Slide Rule: 5
Part five of Slide Rule is so long I've split it up into two entries for ease of reading. 9_6
5.
For a place of tragedy and warfare, the upper ruins of Lordaeron contain some reasonably intact property, and those houses clean up nicely. My new quarters may never have the grace or flare of elven architecture, nor could all the festooning in the world rid it of its funereal air, but by gods it's my own. I spent a few years living in the barracks before the Couriers were reassigned anyway. This city in all its dreary, crumbling splendour is my home now.
A home where all my worldly belongings are in utter disarray, that is. Most of my unpacking is done but it's still a mess. Khaavren and I took a few days to get my furniture in place, at least (and to test the sturdiness of each piece). I have the most charmingly rustic settee from Orgrimmar in the living room, made of dragonbone and kodo leather trimmed with worg fur. It has a certain earthiness that ties in the warm tones of my Thalassian chaise-longue with the overall human (post-human?) aesthetics.
It doesn't do a fraction of good for the place's aesthetics compared to the tall young man lounging on it, though.
At least he was lounging on it a second ago. Now he stands, shooing something into his hand. Khaavren heads to the door with his hands cupped and his tabbycat Chiaroscuro mewling at his heels. "Oh no, little weaver," he mutters, "kitties will eat you. Outside with you now." I crane my head to see him gently brushing a sizeable spider onto the porch. Chi lowers himself into pre-pounce position but Khaav plucks him up before he can strike, and both return to the settee.
It's been a long day of Scourge-hunting punctuated by chasing some damned kaldorei around the courtyard; now we're off our feet, in more comfortable clothes, and each with a cat in his lap. There is a beautiful dichotomy between us, a contrast that forms balance: Khaavren, tall and well-muscled and full of the Light's peace sprawled upon that rustic couch; and myself, ten inches shorter, far leaner, with eyes full of Shadow stretched out on this opulent chaise-longue. He's a country boy, farm-raised, while I knew nothing but Silvermoon City for most of my life. His innocence and goodness still draw me, tainted as I am, like a moth to open flame.
Chiaroscuro mews annoyance at having been deprived of his snack, but settles into Khaavren's lap all the same. Thera, sleek and black, purrs against my chest. "How m-many cats are too many, do y-you suppose?"
Khaavren ponders this a moment. "More than we can feed."
"Tcheh! As m-much as you feed the poor flabby creatures that isn't many at all!"
"I can't help it!" He's pouting, the charming little brat. "I come home from fishing and they mew and give me the big eyes!"
"So you g-give them big bellies to match." I'm teasing him, of course, but he really does overfeed our cats. "T-too many cats is how-w-wever many it takes to smell. With as m-much as we hunt, that's the far more pressing c-concern."
Khaavren sniffs the air. "If that's the case we appear to be safe."
"Safe," I repeat. The word has felt like a lie for nearly eight years now, since our homeland was shattered by the Scourge's invasion. Eight years - such an insignificant number in the eyes of a people as long-lived as the sin'dorei, yet the magnitude of the changes wrought in the world have made it feel like a lifetime. Before I realise it I'm speaking aloud: "How long before we're actually safe again...?"
This sudden change makes my lover grow still. He's accustomed to my bipolar moods but he's never complacent, ever vigilant. "With the Legion routed and the Lich King on his way out," he says calmly, "it's within a human lifetime. You'll see. Twenty years."
I can't help but laugh. "Oh, Light b-bless your optimism. In t-twenty years we'll b-be dealing with the f-fallout of some c-c-c-ca, c-ca, s-some c-ca-a-"
Damn it, damn it, DAMN it.
"S-some...disaster in the Emerald Dream." My face is burning but Khaavren, thank the Light for him, never so much as acknowledges my speech impediment. He doesn't try to fill in my words or complete my sentences or rush me through. He simply waits, and listens. "Some new alien d-danger in the Dream, or bleeding Azshara will aw-w-wake in the depths of the Maelstrom, and here c-c-comes the call again for we the b-brave and stupid."
That gets a laugh out of him, at least.
"Ohh but n-none of that will compare," I go on, "to the trials and trib-tribulations of our children reaching the age to go to school. They'll have us spending s much time b-back in Quel'thalas that we'll have to look into a third home there...either b-by Elrendar Falls-"
My knight flinches. "No. That was another life. I would not want another one there." His eyes fix on Chi. He's right of course; I should have known what a bad idea that was. There are more ghosts around the farmstead where he grew up than just the Scourge. Those, at least, can be put to rest.
