I Wanna Play The Game [CLOSED]

[Rhiannon Lord of Hold Nezehm]

It was always sweltering in Hold Nezehm. Positioned on one of the southernmost cliffs of the Northern Continent, the Hold had only the wind from the sea to cool it, but that only did so much good in the thick jungle. Indeed, the jungles of Nezehm merely trapped the moisture from the sea and kept the majority of the Hold in a constant, muggy fog. At high noon, where the sun forced away all but the broadest shadows, being outside became nigh on unbearable.

Being indoors, however, was only so much better. Lord Rhiannon fanned herself leisurely as she watched her staff scramble about the meeting hall, setting the table with all sorts of fare. She was expecting company any time now, and the Holdstaff were sluggish in the heat. Already, she'd sent two of her cooks away to rest after they nearly overheated in the kitchens. "Only a while longer," she encouraged over the din. "You're all doing splendid work. I'm sure Lord Sellen will be most impressed."

Lord Sellen had sent her a letter a fortnight ago requesting a meeting in person, and Rhiannon was all too eager to oblige him. It would be her first meeting with another Lord officially speaking on behalf of her Hold. Sure, she'd met other Lords while her father was in charge, but this was something entirely different. She had thus arranged for her staff to arrange a good meal and a hospitable setting, to make a good impression on the surely travel-weary Lord. Everything about her was poised to impress, as a matter of fact, down to the elegantly dyed paper fan she now clapped shut in her hands. The meal was set, and Lord Sellen was due to arrive at any moment. With a simple command, she waved most of her staff away to rest, leaving only a few handmaidens who could help tend to them as needed.

"Get yourselves some water before he arrives," Rhiannon ordered, just loudly enough to be heard in the cavernous meeting hall, "And then come back to me. Treat our guest as though he were a member of our own Hold. He'll be here any time now, though, so hurry along."

With that, Rhiannon pulled her skirt flush against her legs to sit comfortably in the chair at the head of the long table and began the short wait for her guest.

[Lord Sellen of Baron Hold]

Lord Sellen was not a talented rider, or one with much endurance, but, he was a good Lord. And so he endured.

His runnerbeast was sweating from the trek, and the Lord pretended not to notice the sweat beginning to soak through the saddle pad against his leg. His own sweat gathered in neat pearls against the nape of his neck.

Time was, a dragonrider would have made his journey a five minute one, but now that luxury was nothing but a foggy, childhood memory. Even if a dragonrider had been willing, Sellen doubted his fellow Lord and host would welcome their appearance. From what he had heard, the new Lord of Nezehm’s hatred for the Weyr was not as solidified as some of the others, but he didn’t want to risk souring a new alliance.

The letter he had composed had been simple. He had offered courteous mourning for the passing of the old Lord, offered his own Hold’s aid in ‘these troubling times’, and suggested that they meet to discuss consolidating their interests.

She would probably marry his son Selleka, he had decided absently. Not his oldest son, but a mature lad, had a brain but not too much ambition. He wouldn’t be a brute to the Nezehm lass, or give an impression of a takeover.

No, that was for the Weyr to do, he thought, in a rare flash of bitterness. He had not lost a son or daughter in five turns, but there were eggs on the sands once more. And that meant a search. He almost expected to see those multi-faceted eyes leering at him as they broke from the jungle, to see a Blue dragon perched upon the towers of Nezehm. But her towers were naked of all but their characteristic banners.

There were a number of holdfolk at the gate to receive him. He and his men swung off their beasts and handed them off. He spoke politely to the headwoman, requesting food and a place for his men to rest out of sight. it would not do to bring such a display of force to this genial meeting. His accompanying guard was only there in case of ravagers—another fresh plague upon Pern.

His personal aide alone followed him: a busy little fellow who acted mostly as scribe.

Sellen swept into the Hold with all the dignity a man with the smell of runnerbeast upon him could have. He was led graciously to the great, echoing hall where Rihannon sat, an image in her Hold colors, with surprising poise for her youth, waiting for him. He thought immediately that he liked her.

