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If I Would...	By : quietann Category: M through R > Miles Vorkosigan Saga Views: 1351 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Miles Vorkosigan Saga, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
6
At Ges's knock, Count Vorrutyer called him and Aral into his room. The Count spent most of his time in bed now, although on doctor's orders he dragged himself out for a constitutional stroll at least once a day. Even if he only got as far as the kitchen, the doctor had told Ges and his siblings that as long as their father walked a little bit each day, he would not become bedbound.
Not surprisingly, Count Vorrutyer was grieving over his daughter's death as much as Ges and Aral were. Ges went to the bedside and gave his father a quick, one-armed hug, and then stepped back beside Aral. "So. My boys," the Count said. He made a gesture that encircled them as if they were both his sons.
"Sir," Ges replied. Aral echoed him in a much more subdued voice.
"I think we each need condolences, father, brother, and husband. This is ..." Count Vorrutyer paused for a moment. "I am not yet able to think of her as... gone."
Before they could continue, a second knock at the door brought the arrival of a pair of Vorbarra Armsmen, and then Aral's grandfather Prince Xav Vorbarra. He'd become a legendary figure on Barrayar, for planning and executing his half-brother Emperor Mad Yuri's demise, and then not taking the throne for himself. Of course, some looked down on him for being a superbly skilled interplanetary diplomat rather than a military leader, the same ones who said that his Betan wife controlled him, and had made him refuse the throne. Or that he'd refused to divorce her in order to become Emperor. When his critics consumed enough alcohol, they just called him "pussy-whipped." Prince Xav himself didn't care what they said about him, sober or drunk.
"Your Highness. Xav. I am glad you could make it," Ges's father said. He gestured outside, towards the snowstorm that had turned into a raging blizzard.
"It's just snow. And I need to be here." The Prince strode over to Aral and embraced him. It was a much more sure gesture than what Ges had done with his father; but then, the Prince, when he wanted to, radiated this needs to be done better than anyone. Ges could imagine how the Prince had convinced a small cadre of men to turn on Mad Emperor Yuri, that it was worth putting their battered world through yet another war to rid themselves of the rot at the top of their beloved Imperium. Xav had called on Piotr Vorkosigan -- who was more than adequately motivated, having just lost his wife and all the rest of his family except for his overlooked and undervalued younger son to Yuri's goons -- for strategy and military order, but Xav had not needed anyone's help to supply motivation.
Ges watched the concern in the Prince's face, a mirror of the concern in his own father's expression. When the Prince let go, he kept his hands on Aral's shoulders.
Rather stiffly, as if he didn't really care what the answer would be, Aral asked, "So you are here as a representative of the family?"
"No. I am here as your grandfather. Your grandmother sends her love; she didn't feel up to traveling in this awful weather. Your father...."
"He's probably happy about it," Aral said bitterly.
"No, he's not. I spoke to him just this morning, and would say that perhaps he's... relieved that your wife is dead, but he finds the circumstances quite distressing. He kept asking me, 'What happens now?'"
Count Vorrutyer said, "I suppose you mean between my son and your grandson."
"Certainly that's part of it. It's a difficulty his upbringing gives him no way to address. None of our upbringings do, really." The Prince and the Count exchanged a meaningful look as the Prince released Aral to stand beside Ges once again.
Now it was Ges's turn. He addressed both older men, heart in his throat. "So what will you do?"
Prince Xav replied first. "Given your, ah, situation, if I could, I'd ship you off-planet -- together. We can have a longer talk about it later, but for now, just know that the most shameful thing here is the personal disaster you both have caused through your dishonesty." Count Vorrutyer nodded his agreement.
Aral looked astonished as he spat out, "So you don't care that we're .... corrupt?"
"I care only because I don't wish there to be any more deaths." Count Vorrutyer's voice was wrought with grief.   "I've had enough. I should like this to be the last funeral offering I see lit in my lifetime," the Count said.