"Alright," I nod, "not Elrendar. Perhaps whatever c-can be salvaged of the Summerlight estate, since Thare has f-first claim to my family's."
"Thaldarian's?" He gives me an odd look but I nod again. "I suppose we'll restore the gardens...?"
"But of c-course. And we'll face down the impending threat of boarding school fees versus tutoring at home versus t-teaching them ourselves battles over eating habits and the boys' newfound p-propensity for bringing home wild animals as pets."
Khaavren flashes that impish grin. "I cannot imagine where they would pick up such a habit." He looks his age when he smiles like that, a youth just beginning his ninth decade of life. Indeed I forsee us having great difficulty admonishing our children over such things, given the size of our own menagerie. Perhaps the two of us are just precocious boys still, too.
As valid a point as he has I still roll my eyes. "Neither can I. Our f-friends will all laugh and t-tell us the twins are j-just like their fathers: full of mischief and wanderlust and d-difficult questions."
"Difficult questions?" One long auburn eyebrow ticks upwards.
"Oh aye. They'll c-come home looking troubled and we'll ask what's wrong and they'll answer with questions. Why do they have two fathers? Why is the old koi fish upside-down? Why doesn't it snow in Eversong? What m-m-made the Dead Scar? Why aren't their parents married?"
Before the worlds are have fully left my lips I regret speaking them.
There's no doubt in my mind that this man is the love of my life, that we'll grow old together and spend our twilight years hand in hand. The laws of Quel'thalas draw no line between sexes when it comes to marriage, so it certainly isn't a matter of being legally ineligible. (I make this distinction because while I have known elven married couples comprised of man and women, and of two men, and of two women, and a handful that defy the typical definitions of gender - I have heard that certain human nations and even the dwarves forbid it for some illogical reason or another.) Nor could anyone claim that he and I are not devoted enough to each other.
I don't want to marry Khaavren Sunthorn because marriage ruins relationships, and the thought of some ritual leading to the destruction of what we have is the most terrifying thing I can imagine.
But he doesn't agree.
The silence that follows is a dagger in my gut.
5.
For a place of tragedy and warfare, the upper ruins of Lordaeron contain some reasonably intact property, and those houses clean up nicely. My new quarters may never have the grace or flare of elven architecture, nor could all the festooning in the world rid it of its funereal air, but by gods it's my own. I spent a few years living in the barracks before the Couriers were reassigned anyway. This city in all its dreary, crumbling splendour is my home now.
A home where all my worldly belongings are in utter disarray, that is. Most of my unpacking is done but it's still a mess. Khaavren and I took a few days to get my furniture in place, at least (and to test the sturdiness of each piece). I have the most charmingly rustic settee from Orgrimmar in the living room, made of dragonbone and kodo leather trimmed with worg fur. It has a certain earthiness that ties in the warm tones of my Thalassian chaise-longue with the overall human (post-human?) aesthetics.
It doesn't do a fraction of good for the place's aesthetics compared to the tall young man lounging on it, though.
At least he was lounging on it a second ago. Now he stands, shooing something into his hand. Khaavren heads to the door with his hands cupped and his tabbycat Chiaroscuro mewling at his heels. "Oh no, little weaver," he mutters, "kitties will eat you. Outside with you now." I crane my head to see him gently brushing a sizeable spider onto the porch. Chi lowers himself into pre-pounce position but Khaav plucks him up before he can strike, and both return to the settee.
It's been a long day of Scourge-hunting punctuated by chasing some damned kaldorei around the courtyard; now we're off our feet, in more comfortable clothes, and each with a cat in his lap. There is a beautiful dichotomy between us, a contrast that forms balance: Khaavren, tall and well-muscled and full of the Light's peace sprawled upon that rustic couch; and myself, ten inches shorter, far leaner, with eyes full of Shadow stretched out on this opulent chaise-longue. He's a country boy, farm-raised, while I knew nothing but Silvermoon City for most of my life. His innocence and goodness still draw me, tainted as I am, like a moth to open flame.
Chiaroscuro mews annoyance at having been deprived of his snack, but settles into Khaavren's lap all the same. Thera, sleek and black, purrs against my chest. "How m-many cats are too many, do y-you suppose?"
