of the two. She felt... nothing. No potential, no stirring desire to create. She'd taken her leather apron off its peg and breathed in the smell of the oil that kept it supple. Usually its scent set her head spinning with plans for blades and shields and armor pieces. While she'd been pregnant, she would take it down from the wall and hold it on her lap while she sketched out designs, but now, all the smell did was make her slightly nauseous.
She wanted to gather them up and stuff them deep into the closet, where they wouldn't taunt her with their presence. Yet, if Bricu opened the door and saw them there, he'd ask questions she couldn't answer, not even to herself. So, beside the bench they'd remained, and left her torn between relief and disappointment when Bricu didn't even seem to see them.
Then last night, he finally had, and was all but shoving them into her arms and pushing her out the door to go use them. "Strewth," he'd said when she balked, and she wondered why he wasn't grinding his teeth. She wondered if her recalcitrance had him wanting a drink. He'd brought her titanium to work with, and a pattern for Gilnean steel. The very thought of heating and folding the metal -- so intricate, so very hard to get right -- filled her with dismay, and she'd pushed the gift aside.
Suddenly, it became very important to her to prove that she wasn't useless, to show him she was handling things very well, truly, and just didn't have time for the forge. Her mind turned to the order that had been evading her all day before he got home. "I have to finish the order for the Pig," she'd said, trying for nonchalance, trying for calm and even, which were all so far from how she truly felt.
Maybe I'm the one that sounded dismissive. Maybe he felt snubbed.
He'd stared at her for a long moment before rising and announcing his intentions to go to bed. Her relief only lasted long enough for him to start emptying his pockets and pull out his buzzbox. "Don't be pushin' Threnny fer her order fer the Pig," he'd told the Riders. His tone was even, but she knew sarcasm when she heard it, especially from him.
At the desk, she'd gripped her pen so hard her knuckles turned white as the wave of humiliation washed over her. It seemed like an hour passed while she sat there, tears burning her eyes, waiting until his breath evened out so she could flee the room and let them fall.
---
Twelve hours later, and she was back at it again, determined to finish the order before Anna arrived. Bricu was out somewhere in Stormwind, likely checking on the case he rented in one of the jewelers' shops to sell his gemwork. The numbers in her ledger swam, and swam again, not making a damned lick of sense.
She sipped at tea that had long since gone cold, and tried not to hear Bricu's biting tones.
It was quiet in the Rose, though, and she couldn't seem to stop herself from coming back to that phrase again and again. "Don't be pushin' Threnny fer her order fer the Pig."
"Don't be pushin' Threnny..."
"I'm not goin' ta be joustin' as much now, so I can be home fer yeh."
"Don't be pushin' Threnny."
He didn't think she could handle it. He never had. He wanted to hire the Boleyns' nursemaid for the house. To help with Naiara and with the housekeeping. The only reason the woman's not here right now is because I reacted so strongly. Now, even with Anna and her mother checking in twice a day, he was taking a leave from the tournament. How long until he broached hiring the woman again, having her there every waking hour to make sure Threnn didn't fuck it all up?
She had to get the order done. It was small, and had nothing to do with raising her daughter, keeping a house, or bringing home money, but at least she'd be able to say she could do something that was useful.
But the numbers still didn't make sense. She couldn't keep her thoughts in line long enough to adjust them the way she always had, accounting for the fluctuations in Stormwind's citizenry. They'd lost people to pursuits in the North, but they'd gained business, too, in trade coming through the city on its way to Quel'Danas or Dalaran. Holding the figures in her head for more than a few seconds proved elusive, and every time she tried doing them out longhand -- something she hadn't done since she was first learning how to run her parents' shop -- her attention would stray, and when her eyes returned to the page she'd find doodles and scratches instead of calculations.
Last year's numbers are close enough. They have to be.
Shame burning her cheeks, she pulled out a fresh order sheet and her copy of the order from two weeks prior to the Midsummer Festival, and began copying it over. She didn't bother proofreading when she was done; it wasn't like she'd changed anything. She stuffed it into an envelope and tried to forget about it.
The plans for the Gilnean steel dagger still sat beneath a smooth bar of titanium. Threnn pulled it out and tried to concentrate on that instead, trying to recall the excitement she'd once felt when faced with a new pattern. Trying to forget that she was turning in an order that would never have passed her meticulous standards a month ago.
The words swam again -- not from distraction this time, but tears. She put her head in her arms and wept.
That was how Annalea found her, a few minutes later.
The numbers weren't making any sense. For the last two days, Threnn had sat at the desk, her ledger open before her, staring at the neat columns and rows just as she had every week for the last two years. She knew the rhythms of the seasons at the Pig, how the weather and the goings-on of Stormwind affected what they needed to keep in stock. In the winter, she always upped the quantity of whiskey to account for merchants seeking a few moments' shelter from the cold as they passed through Old Town. Springtime called for sweet wines, autumn for dark, rich reds.
The advent of summer meant keeping the basement stocked floor to ceiling with casks of ale. There were more sailors in port, wandering the streets in the evenings. The bards came around and kept common rooms full while they sang, which meant bartenders needed to keep patrons' glasses full as well. She knew the proportions to order in -- how much Nethergarde Bitter, how much Southshore Stout. She read the published reports from the Brewers' Guild to know who was cutting good deals, and kept track of who was going to Westfall, so she could restock their supply of Thunderbrew Lager when needed.
Week in and week out for two years, Threnn had taken care of the Pig's booze orders, and never before had it been this hard. The orders she'd placed at this time last year didn't help at all; referring back to them actually made it even worse. The words simply didn't mean anything to her, and she didn't know why.