Aral's face was set in a deep frown, and Ges grasped for ways to redirect the conversation away from anything about the two of them. "So who will be lighting it?" Ges asked, as casually as he could. He wanted to, and in a sense felt he should, because his sister had stayed closer to him than she ever had become to her husband. But it was Aral's right...
"Aral, of course. It is his place."
Aral exploded in anger, "No! I will not, it's perverse. I killed her; I don't deserve to even be here!" Before any of them could stop him, he wheeled and ran from the room.
Ges dithered a moment, unsure of what to do. Go to him. Stop him from... Just as he was turning to the door, Prince Xav asked, "Did Aral actually kill her?"
"I, um, heard them fight. It was... they said terrible things to each other. I think there was no winner. Scorched earth, destroy the enemy as he -- or she -- destroys you. But she was still alive when he left. So he didn't fire that damn plasma arc, no. But he left it there to be used..." Ges stopped, torn between telling Prince Xav of his suspicions about Count Piotr's role in the death and just saying that she'd killed herself. He found a way to sidestep that issue. "I think... he may have killed her with his words. Made her not care if she lived or died, I mean."
Something dark -- Ges couldn't tell what, and really didn't want to know -- passed through the Prince's face. Ges was drawn back to the immediate crisis, and doing whatever he needed to do keep Aral alive. "Sir, Your Highness, please, may I?" He indicated the door.
The Count shooed him away. "Go after him, boy. We've had our fill of death, remember. If he still refuses in the morning, the duty will fall to you, as her favored sibling."
Ges found Aral staring into the fire in his rooms. He approached carefully, so as not to startle Aral, and settled into the other chair.
After a long while, Aral said, "So."
"So what?"
"I can't believe... no. I can't believe they'd tell me to act like this is just an ordinary Vorish death."
"Um, not exactly. If anyone understands just how not-ordinary this is, it's them. But lighting the offering is your role. You were the one who refused it."
"But... but I killed her! Or caused her to kill herself, or ... something." Aral's voice trailed off into quiet fear.
"Something?"
Aral ran his fingers along the cut on Ges's forehead. A tender, desirous gesture, normally, but not now. "You saw her die."
"Well, from outside, across the street. I saw the plasma arc fired. Don't know by whom, though."
"What ... do ... you ... mean?" Every word was filled with dread.
"Aral, was it your father? Did he arrange something?" Ges blurted out. Now he had a reasonable idea about what the Prince might have been thinking, just minutes before.
"I'm ... I'm not sure. I think he wanted to, no, I know it, based on that last conversation we had, before I killed her lovers. Said she was a blot on the family honor, that he felt like he'd been set-up. Never mind me being set up. I think he's ashamed by letting such a huge tactical mistake happen."
"So even your marriage was part of his war."
"Of course. Everything he does is calculated within a matrix of Barrayaran politics. I am sure that ... if he set up her death, it was only to serve Barrayar."
Now Ges felt sick, just thinking that what he'd feared might be true. "Would you ever ask him if he did it?"
"N-no. What would I do if he said yes?"
"Let it go?"
"God no!" Aral was furious again. "My duty would be to kill him. My own father. How many deaths does this thing need to be sated? Four, five, ten? The marriage was... it was such a disaster. But no one should die because their marriage is broken beyond repair! And I still loved her..."
"Really?"
"Really. Still. Almost..." The words came so quietly that Ges could barely hear them, but no one could have overlooked the tears in Aral's eyes. "Almost as much as I love you. The both of you. I didn't just love her because she reminded me of you, you know."
"Then, please, will you light her offering?"
"I just can't. Ges, you knew everything she was doing, and you loved her anyway. I had to try to push her into some box, what I believe is the correct definition of 'wife.'"
"Aral, it's what your father is doing to you."
"I know. His love is conditional. 'Replace your brother.'" No doubt this was a direct quote from Piotr, and it made Ges shiver, as Aral continued, "Mine towards her was conditional too. Conditional on her being useful to me. 'Make me look good.'"   He gestured towards Ges. " And, I'll admit, 'Provide me cover for my vices.' Does it please you to know that I was going to succumb?"
