And again...
Well, the bunny is persistent, I'll give him that. This is another little snippet of girl!Joren versus Keladry. I find them very calming to write - I can channel all my day to day frustrations into their snark.
Joren collapsed in her chair and sighed. She fought the impulse to either run her fingers through her perfect blonde hair, or to rub her elegantly made-up face. She resisted, and made do with drumming her finger nails on the desk. There were meetings to go to, people to see, and her appearance had to be perfect. It was all part of the game she played so well, the political dance between knights, and kings, and their kingdoms. She was the second living Lady Knight, and the first female Prime Minister of any of the Eastern realms; thus, she felt, she had to be a lady, not just another savage with a shield - even if she did have slightly different anatomy from most of the others. Not that she had to, of course. Lady Knight Keladry seemed to live in armour, and had more respect, in old fashioned terms, than Joren would ever have. But that was different, Joren reminded herself, Kel was only being a warrior. She wasn't trying to charm ambassadors, of more wheedle taxes out of feifs, or play old Lords off against one another for the mere suggestion of one of her smiles. Joren shook her head. Oh, for a sword, a horse, and a crossroads to guard - the Dark Ages must have been so much easier.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Joren called “unless you're an ambassador, in which case prepare to be run through with a rapier,” she added in an undertone.
Keladry of Mindelan herself walked in, looking a little sheepish. Joren wanted to shake her for her insecurity. The woman was one of the best, most proven Knights the younger generation had to offer, and yet she still she still seemed to act as if Lord Wyldon was peering over her shoulder the whole time.
“Lady Knight Keladry,” Joren intoned, “and what can I do for you this fine afternoon? A plea for better flea powder for Scanran refugees, is it?”
“Prime Minister.” Kel walked up to the desk, paused, then seemed to make the concious decision to sit down with out being asked.
Oh, you go, girl, fight the system, Joren managed to think, and not say aloud in her cattiest voice.
“I needed to speak to you,” Kel began, “about my Lord Raoul.”
“You are such a stickler for chivalry, Keladry , I would have thought you would have observed that Sir Roaul finished being “your lord” the moment you achieved your knighthood and he was no longer your knight master...”
“Joren!” Kel said, a little louder than she meant to, “I'm being serious, here.”
“So am I.”
“Well, listen, then.” Kel did seem a little worried, Joren had to admit, a little emotion betraying her Lunp-like exterior. If the girl did just a little less combat, carried a little less bulk, had a haircut, wore a dress, she might pass for good looking...
“It's like this,” Kel continued, “he was badly injured at the end of the year, and you he's not getting any younger...The Own is such a huge commitment...surely the Government owes him a retirement, or something, after all his service to the Realm,” she tailed off, gazing at her hands.
“What's this I hear? Giant killer is feeling the touch of mortality? The company of the Black God draws near, you feel?”
“Joren! That's not what I mean, and you know it. Raoul can only be in his fifties.”
“And our late King Jonathon left these Realms at fifty five, you know that. A man cannot be too careful in the face of encroaching age.”
“Yes, but Jonathon's circumstances...”
You mean the stress of kingship, or the stress of the particular situation he was found in? Joren wondered.
“...Raoul still has many year to enjoy, Gods willing, and I feel, well, I speak for several people, and if an alternate post could be offered, we feel Raoul may be minded to leave the Own.”
“You mean Buri will make him. That's all well and good, Kel, but who can compare to Raoul as commander? The Own is the King's personal guard, you know. I would be failing in my duty to leave it to the care of a lesser man. Or woman.”
“Captain Domitan of Masbolle has given long and sterling service to the Own,” Kel offered. “He would be a fine commander.”
“But not a Knight commander, one fears. Anyway, you were always biased on the subject of Dom...”
“I was not!” Kel gasped. “I wasn't the one who bedded him for a bet, anyway.”
“Quickest ten nobles I ever won,” Joren smiled her beautiful smile, “anyway, we need a Knight, is the point. Suggestions?”
“Neal?”
“You are a fool, Keladry. Anyway, he's needed as a Healer.”
“Merric?”
“As a commander?”
“I take your point. Faleron?”
“Ah, the beautiful Faleron...due to be the next ambassador to Carthak, I hear.”
“So it did end badly between you two, then...how about Owen?”
“I will send you to Baird, as a necessity, if you persist in making suggestions that make me doubt your sanity.”
“Well, who do you suggest?” Kel asked, frustrated and exasperated.
