Logs:Saving Face
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| RL Date: 26 June, 2012 |
| Who: Aughan, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr, Crom Hold |
| Type: Log |
| What: Aughan descends on High Reaches Weyr for an 'unofficial' visit. |
| Where: Council Chambers, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 27, Month 1, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions, Lujayn/Mentions, Braeden/Mentions, Yuliye/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: STed by Iolene! |
| Aughan's been absent from High Reaches Weyr since Braeden's recognition of the exiles and the demise of his decade long engagement to the young Issedi. His niece, other family members, the Cromese Steward -- they've all been sent to any diplomatic events or missions that require Crom's presence but the Lord himself has long distanced himself from the Seven Spindles, so when the watchdragon from Crom arrives and is received, the news that an unexpected Aughan has arrived to meet with the Weyrleader spreads like wildfire. Damn watchriders, with their inability for discretion. Dressed in lavish fabrics, but austere fashion, Aughan makes his way through the snow, the black and purple cape he wears billowing in the winter winds, and heads up to the Weyrleaders' complex, where he proceeds to make himself quite comfortable in the seat of Iceberg's wingleader with a glass of brandy. There, he waits. It takes K'del a good ten minutes to make it in to the Council Chambers, and from the looks of him that's because he's been busy making himself presentable. A few trips to the Weavers have replenished his fire-ruined wardrobe, and now he looks well-tailored in his formal leathers and a High Reaches-blue shirt. "Lord Aughan," he says, aiming for a politely neutral tone as he crosses into the chamber. "You've made yourself at home; I'm glad. Didn't mean to keep you waiting. I hope-- ah, that there's no bad tidings to bring you here, today." Only a man so self-certain of his rank and breeding could claim K'del's council chambers as his own. The glass he holds tips forward to indicate K'del's seat, presumably the one at the head of the table, "Please, sit," welcomes Crom's Lord to High Reaches' Weyrleader. "A girl came to brush the snow out of the room and I asked her to replenish the brandy while she was at it. She may interrupt us." Slate eyes consider the bronzerider's state, the fit of the clothing not going unnoticed as they linger upon the braids and lapels that his formal leathers and shirt have. "Impressive. You've come a long way," Aughan remarks, "From the little Boy Weyrleader everyone thought would fail." He'll even punctuate that with a silent toast and a smile before he sips. Once upon a time, K'del would have been made awkward by Aughan's comfort; now, although his brow briefly wrinkles, he makes no particular remark on it. After fetching a drink for himself, he sinks into his own seat, resting both forearms lightly upon the time. "Even little Boy Weyrleaders grow up, over the course of ten turns," he replies, tilting his head to one side to regard Aughan thoughtfully. "Luckily for High Reaches." His fingers reach back towards that glass, but though he wraps them around it, he doesn't draw it up to sip. The black and purple cloak he wore in is draped on the chair next to him. The snow, indeed, has been cleared from his inward path and shortly, that girl does arrive to not only exchange the crystal decanter with another one filled with brandy, but with a small charcuterie plate. Aughan waits through all this in silence, from K'del's movements and remarks to the return of this drudge girl. It's when she leaves that he comments, on the weather of all things, "Rough winter we're having this turn. I trust the coal tithes reached the Weyr in sufficient time." For the girl, K'del has a polite, friendly smile, but no words; having made his remarks, he seems as content as Aughan is to hold that silence until such time as the Lord has something further to add. If he's surprised by this particular tack, it shows for only a moment: a faint narrowing of his eyes before his expression relaxes once more. "Indeed," he agrees. "Much worse than last winter. I'm sure we'll all be glad for the arrival of spring. The tithes were well-timed, thank you." Aughan, for the moment, seems caught by a pensive thought that it doesn't appear he's actually heard what K'del's said, instead interjecting with an absent, "Good good." A response that's prepared rather than meant as anything other than filler. "We've been through a lot," says the dark-haired man, his well-kept frame leaning forward slowly so his forearms might rest against the edge of the council table. The glass is held carefully between both hands, the bare clasp of fingers somehow keeping it aloft from shattering on that table. "And near thirty turns into the Interval, with no new sign of an errant Threadfall in sight, we have seventeen decades before us of