Flying Companions

[lionofthelight]

((Discord log featuring Isidor Durant))

She's going to be here today! Everything must be utterly perfect! Not a thing out of place, every moment pre-planned and accounted for. Refreshments are prepared, the guest has arrived, and the gryphons are saddled. What more could there be left to do?...

But sweat in waiting for Isidor's arrival.

It's a crisp and slightly blustery day in the hills above Stormwind, but that gives Zandros a good excuse to dress in too many layers. Scandalously, he'll even wear a hat. A suspiciously casual one at that, a dark blue beanie more fitting a dock worker than a noble boy. And more than that, he's dressed down all over! A navy pea coat, a pair of dark, woolen trousers with fingerless gloves to match, and a simple pair of leather shoes make him look like a man of Earth -- perhaps even a modern one!

He awaits Isidor's arrival with his shoulders bunched against the wind and his cheeks reddened with the chill, but a smile on his face nonetheless. The sight of her is enough to warm him, and, for the first time, even bring him a touch of worry. Well, less a touch and more a giant, ominous palm pressing down from the heavens as if to crush him like a roach. But, yes, a touch in a manner of speaking.

"Isidor," he mumbles, suddenly realizing how the chill on his cheeks has affected his ability to speak. He laughs and tries to warm his face with gentle slaps. "I am truly glad to see you here this day. How are you faring? How is your work?" He knows she loves it, after all.

Comments

[lionofthelight]

Zandros
"I could have?" Mym asks, bringing her permanently-smiling face closer to Isidor until they're nearly eye to eye. "Thank you for your permission. If only you had given it to me sooner."

Her frilled throat swells and vibrates with a 'quiet' laugh, still bassier and more rumbling than a human's could be.


Isidor
It’s like dealing with a dragon fond of schoolyard jokes. The thought doesn’t work well with her mental image of the stern and regal magical creatures. Isidor raises an eyebrow and then deadpans, her pride feeling a small knock. “You know what I meant.”

“Air isn’t exactly my element,” she says to Zandros, turning her attention back to the paladin lest she gets herself into trouble by defending her pride against Mym. “Anything that brings me off of the earth… takes some getting used to.”

Zandros
Isidor may have directed that at Zandros, but it's Mym who laughs. In her bassy voice she says, "She's got the soul of a black dragon, this one. Perhaps she might be the first of your kind to truly enjoy my cave."

But Zandros' expression falls, then tenses. He stands a little closer to Isidor and between herself and the dragon. "Mym," he says, his voice stern and quiet. "Perhaps one should become more familiar with one's guests before attempting humor?"

The dragon swings her head away and her baton-tipped tail 'gently' clubs the ground. Humility startles, but Integrity keeps her cool. While Mym is looking away Zandros smiles for Isidor and mouths, 'I'm sorry.'

But then he stops to really look at her, and it's then he notices the paleness of her face. She really was shaken by that ride. Light, he's gone and ruined the day already, hasn't he?

"I hope you will learn to appreciate her antics. Despite her wisdom, I think she often underestimates the impact of her actions. She expects others to find enjoyment in the thrill of the unknown, for life is otherwise short and fearful."

Without swinging her large head around Mym rumbles, "I can hear you, Zandros."

He ducks his head and tries to hide a guilty smile. "I suspect I've done what I always do, which is to say, I've spoken too much. I should lead the gryphons back to the barn and allow you ladies a moment's peace together. Mym will guide you back to the manor at your leisure."
Zandros whistles a quick tune that catches the birds' attention. Humility brings herself to his side and he finds his place in the saddle. He glances back at Isidor, smiles, and then leans forward. Humility takes her rider's lead and trots forward, Integrity at her side, until both gryphons catch a convenient gust and lift into the air.

Mymrahstrasza lowers herself down to lay like a cat, her front feet curled before her. Her tail twists around to block Isidor from the wind, and her long neck loops to complete the circle. She lays like this in silence for a lingering moment, her slit pupil gazing softly, intently at Isidor.
Eventually she says in her deep and dreamlike voice, "I suppose he was not wrong about me, but he has known me since I was a whelp. I sense, though, that he does not truly know you."

Isidor
The sudden, deep rumbling of Mym’s laugh gets Isidor’s heart to skip a beat, but she manages not to visibly jump. Mym’s joke, however, tempers her flustered pride with curiosity. Although she might not have had the best start with the dragon, she’d be lying if she said she isn’t curious what sort of place she lives in. The conflicting feelings on get worse when Zandros carefully positions himself in her defence as he reprimands Mym. Politely, but still. She’s a dragon.

Confused for a whole variety of reasons, she looks between them with a frown, stepping away from Integrity to stand fully on her own two feet again. As well as to counteract Zandros’ positioning. “It’s alright.”

