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kinkfestTitle: Protocol and Etiquette
Author: Truth -![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
file_five
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 1431
Summary: "It would have been inappropriate to say that Morrolan's seneschal was also his lover, yet it would have been a lie to say that Morrolan didn't love his seneschal, or that she didn't love him in return."
A/N: I’m sorry that this is a day late, but I’m struggling with several weeks of an allergy attack and the subsequent medications have made it impossible to stay awake and coherent.
The Great Cycle is a necessary formality, an enforcement by gods and Dragaerans alike to keep each house confined to their proper place and time. It brings a certain rhythm and grace to the dealings of the Imperium, a phrase which rolls far more sweetly from the tongue than ‘order and control’.
You’ve no idea how irritating that is.
It’s nearly impossible to keep track of all the various rules and regulations and the exact angle at which you need to nod your head to that Dzurlord over there to keep him from removing it from your shoulders. You really have to be born into it and spend your long adolescence memorizing a thousand different shades of protocol. If you’re not a Draegaran by birth the best you can do is memorize the simplest of their insanely long and complex protocols and watch everyone around you very, very carefully. It’s possible to manage that way, but only if the people you choose to watch are Issola.
The Twelve Great Houses are ruled by formality, a tool which, in the correct hands, can cut far more deeply and painfully than the more commonly favored implements of war. Formality and protocol are, in point of fact, the favored weapon of the Issola and they wield them with as much deadliness as any sword.
Sometimes more.
The House of the Issola boasts many diplomats, negotiators, actors and their ilk. Anywhere that poise and charm, an ease of manner and unshakable aplomb were of benefit, there you would find an Issola.
Castle Black, for instance, has a seneschal called the Lady Teldra, although I’ve no idea if she was born to that title, married into it, inherited it or if it’s yet another polite gloss over the fact that no one but another Issola or possibly a Yendi really knows what her function is.
It’s not a small job to keep track of all the comings and goings of the house of Dragonlord, certainly not one in the direct line of succession to the Imperial Throne and with aspirations to Warlord. Throw in his possession of one of the Great Weapons, his facility with sorcery and a decidedly non-Draegaran interest in witchcraft and the fact that Castle Black is an enormous floating hunk of masonry only accessible by teleport and which holds the longest-running party in the history of the Empire….
Lady Teldra oversees it all, with a grace and charm and gentle air of pleasure that is utterly indefatigable. Whatever Morrolan pays her, it’s not enough and I can say that with utter certainty. Thing is, I’m not certain he pays her at all.
Let’s back up a little bit.
Way back when Morrolan decided to raise Castle Black into the skies in a fit of arrogance unparalleled since Kieran the Conqueror’s declaration that he’d defend Dragaera right here and damn the dissenters, he must’ve known that he’d need someone to handle the day to day details.
Dragons are good at display and motivation, but the petty details are decidedly beneath them. That’s why Morrolan pays me, but that’s another story.
So, Lady Teldra.
Someday I’ll have to find out how one goes about acquiring an Issola to run their affairs. It can’t possibly be anything so crass as simply offering one a job. Not that their rejection wouldn’t be exquisitely polite, mind you, but they’d make you feel like a complete heel for so much as speculating.
Not that I’d dream of trying.
When you arrive at Castle Black, the first thing to strike you is the fact that you are standing far above the countryside below. Birds and sometimes clouds wheel beneath your feet, and those afraid of heights are then pried, gibbering, from the apparent security of the nearest wall.
I’m theorizing, mind you. I can’t imagine that anyone possessing a difficulty with heights would be allowed to set foot in Castle Black’s somewhat dramatic courtyard. Dragonlords declare war over less publicly obvious loss of face.
At any rate, once rendered speechless by the view, your second impression of Castle Black is of the Lady Teldra, who is always there at exactly the correct moment. She greets you by name, even if you have never been there before and have arrived unannounced, and wishes you well.
