Chapter Text
Almost six months before the ‘trouble’ on Komarr was officially upgraded to a Revolt, Kareen woke up to ImpSec men at her door, half with expressions suggesting that they were clearly unprepared to face their screaming Emperor. To his credit, Captain Illyan both winced slightly at Kareen’s remark on their fortitude in the face of carrying off terrified children and not only listened to Cordelia’s lecture but followed up on sending more soldiers to proper handling training. The Regent had signed off on it immediately.
At the time, Kareen had done her best to reassure Gregor by going calmly with her own guards. She was sure that none of the young men who shouldn’t have been the ones to escort her had any idea that she had been measuring every step as a possible end. If they were being taken, Gregor would be the first to be rescued, his last memory of her could be one of control. It’s important to learn just how meaningless that image of control can be. A lesson he’ll have years more to learn, as she had stepped out of the flyer just where the evacuation plans said she should.
Later, once they tricky negotiations with Cetaganda were settled, Lord Vorkosigan himself explained that there had been trouble with the schedule, exacerbated by the sudden threat warning and the absence of key members of staff. She suspected that he was only just managing to hold himself back from describing it as a fuck up that would lead to a dressing down that would make those involved wish for lead-lined hose disciplinary parades, a care in language meant to prevent officers from being shocked on her behalf rather than because he thought that she would be shocked. The nightmares of Gregor falling just out of reach fresh again, Kareen almost wished that he had decided not to give a damn about sensitivity, but they have their roles.
Lord Vorkosigan is a conscientious Regent. She is well aware there are many plans that she has no knowledge of, but he has been mostly reliable in informing her about the ones that will have an impact in her or Gregor’s life. If he fails, he can be relied upon to speak and lay out what went wrong without overdone apology or denial of the effects of his actions. He is good with Gregor. He speaks clearly to him, lays out his expectations but has a far easier time remembering he’s a child than most of the men assigned to them. He had once been a boy who had thought violence and disruption were the same as entering adulthood. He knows all the different roles Gregor will have to play.
Ezar had called Kareen to him after Vorkosigan had accepted the appointment (always after). They had spoken of Gregor. They always spoke of Gregor, the one link of warmth between them, the thing that had tied them together from the moment Ezar had held his grandson in his arms and told Kareen he would protect them. A promise she could believe he meant, dedicated to the future instead of her. He had still been able to hold Gregor then, hiding the weakness of body that was a legacy of a young man who had thought nothing of his future when he’d thrown himself against the Cetagandan invaders. Perhaps he wasn’t far from the man who had weighed the odds of Cetagandan poison against a victory and saw the victory as more worthwhile, just simply living out the consequences in a future he hadn’t gambled on.
There was much they hadn’t spoken out loud. Serg’s name was never spoken. The dark humor of Vorkosigan speaking in Gregor’s father’s voice – a voice he had been kept far away from, of taking responsibilities that Serg would never have delivered if alive, had been carefully suppressed as he had laid out the flat terms of the arrangement. The Princess-Dowager had listened to the dying Emperor layout his plans for the future, just as the young princess-to-be had listened as her marriage had been announced. At the end, Ezar had promised her that Vorkosigan would never try to usurp Gregor. She had thought the emotion there had been the most genuine.
Kareen has never been afraid that Aral Vorkosigan wants to be Emperor. Sometimes, as she walks through the garden with her son, she wonders if the man ever feels as guilty about that as she does for not running.
The Princess-Dowager and the Lord Regent start formal dances exactly as often as proprietary demands. He understands the military and plots their protection and keeps the general staff in line. She graces important ceremonies, keeps track of the social scene of the capital and the position of Count’s wives on important votes. The mirror dance is almost a heavy-handed analogy, the balance of their traditional roles understood and respected. She is never more grateful for Cordelia than when she thinks of the match.
Vorkosigan is a familiar stranger. He is Old Vor, born to a new world to parents who’d lived through the transition from the old. She knows what values he was taught, what lessons he had, what meaning lies behind specific phrases. Of course, it’s more than that. It’s more than Vorkosigan the shining military star, or the shattering and remaking of his career. It’s more than Kareen as a figure at court. It’s history that they don’t share, yet still somehow ties them together. It’s too many secrets told, the type where it doesn’t matter if they were true or false when it comes down to the man who had told so many of them. In a way, it even comes down to Vordarian’s death, and knowing full well which pieces could’ve been otherwise sacrificed.
Cordelia had shaken her head and freely expressed how ridiculous she thought the strained respect Kareen’s actions had gained her among certain members of the court, throwing her hands up at the fact that it was kept a quiet as is possible because openly acknowledging just how she was able to get close enough to kill him would paint Kareen in a negative light. Kareen thinks there was probably an edge of hysteria to her laughter at Cordelia’s aggravation at culture shock, but it had still been good to laugh. She had laughed even harder at the alarm on Captain Illyan’s face when he’d come to fetch her for a briefing. She had almost felt bad at that. Simon Illyan is Vorkosigan’s, but Kareen still far prefers him to Negri, who would have been hers for Ezar’s sake.
It was the days spent calmly going through reports on the road problems in capital, keeping her calm for jumpy soldiers just as she’d kept it for her son, that Kareen thinks of when they bring out the official declaration for her to look over. Quintillan’s had was behind that, Vortala isn’t unaware of the importance of public relations or of her skill, but the old man still struggles to connect the two unprompted. The ‘peace’ on Komarr was frequently fragile, troubles papered over hastily as the real issues were left to bubble underneath in a hope that they would burn out instead of flaring up stronger than ever. The embers that Barrayar hopes to smother with time and the Cetagandan’s stir up with perfect claims to innocence. She wants to give her son true peace, not simply the appearance of control.
The speech is well written, a declaration of war dressed up in the language of righteous benevolence. Boys will march out to these words, and die for history and dangerous neighbors and politics they have no voice in. She can choreograph the arguments in the joint council over the decision already. She can almost predict how long each person will speak, holding forth in a chance to have themselves heard in a decision already made. She can imagine the resignation on the faces of the Komarran councilors she’s spent the last few years working with. More time. But even if the poison of the past is sickening the present, that still leaves hope for a healed future.
Gregor is still too young to have him read out the words. Kareen had firmly argued against those visuals, and even mostly sure in her support, she was glad that it had been agreed. They don’t need the image of a child able to declare a war, even as they all grimly acknowledge that the real boy will need to know what it means. Maybe an understanding of the cost now will be enough to stop from having to see her son order wars without thought of what form the payment will come in. She thinks in that thought, at least, she and the Lord Regent are perfectly aligned.