[ january ii log ]

[barrayarmods]

Who: Everyone
What: The end of quarantine, a breath of fresh air, and the first taste of action
When: January 18th - 31st
Where: Barrayaran camp / Cetagandan base
Warnings: TBD


Quick links:
Barrayar: Piotr Vorkosigan / Barrayaran camp / Missions
Cetaganda: Zahal ghem-Zefyst / Cetagandan base / Missions
Special thanks to Ana for last-minute PB hunting!

It's been a little over two weeks since you first arrived on Barrayar. As the month wears on, the weather shifts a little colder, and snowstorms come, dumping over a foot of snow on the ground over the next couple of weeks.

barrayar
So far, the outsiders tent has only been visited by the Countess and the Princess. But on the morning of the 18th, the General Count himself makes an appearance. Piotr Vorkosigan is a lean, hard-faced man, battle-worn and fierce, but despite his reputation as a master strategist and the bane of the Cetagandan existence in the southern half of the continent, he looks to be no older than his early thirties, and he's held the rank of General for nearly a decade. When he comes to speak, the guards make way immediately, and he doesn't waste time mincing words.

"My name is Piotr Vorkosigan. I am the commanding officer of this camp." Hands clasped behind his back in a parade rest, he surveys the outsiders at a glance. "I hope it's been clear to you all that you aren't under arrest here. We had to detain you until we could find out what you were, because you clearly were not our enemy. I'm sure you've heard by now that we're at war, and not on the winning side. This planet -- Barrayar -- was cut off from the rest of galactic society for seven hundred years, until just thirty years ago. Until then we had no plasma weapons, no spaceships, no electricity. We had just barely begun to absorb the changes that had eclipsed us when we were attacked without word or warning by the Cetagandan Empire. Eight planets already conquered, and they sought to strike us while we were vulnerable. They claim to be saving us from ourselves, to bring us the light of civilization, as though we are dogs being taught a new trick."

His lip curls. "Komarr -- the planet that controls the only wormhole entrance to this system -- allowed itself to be bribed by the Cetagandans so that they could get their warships through the other side. They demanded unconditional surrender -- no treaty, no convention -- but we answer to one Emperor only, and our refusal to surrender under any conditions was met with warfare and occupation. Some Counts, traitorous collaborators with no honor, have surrendered, but our Emperor refuses. And Vorkosigan's District is loyal to the Emperor. Our only chance at outside help is through his son, Prince Xav, using his position as ambassador to Beta Colony to try and drum up support and get supplies through the blockade. With ghem patrols on every street of our cities, we've gone to ground to fight on our terms, wherever we can, lest we fail to remind the Cetagandans that this is our planet. They don't know these mountains, this land the way we do -- staying hidden is the only way we survive."

He gestures at the camp with one hand, the worn tents, the campfires, the weapons long-antequated by galactic standards. "If we used any galactic technology, the Cetagandans would be able to trace our location as easily as if we'd sent up a flare, so we are relegated to our own traditional weaponry, to fighting from the shadows. And our location has been compromised before." His face is mostly hard and impassive, but his eyes flash briefly. "A scant month before you arrived. How, we still don't know. But we were forced to split our forces and flee. We're operating at half our usual manpower and supplies, and we can afford to take few risks, so you must understand why we had to be so cautious with you. We still don't have a clue how you wound up here, or why; that's beyond even the imagination of galactic scientists, I think. But I do understand that you had no chance in the matter, none of you, nor have any of you given any reason to suspect you might be a threat to our effort. So, effective today, I am lifting the guard around your tent. You are free to walk the camp as you please -- save for the areas restricted for military use. But as you know, we are short on resources -- manpower included. We have no room for freeloaders or empty hands. If you wish to stay, you'll work like the rest of us. We could always use extra hands around camp." He surveys the outsiders once again with an even sharper eye. "We might be able to use a few extra hands elsewhere, too, if you can prove yourself trustworthy.

