Difference between revisions of "Logs:Ramifications"

Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr

At the heart of this oblong cavern is its meeting table: a long hardwood oval with a mirror's dark shine, High Reaches' sigil picked out in lapis and onyx at its center. Twenty chairs surround it, each softened by an embroidered cushion that's just a little too stiff for complete comfort -- meetings need to be kept short, after all -- with the chair at the table's head, facing the ledge, being somewhat larger than the rest.

Interspersed between glowsconces upon the smooth walls, ancient tapestries depict the territories High Reaches protects in a particularly pastoral fashion, all fluffy clouds and fluffier llamas, or else fishing crafts sailing merrily out to sea. Among them is also a natural alcove, its several wooden shelves primarily stocking fine wines and liquors as well as the glasses to serve them, though the lower shelves also hold whatever hidework requires particularly frequent attention.

A narrow wooden door leads to the Records room, while the tunnel that extends to the weyrleaders' ledge is wide enough for three men to walk abreast, with just enough kink in it to block the wind.

Five days ago, news began to leak out from Monaco that a new Weyrleader had won senior Evielth's flight. Almost immediately rumor begins buzzing about the new Weyrleader -- none other than M'kris, bronze Feyzeth's rider, and I'kris' father. Things are relatively quiet for a few days -- until late one evening, when Leiventh emerges from between above High Reaches, wintry winds cold and roaring furiously at any inquiry. Tightly, his request is sent towards Hraedhyth and Cadejoth: « Mine requests your urgent attention, if you will indulge him. » A flicker: the bronze descends towards the council chambers, and the rider can be seen striding in, though not settled, R'hin pacing back and forth on one side of the table while he waits.

It goes without saying that any number of people have had strong feelings about this new development at Monaco; after all, it may have been a few turns since Iolene's death, but... not that many. Memories are long. K'del's certainly is. K'del may not have been publicly commenting on it, but it would be hard to miss his recent poor mood. Tonight, Cadejoth's chains are muted in their response to Leiventh; they rattle in a cool, unhappy kind of way, acknowledging the other bronze's request with a flick and twitch, nothing more. « He's on his way, » he reports - and he is, arriving a few minutes later in boots that haven't been laced. "R'hin?"

Not so playful is the back-and-forth between Hraedhyth's startled fire and Leiventh's icy winds. Drums quiver with restraint as she only just tolerates the battering of her flames, groggy black smoke lifting once she's fully alert. « What. Yes. What. » A waft of floral perfume carries with it silent concern: urgent? Azaylia's bare feet smack against frigid stone as her long legs carry her swiftly into the council chambers. Her pink housecoat is hardly flattering, all thick and warm to combat the oncoming winter. Pushing long, loose hair from her face the Weyrwoman's gaze locks on R'hin, though for K'del, "What's wrong?" As if he must have learned in the minute longer it took her to arrive.

There's an unsteady, uneven cast to the way R'hin stalks back and forward -- something that could be easily taken for distraction or an ill-focused mind. "K'del." It's a simple, one-word greeting, and yet something about the way the bronzerider acknowledges the other, the brief look he gives, lets the younger recognize the unsteady cast as drunkenness -- he's seen it often enough in his fellow bronzerider, after all. Still, the Monacoan's actions are deliberate, the way he stops to regard Azaylia's swift arrival with pale eyes, that suggests he's masking it carefully. "I have a favor to ask. You heard about--" a grimace. He stops, his mouth setting into a tight line, jaw clenching. Need he elaborate about what?

"About M'kris, yes," answers K'del, with a note in his voice that suggests inner turmoil, turning his head to acknowledge Azaylia's arrival as he carefully steps out of the doorway and partway around the table, though he makes no move to sit. Instead, his fingers wrap around the edge of the chair, and he turns his enquiring gaze back upon the Monacoan bronzerider. "What do you need? Sure I speak for both of us when I say you've got our--" Support? Assistance? Something along those lines.

Azaylia's opinion on the matter isn't known by many, with both queen and rider carrying on with business as usual. It's now, as K'del speaks his name that Azaylia's features sharpen, "I thought she had a good number of chasers." A bitter 'what are the odds'? The chill chases her further into the chamber, arms crossing over her chest as she claims her own place near K'del's chosen chair. "It depends." She corrects, not unkind but wary as her gaze trails from one bronzerider to the other, "But we want to help, yes."

"There are many number of ways it should have gone," a hint of bitterness laces the Monacoan's voice, briefly, grimacing, his gaze flicking from Azaylia to K'del abruptly. "I need more than that," R'hin's voice tips from tightly controlled to a furious growl, an action that is clearly unintended to be quite so transparent, his fingers clenching for a moment before his voice lowers to something more conversational, if still somewhat forced. "We need more than that." His chin lifts, and he turns away, voice struggling to maintain an evenness: "He has declared all of Savannah Wing exiled from Monaco. They -- we no longer have a home."