It wasn’t her intention to cause a fuss. Yet here they are, standing in an uncomfortable exchange of half-apologies and grumbling. Which only becomes worse when Zandros decides to make an exit. There’s a flash of panic on Isidor’s face when he makes to leave. He just reproached a dragon on behalf of her fragile human sensibilities, and now he’s leaving her with Mym? Unable to find a polite, reasonable protest in time, Isidor watches him leave and then folds her hands, glancing to Mym as she repositions herself.

Mym’s statement nearly makes Isidor laugh. Bitterly, or nervously. Instead she clears her throat. “It’s difficult to make the time. I’m very busy, we’re on different worlds, and we’re both very different people. He hasn’t had the chance to know me.”

Zandros
Mym's throat swells and vibrates with a thoughtful hum. "Difficult to make the time to know your future consort? I suppose our cultures are very different."

But that's not the most telling thing Isidor said. The little human's words leave her rumbling with her contemplations. There's much to dissect here.

"I have known Zandros for many years. He is and always has been an ostentatious ass." A jet stream of warm air flows from her nostrils in a huff like a laugh. "But despite his flaws he is well-meaning. If you seek the opportunity to get to know him," and here she pauses to scrutinize Isidor.

"Be as the earth: unyielding, yet not desolate. Remain firm as you are and allow him to approach you. Let him attempt to make a relationship grow. Let his mistakes wither and his good behavior flourish. But do not be so hard as to destroy what might sprout between you."

She sighs, another wave of warm air, and tilts her head so that her beady eye can peer at the sky. "And that is my only advice. My affairs are matters of life, not of love. I would much prefer to discuss magic, adventure, and intriguing rocks." She rolls her head again so that she sees Isidor once more. "But Zandros is a brother to me. I would be a poor sibling if I did not try to assist you in your coupling."

Isidor
“I suppose they are.” It’s all she can say. She can’t exactly tell Mym that she loves someone else. She can’t explain that she’s hoping to put it off until some miracle sends them their separate ways. The truth isn’t an option, so her good friend silence comes between them.

What Isidor doesn’t expect is for Mym to call Zandros an ass. Her surprise is plastered all over her face. If she knew Mym better she might have laughed with her, but instead she hesitates, uncertain what the correct reaction is. Until the dragon continues and Isidor’s eyelids drop.

Ah. It’s another Talk.

She folds her arms, as if to ward off the breeze, and listens to another lecture. Unlike with Runa, Isidor has no chance of putting Mym in her place. No, this she simply has to endure. There’s something cruelly ironic in Mym’s choice of comparison. Like the earth she can’t run away from all of this. She has no choice but to remain in place and watch this man repeatedly approach her. Repeatedly be shoved towards her. Being asked, yet again, to be open minded enough to give those patiently watching the ‘right’ answer, she finds herself feeling tired.

A hundred bitter responses swim behind her lips, but when she opens her mouth she manages to keep it to, “Can we go now?”

Zandros
Mym's expressionless face remains inscrutable. She does not respond, but watches Isidor as the wind fills the silence between them.

Eventually she lifts her head just enough to consider the direction Zandros had flown off in. Far in the distance sit the manor and the stable. It would be a long and uncomfortable walk over the hills, but minutes by wing.

She turns her attention once more to Isidor and finally, in a quiet voice, speaks.

"I sense a great reluctance in you. Perhaps I misunderstood your situation."

She lays her heavy head down next to Isidor is and watches her with just one eye. Her scales radiate warmth, both heat and magic.

"Do you know the story of Alexstrasza?"

Isidor
She hates this. Being unable to hide all of her feelings from those around her, because that would mean playing an empty husk of a woman. Yet having people see her emotions is just... uncomfortable.

Isidor takes a slow breath and tries to calm herself more. "I'm not overly familiar with it, no."

Zandros
"Alexstrasza, the Dragonqueen, the Life-Binder, was-and-is the Aspect of Life, the ultimate guide and guardian of the Red flight. Powerful though she may be, decades ago she was nonetheless tricked and held captive under the weight of Orcish chains and warlockery. The Orcs demanded mounts to fuel their war machine, and to that end they forced Alextrasza to produce them. Unable to defend herself, she was made mother to children who existed at the whims of others who used them to further their own ends."

"Alextrasza may have loved her children unconditionally, and she may claim to have love in her heart for all living things, but I know she would have chosen a different path, could she have. I know, too, that she ended the orc who enslaved her in that way, and it was as close to justice as one in her position could achieve. There are crimes and sacrileges against the sanctity of life which simply cannot go unpunished."

"I may be charged with the protection of life, and I may admit envy in your ability to create it whereas mine has been stolen from me, but were I to come to suspect that gift of yours were being..." Her throat rumbles and her eye drifts away. "Exploited. I would not have words with the Alters, but would crush them swiftly. Should that be the case, know that I am with you."