supposed peace. Maybe five generations after us. Neither of us will see Thread fall again." K'del seems less at ease, now, with the raising of this particular subject, rather as though he's anticipating something he won't particularly like. It's not in his expression, though, which remains studiously neutral: it's the line of his shoulders, the way he glances down to consider his drink before taking a careful sip. "Cer-- I certainly hope that's the case," he agrees, cautiously. "It's a comforting thought." "Of all the Weyrleaders I've known, none of the ones at High Reaches do things by halves." Aughan continues, his gaze kept on the amber liquid in his glass as he turns it slowly. The crystal catches glints of glow light, which in turn reflects brief, flickering rainbows in the high quality cut. "Even you," is conceded. "Boy Weyrleader." The nickname carries no mocking, only reflection, that continues into, "We both look out for the best interests of those who look to us. I believe that of you." Does K'del believe that of him? It's not asked, it's not even implied, but there's one slanted glance that takes in the Weyrleader's posture and reaction. "We need a new deal. And I require your help." Once a Boy Weyrleader, always a Boy Weyrleader; K'del doesn't even flinch at the use of that nickname - indeed, his expression doesn't shift at all. A nod confirms Aughan's belief of him, and that second might even suggest he believes it of the other man, too. But there's no missing the shift in his expression at that last - the way he leans back in his chair, the way his hand tightens on his glass, the way he lifts his brow. "And what deal is that? Lord Aughan." "Did you find my niece attractive, K'del?" It's a lightly uttered question, causing Aughan to sit back in his chair to study the Weyrleader all the better. That. That was not a question K'del was expecting, and it's enough to make him choke on the sip of his drink he'd just taken. Flustered, now, he hesitates before answering - and when he does, it's really not an actual answer. "Lord Aughan?" It's something Aughan is particularly skilled at - putting his opponents off guard. But this time, he doesn't even smile as he garners the expected reaction from the boy Weyrleader and instead, takes a slow sip of his brandy. "It's a simple question. Yes. No. I suppose I could ask my follow up even before you've answered. Would you respect her as the Lord of a Hold? Or would you find her particular brand of attractiveness detrimental?" In the seconds that follow his question, and provide time for Aughan to rephrase, K'del manages to master his expression enough to look a little less guarded and surprised. That doesn't, however, mean that he rushes into an answer - in the end, it takes him a few moments more. "Your niece is a very attractive woman. Yes. Don't think anyone could dispute that. Given-- I suspect, knowing your niece, she could use her attractiveness to her advantage, were it to come to that. She's a capable woman." There's something cautious about his tone, though he does seem to be speaking truthfully. "She's dangerous," says Crom's Lord quite easily on the heels of K'del's, apparently, expected answer. He's quick, however, to take possession of Yuliye and all her assets and faults. "But she's my niece and she's my dangerous. I am not dying quickly enough for her, or ceding my Hold into her care." Aughan gets to his feet, taking his time to stride the length of the room towards that decanter and pours himself a refill. His back to the Weyrleader, he gazes up upon the tapestry that claims this particular wall. "In your dealings with Crom, would you rather the snake you know or the snake you've bedded?" This, this causes his reflexively dry little smile to emerge as he casts a look over his shoulder. "Nice decorations. A local artist?" That early composure is long gone by now, of course, and Aughan's misdirection with reference to the tapestry unsettles K'del even further than the reference to bedding Yuliye did. His hands press flat to the table, his drink now abandoned, except by eyes that stare at it, as if it really will hold all the answers. "Uh - an old piece that one, I think. Local, I'm sure." He's not, but he answers quickly all the same. "I deal with whomever Crom's representative is, at the time. You, Yuliye, any other. It's not my place to get mixed up within your internal politics. I hope you aren't implying that Yuliye does not speak for you, when it is with her that I am dealing." The elder of the two men affects a laugh, a very awkward sound coming from Aughan, the unjovial. His free hand waves, "That you don't have to worry about. When Yuliye comes to speak on Crom's behalf, she's coming with my blessing." Is there a twitch about his eyebrows there? "My favor, if you're willing to listen, Weyrleader." No boy about it this time. It takes a moment, and then K'del is blanching, that double entendre - intended, or not intended - drawing an awkward, twisted