"Not at this cost." Ges silently cursed Piotr Vorkosigan for scaring him into making his proposal to Aral before he'd really figured out how to do it. If he'd only known that Aral was so close to giving in...
"If I hadn't loved her that way..."
"You'd likely be the laughingstock of Vorbarr Sultana."
"I probably already am. And frankly, I don't care. Don't care what they think. Not anymore."
This was a frightening train of thought. Aral had always cared, had always worked so hard for approval... And now he sounded like he'd just given up.   "Maybe. I'll believe you when you still don't care six months from now. In the meantime... no one is going to make you be the torchbearer tomorrow. You don't even have to show up, though it would look strange if you didn't. But would you at least give something for the offering?"
In response, Aral drew the jeweled knife from his boot, and Ges almost rushed to seize it from him until he saw that Aral was, in fact, using it to saw a bit of hair from his scalp. He then handed the knife to Ges, who did the same, all the while wondering what it was about the knife that was bothering him. He remembered. Right. He used it to cut open her wedding dress, to do something so seemingly harmless, but still fraught with meaning. Just like this. He wasn't superstitious, really, but he wondered if the knife carried some sort of malignant spell -- and also, why the hell Aral was so attached to it.
Aral drew a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to Ges. "Here. Put your hair here, with mine."
Wordlessly, Ges did just that. The symbolism -- the two of them sharing responsibility for the death -- was reflected in their mingled hair.
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It was bitterly cold the next morning, with the sun providing no warmth at all, just a blinding glitter off the ice that coated Vorrutyer House's outside walls and the fixtures. Thankfully, the previous night's wind was gone; the slightest breeze would have chilled the air to nearly-unbearable temperatures. Ges's sister was laid out in her wedding gown in a simple, open coffin. He remembered how she'd used the cut of the gown so flirtatiously with him, how perfectly reasonable it seemed, at the time, for such a beautiful young woman to be so very sexy on her wedding day. Someone, mercifully, had covered her destroyed face with a cloth -- no, an embroidered infant's gown, unused, perhaps saved for the naming ceremony of a child who would now never be born.
Aral was at Ges's left, distant and closed. Ges was just relieved that Aral had decided to show up, after the previous night's troubles, although it was obvious he was still very conflicted. Perhaps the night spent wrapped in Ges's arms had helped. On Ges's right, Count Vorrutyer leaned on his cane, occasionally dabbing tears from his face. Ges's two little brothers stood solemnly next to the Count, Patrice in his Imperial Service Academy uniform, which brought up memories of their mother's funeral, and the younger Yves in a slightly-too-large black mourning suit that was obviously a hand-me-down rustled up for this sad occasion. The oldest brother, the Count's heir Bayard, had not been able to get away from his military mission, though he'd sent a long, thoughtful message. Prince Xav, gaunt and pale, stayed close by Aral, as silent as his grandson, if much more present.
Ges and this little group bore witness as his sister's coffin was closed and lowered into the grave. The mourners took turns using shovels to return the pile of excavated dirt to cover the coffin; nearly everyone wept, loudly or quietly. Ges's younger brothers in particular seemed devastated by the process, as if it took seeing the grave being filled for them to believe that their beloved, spirited sister was dead. A few sturdy workmen, no less grieving than anyone else, piled logs on the grave once it was closed. This was a winter tradition in Vorrutyer District, a bonfire rather than the summer's small brazier, to warm the dead one's soul. Then the family watched as the other assembled mourners placed their offerings amongst the logs. Most gave locks of hair, but there was the occasional surprise -- a book of Escobaran poetry from Jonas Vorwyn's younger sister, here because she was too estranged from the rest of the Vorwyn family to attend her brother's own funeral, a battered toy bear from a childhood friend, a couple of his sister's favorite pastries offered by the District House's cook. For all that Ges's sister had died in disgrace, it was clear that she had lived surrounded by love. Prince Xav drew from a pocket a small bouquet, no doubt obtained at enormous cost in this bitter season, and placed it at the top of the pile. Ges was next, and he sprinkled the hair from the night before, his and Aral's together, over the bouquet.