Whatever K'del thinks of Azaylia's correction, he shows it only in a flicker of a glance towards her, one that lasts only a moment or two: R'hin has the rest of his attention, his emotions stretched thing upon his expression. "Oriane," he murmurs, idly, "cannot be pleased." R'hin's tone, though - that has K'del's posture straightening further, and has him leaning just ever so slightly forward. Whatever he expected, though, it's clearly not what the other bronzerider comes out with: "What?" What?

K'del's glance earns one in turn, not quite cool but firm. As R'hin speaks of more, Azaylia's attention snaps back to him, expression edging into that familiar stare. Despite her best efforts, there is no mental preparation for the Monacoan's reveal. There's a pulse of heat, an impact that may startle several Reachian dragons as Hraedhyth echoes the strike of hands to table, "What!?" Quieter, though with as much force, "Hraedhyth." The gold's flames settle, rhythmic drums hardly matching the Weyrwoman's scowl, "Only five day-- Oraine wouldn't-- She needs to stop him, then!"

"Oriane," R'hin's voice teeters off here, and he goes still, like he's listening to something distant. "She is now in the untenable position of being unable to keep Corisa's family at bay -- not when her son is Weyrleader." He sounds more resigned than bitter over this -- almost strangely sympathetic. Scrubbing at his eyes a moment, the bronzerider's looking plain tired when he finally turns back to the pair, pale gaze flickering from one to the other. "We need... my wing needs a home. They have families, children. Some are -- some have decided to seek shelter in other Weyrs, but most feel as if High Reaches is... the best choice." He squares his shoulders; his gaze wanders around the room, towards the ceiling, then: "It's a great deal to ask, a whole wing on top of having Polaris back, and Nabol still on shaky ground." Deliberately, his gaze settles on Azaylia, an exhausted yet determined regard: "Name whatever price is needed for this to happen. For Savannah to find a home here."

That fine mesh of Cadejoth's chains that has settled increasingly over the Weyr, despite his unconfirmed status as Weyrleader, tightens, just minutely-- it's timed almost immediately after Hraedhyth's pulse of heat; the Weyr must surely know the two as related. K'del, though, holds his silence several moments longer, his gaze studying R'hin, and meeting each word he relates with an expression so tight it might snap at any moment. Whether or not his dragon acknowledges it, however, he does: his gaze falls towards Azaylia, acknowledging her position as confirmed senior. It's clear he'd like to instantly agree, but for now, he holds back.

Though Hraedhyth seems to have calmed, there is a layer of protective warmth over the Weyr, one used to calmed those few startled souls. Azaylia's head is at an instinctive angle, thoughtful and focused as she listens to R'hin. Her expression remains set, nails short of curling into a fist, tense claws as it all sinks in. "She is Weyrwoman." A futile argument, one last spoken through tight teeth. With both sets of eyes on her, Azaylia pushes off the table and straightens, "I'm not a monster. Of course Savannah is welcome." As for a price, "Your help in pulling in ways to support more riders. To support your home..." Too tense, she is unable to wave off his offer, but it is as much as one would expect from any rider.

Leiventh, strangely, is guarded -- oddly silent now that contact has been severed after the initial contact -- a tight focus that encompasses not the Weyr, but only a single person, as if the effort of such requires all his focus. The dark chuckle is R'hin's answer to Azaylia's statement of Oriane's position. "Yes. But a Weyrwoman who rules with no support can easily become a figurehead." It's hard to tell, in the intent way that he leans forward towards Azaylia for a moment whether he's speaking of the Monacoan Weyrwoman any longer. Her latter words earn a sharp exhale, gaze cutting towards K'del for a moment, cautiously, then back. Expectant. Like there will be more. Like he wants to hear that more first, before any further reaction.

"M'kris will not be content to rule from her side," is K'del's assessment. "He'll not make it easy for us to claim any recompense." The shallow nod he offers R'hin confirms what his words do not: that he's in agreement with Azaylia in this course of action; that it's a deal done, regardless of details. "I'll have specific tasks for Savannah. You'll be put to use in... certain ways. And Monaco..." His chin lifts. "We'll have to loosen our ties with Monaco. Cut them, perhaps. Officially. But all your resources, R'hin, they'll become ours. All your contacts."

The Weyrwoman's quiet ferocity is aimed at R'hin during his lean forward, tone flat as she realizes, "You're drunk." There's no judgement, although it does make it easier for Azaylia to ignore his possible insinuations. It's K'del who gets a sharp nod now, "I won't support... I refuse to have anything to do with a Weyr who would exile so many people. Families." Now she begins to pace, although one or two steps before making those sharp turns. She isn't too lost in her angry thoughts to miss that bit about R'hin's contacts, lifting a finger and nothing else in agreement. Yes, those.

"Yes." For a moment there's a hint of familiar laughter at her in R'hin's demeanor, but it doesn't linger. There's a slow exhale from the older bronzerider, tired pale eyes showing an atypical dullness for a moment as he takes in K'del's words. Strangely, it's a note of relief more than anything. "Yes," he repeats, levelly, and there's a slight hesitation. "Many of us have... personal ties... to Monaco. It will not be done easily. And," a heartbeat of hesitation, as his gaze cuts between them, "There is strength in knowing events are occuring. Unofficially." It's the final price that causes him pause. A beat, two. "My resources are yours to utilize," he says, very carefully -- slowly, like he's fighting the copious amount of rum he's undoubtedly imbibed. "But you will never know their names, and for most, you will never know their faces." It's not so much a counter-offer as a statement of fact.

