For a moment, he looks so much easier, in sleep. Looks far away, like sleeping people always did. A shape male in the moonlight coming in through windows and her mouth opens on a hum. It had been so long since she has rested anywhere much at all. Would it be awful, to want to find a nice bed to lay her head for once?
But when he moved, she started back. Kept herself half in the shadows of the room, as she watched him - like it was impossible to watch anything else right now. They had said he was short, but they said nothing of how frail he seemed, all bones that she watched as he moved. Not ill, just... lean. Against her worn, hard hands, he might just break. But: it didn't mean much of anything to her, as long as he was skilled, she reminded herself. He moved well enough.
Though when he moves, bows, she relents in her guard. Moving into the half stretch of moonlight to let herself be seen. Eyes bright, blinking - but they don't look away from him. She stayed fixed on him, whether he was predator or prey yet, she could not decide.
Incredibly lean, slight of body and stature both. Miles’ strength certainly
doesn’t spring from his physical form. In spite of it, perhaps, but any
benefit has been mental and not physical. He looks older than his actual
age of 27, an image he encourages as part of his Admiral Naismith mantle.
After seeing that she isn’t a threat just yet, Miles slowly lets the dagger
drop. And. Um. Tucks it back under his pillow. If he leaves it out too long
she might recognize it, and that would be the end of this whole charade
right then and there.
“Naturally,” he says. Waving for her to sit in a chair next to his bed, as
if they were in a conference room and not his bedroom. He’s still under the
covers, every bit the little Admiral even from bed. Why not meet here?
He’ll treat her with the same respect either way. “We came here at your
behest. And I only do that After thoroughly researching the job at hand.”
Also the requester- and he’s seen quite a bit of information about her, oh
yes. Enough to intrigue him well past whatever funds (meager or otherwise)
she could offer.
She stays quiet after he speaks. Regarding it purposefully, was it a trap? It could be. Of course, it always could be. But, it was too late for that now, she had done her best to stop the worst happening. There was nothing more now than to trust. With that decided, at long last her eyes lower. Her hands tapping at the hook up to her comms that was around her throat. Murmuring in soft Hindi that she was safe, made contact. The Admiral was here.
With that done she moves closer to the chair he offers. Every bit as serious about it as he was. Long steps before she sits, hesitantly, eyeing the room still. One strange noise might just send her spooked, and not for no reason. There was no limitation to the reach of the United Corporation. Nowhere they didn't have someone working for them, nowhere they cared about flouting the laws in the effort to eliminate their enemies.
"I apologise for meeting in this manner, but I could not be sure until I saw you for myself. They seek to kill me even now. I did not want to put either of our lives at undue risk." Sitting down, she holds herself composed. She is a soldier, but she was first and foremost Queen, and it's there: in the slide from one role into another. Her face stays turned up, her eyes lowered back to watching him. Fixing him like she means to cut his shape exactly out in those sheets.
Her breath draws in, "I am the Queen of Jhansi, Rani Lakshmi Bai." Which, he knew her. That was that then. "I come, not for myself, but for my people in a request for you and your men to fight in my name." He was Betan, that's what they said. Prone to their sensibilities. She found it hard to muddle out, at times, compared to the strict rules of honour and rank she had been raised too. Frowning, as she went on - unsure if it was right, but there it was, regardless. "I cannot pay you in advance. Nor until the blockade is broken. But should we prevail, I have it upon my clan's honour that you will be paid."
The Queen of Jhansi. That comes as no surprise to Miles, given his
research, but he straightens anyway. Old Barrayaran instincts die hard,
even as fully plunged into his Naismith persona as he is now. It was that
rumored sense of honor that had drawn his attention over the protests of
the more practical members of his outfit. Plus there’s the plight of her
world as well, beset by over-supplied and technologically advanced invaders
as Barrayar once was... Yes, this is a personal affair for Miles, although
he won’t show an inch of that on his face.
His eyes flicker to her comm - not understanding her words, but noting the
communication. Best to be careful with everything he says here. Including
his act as Naismith. “I’ve heard a lot about your honor,” he says, his
tones flat and Betan. “But I don’t pay my troops with honor, you see. As
much as it may appeal personally.”