Isidor
Mym starts her story and Isidor listens, half turned away at first and expressionless. Then, as the story unfolds, she turns towards Mym, frown etched deeply in her forehead, until the weight of it hits her. It’s too close to home. Too close to her fears. She looks away, but her frown remains. She is unchained. She is free to walk from place to place. Yet there is a stern warning whisper that lingers in her ear. Everything about her is held hostage. A guillotine hangs ready over her, ready to cut her magic from her soul. It’s not the same as Alexstrasza. She has free will. She has choice. But there is a Correct choice, and an Incorrect one.

“I would incinerate anyone on the spot who tried to lay a hand on me that way.” Her voice is so quiet and furious that it cracks a little as she speaks. Clearing her throat, she tries again. “I expect Zandros wouldn’t dare try such a thing.”

She goes quiet again, but there’s hesitation in the way she stands and stares distantly at the ground. Eventually what she’s thinking ekes out of her.

“I used to hear stories about selkies. Mythical creatures who looked like seals, but could shed their skin and transform into beautiful women.” Again, she pauses, wondering if this is perhaps disrespectful. Comparing selkies to Alexstrasza. Still, she continues, cautiously this time. “There are tales about fishermen finding a selkie maiden, and stealing her seal coat so that she can’t return to the sea. Sometimes I was told a tale where they would eventually fall in love and marry. But that’s not fair, is it, really? Even if she’s not forced to marry him, or stay with him, he has something of so much value… It’s not a choice for her, is it? Even if it looks and sounds like a choice to everyone else. For her, it’s not.”

[lionofthelight]

Zandros
"Sweet thing," the dragon mutters, her voice hushed mournfully.

Slow and cautious, mindful of her size, Mym moves her arm so that her massive forepaw can cup behind the little human, a living leather chair. One wrong touch from her claws could be deadly, but her domain is life, after all, and she knows how to care for the living.

"Today I thought I met with a fearful bride, but now I see I commune with a prisoner. You are a Black dragon indeed, your heart afire with determination despite the burden of your birthright. But, my dear... The children of Neltharion lost their minds to that burden."

She falls silent and inspects Isidor. Her eyes shift toward the manor, then slowly find their way back to her company.

"What is it that they hold over you? What would they rob you of? Fortune? It can be made again. Family? Those who love you would find you..."

Isidor
The deep, affectionate rumbling of the dragon’s soft words call to her, coaxing her gently out of her armour of set shoulders and tight jaw. She can’t speak to a stranger, an outsider, about this. Mym won’t understand. She’ll tell Zandros, and he’ll use it against her, or he’ll tell her mother. One way or another, Durant reputation would be blemished. That’s what everyone at home wants to avoid. She’d be watched like a hawk from then on.

But she’s so tired. So tired of fighting and weathering everything that comes her way. And Mym’s voice is so soft. Her scales so protective…

“Everything,” she whispers, and finds herself surprised at her own words. “I could make more money. I could trust that my brother would be safe without me. I’m not mother material anyway… But my magic? I couldn’t lose that.”

Realisation crashes over her like a freezing, burning wave. She glares at Mym, but the fire in her eyes burns fear, not anger. “And you must never tell a soul that. Or any of this.”

Zandros
"Your magic?"

It's a harsh and bassy demand from a voice which in an instant has lost all traces of its warmth. Mymrahstrasza's muscled shoulders tense and the heavy club of her tail beats the ground, sending out echoing vibrations. Her nostrils flare, and deep inside them orange embers glow.

"The aspect of Magic himself was killed for such a transgression. To steal the mortal world's magic is to steal its very soul. My people fought and died in the Nexus War to defend the right of mortals to keep their magic. I was born in the heart of that war. Orphaned by it! Left to the devices of the Scourge because of it! And now to find that such oppression persists even on other worlds?"

Mym brings her snout close to Isidor, and despite her desperation manages to whisper, "How can I keep such darkness secret? I must put a stop to it."

Isidor
That wasn’t the reaction she expected, and Isidor’s pulse quickens at this glimpse of the dragon’s rage. This is a lot of new information to take in. The last thing she’d expected was to stumble across something so personal to Mym.

“Because if you don’t, you break my trust,” she says suddenly, commanding despite her panic. “And if you try to do anything, all you’ll do is cause the very thing you’re hoping to stop. I have my magic, and I will keep my magic. One way or another. It’s not your fight. You’ve done your fight.”

Zandros
"Little mortal," Mym corrects, "A dragon's fight is only done the day she dies."

And yet she arches her neck back, giving Isidor a bit of room. Without the heat of the maw so near her the winter winds are cold, but Mym keeps her hand protectively around the woman's body -- at least for a moment.