"I won't hold anyone in this camp against his will. Anyone who wishes to leave my do so -- but know that there is no protection in a war zone. All of our cities are occupied by the enemy, and their soldiers won't hesitate to shoot any man wandering down from the mountains. If you do want to leave, you'll be escorted by one of our scouts down to the foothills, to as safe a space as possible -- and to make sure you won't be able to trace back your route. We cannot afford to let our location fall into the hands of those face-painted bastards, however remote the chance."

He'll leave it at that, and when he takes leave, so do the guards who have been posted around the outsiders' tent. The detainment is over.

camp
Now that you're free to roam about the camp as you please, except for the restricted military areas, the atmosphere has changed a little. Some of the soldiers still regard the outsiders with wariness or diffidence, particularly those who might not look not quite normal. Barrayarans don't take especially well to the unnatural. But they are ultimately social and outgoing by nature, and they’ll especially gravitate toward other soldierly types, although they're sort of dubious about the women who claim to be warriors or soldiers in their own right. Still, their disposition is tentatively friendly if on the gruff side. Now that you're no longer under quarantine, they might strike up a conversation or invite you to play card or dice games with them, even if just out of curiosity if nothing else. But Barrayarans are stubborn as well: arguments might escalate quickly, and you might find yourself in a confrontation.

Now that you're no longer confined, you eat at the mess at designated mealtimes like everybody else, and you'll find that the soldiers don't eat much better than you were these last couple of weeks. You also get access to the bath tent for the first time since you arrived, if you'd like to take your chances, but bathing in the winter is always risky business. Near the bath tent are the stables, which always have a soldier or two on duty as stablehand. If you need medical attention of any kind, sickbay is the place to go, although don't expect much in the way of bedside manner from the medical officers.

Lower-ranking officers and the little old Dendarii ladies who help with the camp direct you to your jobs, a variety of mostly menial but necessary tasks. The work isn't extraordinarily demanding, and it's hardly slave labor – you're doing no more work than the average soldier here. If you're decent with knives or know anything halfway about cooking they might requisition you for the mess, if you know anything about horses, you'll probably be assigned to the stables, if you're just plain strong they'll set you to chopping firewood, and no one needs any special skills to help with the washing. But no one is assigned to just one job – when something needs doing, they'll find one of you to do it.

Life among the guerrillas is tough – none of them have it easy, and neither do you – but it isn't all bleak and miserable. When it starts to get dark and the winter chill sets in for the night, the off-duty soldiers gather close around the campfires to socialize and swap stories, maybe even share a little wine or maple mead if they've got any. Once in a while a particularly courageous (or drunk) soldier will even start a round of one of Barrayar's many traditional drinking songs, a few of which have had their lyrics adjusted with more contemporary references. However war-worn, wary, and rough they may be, the Barrayarans have an unmistakable sense of family and unity among them.

missions
After Piotr's speech on the 18th, the outsiders will be offered an opportunity: they're short on manpower, but they can't afford to waste time. Their intelligence on Cetagandan security is out of date, and the operations are risky, but if you're willing to stick your neck out for the Barrrayaran cause, it'll start to establish a bond of trust.

Piotr orders Captain Aaron Vorbataille and Captain Alexei Vorinnis to organize two recon missions to scope out the base's perimeter security, and two more to infiltrate the base and scope out the power supply. On January 22nd, the first perimeter scouting teams return more or less successfully, but with some unfortunate bonus information: there's a traitor in Piotr's camp. On January 23rd, the second perimeter scouting teams have even better success with gaining intelligence, as well as happening on a Cetagandan field science team. Adrien and Beth's squad does not engage, but another squad chances an attack on the Cetagandan team, and manages to capture one of their scientists.

With the discomfiting knowledge that there is a traitor among them, Captains Vorbataille and Vorinnis choose their infiltration teams for the power supply recon carefully. Lieutenants Dmitri Vorhalas and Boris Vortala are ultimately selected to lead the teams, though there is some heated disagreement between the captains on whether they should be bringing in more personnel at all. The power supply recon mission on January 28th has mixed results: intel gathering was mostly a success, but otherwise it was a failure. Not only were the Cetagandans alerted to their presence, but Lieutenant Erik Grey was KIA, and Lakshmi Bai and Lieutenant Vortala were both taken prisoner. No one in either squad seems to be able to provide an answer as to how or why the alarms were tripped so early. The only upside is that Lieutenant Vorhalas has taken a prisoner: Duv Galeni.

