"Yesterday Or Centuries Before." (Vorkosigan Saga) G
Title: Yesterday Or Centuries Before. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandom: Vorkosigan Saga
Rating: G
A/N: The title is from After great pain, a formal feeling comes (372) by Emily Dickinson.
Summary: Aral is killed in General Vorkraft mutiny.
Of all the ways to die, getting shot in the back by your own men is far more humiliating than any Ezar had foreseen for Aral. Ezar sent Aral out to keep him away from the political dealings at home, but Aral didn't sufficiently watch his own back. It's a disappointment of Ezar's plans. It's a devastation to one of the only true friends Ezar still has left.
Ezar has Count Vorkosigan report to him late at night. The politicals will have the news shortly and Ezar won't allow Piotr to hear this from anyone other than himself. He won't repay Piotr's lifetime of service with that discourtesy.
"Your son was killed by one of his sergeants," he tells Piotr, who startles badly, then forces himself into alert stillness. Whatever Piotr expected to hear, it was not this. "It was arranged by the political officer. I'm handling it."
Piotr is silent for a long time and Ezar watches him decide what to say, what to do. Ezar's known Piotr for most of his life. Piotr's hands have been between his for the last thirty-three years. And even now, Ezar doesn't know exactly what Piotr will do. There's a thrill of fear, of that old war adrenaline, at the thought of what Piotr might say. He knows Piotr well, but he'd die a fool if he thought that meant he could anticipate him.
When Piotr opens his mouth, it is to order, with perfect control: "Your son for mine."
Of all the Counts, of all his Generals, Piotr is the only one who knows about the assassination attempts that Serg has arranged. He knows what he's demanding is nothing less than the Emperor's justice. And he of all men knows what this demand means.
Piotr Vorkosigan, of all men, knows what it is to lose.
"I was going to handle that, too," Ezar says dryly.
"You didn't handle that fast enough," Piotr says. He sounds like a nightmare. He sounds exactly as he did the night he laid the Imperium at Ezar's feet and ordered him to pick it up. Ezar would never forget how Piotr looked when he told Ezar of his dead children. And now Ezar is returning the favor. He should expect nothing less. "I want his blood."
"Or?" That's always the question with Piotr. Yuri had thought he'd known what Piotr would do and had died for being wrong. They're deep inside Ezar's citadel. If Piotr decides to kill him, well, Piotr could manage to kill a dying man. He would not find it difficult. He wouldn't manage to leave the building afterwards, but Piotr wouldn't care about that. It would be just like a Vorkosigan to go down in an inferno, the only man to kill two Emperors. Knowing Piotr, he'd think it nothing more than what he was due for the legions of dead Vorkosigans on whose corpses the Vorbarras built this Imperium.
But, knowing Piotr, he'd also want more than that.
But the 'more' that Piotr wants is too far for Ezar. He won't bargain with his son's death. It had taken four years for Ezar to agree with Negri that the boy could not be allowed to inherit. Serg would die by Ezar's plans and no one else's. Ezar would give Serg a death that would serve the Imperium, not Piotr's revenge.
"Or I'll have it on the floor of Vorhartung," Piotr says evenly, looking Ezar in the eye. Ezar doesn't blink. In the earliest days of his reign, Ezar had put through a reform that would allow a Vorbarra to be tried in the Counts. In Yuri's day, in Dorca's, Vorbarras handled their own affairs. A son like Serg would be handled by the Emperor; it would never be allowed to be public. It would shame the Emperor to have his House so disgraced by a public trial. It would shame Ezar. "And if you won't allow it to the floor, I will have it in every drawing room in an hour, and your son dead on the parapets by daybreak. I'll light your son as the funeral pyre for my House."
"I planned to make his death serve Barrayar by taking all of his friends with him." Ezar says, "You know their plan for Escobar."
Piotr's lips thin. "How many sons will you kill to make yours into a dead hero?"
"As many as I need," Ezar says. "You understand. You had an embarrassing son once."
Piotr's fist pounds the table, but Piotr stays seated. A minor miracle. "Don't you dare compare my son to your filth. Don't you dare."
Ezar will allow much from Piotr. He will not allow that. "Count Vorkosigan, I did not ask you for your opinion of my only son."
"I didn't ask you to kill mine," Piotr retorts.