Joren leaned back, steepled her perfectly manicured fingers, and smiled. “I suggest you, Keladry.”
“Me?”
“Proven commander, level headed, dedicated to the realm, I think you'd be perfect.”
“I've only just been appointed Champion.”
“By Mithros, that doesn't take up much time. The Lioness spent half her time riding with the Own. I don't see how you can't do both.”
There was a pause. Go on, Joren thought, I know you want it. It'll keep you close to that misbegotten Eldorne freak, if nothing else.
“I would consider the position,” Kel began, “but only if some significant changes where made to the organisation of the Own.”
“Such as?” Joren purred. I have her now, she thought.
“A fourth company, a 15% increase in funding, and admittance of females to the ranks...”
“Hang on!” Joren leapt to her feet. “Off the top of your head? You devious vixen...”
“Takes one to know one,” Kel murmured, sotto voice.
“Oh, poor Raoul, he needs to retire!” Joren trilled, “who could replace him! No one but the magnificent Keladry, of course!” She swept papers off the desk, smacked her hands on the old, seasoned oak. “Well, I would rather promote a donkey to command the Own, than help further all your plans for complete domination of this Realm!”
“Calm down, Joren, your make-up will run,” Kel said calmly. “A good Knight plans ahead, that's all.”
Joren snorted. “So you'll be Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, King's Champion and Knight Commander of The King's Own? Some title.”
“Oh, don't be jealous, you'll still outrank me as Prime Minister, Joren.” Kel looked amused. “You're the one who suggested me. I said nothing. You can go to the Privy Council.”
“Headed by Wyldon? He thinks the sun shines out of your...” Joren paused. “Again, I underestimate your political savvy, Keladry. I, however, must speak to the King, and the Council, and not least Lord Raoul himself.”
“I am sure you will come to the decision that most benefits the Realm.” Kel said. She stood to leave. “Joren.”
“Keladry.”
Kel could hear the swearing begin the moment the door snicked shut. She didn't relish the stress command of the Own would bring, but it was worth it, so worth it, to get one over on the Prime Minister. Anyway, Kel mused as she wandered away, hands stuffed in her breeches pockets, she would just promote Dom to her second, and give him effective, day to day command. It was lovely when a plan came to fruition.
She began to whistle a little tune.
And now I really must work on my round robin chapter, which is half way there but not really close to finished yet...
Procrastination? It's an art form.
Joren collapsed in her chair and sighed. She fought the impulse to either run her fingers through her perfect blonde hair, or to rub her elegantly made-up face. She resisted, and made do with drumming her finger nails on the desk. There were meetings to go to, people to see, and her appearance had to be perfect. It was all part of the game she played so well, the political dance between knights, and kings, and their kingdoms. She was the second living Lady Knight, and the first female Prime Minister of any of the Eastern realms; thus, she felt, she had to be a lady, not just another savage with a shield - even if she did have slightly different anatomy from most of the others. Not that she had to, of course. Lady Knight Keladry seemed to live in armour, and had more respect, in old fashioned terms, than Joren would ever have. But that was different, Joren reminded herself, Kel was only being a warrior. She wasn't trying to charm ambassadors, of more wheedle taxes out of feifs, or play old Lords off against one another for the mere suggestion of one of her smiles. Joren shook her head. Oh, for a sword, a horse, and a crossroads to guard - the Dark Ages must have been so much easier.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” Joren called “unless you're an ambassador, in which case prepare to be run through with a rapier,” she added in an undertone.
Keladry of Mindelan herself walked in, looking a little sheepish. Joren wanted to shake her for her insecurity. The woman was one of the best, most proven Knights the younger generation had to offer, and yet she still she still seemed to act as if Lord Wyldon was peering over her shoulder the whole time.
“Lady Knight Keladry,” Joren intoned, “and what can I do for you this fine afternoon? A plea for better flea powder for Scanran refugees, is it?”
“Prime Minister.” Kel walked up to the desk, paused, then seemed to make the concious decision to sit down with out being asked.
Oh, you go, girl, fight the system, Joren managed to think, and not say aloud in her cattiest voice.
“I needed to speak to you,” Kel began, “about my Lord Raoul.”
“You are such a stickler for chivalry, Keladry , I would have thought you would have observed that Sir Roaul finished being “your lord” the moment you achieved your knighthood and he was no longer your knight master...”
“Joren!” Kel said, a little louder than she meant to, “I'm being serious, here.”
“So am I.”