Needless to say, the implications of a traitor being in camp are troubling, but with two prisoners from the Cetagandan side, hopefully they'll be getting some answers.

The unabridged event writeup is here.


cetaganda
Zahal ghem-Zefyst approaches the gathered exotics with a welcoming smile, and a near bounce in his step – face fully painted in a more intricate manner than any of the other soldiers present. Unlike the rest of the Cetagandan soldiers, he's dressed in multiple layers of robes, all in colors matching his face paint to the exact shade. To the casual observer he looks unarmed and relaxed, but those who know what to look for will find that some of the folds of fabric are designed to keep things hidden, especially at the hip. Once he's certain he has the attention of every exotic, he gestures, open armed, as his smile grows.

"Good day. I am General Zahal ghem-Zefyst, commanding officer of this base and all operations, and I would like to first offer my sincere apologies for what has occurred – ending up here from wherever," and here his eyes light upon the most non-human of the group gathered before him, "you originated from must have been a shock. You've been told little of what is going on, but I see no reason why that should continue. You are currently on a planet known as Barrayar – but we," he gestures to himself, his wife, and the assembled soldiers with him, "are from the Cetagandan Empire. Nine planets wide, the Cetagandan Empire has existed for centuries, and flourished for all of them. There is nowhere else in the galactic Nexus that can rival our standards of living, our level of technology, and our way of life.

"This planet," he continues, cheerful voice taking on an edge of scorn and sadness, "has been left in the dark for seven hundred years. You can imagine what befell them without modern technology – society could not handle the strain, and these past eight centuries have been filled with bloodshed and fighting. Only recently has the government become truly centralized, and even then it is a tenuous peace, enforced by more bloodshed. Cetaganda's hope – our hope – is to bring them back into the Nexus as a whole. We wish them no harm, and some of their district Counts have willingly joined us, having seen the value of our cause.

"But the Barrayaran Emperor – Dorca Vorbarra – has resisted us, and there are still some districts where the population refuses to acknowledge the value of galactic technology. Of what it can do for them, of what we can do for them. This fracture between Emperor and Counts, of subjects and their ruling class, is only proof as to how fragile this society is, and how desperately it needs to be guided. We wish to be that guiding hand, and want nothing more but to live side by side with the Barrayarans."

The statement is made with a soft gesture of togetherness, before Zahal continues, smiling again. "Again, I apologize for your quarantine. We know you are here not by choice, and are taking steps towards understanding how you arrived and perhaps, how to send you home again. Until that time, however, you are free to go wherever you wish on base, respecting those areas set aside for military use. Some of you have expressed interest on learning about our culture – if you desire more in-depth information, that will be provided on request. You need not do anything beyond respect the boundaries and continue to be as civil and courteous as you have been. There are all only ten of you, and we have plenty resources to spare.

"Lastly – none of you are required to stay here with us. If you would rather brave the elements and undiscerning Barrayarans, we will escort you out, so long as you leave any technology you acquired here behind. Thank you, all of you." He bows, then, and turns to leave – gesturing the guard to follow him out of the room.

base
Now that you're free to roam about the base. as you please, aside from the restricted areas, the atmosphere has changed a little. It's still heavily military -- they are at war, after all -- but the genteel, almost delicate air hinted at during the exotics' quarantine seems to permeate the entire base, a certain fundamental Cetagandan sensibility. On a military level, everything here is built with function in mind -- but to the Cetagandan eye, form can rule supreme even in utilitarian contexts. Even such ordinarily mundane areas as the mess or the washrooms are dotted with art and designed to please the eye, even if subtly. You couldn't mistake it for anything but a military installation, but it's probably the most beautiful military installation you've ever seen.

