[Aral's eyebrows raise, looking between his son and the young queen. There's no comment but there's a distinct spark of interest as he follows the conversation.]
[ Gregor recollects the napkin and then has nothing to do with it, blood-stained as it is, and supposes they'll have to throw it out. He has a moment of pure morbidity in which he wonders how good most Barrayaran housewives and laundresses are at getting blood out of fabric...
Right, okay. Focusing. He stands there lamely for a moment and then sets it out of the way on a side table to collect later. ]
You're both recovered? We should go over details. [ Mostly his question was directed at Miles, who Gregor is starting to wonder will ever be fully healed again. ]
[ Miles twists his wrist experimentally. A bit sore, but no longer broken; Lucy's magic has taken away the vast majority of his injury. What little is left will heal rapidly enough. He sits up then, no longer splayed against the couch helplessly; his ribs do not twinge. Perfect. All is well.
(Except the dim ache at his sternum that persists despite everything, but that is another matter.) ]
Yes, we absolutely should. I'm feeling much improved. What about you, Father?
[Aral is also focused on... and particularly relieved when Miles is able to sit up without issue or incident. It was a bit like releasing a breath he'd been holding.
And then there's Father. What a pleasant sound that had...]
[ Gregor is similarly relieved. He notices that ache still left in Miles's sternum as something persistent, but now is not the time to bring it up.
He glances between them once, then decides to direct the conversation. ]
First we should establish to what extent you'd like to be told, or not told, about your future. Some certain amount needs must be practical, but beyond that, I would not blame you for not liking to be told in advance. [ That there's another Komarran revolt is probably not news to just drop on him casually. ]
[Komarr may not come as much of a surprise as one might guess. He was not out of touch with the ripples that he of all Vor being appointed Regent made on THAT planet, nor was ImpSec blind to the propaganda campaign surging. But there was a keen emotional sense of responsibility nonetheless.
Though he turned the thought over. As a philosophical choice, there were, perhaps, some quandary about ethics or the place of man in fate... but in front of him it was suddenly a much easier discussion.]
If it were simple to separate a man from the history that made him, I'm sure the Betans would have that bottled too.
[Or the Jacksonians. He shakes his head.]
I don't think I can get a picture of either of you without it.
[Though... 20 and 25... He looks at both of them, the keen intensity in his eyes mirrored as a feeling of pressure to Miles.]
[ Gregor, personally, would rather not know of any forthcoming tragedies until they happened. The past and present seemed sufficient enough unto that for him. Here in De Chima it feels as if they have the luxury of eternity, and no consequences, though Gregor is aware that is ultimately going to be proven false; it's just that he's so free here, he doesn't want anything from home to entrap him.
One or two Vorkosigans is not entrapping, no matter what he's said (doubted) before. But he's not surprised either Aral would feel differently.
He doesn't need to feel that pressure to read it and understand it. Gregor knows who this question is directed at. His heart jumps into his throat at the thought of failing him on this answer, which is ridiculous because he hasn't failed him, Barrayar is fine-- Gregor looks perfectly somber physically. ]
Barrayar is fine. You delivered her to me on my twentieth birthday and nothing has fallen apart since.
In other words, it's still a nest of cannibalistic vipers, but it's our nest of cannibalistic vipers.
[ The comment is enriched with fondness, a sense that no one gets to talk bad about Barrayar except Barrayarans. For all that Naismith is (and will become) an outlet for Miles from all things Barrayaran ... he's still Vor down to his fragile bones. Nothing can remove that from him. ]
[Aral let himself unfold at that. He relaxed, almost melted into his chair, expression almost blank with relief and no little amount of wonder.]
Amazing. [The word was breathed. After a moment, he seems to martial himself. The look favored both of them, each in turn, lingered, possessive to some degree, proud to another.
[ In retrospect, Gregor can see how a man embarking on a twenty year colossal effort would want some reassurance it all worked out in the end. It was strange seeing Aral this young; his mental image of him growing up was all towering competence, impossible to live up to. It was a new thought, to see him with the same worries and uncertainties about the future as everyone else.
Gregor finds his own seat, taking the remaining armchair and leaving Miles to that couch. He still sits straight, not slouching, not casual, given the topic and who from. ]
We have. [ He inclines his head in a formal nod, hazel eyes dark but something soft behind them. ] And lest you think to worry on it, we have a positive relationship of the appropriate distance. [ One finger taps on the chair arm for just a moment, belying a bevy of hidden feeling. ] No one dares to question that anymore.
