The sky is up, the earth is down, and her husband is dead. Easy in that tone. Something that simply is. Carefully she lifts her fingers to touch the glass in her curiosity. Certainly more interesting than discussing it. "Some years ago, now. Before the rebellion broke out. He was the Maharaja Gangadhar Rao Newalker." Her fingertips leave little press marks of their print on the materials. Flat worn with callouses, the dirt and blood under her short cropped nails. "This is odd, most people know of it. It's why I rebelled at all. They took my kingdom off me, and said that a woman was not fit to rule after his passing." One story that leads into another, like some tragic play unfolding.
"My condolences." Because while it's happened a while ago and she sounds as if she's come to terms with the loss, it's only proper.
He frowns thoughtfully. "I'm unfamiliar with that title. That sentiment is unfortunately shared by many on Barrayar though not by the rest of the Nexus. Times have been improving." As Barrayar stepped further into the modern age. Being caught up after 800 years of isolation was no easy feat and uterine replicators made a difference in what woman were able to do here.
"It's shared in many places. Even in my home. But my people knew I would do anything for them. If they had not wanted me, so too would I have stood down." Her pride had never been that way. Born to her position through marriage, and kept their by devotion. No more, no less.
"I take it from that, it isn't a sentiment you share?" Curious, she watches him. She's met men that didn't seem so bothered by a woman ruling. Even among the English, Major Ellis had been kind to her, and sought to help her - her husband made sure she was equal to the task. But to meet someone that openly professed otherwise?
"No, it's not," he answers plainly with a shake of his head. The only reason he had given Miles' female bodyguard odd looks when the pair had shown up in his office had entirely to do with the pair's unexpected presence. Another part of the mess he had been dragged into by the younger man, but his involvement in it had long since been sealed. It had been an inheritance he could have done without.
"It matters more here because of the way their lineage works--it's patriarchal--but no other government runs this way." And thank god for that.
Oh, she thinks she might be happy to let him speak forever if he was going to say such. It's like drinking fresh water on a hot day. She blinks, watching him like she's aware she's showing too much interest and reels herself back.
"It's how most have worked, to my knowledge." She counters only to hear him refute it, she thinks. "I hoped that the new world and France had taken up the cause of democracy, that perhaps others would." But it felt a dream, in truth. Something that happened to other people. "You would not see it such?"
"If I had the ability," he answers cautiously and glances over at their taxi driver. Who would be very Barrayaran and Duv has no way of knowing if they were a conservative or progressive. Best not to anger the one in charge of them reaching their destination safely.
"There aren't many pure democracies out in the Nexus. My own planet exercises voting by shares owned either by individuals or companies," he says vaguely. He doubts the average Barrayaran knows about Komarran politics. "I can tell you in more detail when we reach my flat."
She nods, accepting, but it makes her eager, then, to hear more about it. To want to know how there are worlds that aren't dictated by blood and body. Even if she could not comprehend it herself, they would seem more like myths and fairytales then a truth she could know, but - "Of course. Perhaps when I am ... rested."
Flat - what was that like? She darts when something catches her eye out the window again, before looking back to him. "We will be there soon?" He said this would be faster. Her own fatigue getting to her. The want to get this itching dried lycan blood off of her, unmatter her hair, clean her sword.
"Yes, it's--" Before he can say anything further, he blinks in surprise as they arrive at their destination. He had been more engrossed in their conversation than he thought. He slides out of the car and holds the door open for her.
"You'll have time to rest. I have been given leave the next few days to ensure you settle in." And don't cause any problems. Illyan had been very sure about that.
She follows after him, one careful step after another as she looks over wherever it is that he lives, hard to tell, so many buildings piling on top of each other. Never seen it such, not outside of the great fortresses, or her own mahal. "Thank your commander for me."
Can't imagine it's entirely for her own benefit. She wouldn't leave her alone completely unchaperoned, either. But all the same, he had given her what she had requested in his company.
"I'll send along my regards," he replies dryly. He doubts Captain Illyan would want to hear from him except to receive a report about the young woman's status. There's a second of hesitation before he offers her his arm. She seems so unsure of where she's going that if she wants a proper escort, he can provide. He did do embassy duty and most of that had been diplomatic work.