Though they’re doing pretty well after their last job, courtesy of a fat
payment from Barrayar. He’s pretty sure he could convince Simon to finance
this one too. The United Corporation has been harassing Barrayaran trade as
well, after all. So the trick is to find - some balance there. And to see
if her request is as honest as it seems. If she can’t convince Miles
personally, they’re done here.
He leans forward, gray eyes bright with intrerest. “So if you must offer
honor as payment, I must know more about what kind of honor you have in
mind. What you fight for, and how.” Convince him, Lakshmi; he’s certain she
can.
It isn't a question - there isn't anything she wouldn't do, to save her people. To burn herself if that would end their suffering. If it would drive the UC from their skies, she would die a thousand times.
A knowledge that sits in her tongue, that moves her hand to the long knife that had been gifted to her by her husband. Drawing it up to sit flat between her palms. Fingers curled around holding it up. Holds herself so sharply it hurts, if she thought to beg would save them all, she would already be on her knees. But the pain, it's there, the misery, it's there - and she cannot keep the desperation from her voice.
"The honour in saving a million lives from a life in bondage to those who see us as food to their hungry jaws." Slow, measured, without question. "Whatever you have heard, whatever you know, it is worse than you have been told. Millions starve, thousands more are killed for petty crimes. For near 500 hundred years they have blockaded us, stopped us from developing as we should in the guise of trade that stripped us bare, and when they could not drain anything from our earth, they took our food, our livestock. They snared thousands of those who were able-bodied as little more than fodder for their wars. They starve us, steal what made us beautiful, send our strongest far from their homes." Hard to sum up suffering, in so few words, but it cracks where she wishes to be measured. A pain that goes and goes and goes. "When we objected, we fought as well as we could. When they took our better weapons, we forged swords, and when they took our swords, we used rocks."
When she rises, it isn't to go far, it is to place the blade in her hands beside him on her bed. "Now we have nothing else but our lives to throw down. If that is what is asked, every one of my people would do so on my orders, as I was entrusted it by my husband when he died, and we can do so, but it will be nothing but a massacre without someone to engage their weapons. With you, with your mercenary, we can ensure victory with the ships we have been denied. My people are ready to move, but without you - ?" She reaches for his hand. Her hands, in turn, are rough. They work and they work hard, there is no softness, no kindness to them, for life had never been kind in return. But they are slow, measured, as she brings them up to press over her heart. Beating hard below her ribs, trapped it seems only by the skin that had become marred in the effort of doing so.
"But I ask you, I would ask every one of your man on my hands and knees if it is what is needed. I will be their last Queen, do not let me be the Queen who saw her people finally fall never to rise again."
Ah. That's a hell of a proposal. Which probably shouldn't work on the Betan Admiral Naismith, but Miles, of course, is not fully Betan. He's Barrayaran, and a Barrayaran understands the pain of occupation. Of having to fight with anything and everything at hand, because not fighting would be a far worse fate. And when she pulls out the knife ... He sees for an instant a fellow Vor instead of a Queen. Someone defending their lands against Cetaganda, fighting them with all the breath and life they have.
He is convinced. God help him, he was convinced from the first moment she started making her argument. There's something in her determination that hooks him even before she gets to the cause itself, and he knows he won't be able to say no. But he needs to be smart about this too. He must needs have good reason for the rest of his outfit, for their sakes as well as his own. This is a hell of a thing to get into. A blockade by the UC is no small matter; it will take all his cleverness and guile to break through it, not just force of arms. Even the Dendarii are not quite that good.
He holds her hands fast for a moment. Holding her gaze too, eyes bright. "Then we'll help you," he breathes. "On one condition."
Her fingers curl around his, her heart beating against his palm. Hard, quick, loud as war drums driving up through the earth. She is as much at his mercy as she might be against the UC, a vulnerability she hadn't even paused on, coming here, though it would be a lie to say she didn't know the position she would be in without his agreement. But watching his face, looking like she means to turn up a lie in words. Like she could find some deceit or means to ensnare her, and when she does not find it...
She swallows and nods her head slowly. "Name it, and it is yours if it is in my power to give."