The ghem troops are nothing short of civil, same as everyone has been. Some of them are even quite interested in the exotics -- whether seeking camaraderie or merely partaking in a novelty, it may be difficult to gauge, but there's no getting around the fact that anyone who doesn't look quite human, or anyone with an especially aesthetically pleasing form, is getting a little extra attention. However, they are all quite polite, in a way that is clearly cultural rather than circumstantial. The ghem ladies are a bit more elusive and much fewer in number, but they're even more outgoing than the soldiers, and any of the ghem on base might be pleased to share with you any Cetagandan cultural pastimes or teach you about Cetagandan art, although there may be a few polite laughs at the expense of anyone particularly "uncultured". 

Now that you're no longer confined, you eat at the mess at designated mealtimes like everybody else, and you'll find that the artfully prepared fresh cuisine served along equally (somehow) artfully prepared meal rations you've been getting are the standard here. There are no longer any guards posted around the exotics' room, which has been officially dubbed as your living quarters, and you share a communal bathroom with the rest of the hall. There's a common room on each floor where soldiers often go to spend their off-duty hours, with the appropriately recreational accoutrements: the materials for a few kinds of games popular on Cetaganda, a couple of sizeable vid plates for watching holofilms, as well as the supplies for a variety of Cetagandan art forms. There's also an exercise room in each barracks building with about what you'd expect, but probably prettier and more future.

You aren't asked to do any work, just politely told to keep away from restricted areas. A couple of ghem officers appointed by Zahal take you in individually for interviews of a sort, a couple of times a week. They're perfectly civil, and the interviews themselves are tame -- the Cetagandans are merely trying to collect some more information to better understand this phenomenon. So while there might be some questions in the personal sphere, they're primarily interested in where you come from. They won't try to force you to answer in any way -- if you sit there in stubborn silence for the hour, they will endure it politely, if in exasperation.

missions
We're using that word loosely, because none of this is official or even remotely organized.

Now that the exotics' room is no longer guarded, curiosity gives rise to temptation. On the night of January 22nd, Ratchet and Kaidan sneak out to the science/medical complex and overhear Zahal and one of his science officers talking about signs of wormhole activity as they try to puzzle out what happened. On the following night, January 23rd, Lapis and Darkstalker make their way near the war rooms and listen in on Zahal and one of his intelligence officers discussing the Barrayaran information leak and confirming that there are 'exotics' among the Barrayarans too. They have also learned that the Barrayarans are planning a raid sometime in the next week.

Things get a little chaotic on January 28th, when security alarms are suddenly tripped and a few curfew-cutting exotics run into outsiders from the other side. The evening is sort of a mixed bag for everyone involved -- Duv is captured by one of the Barrayarans and this time, no one gets back to the barracks without getting caught. On the other hand, Wash and York manage to capture Lieutenant Vortala, for which the soldiers thank them in appreciation as they take him into their custody.

The unabridged event writeup is here.

Comments

stables

[dendarii]

[ Miles is here with her, furiously filthy and way too small for this job, probably. But he doesn't give a damn. He's mucked out hundreds of stables in his time, and by now he's damned efficient at it. He's so focused that he nearly doesn't notice Lakshmi. Doesn't, in fact, until she's threading her fingers through the mare's mane. ]

Lovely creatures, aren't they?

[shri]

[ She's been working herself up to this - looking for him that is. A conversation she needs to have and soon.

He, after all, had given her his word. But it's not going home that's on her mind. Not right now - not with orders given and her place to fall into. Perhaps that as much as anything why she holds close to the bare breath of something familiar. ]

Beautiful, as fine as I have ever seen. [ She keeps her hands on the animal. ] You seem yourself at home with them?

[dendarii]

[ There's something soothing in not having to make any decisions about your life. Nothing past stay here, work hard, don't mouth off. Even Miles, the mouthiest of them all, is somewhat soothed by the ritual.

As tempted as he is to break it all by stealing a horse and going on a wild ride. God, he misses Fat Ninny so much right now. ]

Oh, yes. [ He stares up at the animal adoringly. ] My grandfather was mad for them. Taught me everything I know.

