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
"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.”