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Jan. 12th, 2026 10:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
iniquiticityezar + piotr, about escobar.
writing fun things that i don't actually think happened. sort of a long-off sequel to strange loops.
Ezar and Negri were staring up at him when Piotr came into Ezar's office. Verish had been even more bitchy than usual about letting him in, which was quite obviously related to whatever strategy they were making him jump for.
"You're whetting my appetite in a dangerous way, Ezar," he said, sitting himself down with intendedly faux politeness, "And you haven't been up to _nearly_ enough recently. There's no way you're just letting your nightmare boy run around with his fucked-up Vorrutyer playmate. While you let him badger my son in his miserable captaincy, I may add."
Ezar stared at him. Certainly Ezar knew this would have the opposite effect. Then again, they both knew he was too stubborn for anything else.
"You're right," Ezar said, "I am plotting."
"I met you at age seventeen and you have not gone a single day without plotting since. Is this plot about assassinating me or my son? Why would you assassinate my son at this point? This is much worse. And me? Just shoot me at this point."
Ezar stared at him.
He sighed and relaxed into the chair. "I can not _wait_ until you tell me this plan and I find some critical error in it and you're grateful."
"I would like you to leave, Count Vorkosigan," Ezar said, quietly, "You are retired and I have a lot of things to get done."
Piotr's eyebrows went up. He sat up. "I'll give you my word."
Ezar and Negri looked at each other. Negri scowled. Ezar turned back to him. "Not just your word. Your word, until the day you die. You'll take this one to your grave, Piotr."
"I swear on my word as Vorkosigan, that whatever you tell me, I will not share."
"With anyone. Not even your son. Not your armsmen. Not even your horse."
"I, General Count Piotr Vorkosigan, swear on my word as Vorkosigan, on the glowing ruins of Vorkosigan Vashnoi, that I will not tell anyone, not my son, not my armsmen, not even my horses, and I will go to the grave with it. I will be buried having shared nothing. If I am exposed, let me dissolve the name of Vorkosigan and all the properties held to my great emperor, Ezar Vorbarra."
Aral was going to end the Vorkosigan name anyway, wretched boy. What was the point.
He held his hands above the desk. Ezar stared at him, at his hands, and then wrapped them.
“I accept your oath, Vorkosigan.”
Ezar looked at Negri again. Negri sighed.
With a swipe the plans revealed themselves.
“Escobar?” he said, surprised, “My son hates this trash plan, and you know he’s right. And I know he’s right.”
“I suppose we could win, with what we know, but it would be a drawn-out conflict, and others would get involved,” Ezar said, slowly, bored, “No doubt my son would demand to be involved. And Vorrutyer, of course.”
There was more here. There was not even the beginning of the story. Piotr felt oddly grateful that Aral’s current bout of lunacy had made it so easy to give such an intense word. He felt an old prickle in the back of his mind. There was nothing like sitting with Ezar talking about war, and he was fairly sure there never would be.
“What would be worse,” Piotr mused, standing and folding his hands behind his back, pacing slow across the room, “That we win, and your boy has Barrayar, two civilized worlds and that dirt hole we just discovered, or we lose?”
Ezar met his eyes. Piotr knew which one Ezar thought was worse. He also knew Ezar was not going to survive to his grandson’s majority.
“Beta would get involved, obviously,” Ezar said, rearranging the video display. A new variety of ships came up, exploding. “And they’d bring whatever they weren’t selling yet. It could have a chilling effect. We might have to retreat. All those lost forward ships and their captains.”
Piotr untangled this for a moment, but he knew Ezar, and it only took him a moment to realize: he knew exactly who would be the captain of those ships.
“How elegant,” he murmured, sitting back down and watching the holo of the video ships exploding on loop, “Heroic, even. Buried with all those medals.”
Ezar smiled, a smile Piotr had seen a thousand times before. Neither the deep wrinkles along his mouth nor the age-spots in his face took away the genius and ruthlessness of that smile.
“Full military honors. A terrible shame. And a horrific embarrassment to all the politicians that supported them. Such people would need to be punished, for the deaths of all those good soldiers. They certainly could not be permitted to any political office or make decisions that impacted the Imperium in any serious way. One could not allow even a whiff of such catastrophe to occur again.”
Piotr thought: he’s done it. He’s outstrategized me.