"But a dragon has time, and she can bide it. The day will come when you will be freed from your chains, and it will come before the chill of the grave, I promise you. But if that day is not today -- if it is not even close at hand -- then we together shall ensure that Zandros will be an abiding protector. It is no consolation now, I know, but I believe in recent days he has been visited by the Light, and I believe it has set him on a path more virtuous. Yet we shall see."

And with her teeth once more near Isidor she whispers, "And you shall tell me truthfully if you are unhappy, and I will do my best to alleviate your pain."

Only then does she release Isidor, and in the same motion flattens one of her wings against the ground. "Now," she says. "Shall we depart for the manor before either of us is overcome by more emotion than can be handled in the presence of company? Climb my wing and straddle my shoulders when you are prepared to fly."

Isidor
Isidor shivers when Mym moves away. She hadn’t quite noticed the warmth, but she notices the absence of it now. It’s a relief when Mym finally relents. For now, at least. That’s all she needs: More time. Just a little more time.

She doesn’t have time to feel bitter about Zandros’ apparent religious turn, before Mym gives her a command that sends another shudder through her. It’s meant kindly, but there’s an insistence there. One she finds oddly reassuring. She wishes, quietly, forlornly, that she could marry Mym instead. This ridiculous thought, and Mym’s acknowledgement of tense emotions, make her feel more normal. As much as it left a bitter taste in the air, it’s so freeing not to have to clutch that secret to her chest. It’s not the reason she doesn’t want to marry Zandros, but it is the cause of her unhappiness. And she got to tell someone. Someone who cares.

When Isidor exhales, she feels her shoulders slope as a weight slides from them. She unfolds her arms and, as carefully as she can, Isidor climbs onto Mym’s back and sets herself as comfortably as can be done on a dragon’s back. “I’m ready.” Then, quietly she adds, "And... thank you."

Zandros
Mym's throat rumbles with Isidor's thanks. She swings her head around to be sure that Isidor is well seated in the gap between spikes at the top of her shoulder. Her scales there are long and thick as saddles, and the spines that run down her back are convenient handholds.

Rather than fly immediately Mym stretches her wings in a full range of motion to prepare Isidor for the coming flight. It wouldn't do for her to slip off. It's a necessary moment of orientation, too, as unlike Integrity, a dragon doesn't need to run to take flight. She hunkers down, brace for a jump, and leaps directly into the air.

Her wingtips scrape the ground with their first beat. Together, Isidor and Mymrahstrasza surge forward. Each stroke of Mym's massive wings propels them faster across the rolling green just above the level of the leafless trees. The winter wind whips, but the heat of the dragon's body is more than enough to warm a rider.

It's only too soon that they near on the final hill on which the manor and stables are situated, but Mym isn't slowing down. She beats her red and golden wings harder, urging them quicker still past the mansion. Her clubbed tail nearly drags across the grey roof but twists at the last moment as Mym climbs higher, higher!

Up in the cold and cloudless sky, the air is so clear. Far off, so far off as to be nearly indistinguishable, is the speck of a city called Stormwind. The gold-tipped spire of it reflects the unobscured sun, gleaming brightly in return.

Then, at the peak of their journey, Mym spreads her wings wide and coasts on a surge of wind. She curls her feat beneath her, tenses up her body, hangs her neck beneath her, and roars. It's more than a sound -- it's a heat, a vibration, a declaration.

Isidor
Although she’s certain it’s not for Mym’s benefit, Isidor is glad of the preparatory stretches. It gives her a chance to try and prepare herself for what’s ahead. Unlike with the gryphon, however, Isidor doesn’t get a running start to brace herself with. Instead, her stomach is dragged to her feet with what feels like the force of a fighter jet. All she can do is grip onto any scale and spine she can get her hands on, praying feverishly to Isis once more.

Just as she’s getting the courage to peek around her, she gasps, not quick enough to warn Mym about crashing into the manor-! Only for Mym’s tail to avoid it entirely at what seems to be the very last second. Whether that was accidental or on purpose, it’s impossible to tell.

For one blissful second, as she watches the Alter manor fall into the distance, Isidor wonders whether Mym is kidnapping her. Taking her away from everything scary and dangerous to live somewhere in peace. As quickly as the thought comes to her, she realises it for the daydream it is. Something that took her mind briefly away from the cold wind screaming in her ears and the lethal height Mym has taken her to.

The roar startles her, but her grip is too strong for her to risk falling off at all. And as the bellow rolls across the clouds, she finds a strange kind of comfort in it. A freeing resignation that this is her path she’s on, but a promise that she will walk it her own way.

Zandros
Mym glides toward the ground, her descent so careful and slow compared to the reckless flight before. Mortals aren't made for falling from the sky, and Isidor's story can't end like that. But despite the slow and gentle drop, when Mym's large body finally hits the ground on the front lawn of the manor it does so with a powerful shake. She's quick to spread her wings so that Isidor can slide down rather than fall, but she's very nearly not fast enough.