Here is the delicate part. She’s convinced him, yes, but it’s the romantic
part of him that really wants to do this, not the mercenary part. And it’s
the mercenary part that must needs be convincing. Or at least appear
convinced. So - something that he can look like he’s being sensible about.
Or a dick about. Or both. Maybe a little of both.
He faces her squarely, meeting her gaze with his own. He is being honest at
least - or at least he’s being honest about the important parts.
“Collateral,” he says. His own hands are warped and cramped in her grip.
Hardly graceful. “Something valuable to show you’re serious.” Here he lets
his gaze drop to he sword she’d brought. “I’m a collector of novelties, you
see. Even got my hands on a Barrayaran deal dagger from the Time of
Isolation.”
Let her think she’s some crazed collector who will try to steal a piece of
her history. He’ll return it in private when all is done.
It works - she trusts the man before her, to be as he is, she has no gift to otherwise. Easy to tell, because her expression at once becomes horrified and shocked as she catches what he is indicating too. What he's asking for. Feels a heat in her face all at once for it - but she had given her word. There wasn't much else to it.
And with that realisation, her face starts to warm up. It's not like she was new to this, she had been married, she had had children, she had ruled and seen to all manner of delegations where exchanges were made. Young, naive, but married. She has no business squirming that a stranger does not understand what he's asking for.
"Are you - ?" This wasn't the time, Lakshmi. "Yes. It is yours." It wouldn't mean anything, anyway, so no one had to know what had passed between them.
That... is not quite the reaction he was expecting. Anger, yes, or horror,
but not... What is this anyway? Because there’s some horror there, but
there’s that flush too. What exactly did he ask for? Something more
precious than the blade itself, yes, but what?
“Then we have a deal.” He takes up the blade, looking it over with
unfeigned appreciation. All Barrayarans enjoy a fine blade, and Miles is
hardly an exception. “You seem startled, though. Have I asked for something
particularly rare?” Here he gives her a grin that he doesn’t feel. Still
trying to play the part of a rogue mercenary in it for a bit of treasure.
Better to let her think she has this piece of leverage over him, for her
own sanity as well as his own control over the situation.
Her hands fall away. Rolling back from him. Choking on his question - how even to answer it? But he has a blade to inspect and the long khanjar was beautiful to behold. Set with gold filigree, with a lion that roared on the pommel. It's eyes rubies, it's mane a solid weight in the hand, though its teeth years ago dulled. A working blade, rather than a decorative piece. There were knicks and cuts from its duty. A duty that was obvious, one press of his thumb to the edge, and it would draw blood.
"Not... exactly.." She takes her breath, steeling herself. She doesn't return his grin, only takes it as confirmation that all he thinks he has, is a knife. "Only the royal blade of the house of Newalker. To sum that is worth much, others, nothing at all." Which is grand enough in and of itself. But that wasn't what it truly was, what it meant.
"But you must never show any of my people that you have it."
Edited (i should... be asleep....) 2018-05-30 18:07 (UTC)
Miles sucks in a breath. A working blade, yes, with a duty more than just its sharp edge ... This is an inheritance in his hands. An entire planet. A symbol much like his own dagger, worth more for what it means than for what it is. Good god. He hardly dares to touch it, now; he cannot even bear the fiction that he might attempt to keep it.
So he swallows, slowly. Lowering his hands with absolute reverence, so that the blade rests gently in his lap. "A symbol of your planet held as collateral for the honor of your planet," he murmurs. "That seems fiercely appropriate."
He runs his fingers gently along the details again. Just. Overwhelmed a moment. Perhaps more than a Betan should be, but he does not particularly care at the moment. "I will keep it secret, and hold it in trust until you have been freed."
How strange a man he was - one moment, he seems honourable. The next, he takes that was without price with a mercantile interest... and regards it like he might a lover, more than she ever expected for a Betan. She nods to it, an explanation with it. "We do not bring about Kings except in times of strife. In those moments, they are the sword that protects our people. But fitting for you too - you will be part of that defence."
