I swore and oath

When in doubt, be bold.

I swore an oath
Summary: When in doubt, be bold. Instead of returning to the market and running away from the potentially explosive confrontation (explosive? terminally lethal?) with the King, Dr. Nadir alters course and in the doing, alters her personal trajectory.
Date: Friday 17/Mar/17 (OOC Date)
Related Logs: http://battlestarorion.wikidot.com/necessary-lies
Dropkickst Samtara 
Bominaire
Day 86 (Local) - AWD #662 (Relative)

Standing just one step beyond the threshold of the house, one hand still holding to the latch of the door to close it behind her, Sam slows to a halt. Heart pounding, with as much fear as adrenaline, the bitter taste helping clear her head while the to-loud pounding of her heart makes all other sense of sound oddly warped, she takes a slow shallow breath, holds it for a beat, then exhales as she turns back to the house itself and all that is contained therein. Stepping back over the threshold she closes the door behind her. Squaring her shoulders, and by no means a short of stature woman in the first place, she traverses the length of the hallway once more and approaches the knight who had but moments before given her leave to depart. Instead of the facade of tremulous timidity, she is calm, as calm as she has been since arriving, and speaks in a quiet voice that is quiet only so that she does not disturb the others in this domicile. "Excuse me, would you please tell his majesty, with utmost respect, that the healer requests another moment of his time?"

The Knights inside are already rolling leaves into thin paper sheets, looking like they are about to smoke. A local leaf that's a mild intoxicant and barbiturate. Something am has prescribed hundreds of times already to people who are in mild pain. The one who saw her out stops and looks. They both sigh and begin unrolling back into their pouches. "Fine." The escort gestures for her to stay. The meal being cooked actually smells delicious — far better than what Sam has been eating from the local flavor of cheap pots and donation. Venturing upstairs, the man is gone for nearly five full minutes before his boots are heard descending the stairs again. He stops and looks her over. "His Majesty will see you. You have one minute." Given the look on his face and the hand on the hilt of his blade? She either succeeds or she dies. He will be following her up.

In the time the knight was gone, Sam took a moment to set aside the basket that she was carrying and uses the edge of her shawl to wipe the smudges away from her face and hands. Actually tidies up her hair and tucks the fly-away wisps back into place, dusts off the flecks of mud and bits of dust, even the coarse strands of horse hair and other detrius that's accumulated on her attire over the course of the day. By the time the knight returns she's as neat as a pin (as much as possible) and shares a solemn nod with the knight before she moves back toward the stairs. This time she has both hands free, allowing her to lift the hem of the skirt just enough to make the climb reasonable instead of a try-not-to-trip and fall on her face adventure that it was the first time around. Once in the upper hall she strides for the door to the same room and raps her knuckles politely on the door frame before stepping over the threshold once more.

From one step inside the threshold she drops a curtsy to the king and speaks only as she straights. "I swore an oath, your majesty, to use treatment to help the sick according to my ability and judgment, but never with a view to injury and wrong doing. I swore an oath, sire, to do no harm. Into any house that I enter, I will enter only to help the sick and will abstain from all intentional wrong-doing and harm. That which I see or hear in the course of healing, I will never divulge, holding such things to be holy secrets." She pauses only to draw a breath to continue, "In faithfulness to this oath, and by breaking it not, may I gain for ever reputation among all for my life and for my art; but if I am forsworn, may the opposite befall me. Sire, I am a healer, and I have sworn an oath to heal, to do no harm. By the very oath I have sworn, I humbly request that you allow me to do any and all that is within my ability to try to help to heal her and make safe her life, her health, and that of the child she carries."

When she enters, the King is standing about three feet back from a window and looking to the busy streets outside. Far enough back to see, but hidden enough in the shadows to keep from being seen. Sam can tell he is here clandestinely. When she enters with the Knight, he doesn't move. He drinks from his tankard and watches outside.

While she speaks, the man stands there, staring outside. There's no visible reaction to her at his back. He just looks out. But maybe he is listening. Perhaps likely, considering. "Mister Elias, leave us."

The Knight seem like he might take exception, hand still on his hilt, but he stops. "Yes, my King." The guy bows deeply and turns to move out of the room.

That's when the King turns and looks back, stepping only three precise steps towards Samtara. There is still an easy six feet between them. "I'm sure you are curious how I knew. Or would even know." The one hand holds tha tankard but the other gestures out, giving a come-hither. "Unload it. We are alone. Let me see it. I cannot trust you otherwise. This is my daughter we speak of."