When Isidor is on her own feet once again a cloud of magical smoke engulfs them both. When the chill wind clears it, it's a human standing near her. But it doesn't look like the human form Mym had taken earlier. Now he presents himself as a man, his outfit the same as before but his body decidedly squared and masculine. The beard he'd sported in his dragon form is back now, light blonde and striking against the deep red hair of his head.

He smiles softly at Isidor and offers her a leather-gloved hand to guide her into the manor. They hardly make it through the doors, though, before Zandros glides down the halls with long strides, boots clacking all the way.

"Mym!" he playfully chides, wagging a finger at his friend. "One of these days your antics are going to make my father's heart stop! First the roof, then the roar!"

Mym grips Isidor's hand tightly, briefly, before letting her go. He raises his hands with a playful shrug and tips his head guiltily. "I can't help but perform for a new friend, Zandros," he says. His voice is so much deeper now, but his tone no less dreamlike. "Hypocritical for you, of all mortals, to rebuke me for it."

Zandros rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. He shakes his head until he's looking at Isidor, his eyes soft and full of a not unfamiliar sort of quiet mischief. "I do hope you enjoyed yourself, Isidor. I hope, too, that you won't be heartbroken to hear that we'll be indoors much the rest of the night. I'm told a bit of snow is to roll in later, and I'm sure we'd all rather be warm."

Zandros
"It is cold in the Dragonblight, and I never minded that," Mym says as he distracts himself with the marble bust of a man on a pedestal nearby.

"Perhaps not, but not all of us have a furnace in our bellies. I am small, and pale, and I would like to eat a warm roast and hide beneath a thick blanket."

"You tell me now that you're cooking a roast? I wouldn't have promised Banigosa my evening had I known."

"There's always room at our table, Mym!"

"But no room in my schedule. If only I had been born Bronze..." The dragon smiles, and Zandros smiles gently back. Mym turns to Isidor then and bows, but keeps his eyes on her through the entirety of the motion.

"Isidor," the dragon says, "It has been touching to meet you. It will happen again. Soon, if I have my way. I will come back to this place the morning after the moons are in opposite alignment. We will have our own meeting of the dragons. Our Wyrmrest Accord."
Zandros guides Mym the short distance to the door, then out. As the manor doors close behind them they're smiling with each other, and Zandros begins to speak.

His return isn't immediate. In fact, it's a servant who happens across Isidor first. An older woman, heavy in the bust and middle, comes shuffling down the hallway with a silver dish and salad serving utensils in her hands. When she spots Isidor standing by the door she turns around, then looks past her, and finally focuses on the woman herself.

"Hun?" she asks. "Did he go and leave you all by your lonesome, now?" Westfallian by the sounds of it. She sighs and looks for a place to set her cargo, but finds nowhere sufficient.

"Dinner ain't for another hour or so, dear. You want me to take you to your chambers, or do you wanna wait for him?"

Isidor
Although she nearly falls from Mym’s back, she’s grateful to be on solid ground again. Flying is a lot easier on a large dragon she trusts, but for now she still vastly prefers the earth she knows so well. She’s still catching her breath when they’re engulfed in the smoke Azerothian magic loves so much and she has to do a double take when she sees Mym again. At first she thinks she’s just dizzy, but no. This time Mym has transformed into a man. She really should marry Mym instead!

The dragon interrupts her surprise with the offer of a hand and Isidor shakes herself back to reality, a confused smile crawling back onto her face. It’s strangely thrilling, seeing new mysteries of this thoughtful and protective dragon figure. But as always, she barely has a chance to enjoy the charm of it all before Zandros reappears. Isidor’s hopes of getting more time to speak with Mym vanish with the final, encouraging squeeze of her hand.

She can feel her eyes glazing over as Zandros and Mym talk, though she manages a pinched smile in response to Zandros addressing her. For a moment she feels invested, looking between the two and hoping beyond hope that Mym will take Zandros up on his offer. Only to feel a pang of sadness as the dragon politely declines. She’s sure she feels a bite in the still air of the manor then.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mymrahstrasza,” Isidor responds with a graceful bow and a genuine smile. “I hope we meet again soon.”

It’s a little surprising that Zandros simply leaves her, although Isidor isn’t too alarmed. He’s probably gathering Mym’s reconnaissance. She’ll deal with that as it comes. In the meantime it gives her a chance to breathe, and not have to act. The servant doesn’t catch her attention until she speaks, drawing Isidor’s attention away from the same bust Mym had been examining.
Immediately, a practiced smile springs to her face. Somehow it comes a little easier to her than she expects. It’s all she can do to stop herself from wrinkling her nose at the thought of waiting for Zandros. He’d probably come back and preen like a peacock if he saw her still standing there like some hopeless, lost puppy.