[shri]

[ He'd have a willing allie in that escape should he ever express it. As hungrily as she looks at the soldiers' weapons, she so eyes off the beasts much the same. Close fighting inside Whitechapel did not require how she'd ridden once. ( Shouting war cries and leaping off fortress aside, she missed her stallion - crotchety as he could. ]

A good love to bestow. [ He looks... sweet like that. Something bright in his eyes. Feels the twist low in her gut of it.

Alright, maybe she's been trying to avoid talking with him since their first conversation. In part for how it ended, in part because he was as clever with that brightness. ]

[dendarii]

[ Perhaps one of these days he will. If he can't convince young Piotr to let him legitimately ... Ah, well. He'll have to be happy enough just being close to them right now. ]

I wholeheartedly agree. [ He's more relaxed on this subject, not quite tightly wound around himself. It makes him more prone to saying too much. ] It was the only way to the old man's heart, in the end. My parents couldn't mend that bridge on their own.

[shri]

[ Her fingers stay threading through the horse's mane, stroking down the side of her neck in slow motions as she listens. ]

I am glad he did to see what a grandson he had. [ A brief smile, a murmuring of appreciation where she hasn't been... as open with it as she could have been.

A pause, hanging there a moment with the words, trying to work out where to begin. ] Admiral, I am afraid I did not seek you out for your company alone. I wish to ask you if you are truly a man of your word.

[dendarii]

[ He can't help it. The very hint of doing something actively useful - not just mucking about, literally - makes him brighten instantly. That light in his eyes that he'd directed towards the horses now refocuses on her instead. ]

I am, truly. You have it.

[ A pause. ]

Did you have something in mind?

[shri]

[ She takes a moment, looking at his face as if searching for a hint of a lie. Of something that might betray her. A position that's precarious - but he said this was his home. Perhaps Byerly is too, but she isn't sure she'd trust that man with anything more than shedding her clothes as quickly as possible.

This - this is a matter entirely. She doesn't know him, but this is her home and she must, it seems, trust someone. Especially with what the Count has said. An Empire that seeks to take and take and take and she is the same story, different verse for it not to hit her as hard as it has. A miserable bleeding heart where she pretends hers died years ago but beats, beats, beats long past any point it should.

That silver phial sits heavy around her neck. ]

Yes, though you may not be so eager when I am done.

[ She steps around the animal, hooking her fingers against its bridle to draw her around, to block them from plain sight. Fishing from her pocket again the treat that she had hidden away for the sake of kind hearted bribery of sweeter temperament, and in this case, keep her near. ]

I am to go out with one of the Lieutenants, I am sure you know?

[dendarii]

[ Was he looking too eager? Miles tries to look appropriately somber instead. He can make his mouth follow his brain, but his eyes continue to glitter despite his best efforts. He's just so damn restless here. Even the promise of going out on his own mission can't quite quell that. ]

I am quite aware, yes. I've managed to convince them to take me along on a different expedition.

[ Miles, at least, is easily hidden from view; one plus of conspiring with someone as short as him. ]

[shri]

[ Her smile is wane - and glad for him. He deserves it. He deserves more than a war - and she is too old for this.

Perhaps she should ask someone else, someone who wouldn't take it so dearly, someone - she doesn't know. She doesn't know anyone. No one who has as much of a stake, and none who had given them her word. ]

I am glad, I have no doubt you'll do your countrymen and family proud. [ Talking like a Queen again, she knows - decreeing matters, that airy removed way. Nothing can touch her. A veil she wears more metaphorically now than before. ] What I ask concerns perhaps that and - well, the nature of war itself. Ask the Gods for the best, but make do if fate wills to the otherwise -

[ In, in, in, sharp on her edges and she'll cut, she always will. ] We both keep many secrets I think, so consider this one is mine and I do not want to tell you more than it seems I have to, but I will do my best to answer whatever questions you have if you agree to it. [ She takes her time, picks her words, how to frame it, he will ask questions - if she has learned nothing of him, she knows he is of a clever mind. ] If I should fall here, you must make sure my body is destroyed. Burned, for it is my people's custom, and put my ashes in the river if you have the sentiment for me to do so, but you must see to it that nothing of my person is left. Down to my bones. I long ago swore no enemy of mine shall ever have my body and if I cannot save myself, I will so seek what I can, but if I cannot you must make sure they do not have my blood.

