Who Metan, Th'ero
What Metan returns and Th'ero is in a mood…
Where Weyrleader's Office, Fort Weyr


Weyrleader's Offices
Aged by time, this office has lived through the ages of Fort just as its counterparts have. But unlike the Weyrsecond and Junior Weyrwomen offices, this cavern is spacious and formed in a rough semicircle of three conjoined caves that were carved and modified Turns ago. The middle portion acts as a waiting room of sorts, holding only a few modest chairs and a simple tapestry to otherwise brighten up the plain stone walls. There are no windows here and the only light comes from well placed glow baskets. To the right, the smaller of the two adjoining caverns has been set aside for the Weyrwoman, a large desk situated in the middle and a bookshelf pressed against the wall. A small hearth allows for some warmth in the colder months and another cabinet rests across the room to hold various supplies, as well as several books, reports and records. More tapestries have been hung there, lending some color to room. On the left, the larger cavern belongs to the Weyrleader's office and the walls here are littered with a vast array of maps, as well as a tapestry hung behind where he would sit. The desk is large and the wood aged, looking old and a bit worn, but well tended too. Shelves and a bookshelf line one wall, crammed with rolled hides, other maps, books, reports and records and all arranged in an organized chaos. A small hearth has been built in here as well and various well placed glow baskets are hung to offer just the right amount of light in this windowless office. Both offices have stout wooden doors that have been carefully worked into the stone. They can be closed and locked if privacy is needed but are often left open.

Jet has been missing for too long when Metan returns to Fort Weyr. He’s got a letter clutched tightly in his fist when he heads into the Bowl and immediately goes to track down the Weyrleader - whether or not that’s the appropriate place to begin. He has no dragon to make a formal request and doesn’t even bother to knock when he bursts into the Weyrleader’s office. Metan looks like he hasn’t showered in over a week, his beard is a scraggly-smatter against his cheeks and it’s brushy length dips over his dry and cracked lips. His greasy hair has been tied back with a thong, highlighting the gauntness of a man who hasn’t eaten a solid meal in some time. “I don’t know what they’ve said. If they’ve sent anything. I have this letter,” he strides forward, shoving the crumpled note at Th’ero. “The sum’ll change the moment it’s paid. I’ve got to get her out of there. Can you help me? What is the Weyr doing about this? How is her dragon? Have we had any contact with Jet?” He doesn’t stop talking until he slumps back against a wall and drags his hand across his face with a heaved breath.

The note reads: We took the dragonrider to punish the man. A dragon-sized payment will suffice for her freedom. Send initial payment through him. - H

With the recent events from the cave in and collapse of the weyrling barracks to Jet’s sudden disappearance and the effect on her green, to the tensions rising in the Weyr and a group of injured, uncertain weyrlings, it has been hell. Most have learned to steer clear of the Weyrleader in recent days. He was difficult enough during the collapse, but after the incident with Jet? He’s not been a man to cross. Unluckily for Metan, Th’ero happens to be at his desk when the man comes charging in and he’ll be regarded with cold, steely anger for the interruption. The young man’s appearance clearly garners no sympathy where it might have once. “You’re fortunate I was not otherwise occupied with important business,” he mutters broodingly and will lean forwards to take that crumpled note. Most of the other requests from Metan are largely ignored as his fingers smooth out the paper. Almost immediately, he scowls, jaw visibly tensing as he sits up straighter in his chair, back and shoulders stiff with barely restrained anger. The note is then pinned to the surface of his desk by a lone finger, his dark eyes now fixing themselves squarely on Metan. It’s not a pleasant look by far and while he doesn’t raise his voice, the hard, steely edge of it speaks enough volume. “So, it’s because of you that Kyramith is without her rider?” Seemingly an easy question, but it’s by far and obvious trap. Th’ero has yielded nothing. No offer to help, no information and certainly no reassurances.