The rest - it didn't matter. He wasn't aware of how that between those that upheld that honour, this was the world. Such a thing was binding until death. That he had asked for her whole soul, bound for the rest of their lives, completely, in asking for the blade. That she had no choice but to accept. It wasn't much more than the central part of a longer ceremony when she had married the first time. But she'd heard of it certainly, it happened with village girls in these times often enough. A blade that could be the only certainty a married couple might have. A need to find some hope in that motion. If she thought of it like that, it wasn't so bad. So then, let it mean that, in motion if not quite in... well, body. If anyone asked ( and they would, is the irritable groan of a thought ) she could say it had been given in mutual goals.
She rises then from his bedside. "If we are not are freed, perhaps I can take comfort with you having it. Should I fall, should they take my life -" an understanding, that if she was going lose, she would die in the battle to the end. " - the hope of my people will not not fall into my enemies hands."
A miserable thought, but for it, she smiles softly.
If Miles knew the full gravity of this exchange - if he realized that this was, essentially, a marriage proposal given and accepted - he would be horrified. The thought of anyone forced into such a relationship with him is beyond abhorrent to him. Because of course he is no prize, and to take advantage of someone to the point where they are bound to him with their planet on the line? No, no, no. It's the same reason why he hadn't so much as breathed in the direction of, say, asking for sex or something as a price. No one should be pressured into sleeping with someone as unappealing as him.
But he doesn't know any of that. So instead, he nods up at her, moving to stand as well. As with almost everyone, he is considerably shorter than her, the frailty of his bones and frame even more obvious as he gets to his feet. His spine curves to one side; his head is squashed, sitting poorly on his shoulders. "Then I will defend your world with my life," he says, with a slight bow. "As will my fleet."
And frankly, he has quite a lot of experience in breaking blockades. Surely he can do it again here.
Lakshmi wets her lips, briefly before she nods her head. That was settled this. His oath and hers gave to it. At once, a weight comes off of her. He did have the experience, he had the wiles. She needed more than brute force to cut their lines. She needed cleverness and every report she had, every piece of information sent back to her, she'd come across said the same:
If you wanted someone to think around a problem - get the Dendarii, but especially, get Naismith.
So when he stands, and she looks over him, there's a shakiness to her smile as she looks down at him, but it spreads, brilliant and wide. Guileless, and for once younger than she seems. Hope, for the first time, a chance for something other than a massacre. All she sees at that moment, in him, is hope. It fills her all the way up and out. "I thank you." She begins a motion, almost to reach for him once more before she lets it stop. Her hands falling back away.
Business then.
"I will gather my people, and meet you in the morning. My retinue is small. I escaped with few others, but they are my most trusted advisors."
He can do this. Absolutely. It won't be easy - he'll have trouble, absolutely, and there will be unexpected hiccups. But. On the whole, he'll figure this out.
In response to her shaky smile, his own is bright and warm. Confident, even, though he doesn't know how the hell he's going to do this yet. And hopeful. If he can give her this hope, that's good enough to start with, right? The rest ... eh, he'll figure it out as he goes.
That hand gesture, though. His gray eyes flicker a bit as he notices it, and he decides to take a chance. Gently, he reaches to take her hand, bowing over it with entirely too much ceremony. Then he lets it drop.
"I look forward to meeting your full entourage, then," he says. "Hopefully you will forgive me if I don't look completely well-rested."
For that, she laughs, for his gesture, that he would look bedraggled come morning. All her fault. Something that she squeezes his hand with, curling around his in a brief grip.
"They will be glad to meet you too, we have heard much of you and your exploits. Though I hope our differences does not bother your... Betan ways if we are to travel together. We are... very private. I would request a room where we might have some seclusion amongst ourselves. I am comfortable being exposed, but they are... they have never been so far from home."
To say the least, they were very out of their depth, on Earth and around Betans. Some of it reactive. A need to cut themselves off with what little they could keep from the UC, others... older.
Odd customs, eh? Miles has a few of his own. In any case, he has no concerns about space, so the request is an easy one to grant. He squeezes her hand back for just a moment before withdrawing completely.
"You shall have it," he says with a wave of his hand. "As long as you leave your quarters clean and undamaged at the end, I couldn't care less about what you do in them." Hell, if they leave the place clean after they leave, they'll be better guests than most. "Do they have any fears that I might be able to allay more directly?"
Her hands settle back to her sides, her shoulders falling open and easy, a sight more comfortable in his presence then she was when she first arrived. He had given her so much, already, and granted, he had taken something he quite probably didn't expect.
