Difference between revisions of "Logs:Pawns, Sons Or Daughters"

The missives to come to Bitra come far later than the event that incites such a reaction. Perhaps justice works slowly at Bitra for events not pertaining to marks or gambling. But when the Fortian gold arrives at the Hold, a headwoman parts herself from her busywork and steps down to greet Lilah, gesturing within. "Bitra's duties and greetings to Fort and her queens," is the aging woman's solid, brusque welcome, "This way, ma'am. They're expecting you."

Life goes on as usual for most folk, small to the minor blooded, as if most in this great Hold aren't aware of what's going on inside a small room deep within the Hold. Walking through the great hall and hallways, there are tantalizing snatches of gossip: romances in closets, the not so hushed whispers of poison, and all the glorious stuff that makes the rumor mill churn.

Lilah's limited wardrobe does not allow for the exact proper outfit for such an occasion, so the goldrider has been left in dark riding leathers, which at least seem somewhat professional when paired with the knot on her shoulder. She tips her chin to the headwoman, offering her own, "Fort's duties to you and yours." Not the most diplomatic of goldriders to ever exist, she falls into an awkward silence as she follows the gesture inside. She is unabashed in listening to those tidbits that she can catch, in her movement through the hold, perhaps a sharp glance here where she hears about poison but she continues on towards where she's directed.

Hallways and stairs, and down and up. The headwoman, clearly chosen for her taciturn nature rather than any welcoming warmth, finally slows as they approach a plain wooden door and raps sharply on the outside. It's then, and only then, that she turns to the dragonrider and considers her up and down and whispers, "Good luck," a breath before a distinctive male voice within calls out, "Come in."

Perhaps they're conducting interviews separately in order so conflicting parties aren't meeting in that hallway, or exiting the room. But upon entering the round cut room, that was surely once used for gambling purposes, there's one long rectangular table with three people seated on one side and two empty seats along the other. A harper, the Lord, and Bitra's steward. There's a trolley behind the seated men with snacks and pitchers and glasses of some sorts of drink.

The headwoman gets a flicker of an anxious smile, tight and self-contained with a murmured thanks of her own before Lilah turns to stride into the room. Nerves are made up for with bold movements, a long glance carried over the three men that has dark eyes lingering on the Harper for a moment longer than the steward before coming to rest on Lord Cendon. She executes a simple bow, before greeting, "Lord Holder." She doesn't sit uninvited, but she does move to stand near one of those empty seats, placing her fingers lightly against the back of it.

At the voice, Cendon rises, hand to his torso, inciting the other two men to rise too, a little more awkwardly. "Weyrwoman," is his rich even voice. "Did you have a pleasant journey?" Small talk. "Would you like a drink before we begin? There's a glass of water there," there isn't, but the steward rectifies that shortly, "And some klah behind us if you'd like. Please," he gestures, "Have a seat, Lilah, is it?"

"Lilah, gold Eliyaveith's," confirms the weyrwoman in introduction, a slight softening to the tension in her shoulders at that small talk, for all that it only manages to make it more obvious that it was there to begin with. "I would not say no to a cup of klah, please." The last is directed towards the steward with a quick smile, even as she moves to take Cendon's offer to slide into that empty seat. "Between is never exactly pleasant, but it was a short trip, at least."

Cendon's features warm up at Lilah's last, a hint of laughter unlaughed deepening lines in his face. The mirth that has no place in these proceedings is betrayed in the tone of his words, enough that the harper casts a sidelong glance and coughs. "Between is never pleasant, no. I prefer the travel of runners to dragon. It gives a person time to think and enjoy the scenery. But don't tell the Benden dragonriders I think so poorly of between." During this, Cendon turns to pour out a mug of klah himself, and place it on the table inbetween them, before taking his seat. The harper, after his cough, eases into his seat and straightens his papers, "What we want of you, Lilah, is a true account of what happened to you the day of the Bitran gather. We've heard enough alarming gossip," among other tidbits that must be getting investigated, "That it's given Lord Cendon no other choice but to investigate. So please, tell us your story."

