First Contact

Silendiel sat in the garden when her majordomo came to her, bearing another report. On a low, white bench, inset with golden filigree portraying delicate leaves, she unfurled the piece of paper and read of how a small mob of thirty people had been gathered, growing slowly as the altercation developed. Throwing trash and insults at the kaldorei, getting up in their face, threatening, the forsaken seeming particularly interested in the seneschal. Liriel. It was her, and the Captain of the sentinels in the embassy, Tessa, along with a squad of sentinels, that had been the unlucky targets of the little riot.

Unfortunate, that. The presence of the Captain. Encouraging, perhaps, the wild and unruly sentinels to control themselves. At least, that was how Silendiel’s efforts had them portrayed. All the little circus amounted to was trash spread along a length of street, and the night elves withdrawing back to their embassy for a time. Perhaps having to wait a little longer to go and buy food. Perhaps having to cancel a meeting where they would have stolen some other hapless noblewoman’s precious servant away, to instead lead a debauched life in the once-glorious sin’dorei mansion in which the kaldorei now squatted.

Difficult to imagine cock so good, so powerful, that it would lure someone away from a steady position in the employ of an honorable, old family. But that was, seemingly, what was happening. And, despite their magical ability to convince anyone who came within their reach, and into their embassy, that working against them was a bad idea, the apparently constantly fucking kaldorei had to have some kind of weakness.

Silendiel adjusted herself, just slightly. Squirmed, breathed out a sigh which she hoped would calm her. There was a measure of professional pride being wounded by what the night elves accomplished, but equally, her mind conjured up all kinds of images that she tried to set aside. Her arms bound, being paraded around naked. Her belly swollen, pregnant with the spawn of some lowly sentinel. She huffed and shook her head, patting her cheeks with some ****, but found that the physical stimulation did little to drive away those thoughts. All the smacks really did was lead her thoughts down new pathways.

Rather than sit and stew in the heated swell of fantasies, she stood. Abruptly. Marched back inside with such purpose that both gardeners and estate guards could not disguise their surprised looks. Used to not caring about servants – it was the only way to live with tens of them buzzing around one’s home all the time – she almost never even noticed them. Certainly spent very little time contemplating what the object of their attention was. Right that moment, though, she dearly wished that none of them saw her flushed cheeks, or that any visible heat would be ascribed to the fresh air. Or the speed and determination with which she returned inside, finding paper and pen at her desk so as to channel her energy into something less self-destructive and embarrassing.

It was obvious that the turned agents would have informed the night elves of who had employed them, and so, there really was no more need to try to be subtle. Not in her communication with the embassy, at least. So, she addressed her letter to the ambassador, the priestess, Iralis. Extended an invitation, in the company of a suitable group of guards, to the estate, so that they might negotiate. Or, rather, Silendiel demanded not only her servant returned, but also an apology for the travesty of the kaldorei bringing their debauched ways to the city of Silvermoon. An apology for any perceived slight, really. The way they were redecorating the previously abandoned mansion turned embassy, for example. Most unfitting. Having brought a significant contingent of soldiers not just into Quel’thalas, but behind Silvermoon’s walls. A suggestion that perhaps the embassy did not need quite so many guards, if it was not planning any kind of hostile action.

She finished the letter with an artful signature, closed and sealed it, and had a servant send it off. With specific orders that no one in Silendiel’s employ was to deliver the letter physically, merely monitor that some stranger, some hired hand, did it in their stead. No need to encourage any more losses of personnel.

Hours passed, then, Silendiel still seething and simmering, unable to let the behavior of the kaldorei go. Incapable, too, of letting the fantasy that would be perhaps the grandest insult to her noble family go – she had never cared particularly for the notion of children, of being a parent, but there was something about the idea of bearing the child of one of those brutes that spoke to her. Dug at her core, burning away at everything proper and good. A sin beyond sins, and that, she reasoned, was precisely why she could not let the thought go. Try as she might. Reading did nothing. Walking did nothing. Getting drunk did nothing. Occupying herself with business that she would otherwise leave to her majordomo likewise did nothing.

When the reply to her letter arrived, then, she was thoroughly worked up. Annoyed, and needy, and without a suitable target to take any of the energy out on. Somehow, every employee, every servant in the house, had a sixth sense when it came to the mistress of the house being in one of her moods, and made themselves as scarce as possible. The girl who delivered the return letter bowed her head, and kept it bowed, so as to not have to meet Silendiel’s eyes. Took two steps back, and then waited. She decided to be merciful, scoffing, waving the girl off before any irritation rose, focusing instead on the reply.

Lady Flameborn,

It is with great regret that I learn that so many of our recent troubles can be traced to your efforts, or those of your underlings. Your insinuation that you, or the city itself, are owed an apology is one I wholeheartedly reject.

Your efforts to undermine the embassy, to create hostility between it and the peoples of the city, are ones I view as incitement, ultimately, to war between our people. I trust that it was mere lack of foresight that lead you down this path, and assure you that our troubles can be smoothed out with a mere apology.

As to your demand that your servant be returned to you, she is no one’s property, and has made her own decisions. She has served well, so far, and does not wish to leave our employ. I shall not be removing her merely because your sense of pride is injured.

We have been attacked, spied on, and have had perfidious and false rumors spread about our presence here. Once again, I urge you to apologize, so that we might more fruitfully negotiate. I do not start talks with anyone on the basis of lies.

Iralis

Ambassador

Kaldorei Embassy

Silendiel should have felt searing anger at the patronizing, parental tone, but righteous anger was suppressed by a feeling similar to a shard of ice inset in her mind. She had not considered the trouble she could be in, until that moment. Not from the kaldorei, but rather from her own people. From the spire. Her efforts might be largely seen as petty exercising of power and a minor grudge, but they could, equally, be seen as a diplomatic problem. More difficult to explain away.

Meeting with the kaldorei ambassador would allay suspicions that she was trying to cause any significant trouble, even if the negotiations amounted to nothing more than a few wasted hours and a few cups of tea, or glasses of wine. She might even have the pleasure of admiring the priestess’ guards for a few self-indulgent moments, were such a meeting to take place. And, once it had, it would be easy enough to continue her efforts until they became so damaging to the embassy that it became a better option to hand the servant-girl back than continuing to allow her to be plowed in every hole by a full squad of sentinels.

It was still difficult for Silendiel, if she were truthful with herself, to tell whether she thought such thoughts in a denigrating way, or if she were jealous. She had little desire to be the subject of a full squad’s attentions. Noblewoman or not, there had always been a part of her that demanded to be someone’s sole object of affection. She wanted not to share, and wanted not to be shared. If the ambassador had brought along twenty sentinels, surely that would be possible.

Not that she wanted that, anyway. Obviously. She shook her head. Tried to clear her head of any thoughts, staring off into the distance. A towering, chiseled kaldorei, face indistinct, still manifested in her mind’s eye. Nothing to be done about it.

A few minutes later, Silendiel found the mental capacity to write a much shorter, more perfunctory letter to invite the priestess to her mansion to talk. Without demanding apologies, this time.