"He knew what he did in my service," Ezar says. He trails his fingers across his opposite wrist. His own pulse isn't steady, but it never is these days. Sometimes he thinks he can feel the cancer burrowing into his body like a dagger. Will it kill him before Piotr will? "Was your son not Vor, Piotr?"
"Imperial service doesn't include getting shot by his own men because you can't control your damn Ministries properly," Piotr says. "How Vor is your own son, Ezar? What has he ever given for Barrayar?"
If Ezar had an answer for that, he would not have spent the last year planning his own son's death. "Nothing except for Gregor. And that's what I need from you."
Piotr grimaces.
"I need more from you than immolating yourself in vengeance by killing my son," Ezar says. "I need you to hold the planet together for the next Emperor of Barrayar."
"No."
Ezar ignores him. "I don't expect to survive until Winterfair. You know what will follow my funeral. Do you think a child would survive that alone? I need the man who won two wars to win a third, if need be. I need a man who doesn't mind a little blood on his hands."
"You have a dozen men like that," Piotr says. "Go talk to Vorlakial. I'm not in the mood."
"His cancer is worse than mine," Ezar says. "Piotr, I'm surrounded by old men who won't last fifteen years. Not you, not Vorlakial, not Vortala. Not Negri. I've accepted that I can't plan for fifteen years. But I can plan for five. I can't give you my son. I need to give you my grandson instead."
"I don't want him," Piotr dismisses. "Give him to Vorhalas. He's a child, too."
"Vorhalas doesn't have the support," Ezar says. "Do you want my regrets, Piotr? I spent three decades promoting proles over Vor so no one was in a position to destroy my son the way we all destroyed Yuri. And now I need a well-positioned Vor, but I've squandered that generation. I have no one. Your son imploded over the politicals and I let it happen. Every other well-placed son who rose in the military, I'll have to send to Escobar with my son to make sure all is arranged to fully clean up my mistakes. I'm going to clear the ranks with this war, but I have little to replace it with. Of the four men who can claim their blood is Dorca's, none can dare raise their head in Vorhartung and demand the Counts's submission. I don't have time to re-form Sonia's brat into a worthy successor. But you do."
"You miscalculated," Piotr judges him. And Ezar knows he did. He miscalculated badly. He's lost his iron control on the capital as his illness spread. He had not truly thought he would lose Aral. He had thought Aral could handle the snakes in his midst. He had not thought Serg would-- that Serg would try to kill his own father. But why should Ezar have been shocked by it? Ezar had done worse. Serg is nothing but another Vorbarra. But Ezar had not left himself slack in the rope. Ezar had not left himself room to maneuver. And Ezar can see the fall that is coming.
He feels, irrationally, like he is twenty years old again, expecting Piotr to pick him up and put him back on his feet. He expects Piotr to show him the way. But, Ezar considers, he may have destroyed Piotr too much. He may be expecting too much from his oldest friend.
Even Piotr Vorkosigan can break.
Piotr had relied on Ezar to hold Piotr's surviving son between his hands, to mold him into a proper Vor, to keep him safe even amidst the chaos. Ezar had failed him. Ezar had risked too much and put too many hopes on Aral Vorkosigan's brilliance. All Ezar could do now was re-strategize. All he could do now was plan. All he could do now was pin his hopes on Piotr, the way he had so many times before.
And if Piotr threw off those hopes, if Piotr rejected him, then Ezar would continue as he always had. He was the Emperor. But he hoped he wouldn't have to. He hoped this would not be the end between him and Piotr.
"You're a Vorkosigan, Piotr. Your Emperor requires one last service from you. You gave me this Imperium. You will do nothing less for Gregor."
Piotr stands. He turns his back on Ezar. "No," he says. With measured, infuriated steps, he walks out.
Ezar leans back in his chair, exhausted to the bone. He thinks he can feel the cancer grow day by day. He takes a moment to clench each fist, watching his hands still move. He is still the Emperor. He is still Ezar Vorbarra.
He reaches up and calls for Negri.
"Watch Piotr," he orders. "Don't let him do anything rash."
Rashness for Piotr could mean anything, after all. Ezar wonders if he will still have an Empire come morning.
Well then. Let Piotr try.
This entry was originally posted at https://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/1101943.html.