She means it, too.
The party at Castle Black runs day and night. I’ve never arrived without some greeting, no matter the hour or circumstances, and it causes me to wonder if the Lady Teldra sleeps. It seems sacrilegious somehow, to imagine her attempting to catch a nap somewhere standing up or helping herself to a hasty sandwich between greetings.
I could find out, of course. I’m responsible for the security of Castle Black and, if I really wanted to know, the information would be made available.
In theory.
The rules and protocol forbid me – not because she is a fellow employee, at least as far as I know, but because she is an Issola and a Lady, and I am a Jhereg and an Easterner. At least, that’s the excuse that Morrolan would use to kill me.
I’m almost certain he’d have me revivified afterward, but I’ve been dead, and it’s not an experience I wish to repeat.
Curiosity, however, has led me to make some purely personal observations.
The first is that Morrolan is a Dragonlord and, were someone to slight my honor in my position as the head of security for Castle Black, he’d probably challenge them to a duel. It would be a slight to his own honor as well, after all, as well as casting aspersions on his judgment in choosing his servitors.
If someone were to insult the Lady Teldra, he would also challenge them to a duel. I suspect that it would be a matter of Morganti weapons, however, and no one in their right mind would willingly stand up to Morrolan with Blackwand in hand.
Morrolan is fond of me, in his own way. He trusts me, which is worth quite a bit more. We’ve been through a great deal together, after all, despite the fact that most of it was extremely unpleasant. For a Dragonlord, he becomes rather interestingly attached to the strangest people.
Not that Lady Teldra is strange, which should’ve been the first thing to tip me off.
I’m ashamed to admit that I’d been head of security at Castle Black for over a year before it occurred to me that I knew nothing at all about Lady Teldra – not even whether Teldra was her given name or a title. Much, much later I’m still none the wiser.
I suspect it’s a function of her position. She’s not a real person, the pleasantly smiling, lovely woman who greets you at the door. She’s a symbol of Morrolan’s hospitality and a gesture of respect to his guests – and at the same time, a display of his power.
Morrolan doesn’t greet every guest to walk through his doors, after all, and Lady Teldra sees to it, gracefully, that those who he wishes to see reach him while others are given a brush off so gentle and discreet that it’s almost impossible to tell that it isn’t a warm welcome.
She does almost as much for his personal security as I do.
I’ve seen them together, once or twice. While Morrolan trusts me, it should probably hurt my feelings that she knows more than I do about what goes on in the more formal twists and turns of Castle Black’s eternal party.
My professional feelings.
Strangely, it does not. Sethra caught me scowling as Lady Teldra spoke with Morrolan and, perhaps unwisely, I asked her about it.
More accurately, I said, “What’s she got that I haven’t?”
Ignoring my flippancy, she said something very profound. Sethra’s good for that, when it fits her mood.
"It would be inappropriate to say that Morrolan's seneschal is also his lover, yet it would also be a lie to say that Morrolan does not love his seneschal, or that she does not love him in return."
I had to think about that. ‘Inappropriate’ has many shades of meaning among Draegarans, and when used by Sethra Lavode, it gains gradients you never knew existed.
Maybe she is his lover. Maybe she’s not. It’s none of my business, really – even professionally. That’s a strange thing to say, but I refer you again to formality and etiquette.
... that and my fervent attachment to the business of my continued breathing.
I am almost certain he’d have me revivified.
Almost.
Author: Truth -
file_five Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 1431
Summary: "It would have been inappropriate to say that Morrolan's seneschal was also his lover, yet it would have been a lie to say that Morrolan didn't love his seneschal, or that she didn't love him in return."
A/N: I’m sorry that this is a day late, but I’m struggling with several weeks of an allergy attack and the subsequent medications have made it impossible to stay awake and coherent.