But she takes a moment. "Two, I suppose. This is somewhat personal a request. Of an evening, I would like you to join us for a drink. I am trying to help them adjust to the galaxy they have been denied. You will be a good... starting point." Then she takes a deeper breath. "... And of a morning, we pray and train together. Unless it is a pressing matter, I would like us to be undisturbed at that time."
A little time in the morning, a little drink in the evening. That seems ... quite reasonable? Reasonable to the point where Miles wonders if he ought to be paranoid instead, but. Well. He is just curious instead.
"Granted," he says. "As long as the drink is decent, anyway." He'll just make sure he brings a good bottle of wine along with him.
"Of course." She laughs again, eager almost. "We will prepare you something of our home, perhaps. They would be glad to show you something of us, for what you will be giving in return."
But with that she steps away, and looks about - she needs to go, relate to her own people everything that has passed in more detail for what they would only have heard half of.
"I should leave you to get what rest you can."
And she heads - not towards the door, but the balcony. Out the way she came, down the side of the building.
Perfect. A proper exchange of culture, then - the alcoholic sort. Miles is already looking forward to it. All the more reason to make sure this works during their meeting. Not that his outfit has much of a choice when he's made up his mind, but. It's easier when they agree.
"I do need my beauty rest," he says with another bow, this time small and sarcastic. Beauty, ha. Though he just sort of. Pauses as she moves to leave. "I see I need to lock my balcony more thoroughly this time."
Which he is absolutely going to do, goodness. If she'd been an assassin, he'd have been dead.
She beams, a little pleased. "You bathroom, I came in through your bathroom window, most are not slender enough - or have experience scaling building." Or her skill of picking locks. It's giddy though, but keeps it in, she shouldn't be giggling. "But most don't ever think to come in such a way, that usually no one locks them, either. So I would attend to that too."
But she slides open the door, letting in the fresh night air and the sounds of London below. The call of nightlife, the yowl of cats squabbling. Lights that glittered like fine embroidered gold. Weaving and shining. She turns back to him, just the once, as she flicks the button on her helmet, her visor sliding back down over her eyes a nose. Leaving no more than a smiling mouth. "Well met, Admiral Naismith. I look forward to meeting you again in the morning." Looks, briefly, over the edge. "We will arrive through more usual means." Some assurance.
She hops up onto the bar of the balcony railing. Holding her weight in a crouch, body tensed with her inevitable jump to the balcony below.
Oh. He definitely didn't lock the bathroom window, and for one simple reason: it's too damn high for him to reach on his own. He'll have to get Bel. Or a step stool. Or something.
He trails after her, all the more fascinated after that little revelation. Goodness, he can just picture her scaling the walls somehow. What an extraordinary woman ... "As do I," he says, just the slightest bit awed. "We'll be here to receive her when you do."
He'll stay on the balcony for a while; he wants to watch her go.
Lakshmi gives him a nod goodbye, briefly smiling once more - and then simply, she's off, just like she came. Quietly, quickly and suddenly.
She swings down with no warning - one arm holding her weight as her feet get the perch she wants on the outside edge. Dropping with a heavy landing that springs into a running step that launches her at speed, a long-stride sprint that gains the momentum she needs so that when she jumps over the street - off and across to a nearby roof she clears it easily, rolling in a summersault to break her landing before she's up and moving again. Wasting no time in her departure - there was too much to do as she scrambled into the night over rooftops. Disappearing into the echo of street lights and neon signs of Earth.
The rest - the intervening hours - she barely gets more than a few hours sleep. Telling her people the good news, their preparations to leave in the hotel where no one asked their names and didn't bother strangers. They left there at some early hour with as little sleep as any of them got. Preparing herself in a long hour of silence that - it was coming together. This war, it might just be seen through. The blockaded might just be broken, she scarcely dare breath as she codes the message back to her father. To tell him to begin the preparations, a feverish feeling that seizes her. Bold and sharp that grips her and infects her guards. Gambling with something intangible.
