eiattu_pride | (no subject)

(no subject)

Rial's been waiting ever since the call from Hilunda came in. Waiting, chewing nervously on his fingernails, wishing and hoping and praying that somehow this is all some big mistake, a nightmare, a hoax.

Inside, he knows that it's not true.

But oh, oh how he wishes it was.

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"She's a strong woman, your wife." Gror almost smiles, folding his arms over his chest, but all potential mirth is gone quickly. "What are you going to tell them?"

"She's beautiful," says Rial, and glances away for a long moment. Finally, "I don't know."

"Not much of a choice," he says, looking up at his tall son steadily and sadly, too. He and Isplourrdacartha started off rocky with that punch, but he respects her; black bones, he has even slowly grown to like her. And he knows very well how Rial feels about her. "Is it?"

He's silent a moment, standing there in the deserted conference room, bushy white brows drawn together.

"Son, have you seen any proof that they have her?"

Gror is asking if he has any evidence that she's alive, without saying the words.

"No, says Rial, "it isn't." And that's just it, flat and quiet because he knows what he has to do, what he should do, what she'd do...and he knows what he wants to do.

But Gror's question makes him clench his fists briefly, then shrug.

"They have something I gave her. A dagger, concealed under a bluestone. You may have seen her wearing it. But I don't know if she's alive or not."

They could have taken it from her corpse is what he means, and what he won't say.

Gror won't say it, either. He's certainly thinking it, but he won't say it. "Use that," he says, with all the wisdom of years in the ruling class on a planet where kidnapping is a common (capital) crime. "Demand to see evidence that she is alright. Buy yourself some time."

Rial glances up, already running that through his mind, yes, it would buy them time...and it would show him if she was still alive.

"I will. And if she's," and oh he doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to think it, can't say it, "if she's," and then his voice fails him and he looks back at the floor.

Gror Pernon has never been a touchy feely man, nor a touchy feely father. But he reaches out all the same and rests a hand--stronger than it looks--on Rial's shoulder. "You can't possibly know," he says, "but you have two things going for you. One, they're a band of idiots, but they are not idiotic enough to do away with their only bargaining chip. They're desperate, and she is all they have. And two--" He smiles, then, faint as it is. "It would take a Sith of a lot to bring down that princess of yours."

The smile is gone fast to be replaced by steely, steady calm. "Whatever you choose to do, I will be here. Do what you need to do, Rial."

"Yes," says Rial, and he remembers the way Plourr fights, remember how she looks with blood dripping from her knuckles and he smiles, "yes, it would."

And then he glances sideways, and nods, tone formal. "I understand, sir."

A beat, and, "Father?"

Gror folds his arms again, glancing up, listening. "Yes?"

"Thank you."

Rial bows, then turns, already moving to leave the room.

He's got work to do.

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