Overstepping
Jul. 10th, 2013 08:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
feredarStory: Overstepping
Year: 941 FY
Characters: Sorell, Levar
Warnings: References to abdominal surgery
Notes: The earliest recorded successful appendectomy was in 1735. I tend to draw from somewhat earlier for most social/cultural norms for Feredar, but appendicitis fit plotly needs, so I'm fudging the medical development a bit. Not that this world is anything other than an Anachronism Stew, but. This takes place about eight months after Sorell becomes king. Levar is a bastard son of Sorell's father, and in his mid-thirties, older than any of Sorell's full/legitimate brothers would be.
"Majesty?"
Sorell cracked open his eyes and squinted at the kind of hazy person standing at the foot of his bed. "Mmph?"
"I'm sorry, sir, I know we're not supposed to disturb you right now..." That was his secretary's voice. Okay.
"Mmph." He half sat up and that pulled at the stitches on his abdomen. The whole thing was still fuzzy--he'd gotten sick, fast, three days ago, and of course the assumption had been poison and he'd been given all sorts of unpleasant antidotes before one of the doctors had felt at his abdomen and figured out the actual problem. That meant getting cut open, which was terrifying.
Not just because people had their hands inside his stomach and gods alone knew what damage they were doing, but it wasn't like when he'd had that horrible cold last winter, and had to stay in bed for two days but could still manage things from a distance, and his council could manage by itself. No, for this, he was down and supposed to be totally out of contact for at least two weeks. That meant a temporary regent.
Which meant his half-brother. Who thought he should have been King, instead of Sorell. Nevermind he was a bastard and couldn't inherit unless there were no legal heirs, and even then...
Whatever this was, it was probably something to with Levar.
And he'd missed it, in the still-half-drugged haze of pain. "Wha...?"
His secretary was instantly at his side, fretting with the blanket. "Majesty, I didn't mean to...the Council asked me to come to you, it seems Lord Levar is trying to remove half of them, and restructure most of the clerks' office, and--"
Sorell swore, a lot more violently than his secretary probably suspected a teenaged King was capable of. He tried to get up again and it hurt. He fell back, whimpering, his vision going white at the edges.
"Majesty!"
"Bring Levar here," Sorell said through gritted teeth. "Now."
The secretary scampered off and Sorell flopped back on his pillows, doing his best to quell rising nausea and figure out what to say to Levar when he came.
He'd been waiting for perhaps a half an hour when his doctor came to look in on him.
"No painkillers," he said, through gritted teeth.
The doctor stared at him. "Majesty..."
"I said no. I have to yell at my half-brother, I need my brain free of fuzz."
"Majesty, I understand you're upset, but you really need to--"
"I'm not gonna repeat myself again!" Sorell half-yelled. "I need to yell at Levar, and I need to be clear and that means no painkillers. You can make me take them when he goes."
After a long moment, the doctor sighed, and raised his eyes to Heaven--Sorell had seen that look a thousand times, the one that said 'gods save us from the stubborn teenager at our head'--but he bowed slightly. "Very well, Majesty. When you change your mind, I will be right here." And he settled in a chair near the end of the bed.
Fine. As long as he didn't keep arguing.
By the time Levar finally arrived, near another hour later, Sorell was beginning to seriously reconsider his orders for the doctor, and was certainly upset enough to put real force behind his yelling. "When the King summons you, Lord Levar, you do not delay like this," he spat.
"My apologies," Levar said, oily smooth, drawing up a chair to Sorell's bedside. "I was in an important meeting."
And now he was being patronizing. He loved doing that. "Firing more of my staff?" he said, with a failed attempt at poison-sweetness.
Levar blinked, and laughed a little. "Is that what this is about? Sorell, little brother--"
"I am King, Levar," Sorell snapped. "Remember that when you speak."
A flash of irritation crossed Sorell's half-brother's face, but it smoothed out quickly. "Of course, I apologize. All I meant was...you are very young, and not as educated or experienced as one would wish. Some of the counselors you have chosen to surround yourself with..."
"Most of them," Sorell said, through gritted teeth, "were Father's appointments. Not mine. And my age doesn't matter. I am by the law old enough to rule, and was crowned and anointed as required by law, and Father's council decided not to have a regency."
"Which may not have been wise," Levar dared, and Sorell almost rose up out of bed to throttle him. Only the pain stopped him.
"You are filling in, for two weeks, while I am ill. You are meeting ambassadors, and handling anything that can't wait that long. You are not appointing my government for me." Sorell glared up at Levar with his best, agonized attempt at ice. "You vastly overstep your mandate, brother, and if there were anyone else who could serve in your place, I would revoke it."
Levar stared at him, in obvious shock. "You can't do that."
Sorell watched him for a long moment, then, without breaking eye contact, asked, "Doctor, I am lucid, yes?"
"Against all sound advice, you are, Majesty," the doctor said. He sounded mildly amused, if anything.
Sorell chose to ignore that. "Then bring pen and paper. Now."
His secretary was already on hand to supply it--how he'd missed the man's arrival he had no idea.
As legibly as he could, Sorell scrawled out an edict--No personnel changes may be enacted save under my signature and seal. This order is retroactive to the beginning of my illness and will remain in place until I revoke it. He signed and dated it, and his secretary had the seal ready. He'd have to revoke it fast when he got better, and the wording was probably too broad, but it would keep Levar in his place.
He tossed the paper at his brother, who numbly caught it. "Leave me," he said, as coldly as he could.
Levar rose, sketched a bow, and all but fled with his tail tucked between his legs.
Sorell crumpled, curling around his burning insides, and the doctor was instantly there to provide the painkillers with no argument this time.
"You did well," he could have sworn he heard someone whisper, "You were magnificent," before the fading adrenaline, coupled with the painkillers, sent him deep into sleep.