Regardless of her acceptance, he will gladly start the journey towards his flat up a few floors in an elevator. His place was simple as if he hardly spent any time there. There's a small mess in his kitchen from the dinner he made last night and didn't get the chance to clean up before needing to sleep and very little in the way of decoration.
She slips her hand against his arm, gentle, careful. Especially light, in case she must detangle at short notice. That tension that never quite leaves her for that. Light, be poised, ready. An art to holding herself light.
In the same, she keeps her face schooled plain as he shows her about, where to go. Letting her eyes shut at the things that leave her cautiously shut in turns and receptive to the things that catch her eye. Ignoring now just the same whatever looks she gets in return, better things to be doing. Her face serverely empty as she looks over his - rooms? Bigger than she expecting perhaps. For a man with no family to see to him and no, not a palace, but she wasn't looking for that anyway.
No, what she's looking for, she gets as she takes a glance around. A thin, happy sigh that leaves her and shifts her shoulders back. "It's dry." Is the happy little sigh she shouldn't say but it was true. Three months sleeping on straw mats on the ground made this seem an utter relief she cannot quite fathom. Maybe for once her back wouldn't be a aching mess in the morning.
There's no offense taken at her loose hold and he relinquishes her arm as soon as they pass the threshold of his home in respect of her boundaries. The tour is quick and he ends it by the bedroom with the attached bathroom.
"It is that," he replies, a touch amused. That isn't the first thought that would have come to his mind, but he's unfamiliar with the living conditions of 19th century India. "I can show you how to work the shower if you wish to do that now. You'll have the bed." While he took the couch out in the main room. With no family to speak of, having a guest room had never been a priority. Suddenly he's seeing the merits of having one prepared.
"I've been sodden for months." As if that somehow explained it all. Easily forgotten if she means to say more to follow after him. It's - it's different, and then not at all. It's a space where someone lives and to that, it's better than a lot of people she knew or even what they would call standard for anyone she knew. But it is his space, and it is comfortable, even if it is bear, it is lived in. The little touches and knocks that living causes. Absorbs half of what he says, a lot of it going over her head as her exhaustion just steadily caught up with her.
Later, she'll fight him about the bed. She'll say that it isn't worth him giving her that for an undetermined amount of time. But right now - ? "Whatever I can use to wash the blood off, first."
He nods and leads the way to the bathroom. It takes him a moment to show her how the shower controls work and he's quickly easing himself out of the bathroom to grant her privacy. "I'll leave fresh clothing on the bed," he says in parting. More fatigues, his pair this time. Tomorrow she'd have more civilian-esque attire once Imperial Security had clothing made for her measurements. It would draw a lot less attention than having her walk around in fatigues.
The rest he would have to figure out later. One step at a time.
Clothing laid out neatly, he abandons the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and heads into the kitchen to both clean and start making dinner. The one night he should have gotten takeout on the way home. It wasn't too late to order it, but he could make something simple enough for the two of them.
She can't help it, at least a little, when he lets her into bathroom - she snoops. Opening draws and cupboards as she gets out of her clothes. Mouthing through the letters in English and - French? Others, that she can't speak. Russian, Greek, from the way the letters looked. Trying to work out by herself what this and what that is. Then putting it mostly back where she found it to the best of her memory.
The shower is trickier, as she heads towards it. Getting out of the clothes he'd given her and her own blood soaked silks.
Which is all very grand until she lets out an undignified yelp when she turns the water up to hot, alright, maybe she would believe him when he said it got warm. Hisses something long and unsavory in Hindi before she lets herself step in again. It's not - right, or rather, it's not a bath and it's not her ladies coming through her hair and rubbing oils into her skin but - it's water and she watches the water run off her body. Looks over old scars and her new ones. Some of that blood was hers.
But he didn't need to know how much that was. The blackwater doesn't leave her neck even now.