“I’d like to go to my chambers…” Her eyes fall to the dish in the woman’s hands. “But I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work. I’m sure I could find it if you point me in the right direction.”

[lionofthelight]

Zandros
"O-oh," the woman says, her expression conflicted before she finally smiles for Isidor. "Yes, of course you can. It's just down the way I came from, then turn left at the end of the hall. Yours is the fourth room on the left, dear. And just so you know, if you ever need anything or wanna know anything at all, my name's Dorice. Ask any of the help for me, and I'll be right with ya."

With that out of the way she pinches one last smile and scuttles off in the opposite direction Isidor will be going.

Down the hallway Isidor was directed, a human servant is holding a ladder for a green-haired gnomish woman. A panel of the wooden walls has been taken off and the gnome is fussing with the wiring beneath. The servant nods at Isidor as she approaches, then returns to his work; the gnome never so much as looks up from it.

The door to Isidor's chambers is unlocked. Inside, things have been recently prepared for a new, important guest's arrival. Not a speck of dust dulls the ornate furniture, which has been painted a creamy green color and accented with gold foil. Much like Harrowheart's home, the walls are covered in damask wallpaper, though subdued ivory and gold rather than gaudier pastels. The curtains, duvet, and loveseat are made of a heavy cloth with a matching floral pattern of white magnolias and ruddy roses. A bulky wardrobe sits next to a heavy-looking vanity whose mirror is lit by a string of electric lights. The floors are hard, dark wood given some scrap of comfort with strategically-placed woven rugs in a questionable spruce green.

Every part of this room was beset by a grandmother, it seems.

At least the numerous windows overlooking the central courtyard bring in enough light to keep the drab colors bright.

Zandros
Unfortunately, Isidor doesn't have long to enjoy the solitude and relative peace of the muffled sounds of the gnome's high voice before there's a gentle knock at her door.

"Isidor?" Zandros calls. "I apologize for having stepped away like that. I thought you might enjoy a moment alone to explore the manor without me, but it was remiss of me not to give you a proper goodbye."

There's a momentary silence then. Not even the sounds of the engineer or the servant are heard. Zandros must have sent them away.

"Isidor?" he asks again. "If you aren't terribly tired... Might you meet with me a moment? There are certain delicate subjects which I must admit have weighed heavily on my heart of late and which I would very much like to discuss with you. If you might be so inclined..."

Isidor
“Dorice,” Isidor repeats. “Thank you very much.”

As curious as she is about the state of the servants, there’s something intriguing in itself about being left alone in the manor. Walking through the halls undisturbed is like being in someone else’s skin. Lady Isidor Alter. Her skin crawls uncomfortably, as if moving across her flesh just a little to the right and sitting there. In the wrong place. Not painful. Just wrong. The servant acknowledges her, but lets her pass without a word. She might as well own these alien halls.

Getting into her room (she hopes it’s the right room) is a relief. It looks almost familiar. Everything overly decorated, entirely out of date, but unnecessarily ornate to compensate. It looks like so many rooms she’s stayed in. She studies the mirror first, with its odd lighting arrangement, and then the windows. The view is calming, if for no other reason than windows affording an escape route. If worst comes to worst, she can always jump out of the window and start a new life in the forest.

Or else she could go and find some friendly dragons to live with, like Mym.

The knock brings her sharply back to reality, and she turns, fully expecting Zandros to stride on in. Instead, he stays behind the closed door and speaks to her, waiting for her response. The option is there for her to say nothing, to stay silent as if she’s asleep or away. It hangs in the air, teasing her… But she can’t. She can’t do nothing. There’s a conversation coming whether she likes it or not, and she has a feeling it’s going to be a difficult one. Yet she can’t bring herself to be cowardly about it.

Isidor opens the door fully and steps away so he can pass. “Delicate subjects aren’t made to be discussed through doors.”

Zandros
On the other side of the door stands Zandros with his head ducked and his hands folded before him. She allows him entry and he accepts slowly, moving with restraint toward the loveseat. He doesn't take a seat for himself, but offers for Isidor to sit first. Only after she accepts or declines does he choose to follow her lead.

"Isidor," he begins, fixing her with eyes heavy with guilt. "It is with great shame that I admit this: In recent days I have come to realize that I have not treated you with the respect which was due to you. I tried, selfishly and with a heavy hand, to shape you into the concept of you which was merely a figment of my own fantasies. Likewise, I endeavored to fit your life into the bounds of my own, as if I might shape your existence into something wholly other. And it is with greater shame that I confess it took a visitation by the Light for me to see the truth. I have indeed disrespected you, not only as a woman, but as one whose life I am intended to share. And so it is that I would like to begin our discussion with... An apology."