"Don't be pushin' Threnny fer her order fer the Pig."
She flinched as though Bricu were in the room with her, repeating the phrase into his buzzbox for all the Riders to hear.
The night had started off poorly, with his pronouncement that he'd be staying home more followed by the suggestion that she pick up her hammers again and head out to the forge as soon as possible. It was a twofold blow -- the notion that she needed help taking care of Naiara and the intimation that she wasn't pulling her weight financially.
Took him three days to notice Anna'd brought my hammers back, and three minutes to tell me to get out and earn money with them.
That wasn't fair. It wasn't what he'd said, not exactly. He'd couched it in terms of wanting her to have time to herself, to do the very thing she'd been missing for months. For so long, she'd missed the heft of the hammers in her grasp, the tang of molten steel on the air and the heat of the forge on her skin. She should've been delighted, taken him up on it right away.
But.
But from the moment Annalea had set them down beside her workbench, they'd only filled her with dread. When her sister was gone and Naiara sleeping soundly, she'd run her fingers over the well-worn grips and lifted the lighter of the two. She felt... nothing. No potential, no stirring desire to create. She'd taken her leather apron off its peg and breathed in the smell of the oil that kept it supple. Usually its scent set her head spinning with plans for blades and shields and armor pieces. While she'd been pregnant, she would take it down from the wall and hold it on her lap while she sketched out designs, but now, all the smell did was make her slightly nauseous.
She wanted to gather them up and stuff them deep into the closet, where they wouldn't taunt her with their presence. Yet, if Bricu opened the door and saw them there, he'd ask questions she couldn't answer, not even to herself. So, beside the bench they'd remained, and left her torn between relief and disappointment when Bricu didn't even seem to see them.
Then last night, he finally had, and was all but shoving them into her arms and pushing her out the door to go use them. "Strewth," he'd said when she balked, and she wondered why he wasn't grinding his teeth. She wondered if her recalcitrance had him wanting a drink. He'd brought her titanium to work with, and a pattern for Gilnean steel. The very thought of heating and folding the metal -- so intricate, so very hard to get right -- filled her with dismay, and she'd pushed the gift aside.
Suddenly, it became very important to her to prove that she wasn't useless, to show him she was handling things very well, truly, and just didn't have time for the forge. Her mind turned to the order that had been evading her all day before he got home. "I have to finish the order for the Pig," she'd said, trying for nonchalance, trying for calm and even, which were all so far from how she truly felt.
Maybe I'm the one that sounded dismissive. Maybe he felt snubbed.
He'd stared at her for a long moment before rising and announcing his intentions to go to bed. Her relief only lasted long enough for him to start emptying his pockets and pull out his buzzbox. "Don't be pushin' Threnny fer her order fer the Pig," he'd told the Riders. His tone was even, but she knew sarcasm when she heard it, especially from him.
At the desk, she'd gripped her pen so hard her knuckles turned white as the wave of humiliation washed over her. It seemed like an hour passed while she sat there, tears burning her eyes, waiting until his breath evened out so she could flee the room and let them fall.
---
Twelve hours later, and she was back at it again, determined to finish the order before Anna arrived. Bricu was out somewhere in Stormwind, likely checking on the case he rented in one of the jewelers' shops to sell his gemwork. The numbers in her ledger swam, and swam again, not making a damned lick of sense.
She sipped at tea that had long since gone cold, and tried not to hear Bricu's biting tones.
It was quiet in the Rose, though, and she couldn't seem to stop herself from coming back to that phrase again and again. "Don't be pushin' Threnny fer her order fer the Pig."
"Don't be pushin' Threnny..."
"I'm not goin' ta be joustin' as much now, so I can be home fer yeh."
"Don't be pushin' Threnny."
He didn't think she could handle it. He never had. He wanted to hire the Boleyns' nursemaid for the house. To help with Naiara and with the housekeeping. The only reason the woman's not here right now is because I reacted so strongly. Now, even with Anna and her mother checking in twice a day, he was taking a leave from the tournament. How long until he broached hiring the woman again, having her there every waking hour to make sure Threnn didn't fuck it all up?
She had to get the order done. It was small, and had nothing to do with raising her daughter, keeping a house, or bringing home money, but at least she'd be able to say she could do something that was useful.
But the numbers still didn't make sense. She couldn't keep her thoughts in line long enough to adjust them the way she always had, accounting for the fluctuations in Stormwind's citizenry. They'd lost people to pursuits in the North, but they'd gained business, too, in trade coming through the city on its way to Quel'Danas or Dalaran. Holding the figures in her head for more than a few seconds proved elusive, and every time she tried doing them out longhand -- something she hadn't done since she was first learning how to run her parents' shop -- her attention would stray, and when her eyes returned to the page she'd find doodles and scratches instead of calculations.
Last year's numbers are close enough. They have to be.
Shame burning her cheeks, she pulled out a fresh order sheet and her copy of the order from two weeks prior to the Midsummer Festival, and began copying it over. She didn't bother proofreading when she was done; it wasn't like she'd changed anything. She stuffed it into an envelope and tried to forget about it.
The plans for the Gilnean steel dagger still sat beneath a smooth bar of titanium. Threnn pulled it out and tried to concentrate on that instead, trying to recall the excitement she'd once felt when faced with a new pattern. Trying to forget that she was turning in an order that would never have passed her meticulous standards a month ago.
The words swam again -- not from distraction this time, but tears. She put her head in her arms and wept.
That was how Annalea found her, a few minutes later.