[ She lets the breath out, her free hand rising, and it fishes into the collar of her jacket, hunting for something - hooking against a chain that rattles as she brings it forward and drags up her catch: a silver phial. The size of her palm and no more. Old, so very, very old, and it bares wars of its own - nothing he would perhaps know, but tarnish old silver and on it the decorative ouroboros - a snaking eating it's own tails in loops and knots. Worn into nothing. ] But especially, this - more than anything - has to be destroyed. It can never fall into your enemies hands. It will surely be an end for your people. Do you understand me? Pour its contents out to the ground, melt the silver down and forget anything I tell you.

[dendarii]

[ This was not what he was expecting. A daring escape, perhaps - smuggling her offworld somehow? he'd likely have followed her if so - but not this. It's too extreme for mere religious belief. And the phial too. What could possibly be in it? Some sort of bioweapon? That would be enough reason for him to want it destroyed even without promising it to her.

He abruptly realizes that he's staring at her, open-mouthed, without actually responding. Shit. Say something, Miles. Help her or not? It's a simple question. And ultimately his answer is simple as well. He stiffens instinctively to her show of regality, subconsciously noticing (and confirming his own impression of her) while his mind is distracted by her actual request. ]

I should hope it never comes to such a thing. I would rather protect you with my life first. [ For what little that is worth . He suspects that she is several times more capable of protecting him instead. ] But - I will do these things for you, if you ask them of me. I swear it.

[ My word as Vorkosigan, he adds mentally. He means it, even if he cannot state his name out loud. Oath first; questions after. Because he will have many questions, oh yes. Starting with what the hell is in that phial. ]

[shri]

[ She's tense, - she's been tense since she arrived, a caged animal with teeth scraping at bars, biting at her bit, she's been tense since she spoke to the Countess, since she received orders along with the others, and saw how far she would be going into enemy territory.

She has been tense since Galahad walked off without her at his back after spending so long nursing him back to health. Since Devi was old enough to fight by her side, since Gwalior and Kunch and Kelpi and Jhansi. Since she first laid eyes on Sir Bors de Ganis when this had hung about her neck. Reflexively, as he does nothing more than stare, her fingers curl around it. White knuckled jaw set, hard in her spine, her shoulders, the flat line of her mouth that keeps as impassive as possible.

She's so tense she doesn't notice it, not anymore, that relief when he gives his words makes her dizzy almost - if she were the type. So palatable as her shoulders sink away from the way she seems ready for a blow, not his word. Makes her voice strain as she finally lets it go. ] Thank you.

[ Thank you is not enough. But it and herself is all she has to give. ] Keep your life for your people, I would not want you lay it down for me. But do this for me and you will never lack for what I am able to provide you.

[ It's not quite like being at his mercy. It's that she has laid this bare as she can, or as much as she is want to. ( Already, too much. ) It's ensuring the only thing that mattered.

This his home, and he deserved half as much. ]

[dendarii]

[ It is a peculiar vulnerability, even with her identity as half-glimpsed as he is certain it is. One that Miles is intimately familiar with: to be in debt, mortal debt, in ways one can never repay. It's the story of his entire life. Everything his parents sacrificed to bring him into the world, every hardship they endured and every dream they gave up to keep him in it. They could have done so many things that would not be immoral in the slightest yet would have destroyed Miles utterly. Having more children, making Miles grow up in in their shadow ... He knows how mad his mother was for a pack of children, and how his existence prevented any thought of bringing them into the world.

God. How he misses them right now.

But these are not the matters at hand. Miles bows his head, acknowledging the gravity of the oath now binding them. For he is bound to her as surely as her debt binds her to him. Questions at this point would surely be an evening of the playing field as much as it is satisfaction for his curiosity. ]

Then I shall. As much as I hope that it never comes to such extremes.