Year: 941 FY
Characters: Sorell, Levar
Warnings: References to abdominal surgery
Notes: The earliest recorded successful appendectomy was in 1735. I tend to draw from somewhat earlier for most social/cultural norms for Feredar, but appendicitis fit plotly needs, so I'm fudging the medical development a bit. Not that this world is anything other than an Anachronism Stew, but. This takes place about eight months after Sorell becomes king. Levar is a bastard son of Sorell's father, and in his mid-thirties, older than any of Sorell's full/legitimate brothers would be.
"Majesty?"
Sorell cracked open his eyes and squinted at the kind of hazy person standing at the foot of his bed. "Mmph?"
"I'm sorry, sir, I know we're not supposed to disturb you right now..." That was his secretary's voice. Okay.
"Mmph." He half sat up and that pulled at the stitches on his abdomen. The whole thing was still fuzzy--he'd gotten sick, fast, three days ago, and of course the assumption had been poison and he'd been given all sorts of unpleasant antidotes before one of the doctors had felt at his abdomen and figured out the actual problem. That meant getting cut open, which was terrifying.
Not just because people had their hands inside his stomach and gods alone knew what damage they were doing, but it wasn't like when he'd had that horrible cold last winter, and had to stay in bed for two days but could still manage things from a distance, and his council could manage by itself. No, for this, he was down and supposed to be totally out of contact for at least two weeks. That meant a temporary regent.
Which meant his half-brother. Who thought he should have been King, instead of Sorell. Nevermind he was a bastard and couldn't inherit unless there were no legal heirs, and even then...
Whatever this was, it was probably something to with Levar.
And he'd missed it, in the still-half-drugged haze of pain. "Wha...?"
His secretary was instantly at his side, fretting with the blanket. "Majesty, I didn't mean to...the Council asked me to come to you, it seems Lord Levar is trying to remove half of them, and restructure most of the clerks' office, and--"
Sorell swore, a lot more violently than his secretary probably suspected a teenaged King was capable of. He tried to get up again and it hurt. He fell back, whimpering, his vision going white at the edges.
"Majesty!"
"Bring Levar here," Sorell said through gritted teeth. "Now."
The secretary scampered off and Sorell flopped back on his pillows, doing his best to quell rising nausea and figure out what to say to Levar when he came.
He'd been waiting for perhaps a half an hour when his doctor came to look in on him.
"No painkillers," he said, through gritted teeth.
The doctor stared at him. "Majesty..."
"I said no. I have to yell at my half-brother, I need my brain free of fuzz."
"Majesty, I understand you're upset, but you really need to--"
"I'm not gonna repeat myself again!" Sorell half-yelled. "I need to yell at Levar, and I need to be clear and that means no painkillers. You can make me take them when he goes."
After a long moment, the doctor sighed, and raised his eyes to Heaven--Sorell had seen that look a thousand times, the one that said 'gods save us from the stubborn teenager at our head'--but he bowed slightly. "Very well, Majesty. When you change your mind, I will be right here." And he settled in a chair near the end of the bed.
Fine. As long as he didn't keep arguing.
By the time Levar finally arrived, near another hour later, Sorell was beginning to seriously reconsider his orders for the doctor, and was certainly upset enough to put real force behind his yelling. "When the King summons you, Lord Levar, you do not delay like this," he spat.
"My apologies," Levar said, oily smooth, drawing up a chair to Sorell's bedside. "I was in an important meeting."
And now he was being patronizing. He loved doing that. "Firing more of my staff?" he said, with a failed attempt at poison-sweetness.
Levar blinked, and laughed a little. "Is that what this is about? Sorell, little brother--"
"I am King, Levar," Sorell snapped. "Remember that when you speak."
A flash of irritation crossed Sorell's half-brother's face, but it smoothed out quickly. "Of course, I apologize. All I meant was...you are very young, and not as educated or experienced as one would wish. Some of the counselors you have chosen to surround yourself with..."
"Most of them," Sorell said, through gritted teeth, "were Father's appointments. Not mine. And my age doesn't matter. I am by the law old enough to rule, and was crowned and anointed as required by law, and Father's council decided not to have a regency."
"Which may not have been wise," Levar dared, and Sorell almost rose up out of bed to throttle him. Only the pain stopped him.
"You are filling in, for two weeks, while I am ill. You are meeting ambassadors, and handling anything that can't wait that long. You are not appointing my government for me." Sorell glared up at Levar with his best, agonized attempt at ice. "You vastly overstep your mandate, brother, and if there were anyone else who could serve in your place, I would revoke it."
Levar stared at him, in obvious shock. "You can't do that."
Sorell watched him for a long moment, then, without breaking eye contact, asked, "Doctor, I am lucid, yes?"
"Against all sound advice, you are, Majesty," the doctor said. He sounded mildly amused, if anything.
Sorell chose to ignore that. "Then bring pen and paper. Now."
His secretary was already on hand to supply it--how he'd missed the man's arrival he had no idea.
As legibly as he could, Sorell scrawled out an edict--No personnel changes may be enacted save under my signature and seal. This order is retroactive to the beginning of my illness and will remain in place until I revoke it. He signed and dated it, and his secretary had the seal ready. He'd have to revoke it fast when he got better, and the wording was probably too broad, but it would keep Levar in his place.
He tossed the paper at his brother, who numbly caught it. "Leave me," he said, as coldly as he could.
Levar rose, sketched a bow, and all but fled with his tail tucked between his legs.
Sorell crumpled, curling around his burning insides, and the doctor was instantly there to provide the painkillers with no argument this time.
"You did well," he could have sworn he heard someone whisper, "You were magnificent," before the fading adrenaline, coupled with the painkillers, sent him deep into sleep.