Metan’s show of fatigue and stress is washed away and replaced with a calm, cool, look and a smile as Th’ero delivers his question. “Jet is my friend,” he states in a flat tone, “she’s in trouble and I wanted to see how involved the Weyr would get to help one of their own.” He shakes his head and pushes away from the wall. He dusts his hands off on his pants before he rakes them back through his hair and shoves it further off his forehead. “I can give you the answer to the ‘why Jet’ later. I’d rather spend my time finding her. Not arguing why she was taken.” He folds his arms in front of him and looks at Th’ero, something more flickering in his gaze. “Please,” he says it in a manner that seems like he’s trying not to swallow the words back down. “If there is help the Weyr can offer, I’ll take it. I know when I go to get her, he’ll kill me. But I need to make sure she gets out and is safe.”

Th’ero’s eyes narrow further when Metan elaborates and appears openly skeptical to his claim of being friends with Jet. Not because he doesn’t think it’s possible, but because he assumes there’s far more going on there than a mere casual friendship. “We’re doing everything we possibly can without risking Jet’s life,” he states flatly. “And I would greatly appreciate the full story when this is all said and done.” Apparently it’s going to be an order and not a casual request. “Oh, there is something you could do to help and you’re not going to like it.” Can Metan see where this is going? If not, the Weyrleader will spare a moment of silence to lean back into his chair with an audible creak of leather as he keeps his cold, simmering gaze on the younger man. “You could be our bargaining chip, though I hate to stoop to exchanges with these types. This man ‘H’, he’ll know he’s brought his death with an act of aggression such as this. I expect he will drive a hard bargain and negotiations. He’s not one to cross, is he?” Leaning forwards again, Th’ero glares up at Metan. “I need to know who we’re dealing with, before we can strike. I need to know if he has a weakness, a way we can work around it or trick him. Time is against us, but if we move too fast, we can lose Jet and I will NOT have that black mark on Fort’s history…”

Metan does not seem bothered by Th’ero’s coldness, if anything, he seems to have settled in quiet admiration for Th’ero’s words. He’s speaking Metan’s language now. “Offer me, bound, and I’ll fork over all the money I have been saving to get out of here as payment. Don’t let him have me until she’s in your hands. Then, leave me and get out. It’s a solid plan.” He nods, drawing his fingers along his jaw and then nods again. “He took the risk to prove a point. That I’m weak and he is strong. That not even the Weyr can cross him. It’s meant as a message. He wants to rise further than the ring he currently operates. He wants to stand out to the other organizations that are… not spoken about.” He brushes his hands against his pants, meaning to slick the sweat off and earning himself a smattering of dirt in it’s place. “I crossed him once - thinking I’d walk away with a dragon to keep me safe. He’s proved a dragon wasn’t able to keep Jet safe.” He looks to Th’ero, eyes gleaming with challenge. “When do we act?”

“So you’ve no issue with being a literal sacrifice?” Th’ero’s cold, steely tone continues despite the small thread of approval lurking beneath for the young man. “Would you be willing to give over as much information about these ‘rings’ to the Weyr, as well?” There’s a darkening to his expression again as Metan describes Hassoun. “This man sounds as arrogant and foolish in his power as another self-made renegade lord we dealt with almost two decades ago. His name was Laris and he had similar thoughts. Made the same mistakes. We will not suffer another of his kind,” Other organizations? That draws a sharp look but it’ll be a question for another time, if ever. “We act at dawn. I need time to work out a plan, even with your… gracious offer of help.” It sounds an awful lot like a dismissal and more so when he nods his head and stiffly gestures towards the door. “I’ll call on you again when we require your assistance.” And they’ll work something out. It’ll be several long, gruelling hours but a plan will be devised and the Weyr will move in, along with a few carefully selected Guards. Events might not go entirely as planned, either. No amount of careful preparation could change that. People will be injured. Perhaps killed. The losses will be heavier on Hassoun’s side but when all's said and done, when the Weyrleader has a moment to recall the chaos, he’ll feel that the loss of Metan to be a downright shame. Such is the price, however, of sacrifice.

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