The glance K'del aims at Azaylia holds a certain amount of level empathy: he understands, even if he's otherwise managing to keep his expression relatively calm and cool. Turning his attention back on to R'hin, however, he sucks in a breath, and then nods his confirmation. "Agreed, on all counts. Understood. We won't stop anyone from retaining their personal ties, but politically... send word to your people, R'hin. Our doors are open to them. And you... you need to sleep this off, don't you think? We'll discuss the details in due course. This ought to be public, though, don't you think? Pern should know how Monaco deals with their own."

That wagging finger blossoms into a waving hand, wrist flicking away R'hin's statement of anonymity, "Wouldn't expect anything less." The silent but obvious sentiment being 'from you'. With a sudden inhale, Azaylia falls still and finally looks to K'del, "I don't care about the politics of it. You couldn't keep me quiet if you tried." Not that the Acting Weyrleader is suggesting such. As for R'hin, "I don't want you riding Leiventh like this." Nevermind how he got here, "Stay? You can tell them in the morning."

The talk of sleep has R'hin grimacing, shaking his head: "I need to get back to my wing. Let them know. We'll come in the morning, if you'll be ready--?" he's looking at Azaylia by the time he reaches the end of that lilting sentence, and it's with a tightening of jaw that he takes in K'del's suggestion. "It would pit High Reaches publicly against Monaco. I'm not sure that's wise. They play a hard political game, should it come down to something you might want at Weyr Council, and they don't forget." For all that he speaks of his former home, there's something... admiring, oddly wistful in the older bronzerider's weary tone. "It's your call. But I -- we would understand if you chose to keep it quiet." He passes a hand over his eyes, and after a steady look at Azaylia, concedes, "I'll take a couple of hours sleep, then head back." Familiar, dark chuckle, "Point me to the nearest couch."

K'del neither agrees nor disagrees with R'hin's assessment of the politics of being public, nor does he acknowledge Azaylia's comment on the subject; perhaps that's a conversation for another time, too. His gaze flicks past Azaylia for a moment, and then returns to R'hin. "I don't have Iska tonight - the Weyrleader's weyr is unoccupied." Or can be; will be, now. "You haven't forgotten the way, I'm sure. Go, sleep. Get back to Monaco when you're able, and by tomorrow..." A firmer nod, though he'll leave any further remarks on preparations to his Weyrwoman.

"I didn't want to sleep, anyway." Azaylia offers from behind her hand, stifled yawn marking her as a liar. It's obvious that her mind is made up as far as Monaco is concerned, leaving R'hin's concerns unanswered. "We'll be ready by morning." K'del's offer coaxes a small smile from the goldrider, "Or if you'd rather, I could have Bones give up the couch for one night." The choice is left up to R'hin, and she crosses her arms for warmth this time, "I'll have a cup of klah ready when you wake up." To help sober the bronzerider up. Even with so many details left undiscussed, there's a tired satisfaction to Azaylia's nod as her gaze settles on K'del. The rest of her evening and early morning will be spent preparing.

A grunt of surprise prefaces the slight grimace from R'hin at bunking in the Weyrleader's weyr. "Thanks," he says, pacing closer to press a hand against K'del's shoulder, though the weight of the word suggests it's not merely for the temporary place to sleep. With a slight bow to Azaylia that is far from his usual mocking, pale eyes glint for a moment: "I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to sleep with Hraedhyth staring at me as she does." As is his habit, he strides for the exit wordlessly, Leiventh meeting him on the ledge for the short, familiar walk up the ramp.

No doubt there's more to be discussed between Weyrwoman and Acting Weyrleader, but it can wait until after R'hin has left; K'del's gaze follows the other bronzerider, acknowledging him with a solemn nod. And then-- well, yes. Work to be done. Preparations to be made. A plan, to be put into action.

The news of senior queen Evielth of Monaco's rising at the end of month 11 isn't too much of a surprise. It's soon after that rumors begin buzzing that the new Weyrleader, however, is none other than M'kris, bronze Feyzeth's rider. For any who have been in High Reaches for any length of time, this name immediately stands out, for M'kris is none other than the father of now-deceased brownrider I'kris, murderer of High Reaches' former Senior Weyrwoman Iolene.

If that isn't enough, a few days into the start of the new month, members of Savannah Wing begin showing up at High Reaches Weyr, and news soon spreads that the entire wing is transferring back to High Reaches Weyr. Shortly thereafter, rumors begin to abound that the Wing didn't just transfer, but was exiled from Monaco by the new Weyrleader, never allowed to return. Whether that's true or not remains unconfirmed, and certainly Savannah don't seem thrilled to talk about their former home at present.