Khaavren ponders this a moment. "More than we can feed."
"Tcheh! As m-much as you feed the poor flabby creatures that isn't many at all!"
"I can't help it!" He's pouting, the charming little brat. "I come home from fishing and they mew and give me the big eyes!"
"So you g-give them big bellies to match." I'm teasing him, of course, but he really does overfeed our cats. "T-too many cats is how-w-wever many it takes to smell. With as m-much as we hunt, that's the far more pressing c-concern."
Khaavren sniffs the air. "If that's the case we appear to be safe."
"Safe," I repeat. The word has felt like a lie for nearly eight years now, since our homeland was shattered by the Scourge's invasion. Eight years - such an insignificant number in the eyes of a people as long-lived as the sin'dorei, yet the magnitude of the changes wrought in the world have made it feel like a lifetime. Before I realise it I'm speaking aloud: "How long before we're actually safe again...?"
This sudden change makes my lover grow still. He's accustomed to my bipolar moods but he's never complacent, ever vigilant. "With the Legion routed and the Lich King on his way out," he says calmly, "it's within a human lifetime. You'll see. Twenty years."
I can't help but laugh. "Oh, Light b-bless your optimism. In t-twenty years we'll b-be dealing with the f-fallout of some c-c-c-ca, c-ca, s-some c-ca-a-"
Damn it, damn it, DAMN it.
"S-some...disaster in the Emerald Dream." My face is burning but Khaavren, thank the Light for him, never so much as acknowledges my speech impediment. He doesn't try to fill in my words or complete my sentences or rush me through. He simply waits, and listens. "Some new alien d-danger in the Dream, or bleeding Azshara will aw-w-wake in the depths of the Maelstrom, and here c-c-comes the call again for we the b-brave and stupid."
That gets a laugh out of him, at least.
"Ohh but n-none of that will compare," I go on, "to the trials and trib-tribulations of our children reaching the age to go to school. They'll have us spending s much time b-back in Quel'thalas that we'll have to look into a third home there...either b-by Elrendar Falls-"
My knight flinches. "No. That was another life. I would not want another one there." His eyes fix on Chi. He's right of course; I should have known what a bad idea that was. There are more ghosts around the farmstead where he grew up than just the Scourge. Those, at least, can be put to rest.
"Alright," I nod, "not Elrendar. Perhaps whatever c-can be salvaged of the Summerlight estate, since Thare has f-first claim to my family's."
"Thaldarian's?" He gives me an odd look but I nod again. "I suppose we'll restore the gardens...?"
"But of c-course. And we'll face down the impending threat of boarding school fees versus tutoring at home versus t-teaching them ourselves battles over eating habits and the boys' newfound p-propensity for bringing home wild animals as pets."
Khaavren flashes that impish grin. "I cannot imagine where they would pick up such a habit." He looks his age when he smiles like that, a youth just beginning his ninth decade of life. Indeed I forsee us having great difficulty admonishing our children over such things, given the size of our own menagerie. Perhaps the two of us are just precocious boys still, too.
As valid a point as he has I still roll my eyes. "Neither can I. Our f-friends will all laugh and t-tell us the twins are j-just like their fathers: full of mischief and wanderlust and d-difficult questions."
"Difficult questions?" One long auburn eyebrow ticks upwards.
"Oh aye. They'll c-come home looking troubled and we'll ask what's wrong and they'll answer with questions. Why do they have two fathers? Why is the old koi fish upside-down? Why doesn't it snow in Eversong? What m-m-made the Dead Scar? Why aren't their parents married?"
Before the worlds are have fully left my lips I regret speaking them.
There's no doubt in my mind that this man is the love of my life, that we'll grow old together and spend our twilight years hand in hand. The laws of Quel'thalas draw no line between sexes when it comes to marriage, so it certainly isn't a matter of being legally ineligible. (I make this distinction because while I have known elven married couples comprised of man and women, and of two men, and of two women, and a handful that defy the typical definitions of gender - I have heard that certain human nations and even the dwarves forbid it for some illogical reason or another.) Nor could anyone claim that he and I are not devoted enough to each other.
I don't want to marry Khaavren Sunthorn because marriage ruins relationships, and the thought of some ritual leading to the destruction of what we have is the most terrifying thing I can imagine.
But he doesn't agree.
The silence that follows is a dagger in my gut.