As he stepped back, he was shocked to feel Aral slip an arm around his shoulders. He didn't dare look at Aral. But he placed his arm around Aral in return; his father, seeing this, gave them a grave nod before adding his own offering, the usual clipping of hair plus a small fabric purse and a pretty lace hat that had belonged to the Countess until Ges's sister, all of five or six years old at the time, had claimed them for her dress-up stash.
An Armsman brought a torch to the Count, who handed it to Ges. When Ges made to step forward to light the bonfire, and thus disengage from Aral, Aral placed his free hand over Ges's on the torch and turned to face him. What was in those eyes? Sorrow, certainly. Perhaps a bit of anger, still. But mostly the same as Ges had seen for the past day and a half, the eyes of a man drowning, yet reaching to be saved. "Live for me," Ges mouthed silently. Aral didn't hesitate as they went forward together and touched the torch to the bouquet Prince Xav had given.
But Aral's reserve cracked as the flames went up. To Ges's horror, he resisted stepping back, and Ges tightened his grip on Aral's arm, although he knew that Aral could get loose and throw himself on the conflagration easily enough. Please, you didn't do this to trick me. Aral was just starting to twist away from Ges when his grandfather stepped up and helped restrain him. "Enough death, boy." he whispered. For an elderly, slightly built man, Prince Xav was incredibly strong. They were quickly joined by a Vorbarra Armsman.
Three against one was apparently more than Aral felt up to, or maybe it was just who those three were -- his grandfather, an experienced former soldier, and ... Ges didn't know what he was to Aral, anymore, besides important. Aral let out a huge sigh and gave up all resistance, going limp so quickly that they barely managed to keep him upright. Ges and Prince Xav crossed their arms around Aral's back and held him as the other mourners gradually filed away, until the flames were gone.
When it was over, Prince Xav and Ges took Aral back into the house and up to his room. They got Aral to remove his boots and lay out on the bed. They put a couple of quilts over him, and then Xav motioned Ges into the next room.
"I'm very worried about him," the Prince said.
"As am I, Your Highness."
"Xav, please. I am just Xav, to my family. Are you going to stay with him?"
"Of course! I won't let him out of my sight, I promise."
"That is good. Now, see if you can get him to sleep, and while you're at it, do the same for yourself. Your father and I would like to speak to both of you, privately, before dinner." The old man drew in a sharp, pained breath. "I cannot afford to lose him. Two grandsons. Aral and Padma. You know that is all that's left to carry my family forward now, and it seems I am this close to having only Padma left."
"I know, Your... Xav."
As Ges turned to enter his own room, the Prince stopped him and turned him towards Aral's room. "No, in there," he said.
Ges was left standing, boggled, in the doorway. Barrayaran men weren't supposed to be like this. Sure, there was a lot of looking the other way, in regard to teenage schoolboys and even young soldiers in settings where there were no women to be had. But it was mostly just pretending that certain things were not happening, never speaking of them, and always encouraging boys towards "manliness," meaning that if one fell to the temptation of one's fellows, a woman should be sought as a replacement for them as quickly as possible. Yet here were two senior men -- Prince Xav Vorbarra was the second or third most powerful man on the planet, and Ges's father wasn't far behind him -- treating their scions' relationship with such tenderness, not encouraging it exactly, but not interfering either. Even Armsman Ruben, solidly guarding the outer door, seemed to be on their side.
When he returned to Aral's bed, he found Aral's clothing in a heap on the floor. Aral was asleep, deeply enough that when Ges stripped and climbed into the big bed next to him, he only murmured something in an undertone and threw an arm over Ges. Within minutes, Ges was also asleep.

Ges awoke with a start. He was on his side with one leg thrown forward, and Aral's hand behind him was taking advantage of his openness. So unexpected. He lay still, not wanting to interrupt what Aral was doing, letting himself relax into it. Aral's lips moved softly on his shoulder blades, and each kiss felt like sparks on Ges's skin. The hand moved around to Ges's chest and played along there, while also pulling Ges's hips in closer. Oh. Ges caught Aral's hand for a moment and gave it a squeeze. And then it pulled free and moved down. Oh. No words. Just lovely sensations, easy to go with. It had been so long...