Samtara remains in place as the knight takes his leave, the door closing behind him, her expression carefully neutral as the king approaches those three precise steps. The look on her face, at his words, goes to one that is somewhat rueful expression though she doesn't speak on it. Instead she gives a solemn nod, moves away from the door and takes the moment required to extract her sidearm from the holster that is worn beneath her attire. She smooths her skirt again with one hand even as she displays the weapon and the ammo mag, though does not hand either component over.

"I would wish that this would be enough to allow you to trust me, Sire. But you are the king, and all of this," a nod is aimed at the room and the castle beyond, "is merely one facet of why you are so very dangerous to who and what I am. I am here, sire, because someone I deeply respect stands in my place. Were I to fall, here, then the one that I respect so deeply is sworn to remain in my place and away from family and kin for many long years to come. As a parent, you are dangerous to me, because one you love is ill and you will move the world and the sky itself to help her. Please, let me help her," she adds then admits, "I am curious, aye, Sire," she confirms with a nod, speaking quietly still. "And while I'm honestly intrigued," which is the politest way of wondering just precisely how her cover was so neatly blown, "I'm more worried about your daughter. You said she has experienced some bleeding already, did the bleeding cease? How many moons along is she, carrying the child?"

The King asked for the firearm but doesn't seem to demand it be handed over. He looks at it from a distance and there is a studied eye. While she speaks, he's looking at her sidearm. She's left in wait, the guy taking one step closer to see it but he makes no aggressive moves. Tankard in hand, he looks to be the same calm individual. Despite everything she says, his words come down like thunder to Sam, "I've not seen one of these since I had my own. I was promised much to leave and join. I'm not so sure it was the right decision." He lifts his eyes to look back to her and walks to the right, heading towards the couches.

The King takes a heavy seat and gestures for her to sit. "If you'd denied it, we'd be in a place neither of us would like. Thank you. Take a seat." He sips from the tankard and levels her with a gaze, assuming she sits. "She's five and a half months. She's had, from what I remember, a normal pregnancy until now. I was not an OB. I don't know how to treat her. I'm asking you to help me. Diplomatic Service to a traitor. Please. I know will do your best but…" The guy takes a long breath. "I cannot hide it from DS deployments. I know that. Not now. Not when it means so much."

"Well," Samtara doesn't so much -say- this word as exhale it, "this is most.. unexpected," and takes a seat a few microseconds before her knees decide that they no longer have a valid reason to be functioning properly. She manages a semblance of grace, which is to say she doesn't flop on the couch like a landed trout but . . it's sort of a near thing. The stunned look on her face is frank, and genuine, and she takes a quiet moment to gather up the different strands of the trains of thought that are chasing in several directions at once. "Alright," she says as she settles somewhat, "you weren't an OB but you have some medical training of your own, of course, which makes a great deal more sense now that I've said it aloud. I'm a surgeon," she adds, keeping her voice still pitched quietly to ensure that even if one of the Knights has his ear to the door her voice should not, in theory, carry beyond the king. "And .. it's not my business whether you are a traitor or not, Sire, you're a father. That's the part that matters right now. Twenty two weeks, give or take a week for a margin of error in the calculations, and a normal pregnancy to date. Has she had other healthy to term gestation and delivery of same?" she wonders, hands flexing with the need to take notes. "You've done the work up that you can," she doesn't frame it as a question, instead as a thought process spoken aloud, "ruled out the usual environment conditions that can cause the alteration to her pregnancy stress factors, things of that like. When did she begin bleeding and was it heavy bleeding in small bursts or has it been an ongoing and or escalating issue?" she flexes both hands again and smiles suddenly, a first, "to be able to take notes and use the as reference is something that I miss, oddly enough. Paperwork. Who knew."

The King sits there with his tankard, watching. Maybe he expected this to some respect. He notes the firearm not being reloaded but doesn't comment. He, likely, has bigger concerns. "A surgeon." He says it and he does his best ot leave it there, but there's some hope associated. The man seems to be talking freely, but he keeps his voice quiet. As he said initially, voices carry in this house. "She's fourteen," he says carefully. The guy is doing his best to keep from panic no that his secret is out. "All help me, she's living in this world. But she's never had another, no." He leans forward, tankard in both hands as he looks to Sam. "I- I don't think there's.. I mean, there could be environmental. I don't even know or remember." He swallows and then drinks. "Its coming in bursts. I think its with her period." The first rational term he's used. "But the last time.. last week? She hasn't stopped. My wife is going insane. Our other daughters are scared."