Then it's more snooping, into draws and digging through his other clothes as politely as possible. Letting her fingers run over the material, inspecting it idly for it's quality. Well made as what she had been given. A great deal of will not to just lay on that bed for awhile. To just give up for just a minute to sleep, to sleep and not wake up for hours upon hours. But he was being a gracious host to her demands, that she gets dressed and drags herself the rest of the way. Cleaner, now, hair sodden and braided neatly, but clearer without the blood on her face, under her nails. Wagers at least mercy to him, she no longer reeks of blood and sweat and dirt, and that awful tang of stomach bile where she had slashed the Lycan's belly open.
Now just - whatever he smelt like. Whatever it was that she'd found in one bottle on the cupboard. Warm, she liked it she supposed. Even if it wasn't as fine as the perfume makers. It suited him, she fancied. A rulers careful measurement of those around her that tucks that away as well.
When she pads back out, it's on bare feet with quiet footsteps to see where he was. The fatigues looser on her, had to fold them up to make sure they didn't get in her way. Finds him - cooking? "What are you doing?"
Fortunately for her, he's within Imperial Security and not Ops. While some might be offended once they found one piece out of place, he's come to believe her story enough that a stranger out of place and unfamiliar with everything would seek to understand her surroundings. Which meant his bedroom would be fair game. Anything security sensitive wasn't in his bedroom, only his wristcom and a datapad he kept for reports were used for work and were either on him or in the living room.
Beyond his work, his life was fairly simple. Or at least he tried to keep it that way since his father's death. That chapter of his life, messy as it had been, was closed permanently now and he preferred it that way.
At her reentrance, he merely glances up from the risotto he's making and raises a brow. "I'm making dinner. I thought you would enjoy a fresh meal before sleeping."
"You cook." It made sense of course, no mother, no sisters, no wife. He must have some skill of his own in order to survive.
She walks up a little closer and it - smells good. Different, but she didn't mind. Coming to hover like she couldn't quite believe that he really was cooking. But there he stood, doing just that and she smiles for it at least a little. "I would that, I haven't eaten for days. Not properly, at least."
"I do." He watches her for a moment, confused at her fascination with it. Perhaps her time was more like Barrayar than he had realized. Men here hardly cooked though that was changing slowly. Miles had a rude awakening himself when he settled into Vorkosigan House without basic survival skills.
He motions to a spoon he has laid out should she want to sample the risotto herself. "By all means. You're welcome to try it."
She comes up closer to him, that prickling feeling still of being a stranger in someone else's house that settles in about. His constant invitations help, though, let her feel if not settled then not a complete burden to him. "Thank you."
Polite to her last, as she goes to do just that, old habits, still ingrained that she takes spoons up some rice to try, immediately covering her mouth as she does so. Her eyes down as she tastes it, before she looks up again. "It's good."
Ah, good. He had been worried it wouldn't be to her taste. "It should be ready shortly. I don't have much to drink with it beyond water, milk, and beer."
He hadn't expected to entertain or he would have stocked his fridge better. At least he had done his grocery shopping before her unexpected arrival on his doorstep.
That - honestly, is a shockingly normal selection given everything else she's seen. "Milk is... I would prefer that honestly." It's said with a laugh as she sets the spoon back down again. Maybe there are things she'd do with the meal, and things she would do with milk, too, but as it goes - it's easy.
"No. You can wait at the dining table if you would like. I'll bring everything out when it's finished." Including a glass of milk for her. If he's to play host then he will damn well do it well. He motions vaguely in the direction of the small dining space he has before turning his attention back to cooking. It wouldn't take much longer before he finished.
She moves away and there are more things to look at, that distract her in the short line from the kitchen to the dining room. At least, where she's being watched, she doesn't pry at it too much or get too thorough in moving anything about. Her hands firmly kept to herself. It's enough to help her stay awake at least.
Then she takes her seat, hands settled in her lap. Politely waiting and she keeps quiet for a moment to just let him cook. "Normally men without wives are quite at the mercy of their relatives. You seem perfectly adjusted. Is that normal too?"
He's content to cook in silence though once she speaks, he's turned enough towards her so his answer is unmuffled.