The Great Cycle is a necessary formality, an enforcement by gods and Dragaerans alike to keep each house confined to their proper place and time. It brings a certain rhythm and grace to the dealings of the Imperium, a phrase which rolls far more sweetly from the tongue than ‘order and control’.
You’ve no idea how irritating that is.
It’s nearly impossible to keep track of all the various rules and regulations and the exact angle at which you need to nod your head to that Dzurlord over there to keep him from removing it from your shoulders. You really have to be born into it and spend your long adolescence memorizing a thousand different shades of protocol. If you’re not a Draegaran by birth the best you can do is memorize the simplest of their insanely long and complex protocols and watch everyone around you very, very carefully. It’s possible to manage that way, but only if the people you choose to watch are Issola.
The Twelve Great Houses are ruled by formality, a tool which, in the correct hands, can cut far more deeply and painfully than the more commonly favored implements of war. Formality and protocol are, in point of fact, the favored weapon of the Issola and they wield them with as much deadliness as any sword.
Sometimes more.
The House of the Issola boasts many diplomats, negotiators, actors and their ilk. Anywhere that poise and charm, an ease of manner and unshakable aplomb were of benefit, there you would find an Issola.
Castle Black, for instance, has a seneschal called the Lady Teldra, although I’ve no idea if she was born to that title, married into it, inherited it or if it’s yet another polite gloss over the fact that no one but another Issola or possibly a Yendi really knows what her function is.
It’s not a small job to keep track of all the comings and goings of the house of Dragonlord, certainly not one in the direct line of succession to the Imperial Throne and with aspirations to Warlord. Throw in his possession of one of the Great Weapons, his facility with sorcery and a decidedly non-Draegaran interest in witchcraft and the fact that Castle Black is an enormous floating hunk of masonry only accessible by teleport and which holds the longest-running party in the history of the Empire….
Lady Teldra oversees it all, with a grace and charm and gentle air of pleasure that is utterly indefatigable. Whatever Morrolan pays her, it’s not enough and I can say that with utter certainty. Thing is, I’m not certain he pays her at all.
Let’s back up a little bit.
Way back when Morrolan decided to raise Castle Black into the skies in a fit of arrogance unparalleled since Kieran the Conqueror’s declaration that he’d defend Dragaera right here and damn the dissenters, he must’ve known that he’d need someone to handle the day to day details.
Dragons are good at display and motivation, but the petty details are decidedly beneath them. That’s why Morrolan pays me, but that’s another story.
So, Lady Teldra.
Someday I’ll have to find out how one goes about acquiring an Issola to run their affairs. It can’t possibly be anything so crass as simply offering one a job. Not that their rejection wouldn’t be exquisitely polite, mind you, but they’d make you feel like a complete heel for so much as speculating.
Not that I’d dream of trying.
When you arrive at Castle Black, the first thing to strike you is the fact that you are standing far above the countryside below. Birds and sometimes clouds wheel beneath your feet, and those afraid of heights are then pried, gibbering, from the apparent security of the nearest wall.
I’m theorizing, mind you. I can’t imagine that anyone possessing a difficulty with heights would be allowed to set foot in Castle Black’s somewhat dramatic courtyard. Dragonlords declare war over less publicly obvious loss of face.
At any rate, once rendered speechless by the view, your second impression of Castle Black is of the Lady Teldra, who is always there at exactly the correct moment. She greets you by name, even if you have never been there before and have arrived unannounced, and wishes you well.
She means it, too.
The party at Castle Black runs day and night. I’ve never arrived without some greeting, no matter the hour or circumstances, and it causes me to wonder if the Lady Teldra sleeps. It seems sacrilegious somehow, to imagine her attempting to catch a nap somewhere standing up or helping herself to a hasty sandwich between greetings.
I could find out, of course. I’m responsible for the security of Castle Black and, if I really wanted to know, the information would be made available.
In theory.
The rules and protocol forbid me – not because she is a fellow employee, at least as far as I know, but because she is an Issola and a Lady, and I am a Jhereg and an Easterner. At least, that’s the excuse that Morrolan would use to kill me.