When they were done, Aral pulled Ges around to face him. He didn't look so much like warmed-over death now; in fact, he was smiling shyly. Ges had nearly forgotten how much Aral's smile captivated him.
"Welcome back," Ges whispered. Welcome back, my love.
Aral said nothing in return, but buried his head in Ges's chest and breathed slowly and easily. It seemed to Ges that each breath Aral took restored him to the living. There would be more pain, Ges had no doubt of it, but this brief moment seemed so normal, and they both needed a respite of normal, at least for a little while.
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In the evening, they returned to the Count's bedroom. Prince Xav stood at the Count's bedside, grave and silent. The Count himself looked exhausted, yet another reason for no more deaths. Ges was feeling somewhat daring, so he kept an arm around Aral's waist. Neither of the older men seemed the slightest bit put out by this. Why?
"We should get right to the point," Xav said.
The Count followed, "I suppose it won't surprise you that we're very disappointed at the results of your scheme."
Both Aral's and Ges's heads snapped up. "Scheme, Sir?" Aral asked.
Ges knew what his father was talking about, and he needed to clear Aral's name. "If there's a scheme here, it was mine. My idea, though Aral probably guessed what I intended."
"You know, I'd figured it out -- about the two of you -- before you ever approached me about matching Aral with your sister," the Count said.
Ges remembered the conversation they'd had. It seemed like another lifetime, though it had happened less than two years ago. "You made that obvious to me when I first brought it up, Sir."
"You put me in a dilemma. Turn the idea down, leaving you both to God-knows-what, or go along with it and hope that marriage would be a... cure. Perhaps I fell back on the old rules. That the best way to break up a pair of boys was to give one of them a girl. I'd seen it work before. Yet at the same time, I felt conflicted... It seemed too much like I was using her to solve a problem."
"I think you did the right thing, Sir," Aral said. It was the most determined, resolute statement Ges had heard Aral say since the death. "It is better for men to be with women, and women with men."
Ges turned and grabbed Aral by the shoulders and shook him, hard. "You.... you think that? Then what the fuck do you think you were doing with me earlier?" Aral's hypocrisy infuriated him so much that he didn't care that his father and Aral's grandfather were there. They, in turn, by their nearly-matching, deep frowns, seemed to know exactly what Ges was implying.
Aral started to reply, but Prince Xav interrupted. "Aral, it seems you are contradicting yourself." He said it so calmly, as if it were a random observation of truth, not an accusation. But Aral still reddened and spluttered an epithet. The Prince went on. "I have thought long and hard on these... issues myself, and I have come to see things differently. This cursed planet won't modernize in my lifetime, but it might in yours -- if you and the rest of the future power structure let it. Would you really want to see your own son go through what you and Ges have?"
Aral looked shaken. "No... no, Grandfather. But I would have stopped it sooner."
"That's not what I mean. You think you can control the young, just like you think you can control yourself. Resolutely choose who you -- and others -- love, and turn away from anything or anyone you have learned to define as a wrong choice. Tell me, is it so easy?"
"You can't even control yourself," Ges said quietly.
Aral didn't reply to either of them. He seemed lost in some internal struggle, and Ges was fairly sure that the side Aral thought he should take was not the side that was winning. Then Xav made a "go on" gesture to Ges's father.
"I am old, and I just sacrificed my only daughter to beliefs like yours, Aral." There was something hard and firm in the Count's voice, something Ges had not heard from his father in years. Anger. Twenty years ago, you would have beaten him so badly for this that he would have been in bed for a week. But now, you only have words.
The old man coughed a few times, almost spoiling his fury. But when he continued, it was clear he had Aral's complete attention. "You loved my daughter to the best of your abilities. But boy, you love soldiers more. Well, one soldier, my son, in particular. At the very least, promise me that you won't marry again. That you won't destroy some other man's daughter for your precious principles." The Count's voice had hardened into steel.