[ Gregor's reaction post-Vordrozda had quickly put paid to that. ]
[ Vordrozda, ah ... Miles immediately picks up on that, clouds a bit as he debates whether to go into it. There's telling his father about their history and then there's getting into all the details ... He swallows a bit, and once again refocuses on the lighter answer. ]
You're Prime Minister now, Da. Mostly because Mother can't convince you to retire, I think.
They'd question gravity if they thought it would get them half of an advantage. A quarter.
[There was something there, obviously. Something sharp. For now, however, he let himself be guided on.]
I'd be telling myself I'd go to ground the moment I could pass the mantle. [There's a bit of a smile there.] No, that makes sense. There's no lack of crisis and the small ones are all seeds for the large. It's manageable by one man and his party, but easier with two.
[ Gregor is completely on board with focusing on the lighter answer. He's perfectly aware that Aral is going to pick up on the undercurrents-- he'd hardly expect his reign to be problem-free-- but there's no reason to drag them out ahead of schedule. ]
Much easier, [ Gregor agrees wholeheartedly. ] When I said no one dares question it, perhaps I should've said no one questions it to me.
Hm. Cetagandan, Without a doubt... that area would be valuable to hold.
[Though, Gregor and I... He didn't miss the unusual turn of a phrase there. Dispatched by the Emperor? Through what venue? At what rank? Had he gotten through Imperial Service? There would have been a pile of negotiation to get forces through Pol, they were never warm and welcoming to their neighbors. It took a moment to find the way to phrase it.]
[ He's about to scoff (internally only) before he realizes that of course there's no way for Aral at this time point to know Gregor's capabilities in any area. Not easy to tell in a five year old. ]
Diplomatic, of course. [ He's reluctant to sound like he's touting himself, so Gregor immediately and smoothly switches to touting Miles instead. ] The Dendarii are no fabrication-- Miles and his forces were responsible for holding the line until you could arrive with backup.
Oh, yes. We've closed that loophole. And here, Miles has put me on personnel screening duty, so I'm quite literally approving each of them. [ Lobbing it right back at him now. ]
[He simply settled, watching the interplay with growing interest. It had been one thing to see Gregor carrying Miles with such exquisite care. This was a new layer on top of that. His own mind balked at the same interplay with Ezar.
But then Simon's role came up, and the dry humor flares like the sun, even though his expression remains cool, unbroken. His tone is perfectly bland.]
I'll see if Lady Vorpatril has his wine preferences before next Winterfair.
[ Gregor is all too cognizant of this evaluation and tries not to strain too hard with his effort to convey, See, I don't mistreat your son, I swear. It's nothing like with Ezar. It's not a fear he thinks Miles would be aware of, but Gregor has had far too much access to history archives.
He can't feel that dry humor, but he can guess at it, and his tone matches it. ]
That hasn't escaped her. It came to a point where we couldn't assign him to anyone else.
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[And that's when she leaves, matter of factly. She has work that she desperately needs to do.]
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Right, okay. Focusing. He stands there lamely for a moment and then sets it out of the way on a side table to collect later. ]
You're both recovered? We should go over details. [ Mostly his question was directed at Miles, who Gregor is starting to wonder will ever be fully healed again. ]
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(Except the dim ache at his sternum that persists despite everything, but that is another matter.) ]
Yes, we absolutely should. I'm feeling much improved. What about you, Father?
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[Aral is also focused on... and particularly relieved when Miles is able to sit up without issue or incident. It was a bit like releasing a breath he'd been holding.
And then there's Father. What a pleasant sound that had...]
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[ Gregor is similarly relieved. He notices that ache still left in Miles's sternum as something persistent, but now is not the time to bring it up.
He glances between them once, then decides to direct the conversation. ]
First we should establish to what extent you'd like to be told, or not told, about your future. Some certain amount needs must be practical, but beyond that, I would not blame you for not liking to be told in advance. [ That there's another Komarran revolt is probably not news to just drop on him casually. ]
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We do both survive to be twenty and twenty-five, respectively. And you and Mother are still alive.
[ That seems reasonable enough to establish straight off. ]
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Though he turned the thought over. As a philosophical choice, there were, perhaps, some quandary about ethics or the place of man in fate... but in front of him it was suddenly a much easier discussion.]
