We Plan {Plot!}

[Admin]

Once in every lifetime,
If you do believe,
Man can move a mountain,
Change the course of history.

A cloaked figure descended the steps that led into the lower levels of the cliffside hold. He was of a medium build and, though tall in his own right, was not excessively noticeable. Sliding around anyone he past with an air of relaxed purpose, he made his way deep into the bowels that served their function but where few ventured on a regular basis. There was where he dropped off the radar, after only making a scraggly bleep that no one would think to check out and try to find again. No one had seen his face. No one would be able to ever give a description of him. For the time, he was a ghost. If one could watch all this, one would probably get the distinct impression that the plan had been exactly that.

The flow of time continued. The hooded man made no appearance again, as if he'd been no more than a hallucination to anyone who'd seen him. Not that any of them cared anything about him, whether he was a hallucination or not. It had been mid morning when he'd come. That was a busy time for anyone that was out of bed. One candlemark melted away. Kitchen workers hurried to finish preparations for lunch. Another candlemarked past. Then another, and another. Afternoon set in to the area. In the deep caverns, nothing but a few tunnel snakes stirred at the dust that lay in the little accessed storage rooms. No one had been down there, certainly no hooded man. There were no footprints to find.

As evening came to the hold and the evening meal concluding, a ruff, reposed man, with a cloak pushed from his shoulders, reclined in a fine, ornate chair in the Lord Holder's bed chamber. He inspected the room with mild interest, commenting to himself that it was so plan that the resident of it was a bachelor, and one without any proper taste. Then there were the sounds of footfalls outside, and the click of a handle of the nearby door behind turned in silence. "Hello, Lord Duilios;" D'ror greeted the younger man who entered the room mildly, as if he hadn't broken into the suite and had been waiting for him. Breaking and entering wasn't normally his style but it had been necessary. He had business here.

Trust in your path,
You've been chosen,
Become your destiny,
Lead and they will follow you.

[Kila]

Duilios left his dinner unsatisfied. Lately he had been unsatisfied with everything, and knowing that he was unsatisfied irritated him. Aware that he constantly had an audience, the Lord Holder always monitored his moods and behaviors, as if looking at his person from an estranged point of view. He was thus always aware of how he felt and how it effected how carried himself. When he was not up to snuff, it bothered him.

He was turning in early to think and to attend to his equally important though fr less interesting Lord Holderly duties. He felt no sense of repose as he approached the dark wooden door that barred passage to his room, and as he turned the expensive handle and pushed open the door, his mood did anything but improve. In his bed chamber, in his chair sat a cloaked stranger.

"Hello, Lord Duilios;" the man greeted him by name upon entrance. The Lord Holder quickly began to assess the situation, but did not miss a beat in doing so. "What business do you have here? What are you doing in my personal chambers?" he asked in a level voice as he calmly closed the door. He stood by it and looked the man over carefully. He was older, he was rugged, and he was not afraid. He was probably very experienced. Duilios noted that the man wore no knots, so he could not discern his trade. He was not uneasy to be sitting in the room of s superior, so he must have a purpose and clearly had confidence. And yet her could only garner so much from appearance.

"Who are you?"

[Admin]

Here is a rich boy, a bit of a brat,
To him life's just a fling.
Phi Beta Kappa and first in his class,
He's treated just like a king.

D'ror blinked placidly as the Lord Holder closed the door behind him and pestered him with demanding questions. He gave no answers at first, to any of the three questions that the young man seemed so very much to want answers for. With great ease, he rose to his feet so that he could stand at level with the pompous man before him. He was well aware that the other wasn't stupid, but he could see his weaknesses. The young lord wore them on his sleeve.

"I'll begin with that last question. My name is D'ror. I am the rider of brown Abeneth;" he stated plainly. Now his eyes were unblinking and they watched Duilios's face carefully and intently so he could read his expression. A hand emerged from where it had been hidden by his back, tucked into the folds of his long, plain cloak. An old, dirty wingsecond knot, in brown to denote the color of the rider's dragon, was clasp in it. He tossed it at the lord's feet.