I’m almost certain he’d have me revivified afterward, but I’ve been dead, and it’s not an experience I wish to repeat.
Curiosity, however, has led me to make some purely personal observations.
The first is that Morrolan is a Dragonlord and, were someone to slight my honor in my position as the head of security for Castle Black, he’d probably challenge them to a duel. It would be a slight to his own honor as well, after all, as well as casting aspersions on his judgment in choosing his servitors.
If someone were to insult the Lady Teldra, he would also challenge them to a duel. I suspect that it would be a matter of Morganti weapons, however, and no one in their right mind would willingly stand up to Morrolan with Blackwand in hand.
Morrolan is fond of me, in his own way. He trusts me, which is worth quite a bit more. We’ve been through a great deal together, after all, despite the fact that most of it was extremely unpleasant. For a Dragonlord, he becomes rather interestingly attached to the strangest people.
Not that Lady Teldra is strange, which should’ve been the first thing to tip me off.
I’m ashamed to admit that I’d been head of security at Castle Black for over a year before it occurred to me that I knew nothing at all about Lady Teldra – not even whether Teldra was her given name or a title. Much, much later I’m still none the wiser.
I suspect it’s a function of her position. She’s not a real person, the pleasantly smiling, lovely woman who greets you at the door. She’s a symbol of Morrolan’s hospitality and a gesture of respect to his guests – and at the same time, a display of his power.
Morrolan doesn’t greet every guest to walk through his doors, after all, and Lady Teldra sees to it, gracefully, that those who he wishes to see reach him while others are given a brush off so gentle and discreet that it’s almost impossible to tell that it isn’t a warm welcome.
She does almost as much for his personal security as I do.
I’ve seen them together, once or twice. While Morrolan trusts me, it should probably hurt my feelings that she knows more than I do about what goes on in the more formal twists and turns of Castle Black’s eternal party.
My professional feelings.
Strangely, it does not. Sethra caught me scowling as Lady Teldra spoke with Morrolan and, perhaps unwisely, I asked her about it.
More accurately, I said, “What’s she got that I haven’t?”
Ignoring my flippancy, she said something very profound. Sethra’s good for that, when it fits her mood.
"It would be inappropriate to say that Morrolan's seneschal is also his lover, yet it would also be a lie to say that Morrolan does not love his seneschal, or that she does not love him in return."
I had to think about that. ‘Inappropriate’ has many shades of meaning among Draegarans, and when used by Sethra Lavode, it gains gradients you never knew existed.
Maybe she is his lover. Maybe she’s not. It’s none of my business, really – even professionally. That’s a strange thing to say, but I refer you again to formality and etiquette.
... that and my fervent attachment to the business of my continued breathing.
I am almost certain he’d have me revivified.
Almost.
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Date: 2007-07-20 02:51 am (UTC)I was not the requester, as I would never be so cruel as to challenge anyone to emulate Brust's prose. You responded to that challenge so well, however--indeed, this is probably the best Vlad voice I've seen outside of canon--that I just had to give you props. =) On top of that, this is an intriguing exploration of the twists and turns of Dragaeran high society, with details and nuance fitting of the original books. I particularly enjoyed the decision to have Sethra quote the prompt; it would have fit Vlad, but it fits Sethra so much more.
A very good read, and it's also good to see I'm not alone out here in my love of Jhereg novels. ^_^
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Date: 2007-07-22 06:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-20 11:07 am (UTC)That said, I'm utterly delighted to discover my prompt was picked up and resulted in this delightful piece, in which Vlad speculates, Teldra gets center-stage (in spite of not making an actual appearance), Sethra disperses words of obscurity and Morrolan is mentioned to be a Dragonlord, among other things. Your Vlad-voice is perfect - a Brust-esque treat to read.
Thank you very, very much for having written this.