He took his courteous bow before his seat. His aide hovered anxiously, like a bug, until Sellen waved him impatiently away.

“Lady Rhiannon,” he said. “It is good to see you well. I was terribly sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”

[Rhiannon Lord of Hold Nezehm]

Rhiannon didn't have to wait long for her guest to arrive. She was considering the table arrangement absently until she heard a man's heavy footfalls echoing down the stone halls, and she stood quickly to greet Lord Sellen. Immediately, she could tell he was tired; the journey would have been long and arduous in the midday heat, and he didn't seem like the type who got out much. But he remained dignified and polite, and she dipped her head in return to his greeting before settling again in the ornate chair that dwarfed her.

"Lord," she corrected, nodding for emphasis. "My mother is the Lady. I appreciate your condolences, and I hope your journey wasn't too difficult."

With the pleasantries established, Rhiannon glanced aside to the doorway where her handmaidens stood and waved them over. They quickly set to work around the table, pouring wine and serving a plate of the Hold's finer cuisine to both Sellen and Rhiannon, before hurrying again to the kitchen. The young Lord inclined her head, allowing her guest to sample what her people had provided before she would start on her own meal.

"I also appreciate that you rode out all this way to meet me and offer your aid. In times like these, it helps to have friends." Rhiannon swirled the wine in her glass as she spoke, watching him coolly, then turned her amber eyes to the glass and sipped. Like many foods at the table, it was relatively light and refreshing. A heavy wine wouldn't do in such a climate. "So, you wished to 'consolidate our interests.' What may that entail?"

Quietly, Rhiannon dreaded the thought that he wished to arrange a marriage. If he did, it wouldn't be the first offer, nor would it be the last. Of course she understood the power and importance of such a tie, but... well, she wasn't anybody's to give away, and she wasn't about to give herself for the sake of an alliance. She assumed that the Nezehm and Baron Holds were on friendly enough terms anyway, if he so wished to visit. She hoped that something else would be on his mind, some sort of trade or militia alliance, perhaps. But she would wait for him to tell when he was ready.

[Lord Sellen of Baron Hold]

He had no more than taken his seat when the Lady- no, Lord of Nezehm Hold corrected his titling. Sellen didn't let it rankle him, not visibly, just smiled and said nothing of it. Though he did wonder what she meant. Not, surely, that she meant to replace her father? Even in these times, why, that was an absurdity. And yet. She sat in the former Lord's chair. Her smile and regard were absolutely political, her gestures practiced, and there was an echo of the old ruler in her slimmer fingers.

"Lord Rhiannon," he agreed then, for it was her Hold, and 'Lord' and 'Lady' were only small words. He let the subversion pass.

Sellen took his wine, and the light fineries that were the only foods appropriate for this heat of midday, and noted that they were indeed fine things. The girl (the Lord?) welcomed him with propriety and thoughtfulness. Had she been coached? he wondered. Had she an aide? Was she a front for her mother, more experienced in the ways of running a Hold?

In his gut, he thought not.

Again came the cautious inkling of approval for this strange, small Lord-ess.

"Friendship is what I had in mind," he said, leading from her own words. "Of course I have the laundry list-" and he chuckled as his aide scrambled for the rolls of paper. "But I want to ensure that only good blood runs between our people. I doubt you recall, you were so young, but there was a brief engagement between an aunt of yours and a brother of mine." He rubbed his chin for a moment, musing. "It was unfortunate; he fell from his runner soon after. He died... after a week in sleep."