“We’d need to be well-prepared to leave, though,” Ezar continued, “For most people planning contingencies is a great embarrassment. We’d need someone to do it as punishment, I think. Mortifying, really, to be stuck with that sort of job. You’d have to be a Commodore, I suppose, and it would have to be a downgrade. But if those plans were needed, if they were built well….. I could make a retreat glorious. I could make a commander of contingency plans the hero of the army. He’d be restored back to his Admiralty, at that point. With all those poor, miserable front ships all gone, who would be left? It would have to be him.”
Piotr’s mouth hung open in a small O of surprise. “He won’t do it,” he said, but Ezar had to know that, and Ezar had to have accommodated for it. Ezar had more to do and say and Piotr was hypnotized by the brutality and ruthlessness of the strategy, “How do you make him do it? He got all tangled up about that stupid camp. Are you going to tell him what he’s doing?” Another pause. “And now you have a new problem. A, what? Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year problem?”
“Yes, I do need to tell him, because he is a kingkiller like his father, and I know he can move the king exactly to the right spot if he wants to,” Ezar replied, running a hand down his chin, “It will be the easiest part, to make him. Such a man to create such a strong contingency plan would see where the Empire is going - he’s smart enough to know what the future might hold for him…... What the emperor might hold for him……. Well. In his mind maybe those forward ships might minimize the damage. A few hours, not a few years.”
Aral had, on several black-out occasions, discussed how loathsome it would be to serve Emperor Serg. Serg had not earned his respect. Serg had, in fact, earned no one’s respect. Piotr knew a little something about what happened when the Emperor hadn’t earned your respect. For all his embarrassment, Piotr could see how he could be like his father, if it was necessary.
“And two,” Ezar continued, holding up a second finger, “This commander. A forward-thinking man, of good politics, impeccable strategy, and middle age….. A new man, perhaps. A man of a very different Empire than the one we have now. With those front ships gone and their politicians embarrassed, maybe it would be good to have the sort of empire where it’s good to get tangled up over that stupid camp. Not something either of us could teach. But maybe he could. Not to mention that that has a neat wrap to our little problem. He’d give it away as soon as he could.”
Piotr put his elbows on Ezar’s desk and stared into the dark vidplate. It was the most ruthless genius he could have imagined. It was going to grind Aral to dust.
Another Vorkosigan teaching a Vorbarra how to rule.
He had done a truly magnificent job. Would Aral?
Well. He would be dead by the time anyone found out.
“I see why the strong oath,” Piotr said.
“Not horses either.”
“No horses. My word. Now. Show me the Escobar invasion again.”
writing fun things that i don't actually think happened. sort of a long-off sequel to strange loops.
Ezar and Negri were staring up at him when Piotr came into Ezar's office. Verish had been even more bitchy than usual about letting him in, which was quite obviously related to whatever strategy they were making him jump for.
"You're whetting my appetite in a dangerous way, Ezar," he said, sitting himself down with intendedly faux politeness, "And you haven't been up to _nearly_ enough recently. There's no way you're just letting your nightmare boy run around with his fucked-up Vorrutyer playmate. While you let him badger my son in his miserable captaincy, I may add."
Ezar stared at him. Certainly Ezar knew this would have the opposite effect. Then again, they both knew he was too stubborn for anything else.
"You're right," Ezar said, "I am plotting."
"I met you at age seventeen and you have not gone a single day without plotting since. Is this plot about assassinating me or my son? Why would you assassinate my son at this point? This is much worse. And me? Just shoot me at this point."
Ezar stared at him.
He sighed and relaxed into the chair. "I can not _wait_ until you tell me this plan and I find some critical error in it and you're grateful."
"I would like you to leave, Count Vorkosigan," Ezar said, quietly, "You are retired and I have a lot of things to get done."
Piotr's eyebrows went up. He sat up. "I'll give you my word."
Ezar and Negri looked at each other. Negri scowled. Ezar turned back to him. "Not just your word. Your word, until the day you die. You'll take this one to your grave, Piotr."
"I swear on my word as Vorkosigan, that whatever you tell me, I will not share."
"With anyone. Not even your son. Not your armsmen. Not even your horse."
"I, General Count Piotr Vorkosigan, swear on my word as Vorkosigan, on the glowing ruins of Vorkosigan Vashnoi, that I will not tell anyone, not my son, not my armsmen, not even my horses, and I will go to the grave with it. I will be buried having shared nothing. If I am exposed, let me dissolve the name of Vorkosigan and all the properties held to my great emperor, Ezar Vorbarra."
Aral was going to end the Vorkosigan name anyway, wretched boy. What was the point.
He held his hands above the desk. Ezar stared at him, at his hands, and then wrapped them.
“I accept your oath, Vorkosigan.”
Ezar looked at Negri again. Negri sighed.