Isidor
Closing the door behind him, Isidor follows Zandros at a reasonable distance, trying to make sense of his strange behaviour. Although she knows it means the inevitable discomfort of sitting closely with someone she’s tried so hard to ignore, Isidor accepts the offer of the seat. She pulls herself in tightly so that neither her arms or knees might touch Zandros’, even accidentally.

The more he speaks, the more difficult it is to hide her suspicion. She watches him with a crease in her brow. Why is he acting like this? Is this genuine? Or have her parents spoken to him? Is this some advanced ploy to try and make himself more endearing to her? She’s not sure, and she doesn’t like that.

All she can think to do is raise her eyebrow and say, “Go on.”

Zandros
His surprise is evident. He tenses, then instantly lets go, but he certainly isn't yet relaxed. She... Actually wants him to continue? It seems he hadn't expected to get this far.

He unfolds his hands, then finds he doesn't know what to do with them. Soon they're delicately resting atop each other, perched on his knees. His eyes flit between them and Isidor's expectant face.

"With... Well." He clears his throat. His cheeks are reddening. Is the Light making him glow, or is he really starting to perspire?

"With that confessed, I must begin to repent by... Turning from my sins and living what I believe. And if I believe, as indeed I do, that you are a full, whole person -- which, of course, you are... Then it is my duty to acknowledge your life and that which has been and, indeed, I suspect, remains dear to you."

His upper hand clenches tightly on the lower one. There's no doubt about it now: Zandros is sweating.

"To grant you the Compassion due to one for whom their future spouse was pre-ordained... To Respect the fullness of your existence by allowing you the freedom to act, feel, and do as you would... And to embody the Tenacity of one who shall share in your life regardless the circumstances, provided you, too, shall share in mine..."
He can't keep going like this. Words spilling near-senselessly past his lips. He closes his eyes and finally says it:

"As your future husband I shall endeavor to support you in the pursuit of all things which bring you joy and freedom, including what I dare next say: I know that you are loved by another, and suspect beyond a reasonable doubt that your feelings for him are mutual."

Isidor
This is normal. This is comfortable. Making another person squirm and fret like this while they stumble towards what they want to say. This time, however, she quietly hopes he doesn’t manage to. She fully expects to hear him to politely ask for more physical contact, or perhaps to join him in prayer. She doesn’t know what. Just that she won’t like it.

Compassion, respect, support. It’s all well and good to say these things, to pledge aloud to uphold them. It’s another thing entirely to actually do them. Until action follows words, the words mean nothing. So she sits, waiting for him to get to whatever point he’s struggling towards.

That is, until he says it.

Isidor tenses. Fixes her expression and body into one place. Still as can be.

She forgets to breathe, and her lungs start to burn until she finally exhales and inhales again. The moving has started. She has to say something. Do something.

She must stay neutral. She must hide her feelings. She must not give anything away. “Why do you think that?”

[lionofthelight]

Zandros
His tense and troubled face is not relieved by the heavy sigh which escapes him in a rush. "Harrowheart told me."

Isidor
Suddenly her heart is going a thousand miles a second. Surely he can hear it, can see it. Though in reality it’s only visible in the way her eyes stay a little too wide and a little too still. Not enough of a reaction from someone not expecting such an accusation. Her jaw tenses and relaxes as she forces herself to swallow before she speaks, each worse terse and stilted. “And what did he say?”

Zandros
Hesitation.

Silence.

But only for a breath.

"He... He wants to be with you. To be with you. Forever. He wants to be an intimate part of your life, and the role of bodyguard shall never be sufficient. It is why he resents me. It is why he nearly killed me when we met. He will do anything to be yours, and to have you as his own."

He reaches out, but doesn't have the strength of will to touch her.

"But Isidor," he implores. "So shall I. Even if it means sharing your heart with him. Sharing, indeed..." He bites his inner cheek and, shaking, says, "More."

Isidor
For the longest time she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move, or even blink.

She could deny it all, of course. Keep her relationship truly secret. For however long Harrowheart could keep it secret. But then Harrowheart would be sent away. By her parents if not Zandros. This is a middle ground. No risk, no reward… How could she not hope? This is a chance she must take. For Harrowheart. For herself. For them.

Her eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “What’s the cost? What’s the price you’d ask for in return?”

Zandros
"Cost?"

If everything else he said today was a lie, this is not. The sincerity with which he asks cannot be feigned. It simply hadn't occurred to him to ask for something in return.

"Isidor," he whispers. "I am not a warlock. I do not craft nefarious deals for my own gain. When I saved Mymrahstrasza it was not to have a dragon as my servant. When I say this to you, it is not to keep you as my slave. What I ask in return is that you simply..."

Finally his hand comes to rest upon her wrist.

"Find room in your heart for me, as well. Give me the chance to be a part of your life. Let me be your husband."