Now that he'd provided the evidence to his identity, he continued. "I found it necessary to ensure that I would be able to see you. I'm here because I have an offer to make you. I believe you have an interest in Impressing a King?" He carefully held back a tinge of disdain that he felt tug at him when he spoke of the idea of someone being so assured that they could Impress a dragon, let alone a King. It didn't matter to him. Ambition was just a flaw.

He's just ambitious,
He's not a bad man,
He's just ambitious.
He's not a bad man.

[Kila]

The two men became engaged in somewhat of a stare down as the stranger began to speak. It was not consciously in the spirit of competition, though most things in the young Lord's life were, but more in that it would not be wise or safe to waver in vigilantly keeping up with the other's motions. Likewise, the stranger unblinkingly watched him.

"I'll begin with that last question. My name is D'ror. I am the rider of brown Abeneth;" he was told, his reactions obviously under scrutiny. Duilios made sure that his face remained smooth and aloof, though his mind was set into motion. "D'ror. You are not of Dalibor," he stated, knowing quite a bit about Weyr- perhaps even more than he should. There were three BrownRiders at Dalibor, if he recalled correctly, and D'ror's name was not among those that he had seen listed. The proof, the worn know of a Wingsecond, was not needed. Though D'ror was apt to withhold information, Duilios sensed no reason for him to lie about his identity, however creditable it was. He glanced down at the knot that was thrown at his feet but did not stoop to retrieve it.

D'ror continued. "I found it necessary to ensure that I would be able to see you. I'm here because I have an offer to make you. I believe you have an interest in Impressing a King?" Duilios raised an eyebrow in surprise as the rider spoke of Kings. How could this worn-down, sneaking stranger know and speak aloud what he had told no one? Surely he had not been so obvious? No.

"What business would you have with me, rider? What offer is it you would like to make?" he asked, narrowing his dark eyes. He had other questions for D'ror too, indeed he did. The matter of his desire to impress a King- it would come soon, depending on what the older man had to say.

[Admin]

And so it goes another lonely day,
Your savin' time but your miles away,
Your fly was drownin' in some bitter tea,
For seeing lost opportunity.

D'ror resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the stupidity of the statement that he wasn't from Dalibor, resisted it easily but still had to resist it nonetheless. The behavior of normal riders did not include breaking into the chambers of Lord Holders. He would have received severe punishment from the Weyrwoman and Weyrleader for any type of action like that if they would have found out, which would have been likely had he been in a Weyr. He would have been stripped of rank and status, which would have possibly mattered to him have been in a Weyr. He was not part of a Weyr.

Innocent and calm as could be, the brownrider didn't seem bothered by the fact that Duilios narrowed his eyes at him in suspicion. He did congratulate the lord on being direct. He could have been a fool and danced around the subject, but instead he got right to a point. He wasn't an entirely stupid man then, though D'ror hadn't thought for much a moment that Duilios was a stupid man at all. "I have need for supplies, for my friends and I, that I believe your hold could offer;" he replied to the first question. He wasn't going to dance around the truth of the matter either.

That didn't keep him from quickly, though not too quickly so as to seem rushed in his speaking, moving to the rest of his explanation. "Among those friends is an orangerider, Varya of Alizadehth. It is probable that the orange will be rising soon;" he said, putting in slight pauses to allow the information to sink in. "Another of my friends is an ironrider, T'el of Sjueth. Either the iron or my brown will most likely catch Alizadehth. It is likely that she will produce a clutch which will contain a bronze or a brown, both of which I should think should be acceptable options for you."

It's waiting just for you,
Don't pause too long,
It's fading now,
It's ending all too soon you'll see.

[Kila]

Duilios' lips flickered towards what would have been a frown when D'ror told him what he needed: supplies from his hold. Why on Pern would Duilios help this presumptuous nobody of a runaway dragonrider who had barged into his personal chambers? At least the man got to his point soon enough, though. Just as D'ror had, Duilios did not think the other man at all a fool. Surely he would not come her expecting something for nothing, but what could he possibly give?

