[ today, there is a cold moon rising ]

[oldvor]

Who: Piotr and Sonia
What: Piotr only deals in tough love, when he deals at all.
When: March 29th
Where: the Vorbarra tent
Warnings: N/A
Did Negri eavesdrop?: Yes

Piotr is not, contrary to popular opinion, entire heartless, although he doesn't go out of his way to discourage the notion. But as much as he can find Sonia tiresome -- and he does, because by the time Olivia was her age, she'd had much more grace than the younger Princess -- but then, Olivia is a very different woman. And she's gone out of her way for years and years to keep Sonia this way, to protect her. And this, however irritating it may be from time to time, is something that Piotr respects. There is nothing more honorable than sacrificing a part of oneself to keep another safe, especially when it comes to family, and as far as Piotr is concerned, Olivia is no less Vor for it -- if anything, she is even more. It's one of the many reasons he loves her.

And he does love Sonia, too, after a fashion. She is his sister-in-law, for better or worse, and family means a great deal to Piotr, too. While he doesn't so much consider her his responsibility as Olivia does, beyond her safety, to say that he feels nothing for her would be a lie. Piotr Vorkosigan, last of his line, understands the importance of family.

He waits until time when he doesn't hear her crying to enter her tent -- God knows he couldn't deal with her in tears and be any help -- before he gives a curt nod to Armsman Gavalas, standing respectfully at the entrance, and ducks inside. The Princess is curled up on her cot with her pillow clutched to her chest, as she has been for the last several days, Piotr is sure. She looks despondent and broken-hearted, puffy-eyed and red-faced, her hair an unattended mess. Stewing in her own misery for days, no doubt, and been comforted and coddled for it. He doesn't quite begrudge her that. He wasn't expecting Byerly's ostensible defection to deal such a blow -- Vorrutyer may have had a point about the Princess's sensitivity, but the girl would cry over a wounded rabbit. It doesn't take much. But the hurt she's feeling is real, and it's crushing her. All the coddling and comfort in the world isn't going to fix that.

She looks up when he enters, chin tucked against her pillow, and she blinks in surprise. Then she sniffles and tenses up, half hiding her face in her pillow. Embarrassed to be seen like this by Piotr, no doubt. But her look turns quizzical at the bowl of groats in his hand.

"Sonia," Piotr says by way of brusque greeting, which from him amounts to a warm hello. Sonia eyes him with some skepticism.

"Since when do you have enough time to bring me food?" It isn't an accusation, even if she sounds a little childish. Her nose is stuffy, her voice raw, still a little thick with tears he can still see drying on her face. She self-consciously scrubs at her cheeks. "Did my sister send you?"

"No," Piotr says, which earns a surprised blink, "but she has noticed your absence at meals lately. If I can tell her firsthand I've seen you eat something, she might worry less."

It doesn't escape Piotr's notice that this is an odd reflection of the evening he'd spent with Lakshmi, when she'd brought him dinner while Olivia was sick. This isn't the same, not exactly, but the irony doesn't escape him. At any rate, his words have the intended effect: a precursor to sisterly guilt on her face, because Sonia, ever sensitive Sonia, wants to trouble Olivia as little as possible when she knows the Countess considers her wellbeing a chief concern. When Sonia doesn't object, Piotr takes a seat on the stool next to the cot and holds out the bowl to her. After a moment, Sonia slowly unfolds herself from around the pillow and sets it aside, sitting up to take the bowl from him. But she doesn't eat, just holds it in her hands, biting her lips together to keep them from trembling. Piotr lets out a long, slow breath.

"Is this about Vorrutyer?"

Sonia doesn't say anything, just squeezes her eyes shut, but it's a clear enough answer to Piotr. He exhales through his nose, not quite a huff, and leans forward, hands on his knees.

"Sonia, I know you're upset." The whole damned camp does, he thinks, but wisely does not say it aloud. "But it's time you stopped hiding in your tent. You can't carry on like this."

She looks like she might reach for her pillow again, but she just cups the bowl in both hands, shoulders hunched. "Why not?"

"Because you're not a child anymore, Sonia. Because he isn't worth it."

A small, despairing noise leaks from Sonia's throat, but she bites her lip, refusing to cry. She never did like crying in front of Piotr. He's fully aware of why.

"I trusted him," she chokes out, her voice creaking. Piotr draws in a breath and closes his eyes a moment.

"Of course you did." He opens his eyes and sees that she's clutching the bowl tightly just to keep her hands from shaking. He reaches out and takes it from her, sets it aside lest she drop it. Her hands curl into fists in her lap instead. "He knew you were lonely, and he took advantage of you. He told you what you wanted to hear, and that isn't your fault. Why your sister tolerated him is beyond me."

In truth, Byerly is doing good work out there -- putting his life on the line for the cause, and so far, he hasn't proved himself the coward he's playing the part of so very well thus far. Piotr appreciates that. That doesn't mean he's sorry not to have the man's company anymore -- or that he doesn't feel this is necessary. Much though he finds Byerly's...everything tiresome, this isn't about him. This is about Sonia, and keeping her on her feet.

"Make no mistake, Sonia," Piotr says, his voice slightly quieter, his fingers flexing over his knees, "betrayal is always personal, no matter the motivation. He has dealt an unconscionable blow to your honor and abused your trust. You have a right to be angry. You should be angry. But don't cry over him. Save your tears for the dead."

Sonia seeks refuge in her pillow again, hugging it close to her chest. She's trying not to cry, he can tell, but her eyes are glistening with tears. "Isn't it the same? If he's a traitor, isn't he good as dead?"

"No," Piotr says shortly. "He's worse. A man can die with his honor intact."

Sonia doesn't have words for that, just burying her face in her pillow. Piotr lets out a breath through his teeth and rubs his jaw. He gets to his feet, boots scuffing on the dirt.

"Be hurt. Hell, be angry. You must understand that all traitors are thieves by nature. When they turn on you, they take something away from you, too. But he's just one man, and he doesn't deserve your tears. Don't let this crush you." There's a moment of quiet, and Piotr puts his hand on Sonia's head. "You've survived much worse, Sonia. You can surely survive this."

Sonia looks up at him, blinking away tears. She still does look like a child to him, sometimes. Perhaps it's that he's known her since she was one -- or maybe that she's changed so little since. Piotr lets out a breath and gives her head a very small, gentle pat before he turns to leave. His hand is on the tent flap when he looks back at her.

"I think your sister would like to see you at dinner tonight," he says, and disappears behind the tent flap.