"I would hope so. I've been on my own for some time now." Since his youth. The circumstances of his planet hadn't allowed for a normal childhood or adulthood for that matter. But he'd made the best of it. When the risotto finishes, he plates it and begins bringing out both plates of food and drinks for them both.
"Not with your family? Do they live nearby instead?"
It's tricky to get her head around. To living so separately, to being cut off. It doesn't feel right. Palaces were teeming with people and she seldom slept entirely alone, not then, and not since, either. Once it had been with her ladies simply in the room, and since then, it was huddled together for whatever warmth could be afforded. But here he was so... cut off. Without people in any regard.
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The sky is up, the earth is down, and her husband is dead. Easy in that tone. Something that simply is. Carefully she lifts her fingers to touch the glass in her curiosity. Certainly more interesting than discussing it. "Some years ago, now. Before the rebellion broke out. He was the Maharaja Gangadhar Rao Newalker." Her fingertips leave little press marks of their print on the materials. Flat worn with callouses, the dirt and blood under her short cropped nails. "This is odd, most people know of it. It's why I rebelled at all. They took my kingdom off me, and said that a woman was not fit to rule after his passing." One story that leads into another, like some tragic play unfolding.
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He frowns thoughtfully. "I'm unfamiliar with that title. That sentiment is unfortunately shared by many on Barrayar though not by the rest of the Nexus. Times have been improving." As Barrayar stepped further into the modern age. Being caught up after 800 years of isolation was no easy feat and uterine replicators made a difference in what woman were able to do here.
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"I take it from that, it isn't a sentiment you share?" Curious, she watches him. She's met men that didn't seem so bothered by a woman ruling. Even among the English, Major Ellis had been kind to her, and sought to help her - her husband made sure she was equal to the task. But to meet someone that openly professed otherwise?
Well, that was different.
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"It matters more here because of the way their lineage works--it's patriarchal--but no other government runs this way." And thank god for that.
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"It's how most have worked, to my knowledge." She counters only to hear him refute it, she thinks. "I hoped that the new world and France had taken up the cause of democracy, that perhaps others would." But it felt a dream, in truth. Something that happened to other people. "You would not see it such?"
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"There aren't many pure democracies out in the Nexus. My own planet exercises voting by shares owned either by individuals or companies," he says vaguely. He doubts the average Barrayaran knows about Komarran politics. "I can tell you in more detail when we reach my flat."
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Flat - what was that like? She darts when something catches her eye out the window again, before looking back to him. "We will be there soon?" He said this would be faster. Her own fatigue getting to her. The want to get this itching dried lycan blood off of her, unmatter her hair, clean her sword.
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"You'll have time to rest. I have been given leave the next few days to ensure you settle in." And don't cause any problems. Illyan had been very sure about that.
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Can't imagine it's entirely for her own benefit. She wouldn't leave her alone completely unchaperoned, either. But all the same, he had given her what she had requested in his company.
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Regardless of her acceptance, he will gladly start the journey towards his flat up a few floors in an elevator. His place was simple as if he hardly spent any time there. There's a small mess in his kitchen from the dinner he made last night and didn't get the chance to clean up before needing to sleep and very little in the way of decoration.
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In the same, she keeps her face schooled plain as he shows her about, where to go. Letting her eyes shut at the things that leave her cautiously shut in turns and receptive to the things that catch her eye. Ignoring now just the same whatever looks she gets in return, better things to be doing. Her face serverely empty as she looks over his - rooms? Bigger than she expecting perhaps. For a man with no family to see to him and no, not a palace, but she wasn't looking for that anyway.
No, what she's looking for, she gets as she takes a glance around. A thin, happy sigh that leaves her and shifts her shoulders back. "It's dry." Is the happy little sigh she shouldn't say but it was true. Three months sleeping on straw mats on the ground made this seem an utter relief she cannot quite fathom. Maybe for once her back wouldn't be a aching mess in the morning.
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"It is that," he replies, a touch amused. That isn't the first thought that would have come to his mind, but he's unfamiliar with the living conditions of 19th century India. "I can show you how to work the shower if you wish to do that now. You'll have the bed." While he took the couch out in the main room. With no family to speak of, having a guest room had never been a priority. Suddenly he's seeing the merits of having one prepared.