While the king is speaking, Sam does reload her sidearm, checking it over with methodical precision before she returns it to the holster that's accessed through a concealed slit through layers of her skirt. The material is settled back in place and, save for knowing that the weapon is there, it's once again indsicernible to the searching eye. She is frowning by the time he is done speaking, however, and rises from the couch and begins to pace in a long rather oblong oval around the room, back and forth in front of the king and father. "Fourteen is very young, but not the youngest patient I've treated," she uses this aloud as she moves, thinking and pacing. "If it's coming in bursts that are connected to her usual menstruation cycle, that would be a key determining factor. That it hasn't stopped after the most recent bout is cause for worry." She pauses mid-pace and turns back toward the king, "I really, really must examine her. A diagnosis sight unseen is only useful in the abstract. And only then as a reference point for external analysis, it won't help her if I can't get to the actual core of the problem. Is there a way that I may see her myself?"

The King holds his place on the couch. He may know where she has come frm but he is well-schooled in his own place. "Fourteen may be young where you come from, Doctor, but this is normal here. A Princess is not the fairy tale you might remember." Fourteen. Uncontrolled bleeding in a pregnancy. Yes, the girl may die. How many light years is Sam from a simple ultrasound? "I'll let you see her. And I need her treated." But this is where certain gears change.

"If you do this I will make sure nobody questions you in my kingdom. Nobody will ever look askew wit hthe Knights. As long as you stay to our world. But you will treat my soldiers. I that understood?" And everything that may come along with that.

"I've never actually met a princess before, sire, let alone a king, until today. Nor have I read over much about princesses, in stories and lore. I've always imagined that a princess worked day and night for the good and aid of her people, regardless of age or accompanying frippery and finery. I only remark upon her age because of the factors inherent with a young pregnancy compared to that of a woman even four years older, let alone ten or fifteen. They're all factors, and sire," Sam pauses the pacing again to fix the king with a somber look, "I'm not speaking or thinking in a tone of censure. I have no children of my own and therefore do not have the same point of focus that you do. Which also means that I will not lie to you and tell you that I understand, because I do not. That also, however, does not mean that I won't do everything in my ability to try to help her." She pauses then allows her eyes to narrow, her tone sharpening subtly, "Treat, yes. Entertain? No. Violations of my personal space will be responded to with appropriate measures. With respect, sire, I'm a woman and a surgeon, not a camp follower or party favor."

The King is seated back in his over-plushed couch and he seems to understand in some way. "Fairy tales. The princess is the good of the kingdom, the last best hope. Yes, I've seen and read these stories. The fact is tht she is my eldest. The Sheen's demanded I have children and my firstborn was a daughter. She's to be married off for an alliance if her pregnancy succeeds. Everything I am is depndant upon her survival." He takes a long breath. "You walked out of here. I'm not terribly pleased with you, but maybe that's just my time here speaking. So lets just agree that if you can help her, I'll help you and your Diplomatic Service. Come."

The King stands and gathers his robes off another chair behind the couch. Given the temp outside, the long minks seem to suit him. He throws it around him but in the confines of the apartment he doesn't make demands. He looks back to Samtara, "I know what I am to the Arpay. I just hope that one day I can do some good. You have my appreciation for you honesty. I now what that means." He takes a breath. "You will follow me and be a good woman. Do you understand me?"

"And if everything I do is not enough?" Sam asks in a quiet voice as she studies the king while he gathers his robes, adopting the outer trappings of the local attire that is custom to one of his rank and stature. Decides not to do the math to calculate how many minks had to be farmed and killed to make the nifty robe. She shakes her head, subtly, decisively, "We become what we are, Sire. You're a father, who wants his daughter to survive, who wants his grandchild to survive, who wants to allay the fears and worries of his wife and his other children. By that measure? Perhaps that's a better way to define what you measure yourself against instead of the line by line decisions that were made to reach this point." She angles her head subtly, however, and a glimpse of an almost smile forms on her face. Almost "Aye, sire, I understand."

The King stops at the door and looks back. "If what you do is not enough? Then you will be beheaded in the city square." He waits for her to shake herself out and get comfortable. His frown grows, further and further. When she finishes, he just look at her from his hold on the door. "I stand by all decisions I've made since I took their hand. I may not like what I did, but I am in a place to help. The Sheens are what they are, Doctor. There is no 'fighting them' as some like to say." His words are biting and full of contempt. "Maybe you come from a world where you don't have them yet. Good for you. But nobody stays that way. We all lose. So I hope your D-S service counts here. As much as their tide rises…" But he cannot say it. Not any further.

The King wraps himself in his cloak and leads them downstairs. The Knights follow and are joined outside the house by ten more, out of nowhere. They fade out of the shadows and escort the King and Samtara back up the path. People gasp, looking to the King and the woman behind him. People take their knees out of reverence and respect. For all that see them this may be a high point of their lives. For Samtara? She has a patient.

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