If it were simple to separate a man from the history that made him, I'm sure the Betans would have that bottled too.
[Or the Jacksonians. He shakes his head.]
I don't think I can get a picture of either of you without it.
[Though... 20 and 25... He looks at both of them, the keen intensity in his eyes mirrored as a feeling of pressure to Miles.]
And Barrayar?
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One or two Vorkosigans is not entrapping, no matter what he's said (doubted) before. But he's not surprised either Aral would feel differently.
He doesn't need to feel that pressure to read it and understand it. Gregor knows who this question is directed at. His heart jumps into his throat at the thought of failing him on this answer, which is ridiculous because he hasn't failed him, Barrayar is fine-- Gregor looks perfectly somber physically. ]
Barrayar is fine. You delivered her to me on my twentieth birthday and nothing has fallen apart since.
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[ The comment is enriched with fondness, a sense that no one gets to talk bad about Barrayar except Barrayarans. For all that Naismith is (and will become) an outlet for Miles from all things Barrayaran ... he's still Vor down to his fragile bones. Nothing can remove that from him. ]
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Amazing. [The word was breathed. After a moment, he seems to martial himself. The look favored both of them, each in turn, lingered, possessive to some degree, proud to another.
They settled on Gregor.]
So we've managed our war as well.
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Gregor finds his own seat, taking the remaining armchair and leaving Miles to that couch. He still sits straight, not slouching, not casual, given the topic and who from. ]
We have. [ He inclines his head in a formal nod, hazel eyes dark but something soft behind them. ] And lest you think to worry on it, we have a positive relationship of the appropriate distance. [ One finger taps on the chair arm for just a moment, belying a bevy of hidden feeling. ] No one dares to question that anymore.
[ Gregor's reaction post-Vordrozda had quickly put paid to that. ]
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You're Prime Minister now, Da. Mostly because Mother can't convince you to retire, I think.
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[There was something there, obviously. Something sharp. For now, however, he let himself be guided on.]
I'd be telling myself I'd go to ground the moment I could pass the mantle. [There's a bit of a smile there.] No, that makes sense. There's no lack of crisis and the small ones are all seeds for the large. It's manageable by one man and his party, but easier with two.
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Much easier, [ Gregor agrees wholeheartedly. ] When I said no one dares question it, perhaps I should've said no one questions it to me.
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[ Adds Miles, grinning a bit. He can picture them now. They're certainly the same old bastards that Aral is dealing with now. ]
Anyway. Things are well for the Imperium, if not always quiet. Gregor and I recently foiled an invasion at Vervain.
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[Though, Gregor and I... He didn't miss the unusual turn of a phrase there. Dispatched by the Emperor? Through what venue? At what rank? Had he gotten through Imperial Service? There would have been a pile of negotiation to get forces through Pol, they were never warm and welcoming to their neighbors. It took a moment to find the way to phrase it.]
Diplomatic or tactically?
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Diplomatic, of course. [ He's reluctant to sound like he's touting himself, so Gregor immediately and smoothly switches to touting Miles instead. ] The Dendarii are no fabrication-- Miles and his forces were responsible for holding the line until you could arrive with backup.
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And Gregor assured we actually got that backup. We just pinned them down at the wormhole.
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[A pause. While the title stated it was a free mercenary company...]
They ARE the Emperor's own, correct.
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Oh, yes. We've closed that loophole. And here, Miles has put me on personnel screening duty, so I'm quite literally approving each of them. [ Lobbing it right back at him now. ]
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It's all a very neat operation now. I take care of messes too public or awkward for the Imperium to handle directly.
... Poor Illyan is in charge of me.
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[He simply settled, watching the interplay with growing interest. It had been one thing to see Gregor carrying Miles with such exquisite care. This was a new layer on top of that. His own mind balked at the same interplay with Ezar.
But then Simon's role came up, and the dry humor flares like the sun, even though his expression remains cool, unbroken. His tone is perfectly bland.]
I'll see if Lady Vorpatril has his wine preferences before next Winterfair.
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He can't feel that dry humor, but he can guess at it, and his tone matches it. ]
That hasn't escaped her. It came to a point where we couldn't assign him to anyone else.
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I'm not terrible to him. I bring him results, after all. Just ... not necessarily in the way he intends.
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