smile, one that turns smug a moment later. "I'm glad to hear that," he manages, not quite sounding as formal and authoritative as perhaps he might like, though his words are smooth enough. "You have my attention." "My dear boy," there's that pejorative again, but it's infused with a bemusement not quite Aughan-like. At least, not any Aughan K'del has ever been privy to. "I've had your attention since I mentioned the presumptuous heir presumptive of Crom." He doesn't wait for the bronzerider to deny this. "Boy Weyrleaders and boy Lords seem to go hand in hand. I can't imagine Lord Braeden is in your particular good graces at this point with his reversal of his father's position, thereby putting the Weyr into an awkward situation. That particular boy is making quite a mess of his internal politics as well as any external ones. It's-," the man finally turns from the riveting tapestry to walk to the end of the long table to dance his fingers on the smooth surface, "Putting your-," beat, "Weyrwoman's record to shame." K'del's cheeks don't flame, at least, but nor does he argue Aughan's point. Instead, he reaches for his glass again, swirling the liquor within it for a moment before sipping. His first remark? "Former Weyrwoman. Although I do, of course, take your point. I imagine his actions have not endeared your Hold to him, either." "He's given Crom no room to save face." The humor disappears from Aughan's voice as its rich charm suddenly flatlines. "So I would like to offer him one and tidy up my own affairs." Those dancing fingers still, and then splay as one of his palms presses into the table. K'del is unnerved, it seems, by that sudden flatlining, though it surely can't surprise him, this. His nod is a slow one, one made around the edge of his glass that is lifted so close to his mouth. "And that is?" And, unspoken: and how does that involve me? "I'd like to request the Weyr to be the intermediary in this; this proposal to re-unite the two Holds with a marriage between my very attractive and capable niece with the Lord himself." Aughan drains his glass after this, though otherwise shifts nothing in his expression or flat voice. "I'd like the proposal to come from the Weyr, rather than from my Hold and home as the Weyr's conclusion for area peace. It's quite the favor, really, K'del. And I would owe you for helping me maintain Crom's pride and-," he does have the grace to add, timbre shifting minutely in self-mocking, "My own pride." That long, low intake of breath that follows Aughan's explanation is a thoughtful one, whistling past K'del's teeth as he registers the whole of it. "You don't ask much," he says, finally, having held his silence for several seconds longer than might have been polite. It's not bitter - it's not even emotional at all, really, just the recitation of a fact, however sarcastic the implication is. Aughan tips his empty glass. "I never do." That makes K'del smile, though it's not exactly a cheerful smile: rather more rueful, rather more thoughtful, too, in a quiet kind of way. "I'll convey your request," he says, then, in a voice that is not much above a whisper. "I prefer to avoid embroiling myself in matters of holds, but I understand the need. I cannot promise that they will agree, of course." "You'll convince them." Of this, Aughan is certain. The empty glass is set on the table with an audible clink. "The weather will make it difficult to journey home so late. I would ask another favor and request a room in your Weyr until the morning. My Hold," as if K'del might worry, "Is in the capable hands of my Steward and that niece of mine." One can only wonder what the pair of them are up to this kind of cold, vicious winter night. K'del is less certain. Or perhaps it's just that he's more cautious? "I will certainly do my best," he agrees. Glancing towards the exist, he only nods, restraining himself from the shiver that threatens to destroy the calm positioning of his shoulders. "Of course. I'll have the Headwoman prepare the guest quarters for you immediately. Will you dine with the Weyrwoman and I, or shall I have a tray sent to your quarters?" "Which Weyrwoman?" is Aughan's blandly bemused response. "I would rather avoid this being any sort of official visit on the books, so some dinner sent to my quarters will suffice, Weyrleader. Thank you for your hospitality and good night." For someone who only visits High Reaches for formal occasions, for the most part, he seems particularly at ease navigating himself out to somewhere, be it the Headwoman's office or those aforementioned guest quarters. K'del's "Of course," is a little too hurried to be completely smooth, but the intention is there. He rises, watching Aughan go rather than accompanying him out: there are other ways to inform the Headwoman. "Have a pleasant evening." After he's gone, however, the young Weyrleader slumps back into his seat, head pillowed on his arms. Fuck. |
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