He allowed himself another flicker of memory before snapping into the present, giving her a small smile, clearing his throat. "I don't mean to dwell on the morbid." He sipped, added, "This is a very fine wine," and continued. "My son, Selleka, is twenty-six. I believe he is not much older than you? He is not my eldest, nor my most ambitious, so you need not fear your Hold will be folded into mine. He is a kind lad, with enough skill to aid your people. I believe a swift marriage would quell many fears. I'm afraid that your position seems--how to put this delicately--precarious. The ravagers grow bolder every day, my Lady-ah, Lord." He cleared his throat. "They may see your Hold as a fruit waiting to be plucked after the death of Lord Saraf."

[Rhiannon Lord of Hold Nezehm]

A small smile crossed Rhiannon's face as Sellen repeated her title to her. It suited her greatly, pleased her, and she was new enough to it that her heart lurched a bit still. She had a considerable role to fill in her father's wake, however, and the affirmation of her duties filled her with resolve. Her face was delicate, youthful but no longer childlike. Every minute expression was, well, lordly. Were they not mostly older men, she would fit in well with the other Lords.

Rhiannon let Sellen enjoy the meal provided for a moment before seeing to her own, though in truth she wasn't exceedingly hungry. The meal was for hospitality, for helping a Lord who'd traveled all day regain a bit of strength. Still, nibbles were taken from the cool and refreshing dishes, and her eyes followed Lord Sellen's aide as he scrambled to the table. The young Lord turned her gaze to Sellen again over her glass.

"I see," was all she said for a moment. Perhaps she had some memory, but it was true that it happened when she was only a child. Her aunt had been engaged again and left the Hold after all, probably to be married to some other Lord's brother or cousin. The route of the conversation made Rhiannon's lips draw flat, both at the description of his brother's end and where it may turn next. "How unfortunate..."

Sure enough, Sellen began to speak of his son. Kind, unambitious, unimposing Selleka. Rhiannon took a drink of wine and set the glass down decisively. "He sounds like a charming man, my Lord. I would gladly consider your offer, but I simply am not ready to marry. My father's death is still fresh in my mind, and I've much to take up in his absence. Surely you understand." It was only partially a lie; while her father's death was indeed a very recent memory and a painful one, it was hardly hampering her work as the Lord. In fact, it may have been galvanizing her. It was more that she did not want to marry, not so soon and possibly never. She knew her position as a woman was tenuous, and with a man in the picture, her people very likely would lose what little respect they had for her as anything more than a young Lady. Moreover, ravagers weren't the only individuals who thought of Nezehm as a ripe harvest. "I apologise if this sounds... arrogant, or perhaps overly confident, but my men are possibly more determined than ever to keep the Hold safe. My father taught me how to command them as well. But I appreciate your concern, truly."

She continued after a brief pause. "In fact, rather than sending a single man to help my guardsmen, I believe you have something of much greater use to them. These cliffs aren't very suitable for mining into, lest we topple the entire Hold, and Baron Hold is known for its wealth of ores. Would you be willing to trade us a bit more of that, that we might make finer weapons to defend ourselves?"

[Lord Sellen of Baron Hold]

The Lord was silenced for a moment, and in that moment he opened his mouth once and closed it like a fool, disarmed by the girl's casual dismissal. Grief, well yes, grief, he could understand, but did she not understand her position? Did she truly intend to rule alone? A woman? Not to say that women could not, had not, but these were different times...

Sellen cleared his throat, and washed down a number of comments with a swift sip of wine. "I see," he said. "Absolutely, I understand. I don't mean to tread so soon upon your grief. Matters of marriage can wait, perhaps after all this nonsense with the dragonriders and their Search has worn itself out..." He chuckled, but uncomfortably, both in his evasion and in reminding himself of said dragonriders. He realized then that he had been clumsy in more ways than one, assuming this would be a simple conversation with an untried girl. Did Nezehm ally itself with the Weyr? What traditions did they hold to? Perhaps he ought to have held his tongue.

Dismissing it as rapidly as he had brought it up, he followed her lead to matters of trade. Perhaps they ought to have started there. "Of course," he said, and now his tone was much less flustered, more practiced. The previous Lord of Nezehm had made similar requests. It seemed that his daughter intended to pursue the same trades. Part of him questioned whether he might push the girl to an exchange in his favor, but he decided silently that he had pushed too much for one day. He couldn't afford bad blood with such a long ally.