With a swipe the plans revealed themselves.
“Escobar?” he said, surprised, “My son hates this trash plan, and you know he’s right. And I know he’s right.”
“I suppose we could win, with what we know, but it would be a drawn-out conflict, and others would get involved,” Ezar said, slowly, bored, “No doubt my son would demand to be involved. And Vorrutyer, of course.”
There was more here. There was not even the beginning of the story. Piotr felt oddly grateful that Aral’s current bout of lunacy had made it so easy to give such an intense word. He felt an old prickle in the back of his mind. There was nothing like sitting with Ezar talking about war, and he was fairly sure there never would be.
“What would be worse,” Piotr mused, standing and folding his hands behind his back, pacing slow across the room, “That we win, and your boy has Barrayar, two civilized worlds and that dirt hole we just discovered, or we lose?”
Ezar met his eyes. Piotr knew which one Ezar thought was worse. He also knew Ezar was not going to survive to his grandson’s majority.
“Beta would get involved, obviously,” Ezar said, rearranging the video display. A new variety of ships came up, exploding. “And they’d bring whatever they weren’t selling yet. It could have a chilling effect. We might have to retreat. All those lost forward ships and their captains.”
Piotr untangled this for a moment, but he knew Ezar, and it only took him a moment to realize: he knew exactly who would be the captain of those ships.
“How elegant,” he murmured, sitting back down and watching the holo of the video ships exploding on loop, “Heroic, even. Buried with all those medals.”
Ezar smiled, a smile Piotr had seen a thousand times before. Neither the deep wrinkles along his mouth nor the age-spots in his face took away the genius and ruthlessness of that smile.
“Full military honors. A terrible shame. And a horrific embarrassment to all the politicians that supported them. Such people would need to be punished, for the deaths of all those good soldiers. They certainly could not be permitted to any political office or make decisions that impacted the Imperium in any serious way. One could not allow even a whiff of such catastrophe to occur again.”
Piotr thought: he’s done it. He’s outstrategized me.
“We’d need to be well-prepared to leave, though,” Ezar continued, “For most people planning contingencies is a great embarrassment. We’d need someone to do it as punishment, I think. Mortifying, really, to be stuck with that sort of job. You’d have to be a Commodore, I suppose, and it would have to be a downgrade. But if those plans were needed, if they were built well….. I could make a retreat glorious. I could make a commander of contingency plans the hero of the army. He’d be restored back to his Admiralty, at that point. With all those poor, miserable front ships all gone, who would be left? It would have to be him.”
Piotr’s mouth hung open in a small O of surprise. “He won’t do it,” he said, but Ezar had to know that, and Ezar had to have accommodated for it. Ezar had more to do and say and Piotr was hypnotized by the brutality and ruthlessness of the strategy, “How do you make him do it? He got all tangled up about that stupid camp. Are you going to tell him what he’s doing?” Another pause. “And now you have a new problem. A, what? Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year problem?”
“Yes, I do need to tell him, because he is a kingkiller like his father, and I know he can move the king exactly to the right spot if he wants to,” Ezar replied, running a hand down his chin, “It will be the easiest part, to make him. Such a man to create such a strong contingency plan would see where the Empire is going - he’s smart enough to know what the future might hold for him…... What the emperor might hold for him……. Well. In his mind maybe those forward ships might minimize the damage. A few hours, not a few years.”
Aral had, on several black-out occasions, discussed how loathsome it would be to serve Emperor Serg. Serg had not earned his respect. Serg had, in fact, earned no one’s respect. Piotr knew a little something about what happened when the Emperor hadn’t earned your respect. For all his embarrassment, Piotr could see how he could be like his father, if it was necessary.
“And two,” Ezar continued, holding up a second finger, “This commander. A forward-thinking man, of good politics, impeccable strategy, and middle age….. A new man, perhaps. A man of a very different Empire than the one we have now. With those front ships gone and their politicians embarrassed, maybe it would be good to have the sort of empire where it’s good to get tangled up over that stupid camp. Not something either of us could teach. But maybe he could. Not to mention that that has a neat wrap to our little problem. He’d give it away as soon as he could.”
Piotr put his elbows on Ezar’s desk and stared into the dark vidplate. It was the most ruthless genius he could have imagined. It was going to grind Aral to dust.
Another Vorkosigan teaching a Vorbarra how to rule.
He had done a truly magnificent job. Would Aral?
Well. He would be dead by the time anyone found out.
“I see why the strong oath,” Piotr said.
“Not horses either.”
“No horses. My word. Now. Show me the Escobar invasion again.”