Three Kings of Feredar
Nov. 20th, 2012 09:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feredarStory: Three Kings of Feredar
Year: 941 FY, 988 FY, 997 FY
Characters: King Sorell, King Kellom, King Andrell
Warnings: Brief reference to fertility difficulties.
941 FY
Sorell resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the table, or twist his pen in his fingers, or do anything that might give away how bored he was. The Minister of Agriculture had been droning on and on and on for what felt like hours. Something about unusually low rainfall in the northernmost province of the kingdom. Sorell knew this was important, and he was trying his best to pay attention, but something about the Minister's voice, or his word choice, or...
The Minister had another whole page of notes left.
Sorell really, really hated council meetings some days.
988 FY
Kellom had been King of Feredar for less than a month, and he already had a much higher opinion of his father's patience, talent, and sheer stamina than he ever had before. When he'd been Crown Prince and sat in on council meetings from time to time, the way some of the ministers seemed incapable of brevity hadn't been nearly this aggravating. He had even found it amusing.
As surreptitiously as he could, Kellom checked the nearest timepiece, counting down the minutes until the meeting was over and he could stop talking himself out of strangling the Minister of Agriculture.
997 FY
Andrell counted his blessings. At least the council wasn't pestering him about why he and Nolani still had no children, or trying to push him to a more aggressive response to the occasional uprisings, or arguing with him about ambassadorial appointments.
But the man talking had to be at least a hundred years old (all right, eighty-six), and for some reason was still refusing to retire.
As much as Andrell admired the man's stamina, as the Minister of Agriculture went into his sixteenth minute of droning, he wished he'd inherited his father's remarkable talent for getting people to stop talking.
Year: 941 FY, 988 FY, 997 FY
Characters: King Sorell, King Kellom, King Andrell
Warnings: Brief reference to fertility difficulties.
941 FY
Sorell resisted the urge to drum his fingers on the table, or twist his pen in his fingers, or do anything that might give away how bored he was. The Minister of Agriculture had been droning on and on and on for what felt like hours. Something about unusually low rainfall in the northernmost province of the kingdom. Sorell knew this was important, and he was trying his best to pay attention, but something about the Minister's voice, or his word choice, or...
The Minister had another whole page of notes left.
Sorell really, really hated council meetings some days.
988 FY
Kellom had been King of Feredar for less than a month, and he already had a much higher opinion of his father's patience, talent, and sheer stamina than he ever had before. When he'd been Crown Prince and sat in on council meetings from time to time, the way some of the ministers seemed incapable of brevity hadn't been nearly this aggravating. He had even found it amusing.
As surreptitiously as he could, Kellom checked the nearest timepiece, counting down the minutes until the meeting was over and he could stop talking himself out of strangling the Minister of Agriculture.
997 FY
Andrell counted his blessings. At least the council wasn't pestering him about why he and Nolani still had no children, or trying to push him to a more aggressive response to the occasional uprisings, or arguing with him about ambassadorial appointments.
But the man talking had to be at least a hundred years old (all right, eighty-six), and for some reason was still refusing to retire.
As much as Andrell admired the man's stamina, as the Minister of Agriculture went into his sixteenth minute of droning, he wished he'd inherited his father's remarkable talent for getting people to stop talking.