Lilah promises seriously enough, for all that her words seem to warm at Cendon's mirth, "I promise not to tell any dragonrider. Though, I'm not sure that a runner is any better than Between. The last time that I rode on one--." The goldrider catches herself and stops, before relating what is quite possibly more information than anyone in that room needs to know. Luckily, she has the excuse to shift her focus to the harper, her own warmth slipping away as she says, "It is not much of a story. We were attending your gather and Nala became drowsy and delirious. She was away from me for a moment, but when I found her in that state, I began to drag her back to Jynth so that we could return. A young man, who seemed to be her brother, interrupted us and demanded that I leave her and that she belonged here and, well..."

Whether this is a farce of a trial or not, the three men seem to be taking notes as appropriate, with the steward looking far more interested than the other two. The harper places one final punctuation down as Lilah finishes speaking and waves his stylus in idle figure eights in the air. "Did she drink something you hadn't? Did you see what might have caused that drowsiness?" His questions seem to preempt something Cendon was about to say, but the Lord, instead, cups his chin in one hand and rests his elbow on the table, in decidedly unLord-like manners.

"We both had the same drinks, until we'd separated. Then she seemed to have had something, because she had an empty mug. I smelled it, and didn't immediately identify anything, but I did not risk tasting it," Lilah answers carefully, her gaze sliding briefly to Cendon at his preempted question before returning to the harper with a quick, simple shake of her head. "Our healers were certain that she had been drugged."

"Drugged. That's fairly serious. Did your Weyr not wish to pursue this matter?" Cendon, continuing in his even, warm tones, asks a different question, one more in line with Lilah's testimony.

Lilah winces, slightly, at the question, though she is quick to recover and answer, "We-- will protect our own. I believe the Weyrleader decided not to pursue the matter, given that it is only my testimony and who we believe to be responsible is only a teenage boy who missed his sister." She pauses, reaching for her klah only to wrap her fingers around it, before she admits softly, "I am the one who told him that it would be a silly move to press this matter."

Cendon's face, very briefly, hardens. It might be a trick of lighting, for the next second it's at ease again. The chin he holds is released and the hand falls to the paper before him. The hand clenches and unclenches reflexively, but the look he gives the goldrider is an odd mix of disappointed and sympathetic. "Do you believe that the drugging of Fort's dragonrider has anything to do with a little brother's desire to keep his sister home?" It's the steward who asks this question, almost as if reading it off a script, before the elderly man's pale, liquid blue eyes look at Lilah.

Dark eyes meet the look directed to her from the Lord Holder briefly, her jaw tightening slightly before Lilah refocuses on the steward at his question. "Yes. He seemed to be tied with it all," she replies, finally moving to take a sip of that klah more as something to occupy herself with than any actual need.

In Pern, at least a trial by the Lord with representation rather than Harper Hall, it seems hearsay and opinions are perfectly valid. Cendon reaches for his glass, which has anything but water or klah in it, and brings it to his mouth, though refrains from drinking. His lips hesitate, the glass drops marginally, and he slants a glance at either side of him before looking at Lilah once more, "We thank you for your time, weyrwoman. One last question and you may leave. Do you truly believe it was just the act of a little brother who missed his sister?"

Lilah draws a slow breath at the question, her words slightly sharp, though that sharpness seems to at least be directed towards people that are not represented here today where she answers, "I believe that it was an act of a little brother who was driven by a family more concerned with their position than their daughter. By a family who treats people as pawns, rather than daughters or sons." Yet, her gaze draws consideringly over Cendon, and the smile she offers is part-apology, part-separation for the people who share a connection to him.

Touche, lifts the glass at his lips to his temple, a silent salute to what she says as truth. "Thank you. Perhaps you will return to Bitra under better circumstances some day, weyrwoman" says Cendon, a beat passes and he tests out the name, "Lilah." The harper looks like he might have more to say, though the Steward seems to be one of those pawns that is there to be the token third. A hand to the harper's shoulder, however, causes him to press his mouth tight. "Eajlie will show you out." The headwoman is presumably just outside the door, waiting to escort the goldrider.

"Perhaps you will find a reason to venture to Fort. I would not turn away an expert opinion at Dice," returns Lilah in invitation as she moves to rise. If she catches that harper's look, perhaps that is why she is sure to add, "Lord Holder." She nods her goodbyes to the steward and the harper, in that order, before she turns on a heel to stride from the room and her waiting escort.