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Mar. 12th, 2026 08:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticityGregor & Aral, command decisions
There was something entirely new and completely different about Aral on Vervain, standing in front of the Prince Serg. Obviously Gregor knew everything about Aral’s history, but this was - he seemed enormous, even more enormous than in the Council of Counts.
Gregor thought about Cavilo, and the Vervani, and Barrayar, all the distance away. His home, his empire, his – the whole misadventure seemed to flash in segments in front of him.
Aral’s secretary (Jole, Gregor remembered) seemed to transport in, holding a perfectly folded set of dress greens. Gregor looked down at the Dendarii greys that Miles had given him. Miles was – well, something about Miles made some kind of much more insane sense now. Miles was, what was it? At home in his greys. Gregor took those greens and instructions on where to change and felt more like himself than he had since Komarr.
Now appropriately dressed, he looked at the Prince Serg, and felt…
No. No more crumbling about his father, whoever he had been. His eyes were back on Aral now, and Aral had done twice as good a job.
He strode with four big steps up to his admiral, who was watching him.
“Lead on, Admiral,” he said, with a gesture to the ship.
“Sire,” Aral said, “The Vervani have very graciously agreed to permit you use of their house manors.”
“House manor?” He responded, with polite, feigned confusion, “What for?”
Aral quirked an eyebrow at him, “For your protection, Sire,” he answered, as if he didn’t know what Gregor was actually saying.
“The Prince Serg should be suitably protective,” he responded, a genial rebuttal, “Not to mention it will be much more effective to Vervani eyes, that I should be there. It keeps the battle in space, protecting the various planets; it creates the impression Barrayar protects all members of the Hegen Hub equally; it negates any hostage-taking ability Vervain may be considering; it will increase morale along the Prince Serg and our associated allies.”
Aral blinked several times, his eyebrows lifting into his forehead, drawing up the wrinkles. There was a strange, stretching moment, and then while the admiral did not quite smile, a great flash of delight sparked in his grey eyes.
“Yes, of course, Sire,” he said, with a renewed burst of enthusiasm, “Sound judgement, as always.” And then he gestured to the spot right next to him, and Gregor stood there, feeling a rush that was familiar and fresh all at once. “Lieutenant,” Aral said, turning back towards his secretary, “Would you go ahead and confirm all is ready for His Majesty?”
“Of course, sir,” said Jole, and hurried in front of them, tapping his wristcomm furiously.
“I will brief you on the way to the command room, Sire,” Aral said, and Gregor had to hurry up his steps to match them speeding through the hallways of the ship, “Do not hesitate to interrupt if you have questions or suggested changes in course.”
“I won’t, Admiral.”
There was something entirely new and completely different about Aral on Vervain, standing in front of the Prince Serg. Obviously Gregor knew everything about Aral’s history, but this was - he seemed enormous, even more enormous than in the Council of Counts.
Gregor thought about Cavilo, and the Vervani, and Barrayar, all the distance away. His home, his empire, his – the whole misadventure seemed to flash in segments in front of him.
Aral’s secretary (Jole, Gregor remembered) seemed to transport in, holding a perfectly folded set of dress greens. Gregor looked down at the Dendarii greys that Miles had given him. Miles was – well, something about Miles made some kind of much more insane sense now. Miles was, what was it? At home in his greys. Gregor took those greens and instructions on where to change and felt more like himself than he had since Komarr.
Now appropriately dressed, he looked at the Prince Serg, and felt…
No. No more crumbling about his father, whoever he had been. His eyes were back on Aral now, and Aral had done twice as good a job.
He strode with four big steps up to his admiral, who was watching him.
“Lead on, Admiral,” he said, with a gesture to the ship.
“Sire,” Aral said, “The Vervani have very graciously agreed to permit you use of their house manors.”
“House manor?” He responded, with polite, feigned confusion, “What for?”
Aral quirked an eyebrow at him, “For your protection, Sire,” he answered, as if he didn’t know what Gregor was actually saying.
“The Prince Serg should be suitably protective,” he responded, a genial rebuttal, “Not to mention it will be much more effective to Vervani eyes, that I should be there. It keeps the battle in space, protecting the various planets; it creates the impression Barrayar protects all members of the Hegen Hub equally; it negates any hostage-taking ability Vervain may be considering; it will increase morale along the Prince Serg and our associated allies.”
Aral blinked several times, his eyebrows lifting into his forehead, drawing up the wrinkles. There was a strange, stretching moment, and then while the admiral did not quite smile, a great flash of delight sparked in his grey eyes.
“Yes, of course, Sire,” he said, with a renewed burst of enthusiasm, “Sound judgement, as always.” And then he gestured to the spot right next to him, and Gregor stood there, feeling a rush that was familiar and fresh all at once. “Lieutenant,” Aral said, turning back towards his secretary, “Would you go ahead and confirm all is ready for His Majesty?”
“Of course, sir,” said Jole, and hurried in front of them, tapping his wristcomm furiously.
“I will brief you on the way to the command room, Sire,” Aral said, and Gregor had to hurry up his steps to match them speeding through the hallways of the ship, “Do not hesitate to interrupt if you have questions or suggested changes in course.”
“I won’t, Admiral.”