Isidor
Nothing? It’s really that simple?

Tia’s husband agreed to similar terms, only to turn around and spit bile and hatred at both Tia and her lover. Wouldn’t Zandros be the same? But then… he is a paladin. Religious. Bound to uphold goodness. And from an entirely different world. One which doesn’t blink at other species falling in love. Surely if someone would be fit to make this work, it would be him.

For the smallest moment, a little flicker of affection flits through Isidor’s heart.

Her thoughts have made her features soften when she says, “You’d do that? Agree to that? You’d be ok with that?”

Zandros
There's no hesitation now. Zandros nods, and with gusto. He holds her wrist just a fraction tighter.

"If it brings you happiness. If it brings us closer. Isidor, I would. I would make every effort."

The faintest smile warms his pained features. The redness in his face is waning. He could not have imagined such relief. But then he glances down, focuses on his knees, and in a small and worried voice mutters, "My only hope is that he, too, might agree to such terms. I fear..."

He can't bring himself to say it.

Isidor
"What?" She doesn't notice how quickly she replies, or how she turns to face him more fully. "What do you fear?"

Whatever it is, she can make it work. She can make all of this work. Zandros doesn't have to be an enemy. He could be an ally! She just needs to know the problems so that she can solve them.

Zandros
It's difficult to look at her when he delivers his worries. Yes, their hands - they're the perfect distraction.

"I fear he may not be amenable to the notion of sharing the object of his affection. That he sees me as the enemy, the usurper. I have tried time and again to endear myself to him, but I still find from time to time, he..."

How to put this?

"Well, he does... Stare, doesn't he?"

Isidor
It's Isidor who stares then.

And then she laughs. She can't help it. All her fears and worries and pressures bubble up into a loud, sudden burst of laughter.

She claps her hands over her mouth a moment later until she can smooth out her smile. Clearing her throat, she folds her hands on her lap before turning to Zandros once more.

"Yes." She coughs once more to stop herself from laughing again. "He does stare."

She leans slightly closer then, her hopefulness slipping into her voice. "But, I think if he knew that you, that all of us, could work together... I think he would soon warm up to you."

Zandros
Zandros startles at that sound! What is it? He's never heard it before. Isidor is... Laughing? Enjoying herself openly? Only once has he ever seen her so uninhibited, so openly and undefensively enjoying the moment. And it was with him, wasn't it?

He smiles as she continues to laugh, confused but willing to hear what comes next. And when she speaks, something calming washes over him. It feels like the warm embrace of the Light, but he knows what it really is. The beginnings of a different, equally wonderful force of nature.

Softly, gently he says, "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh. I know I've never seen you smile like this. And you seem... Eager!" He can't help a quiet, shy chuckle himself. "Truly he must be dear to you. Perhaps someday soon I shall see what you see, and then I shall laugh at baleful glares!"

Surprise, surprise - he's laughing already. He tries to dab away the smile from his face (and the sweat from his forehead) with a handkerchief from his pocket. And then it's silence. A moment, finally, without words. A moment to gaze at her. To finally take in the excitement and the glory of a smile on the face of his future wife.

Isidor
The relief tries to wash over her, but her muscles are reluctant to stop tensing. Some part of her still doesn’t feel quite comfortable relaxing around his laughter and gentle happiness. Sitting straight again, she shrugs off mentions of her lack of laughter. How can she explain how dear Harrowheart is to her when she can’t even tell him that? Instead she watches him from the corner of her eye and deflects. “You can do some staring of your own.”

Smirking, she looks into the room and then down to her hands. “Honestly… I thought you would be angry with me. For caring about someone else.”

Zandros
She calls him out and he looks away in a hurry, ashamed but not enough that he can't smile about it. "It is hard not to stare when the one in my focus is so uniquely distracting."

But his lightheartedness fades with what comes next. He's silent a moment longer as he considers what to say. Does he keep it to himself? Does he tell the truth?

"I will admit that when I began to suspect it I felt a small amount of jealousy. I directed it poorly at your friend, the Captain. I suspect he may never forget my behavior, but rightly so, and neither shall I. I shall endeavor to put such selfishness behind me. I shall have to, if I am to make this new situation work."

His gaze flits across her face as he considers his next words.

"As we commence I foresee myself frequently in need of your guidance. Though he and I are both of Azeroth, I feel at times that we are worlds apart. He is loud and brash and engages in incomprehensible frivolities."

Isidor
The honesty deserves her respect, so she watches him, her brow in a soft frown. If he had denied any ne`gative feelings, she would have been suspicious, but this seems honest. Everything about this is so earnest. Such a sincere effort. It’s hard not to feel kindly towards it.

What comes next gets a gentle smile. “I’ll give it as best as I can. I promise that if you give him a chance, you’ll get used to him, even if you don’t like him as much as I do.”