"We will of course provide you with such ores as in the past, though sadly ores are all we can reliably provide, as the craftshalls are silent, and the ravagers will likely seize any completed weapons we send. We will require the usual exchange of klah, redfruit. I see no need to adjust the numbers unless you predict a shortage." He inspected his nails as he thought for an indulgent moment, and then made an offer meant to placate the possibly offended Nezehm girl. "We can loan you the services of a journeyman smith but you must provide for his protection yourself. We have enough trouble keeping the ravagers from our wall as it is."

His aide made a loud noise of agreement, halfway through a piece of fruit, and then blanched when his Lord glared at him.

"Communication has been sparse," mused Sellen. He looked back at the new Lord, figuring he ought to give her fair warning of what rumors had reached him. "Heard you of the so-called 'lord' of the ravagers, gaining power among the wild lands?"

[Rhiannon Lord of Hold Nezehm]

Lord Sellen was quieted as if struck, shocked by her refusal. For a moment, panic touched her heart with its icy claw. If she'd offended him too severely, it would be a considerable blow. She'd known from listening in on her father's meetings that, occasionally, a Lord would burst into dramatics over a disagreement. But Sellen wasn't one of them, seemingly, for he merely gawped like a drowning fish for a few moments before retreating to his wine. Rhiannon relaxed. He was backpedaling, but leaving the offer on the table. She filed all talk of marriage away at the mention of the Dragonriders.

"Mm," was all she said for a long moment, turning her amber gaze to the window as if expecting the jeweled eye of a dragon looking back. The Search had mostly left her Hold untouched this time. For now. The desperation of the hatching drawing ever closer might force Tazum far out of its way in search of candidates. They'd come here before. She wasn't as good at hiding her emotions as an old Lord like Sellen, and a hint of anger and grief crept onto her face for an instant before disappearing. She turned back to him and said, having detected that perhaps he was uncomfortable with the Weyr as well, "Yes, perhaps after the Search is over. It won't do to be wed when a dragon might interrupt."

Sellen's trade agreement seemed appropriate, and she agreed to the services of an additional temporary smith as well. Protecting him concerned her little, as her Hold was well fortified by her estimation. But Lord Sellen kept pressing about the Ravagers, how they might raid and pillage their trade roads and the hold itself, and she could ignore the talk no longer. Rhiannon's eyebrows lifted to dark peaks as Sellen mentioned a ravager 'lord.'

"I have not. You said it yourself, communication has been sparse. We're so far from the mountains here that all but the most important word often fails to reach us." Lord Rhiannon leaned in then, resting her chin on fine knuckles now that her plate was cleared. This was the most interesting thing Sellen had brought to the table yet. "But I doubt very seriously that it is any more than just that: a rumor. The ravagers left us because they despise the leadership and order of a Hold, and to my knowledge, no tacticians have wandered off into their ranks. They can pillage all they want, but they can't possibly hold a candle to an organised guard. Besides, what would they hope to do with a Lord? Be invited to meetings such as this?"

A laugh, still girlish. Rhiannon was bold and confident, and for the most part it was a virtue. Thus far, her men had been successful in routing ravagers whenever they appeared, and the people who were affected by raids were always ultimately rehomed. The notion of a ravager lord, to her, was laughable. She was naieve still. "I think not."

With that, the meeting was mostly adjourned. The formalities of Sellen's departure were seen to, all the farewells and safe travels that polite conversation called for, their aides exchanging notes on the newly reconfirmed trade agreement. Sellen was seen out of the castle proper by a pair of guards as handmaidens and kitchen staff came to clean the meeting hall. As swiftly as they had set up, they tore down, and Rhiannon was on her way to her quarters with the thought of a ravager lord still swirling about her brain like a wive's tale.