Before the Lord Holder had time to even speculate, however, D'ror moved the conversation smoothly into what Duilios had just been thinking about- the restitution for such a request. With each pause D'ror's sank in further, seeping into his mind and skin like shockingly cold and awakening rainfall. There was also a renegade Orange, who would soon rise and be caught by either his Brown or an Iron. It was possible... that the clutch would produce a King. His King. "Acceptable options for you," D'ror said.

So that was the offer, however indirectly stated but very clear to both parties. He remained quiet for a while, his appearance studious but his mind racing. So you mean to offer me the King of your clutch for supplies from my Hold? The missing supplies will be noticed, and if the deal is known Dalibor and Crescent will explode. And yet, by arranging this Western will be excluded from the raids. If I refuse and give them nothing they will likely take however much they want. And a guaranteed egg....

"Deal." Duilios said, looking up from his thoughts. His mind was made- he didn't need to consult anyone or dither about with verification from the rider. "I will supply you with what you need, your supplies, in exchange for what the flight produces." D'ror of Brown Abeneth, Varya of Orange Alizadehth, T'el of Iron Sjueth; Duilios would not forget the names nor any detail of the past conversation.

[Admin]

The clear blue skies,
They feed my eyes,
It's beautiful as far as I can see,
Then reality hits, I wake up from this dream.

As soon as the word 'deal' came from the Lord Holder's mouth, D'ror closed the space betweened them as the other quickly stated out the terms of that deal. They would get everything that they needed, that they hadn't gotten from raids, which, in themselves, had produced several things that they didn't need. In exchange, they would give up a possible dragonet. It wasn't his fault that he'd forgotten to mention the often overlooked fact that Queens were the only dragons known to be able to steadily produce clutches. And even they didn't always produce Kings, if they were caught up a shrimpy purple.

In other words, he hadn't actually promised anything but an idea. And it wasn't like he could make any bronze or brown or iron or purple that came out of the clutch Impress to him. If there was more than one egg in the clutch, they'd need more candidates. And if they only had him and one egg, it might be a pink!

Containing his amusement at the thought of the arrogant lordling he was dealing with riding pink, he quickly grabbed up the younger man's hand and gave it a shake, sealing the deal. "Just leave it where we can find. You'll be seeing us around;" he said. Then he was gone, darting quicker than most would think possible for a middle aged man like him, even a dragon rider. He was gone out the door with a flutter of his cloak, and then there was no one in the hall outside. He was good at disappearing acts. Just a few moments later, the sound of a trumpeting brown could be heard.

So many things are going on but,
I'm gonna keep on going strong and,
I'm gonna be O.K.,
Then reality hits I wake up from this dream.

[Kila]

Duilios shook D'ror's hand with a grim feeling of satisfaction. His grip was tight, the veins on his pale, white hands snaking visibly from under his cuff. He would not be trifled with. He nodded his agreement, again keeping his voice in check. The words exchanged between to two men had been few, but there was no lack of understanding on either side. His silence proved to be prudent anyway- D'ror was out of his chambers as quickly and unexpectedly as he had come in. His agility was admirable for a man his age, but Duilios had bigger things on his mind.

Western Hold was well stocked and any provisions that D'ror and his renegades needed would not be missed. He would not have to sneak anything out nor make excuses or require reasons- he need only say it and it would be done without question.

A King...

The renegade female was an Orange, a Sub-queen yet a Queen none the less. There would be Kings and subs chasing her in her flight. He was not slight in the head in the matter; he knew that there was no sure guarantee as to what would be clutched. But there was a chance- and not a small one. Surely these few supplies were worth the gamble. Less importantly, of course, the deal would make Western immune from raiding as well.

The Lord Holder sat up thinking for some time, but when he did sleep, the thoughts pervaded his dreams.