Aral was looking at the Count like he was crazy. He started to pull away from Ges, but when Prince Xav said, "Aral, stay," it was as if Aral had been given a paralyzing drug.
"But, but...." Aral stammered. The Count glared at him. Long ago, Ges knew, his father had been a ruthless enemy to the Cetagandans. The old warrior's tools may have been long-disused, but they were not forgotten.
Aral folded, and not out of misbegotten sympathy for his elders. He was scared. "I... It was wrong for me to use her like I did. I won't do it again," he stammered out, "but maybe a lady soldier would solve this... difficulty I have."
Prince Xav raised an eyebrow at Count Vorrutyer, who seemed unsure about Aral's codicil. They took a moment for a quiet consultation that was clearly meant for Ges and Aral to overhear.
"You're asking him to leave Count Vorkosigan without an heir, you know."
"I don't care one whit about whether Piotr Vorkosigan has an heir. I subscribed to his attitudes, not letting my better judgment take hold, and it got me ... my daughter killed. One way or another."
Ges realized then that he was not the only one who thought Piotr Vorkosigan might have had a hand in his sister's death. And Xav did not look shocked, so perhaps he too suspected Piotr... Ges remembered Aral's words: "What would I do if he said yes, he did it?" It was likely they all shared that question, and the consequences, if Piotr did claim responsibility, would be impossible to manage -- so they likely all wanted it to remain unanswered.
"And if he finds his lady soldier?" Xav asked.
"Ha. You think it's possible?"
"Among our enemies, perhaps. Outside the Imperium, there are planets that allow their best and brightest women to serve, right beside the men. Escobar. Beta. And others. And he deserves to carry that hope with him." Xav murmured.
"And you married a Betan, after all, and somehow we still see you as a hero, not a traitor. I see your point."
Count Vorrutyer then summoned a servant, who brought drinks and some savory pastries. The strategy session, as Ges now realized it had been, was over. After that, the conversation was less somber, almost lighthearted. They mostly shared memories of Ges's sister, her birth and childhood from her father, descriptions of her cleverness from Ges, her beauty and spark from Aral. It seemed that she'd even made an impression on Prince Xav, though he'd only met her two or three times. Just before dinner, Xav and Aral left the room together, perhaps for a more private talk. Ges was just relieved to have a break from the exhausting task of being Aral's suicide watcher.
He helped his father out of bed, and handed him his cane. Then he asked, "So, father, you know about these problems among men from personal experience?"
"No. Or rather, not in the way you're thinking of. I've always loved women. But I've sat back and watched young men destroy themselves over this question, and I've grown weary of it." He paused. "Just in the family, my brother, my youngest uncle, a cousin or two."
Ges remembered the Count's brother, his uncle, a brooding man who rarely spoke, even to his own wife and children. And he remembered that his uncle had died in a lightflyer crash with another man, and that there had been more than a little evil gossip over it.
"I should add," the Count continued, "that the views I've shared with you this evening are strictly private. Xav wants Barrayar to change, to become more moderate like, say, Escobar, but he also keeps his efforts subdued. The change cannot happen quickly, because we've got honor flowing in our veins, and suddenly loosing the standards we aspire to would be like setting a finely-trained, stabled horse free in an endless plain to gallop to and fro until it ruins itself."
And Aral's flailing is just like that. In a way, Ges matched his father's public conservatism, and accepted the strictures of Barrayaran society, at least the proper public forms. With Aral, he did struggle sometimes over how hidden they should be, but there was a line that could not be crossed, for fear of making a public statement out of a private affair. His sister had been careless about such boundaries, and look what had happened to her.
It now seemed wrong that he'd come to think of his father as weak . Yes, the Count was old, and sick -- but he'd led a hard life, and the poisons of the Cetagandans' weapons were likely catching up with him, just as they had with all those old veterans for whose funerals Ges had arranged honor guards. But this old man, limping along on his cane and very much in mind of his own mortality, did not always let his physical ailments define him. He was shrewd and capable still.
- 5
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If I Would...