“Well, listen, then.” Kel did seem a little worried, Joren had to admit, a little emotion betraying her Lunp-like exterior. If the girl did just a little less combat, carried a little less bulk, had a haircut, wore a dress, she might pass for good looking...
“It's like this,” Kel continued, “he was badly injured at the end of the year, and you he's not getting any younger...The Own is such a huge commitment...surely the Government owes him a retirement, or something, after all his service to the Realm,” she tailed off, gazing at her hands.
“What's this I hear? Giant killer is feeling the touch of mortality? The company of the Black God draws near, you feel?”
“Joren! That's not what I mean, and you know it. Raoul can only be in his fifties.”
“And our late King Jonathon left these Realms at fifty five, you know that. A man cannot be too careful in the face of encroaching age.”
“Yes, but Jonathon's circumstances...”
You mean the stress of kingship, or the stress of the particular situation he was found in? Joren wondered.
“...Raoul still has many year to enjoy, Gods willing, and I feel, well, I speak for several people, and if an alternate post could be offered, we feel Raoul may be minded to leave the Own.”
“You mean Buri will make him. That's all well and good, Kel, but who can compare to Raoul as commander? The Own is the King's personal guard, you know. I would be failing in my duty to leave it to the care of a lesser man. Or woman.”
“Captain Domitan of Masbolle has given long and sterling service to the Own,” Kel offered. “He would be a fine commander.”
“But not a Knight commander, one fears. Anyway, you were always biased on the subject of Dom...”
“I was not!” Kel gasped. “I wasn't the one who bedded him for a bet, anyway.”
“Quickest ten nobles I ever won,” Joren smiled her beautiful smile, “anyway, we need a Knight, is the point. Suggestions?”
“Neal?”
“You are a fool, Keladry. Anyway, he's needed as a Healer.”
“Merric?”
“As a commander?”
“I take your point. Faleron?”
“Ah, the beautiful Faleron...due to be the next ambassador to Carthak, I hear.”
“So it did end badly between you two, then...how about Owen?”
“I will send you to Baird, as a necessity, if you persist in making suggestions that make me doubt your sanity.”
“Well, who do you suggest?” Kel asked, frustrated and exasperated.
Joren leaned back, steepled her perfectly manicured fingers, and smiled. “I suggest you, Keladry.”
“Me?”
“Proven commander, level headed, dedicated to the realm, I think you'd be perfect.”
“I've only just been appointed Champion.”
“By Mithros, that doesn't take up much time. The Lioness spent half her time riding with the Own. I don't see how you can't do both.”
There was a pause. Go on, Joren thought, I know you want it. It'll keep you close to that misbegotten Eldorne freak, if nothing else.
“I would consider the position,” Kel began, “but only if some significant changes where made to the organisation of the Own.”
“Such as?” Joren purred. I have her now, she thought.
“A fourth company, a 15% increase in funding, and admittance of females to the ranks...”
“Hang on!” Joren leapt to her feet. “Off the top of your head? You devious vixen...”
“Takes one to know one,” Kel murmured, sotto voice.
“Oh, poor Raoul, he needs to retire!” Joren trilled, “who could replace him! No one but the magnificent Keladry, of course!” She swept papers off the desk, smacked her hands on the old, seasoned oak. “Well, I would rather promote a donkey to command the Own, than help further all your plans for complete domination of this Realm!”
“Calm down, Joren, your make-up will run,” Kel said calmly. “A good Knight plans ahead, that's all.”
Joren snorted. “So you'll be Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan, King's Champion and Knight Commander of The King's Own? Some title.”
“Oh, don't be jealous, you'll still outrank me as Prime Minister, Joren.” Kel looked amused. “You're the one who suggested me. I said nothing. You can go to the Privy Council.”
“Headed by Wyldon? He thinks the sun shines out of your...” Joren paused. “Again, I underestimate your political savvy, Keladry. I, however, must speak to the King, and the Council, and not least Lord Raoul himself.”
“I am sure you will come to the decision that most benefits the Realm.” Kel said. She stood to leave. “Joren.”
“Keladry.”
Kel could hear the swearing begin the moment the door snicked shut. She didn't relish the stress command of the Own would bring, but it was worth it, so worth it, to get one over on the Prime Minister. Anyway, Kel mused as she wandered away, hands stuffed in her breeches pockets, she would just promote Dom to her second, and give him effective, day to day command. It was lovely when a plan came to fruition.
She began to whistle a little tune.
And now I really must work on my round robin chapter, which is half way there but not really close to finished yet...
Procrastination? It's an art form.