[ His gaze settles on the silver phial. ]

You said you would answer my questions, though?

[shri]

[ She spent so long a secret, that they come so reflexively now - perhaps not out and out lies. But obfuscations, half-truths, whispers and murmurs and stories told tall that at his gaze, at his want of questions - she curls her fingers around the phial before she forces herself to settle. The knitted little frown she smoothes out. ]

Yes.

[ Yes, yes too long a secret, who knew how it could make truth so hard. Someone commend her, she even tries not to sound reticent to the notion of having to answer questions. ]

[dendarii]

[ He is too curious not to ask. And too responsible not to at least want to know the stakes of what he's just agreed to. He senses the burden will be heavy enough as it is. ]

What is it? What do you have inside that phial?

[ With an undercurrent of why do you need to destroy it so badly? Presumably those two questions will provide an answer to the third. ]

[shri]

[ Well, there is only one answer - and it's - he didn't take hearing so well of the Lycans and Vampires or even the Knights so well or even very seriously until she had made him understand such things.

But she supposes there's nothing for it. Had to start somewhere. ]

Eternal life. [ It would almost sound ridiculous to her as well, if it were not the crux point to everything. ] In particular, my own.

[dendarii]

[ It is ridiculous. But given that he's already sworn to destroy it, well - he'll believe her this time. It is less ridiculous than Lycans and Vampires, anyway. ]

... What do you mean? Is it like Koschei the Deathless?

[shri]

[ Oh dear well this will - she blinks perplexed. ]

I am not sure who that is, forgive me. [ It's not important. Let him explain, so she can have something common to begin with. ]

[dendarii]

[ It's better than not taking her seriously, anyway. ]

He's a man who hid his death inside a needle, hidden inside an egg, hidden inside a duck - and so on, up through a ridiculous number of larger items. Without access to that needle, he is unkillable.

[shri]

[ She takes it in, brief, and then - shakes her head. No, not like that. Not some charm, brief as it is. ]

It is called the blackwater, but perhaps its other name you might know better. [ Really, where to start to things she just takes as... well, normal, as a child, and these days, a thorn in her side. ] It is the Holy Grail as was sought by King Arthur and his knights.

[dendarii]

[ That sparks incredulity, though he tries to hide it. ]

And - it grants immortality to the wielder?

[shri]

[ She nods the once, slow, her voice still low. Paranoid, for obvious reasons, it's not a small matter she speaks of. Perhaps she should have taken them outside of here. But much too late for that now - here at least she could be warm with the horse now lost interest in two human's talking, back to devouring hay. ]

Not true immortality, but eternal life. Death may still find the drinker. But you will heal anything but an immediately fatal wound, and you will not age or die at the hands of its progress. [ amends, with the grimace of an unpleasant memory. Sir Galahad laid out on the bed, his grey hair a thin mess, his cheeks gaunt, the old man he should be. ] Until you stop drinking it, that is.

[dendarii]

[ What a thought that is. To be unable to die under most circumstances - at the cost of what must be a truly deadly addiction. Miles shudders to think of the Cetagandans replicating it.

He shudders, too, to think of Barrayar weaponizing it. But oh, if he had only had this when he was seventeen... ]

I see. A very dangerous object indeed.

[shri]

[ He's beginning to realise, and -- good. It's nothing pleasant, nothing kind. ]

Necessary, unfortunately, when you fight beings who are twice the strength of a man and half as merciful. Being able to heal those wounds as quickly as possible isn't just convenient, it's the only way of winning. [ Her fingers tap, tap, tap at her side. ] I understand if you cannot do otherwise than what your loyalty dictates you, but I would prefer if you Count and your King did not have it, either.

[dendarii]

[ Miles shudders again, shaking his head sharply. ]

Count and Emperor. But - no. It would be as dire a weapon in their hands as the Cetagandans'. The sheer effect it would have on the shape of history ...

[ And Barrayar would find ways to weaponize it. Especially in this era. ]