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Later, she'll fight him about the bed. She'll say that it isn't worth him giving her that for an undetermined amount of time. But right now - ? "Whatever I can use to wash the blood off, first."
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The rest he would have to figure out later. One step at a time.
Clothing laid out neatly, he abandons the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, and heads into the kitchen to both clean and start making dinner. The one night he should have gotten takeout on the way home. It wasn't too late to order it, but he could make something simple enough for the two of them.
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The shower is trickier, as she heads towards it. Getting out of the clothes he'd given her and her own blood soaked silks.
Which is all very grand until she lets out an undignified yelp when she turns the water up to hot, alright, maybe she would believe him when he said it got warm. Hisses something long and unsavory in Hindi before she lets herself step in again. It's not - right, or rather, it's not a bath and it's not her ladies coming through her hair and rubbing oils into her skin but - it's water and she watches the water run off her body. Looks over old scars and her new ones. Some of that blood was hers.
But he didn't need to know how much that was. The blackwater doesn't leave her neck even now.
Then it's more snooping, into draws and digging through his other clothes as politely as possible. Letting her fingers run over the material, inspecting it idly for it's quality. Well made as what she had been given. A great deal of will not to just lay on that bed for awhile. To just give up for just a minute to sleep, to sleep and not wake up for hours upon hours. But he was being a gracious host to her demands, that she gets dressed and drags herself the rest of the way. Cleaner, now, hair sodden and braided neatly, but clearer without the blood on her face, under her nails. Wagers at least mercy to him, she no longer reeks of blood and sweat and dirt, and that awful tang of stomach bile where she had slashed the Lycan's belly open.
Now just - whatever he smelt like. Whatever it was that she'd found in one bottle on the cupboard. Warm, she liked it she supposed. Even if it wasn't as fine as the perfume makers. It suited him, she fancied. A rulers careful measurement of those around her that tucks that away as well.
When she pads back out, it's on bare feet with quiet footsteps to see where he was. The fatigues looser on her, had to fold them up to make sure they didn't get in her way. Finds him - cooking? "What are you doing?"
It's bemused, more than anything.
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Beyond his work, his life was fairly simple. Or at least he tried to keep it that way since his father's death. That chapter of his life, messy as it had been, was closed permanently now and he preferred it that way.
At her reentrance, he merely glances up from the risotto he's making and raises a brow. "I'm making dinner. I thought you would enjoy a fresh meal before sleeping."
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She walks up a little closer and it - smells good. Different, but she didn't mind. Coming to hover like she couldn't quite believe that he really was cooking. But there he stood, doing just that and she smiles for it at least a little. "I would that, I haven't eaten for days. Not properly, at least."
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He motions to a spoon he has laid out should she want to sample the risotto herself. "By all means. You're welcome to try it."
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Polite to her last, as she goes to do just that, old habits, still ingrained that she takes spoons up some rice to try, immediately covering her mouth as she does so. Her eyes down as she tastes it, before she looks up again. "It's good."
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He hadn't expected to entertain or he would have stocked his fridge better. At least he had done his grocery shopping before her unexpected arrival on his doorstep.
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"Is there anything you require of me?"
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Then she takes her seat, hands settled in her lap. Politely waiting and she keeps quiet for a moment to just let him cook. "Normally men without wives are quite at the mercy of their relatives. You seem perfectly adjusted. Is that normal too?"
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"I would hope so. I've been on my own for some time now." Since his youth. The circumstances of his planet hadn't allowed for a normal childhood or adulthood for that matter. But he'd made the best of it. When the risotto finishes, he plates it and begins bringing out both plates of food and drinks for them both.
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It's tricky to get her head around. To living so separately, to being cut off. It doesn't feel right. Palaces were teeming with people and she seldom slept entirely alone, not then, and not since, either. Once it had been with her ladies simply in the room, and since then, it was huddled together for whatever warmth could be afforded. But here he was so... cut off. Without people in any regard.
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