Though when she is waiting for him the next morning, she's easy to spot sitting in the lobby for him and his men. A serious, darkly dressed woman, rich in fabrics. She sits shoulders back, hands in her lap, elbows on the arms of the chair. Draped to a position far greater than one she currently was. Flanked by the guards that stand either side of her. All six of them in total. Hard in the mouth, hard in the eyes. Their plasma arcs and swords were worn in even weight to each other. Serious and quiet, watching for the slightest thing that would dare approach their Rani.
Far different, to how she'd been, appearing in the dark of night. A Queen, not a woman, and she holds herself to that purpose - at least until she sees him approach, and rises to greet whoever comes to lead her away.
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But when he moved, she started back. Kept herself half in the shadows of the room, as she watched him - like it was impossible to watch anything else right now. They had said he was short, but they said nothing of how frail he seemed, all bones that she watched as he moved. Not ill, just... lean. Against her worn, hard hands, he might just break. But: it didn't mean much of anything to her, as long as he was skilled, she reminded herself. He moved well enough.
Though when he moves, bows, she relents in her guard. Moving into the half stretch of moonlight to let herself be seen. Eyes bright, blinking - but they don't look away from him. She stayed fixed on him, whether he was predator or prey yet, she could not decide.
"You know me?"
no subject
Incredibly lean, slight of body and stature both. Miles’ strength certainly doesn’t spring from his physical form. In spite of it, perhaps, but any benefit has been mental and not physical. He looks older than his actual age of 27, an image he encourages as part of his Admiral Naismith mantle. After seeing that she isn’t a threat just yet, Miles slowly lets the dagger drop. And. Um. Tucks it back under his pillow. If he leaves it out too long she might recognize it, and that would be the end of this whole charade right then and there.
“Naturally,” he says. Waving for her to sit in a chair next to his bed, as if they were in a conference room and not his bedroom. He’s still under the covers, every bit the little Admiral even from bed. Why not meet here? He’ll treat her with the same respect either way. “We came here at your behest. And I only do that After thoroughly researching the job at hand.” Also the requester- and he’s seen quite a bit of information about her, oh yes. Enough to intrigue him well past whatever funds (meager or otherwise) she could offer.
no subject
With that done she moves closer to the chair he offers. Every bit as serious about it as he was. Long steps before she sits, hesitantly, eyeing the room still. One strange noise might just send her spooked, and not for no reason. There was no limitation to the reach of the United Corporation. Nowhere they didn't have someone working for them, nowhere they cared about flouting the laws in the effort to eliminate their enemies.
"I apologise for meeting in this manner, but I could not be sure until I saw you for myself. They seek to kill me even now. I did not want to put either of our lives at undue risk." Sitting down, she holds herself composed. She is a soldier, but she was first and foremost Queen, and it's there: in the slide from one role into another. Her face stays turned up, her eyes lowered back to watching him. Fixing him like she means to cut his shape exactly out in those sheets.
Her breath draws in, "I am the Queen of Jhansi, Rani Lakshmi Bai." Which, he knew her. That was that then. "I come, not for myself, but for my people in a request for you and your men to fight in my name." He was Betan, that's what they said. Prone to their sensibilities. She found it hard to muddle out, at times, compared to the strict rules of honour and rank she had been raised too. Frowning, as she went on - unsure if it was right, but there it was, regardless. "I cannot pay you in advance. Nor until the blockade is broken. But should we prevail, I have it upon my clan's honour that you will be paid."
no subject
The Queen of Jhansi. That comes as no surprise to Miles, given his research, but he straightens anyway. Old Barrayaran instincts die hard, even as fully plunged into his Naismith persona as he is now. It was that rumored sense of honor that had drawn his attention over the protests of the more practical members of his outfit. Plus there’s the plight of her world as well, beset by over-supplied and technologically advanced invaders as Barrayar once was... Yes, this is a personal affair for Miles, although he won’t show an inch of that on his face.
His eyes flicker to her comm - not understanding her words, but noting the communication. Best to be careful with everything he says here. Including his act as Naismith. “I’ve heard a lot about your honor,” he says, his tones flat and Betan. “But I don’t pay my troops with honor, you see. As much as it may appeal personally.”
Though they’re doing pretty well after their last job, courtesy of a fat payment from Barrayar. He’s pretty sure he could convince Simon to finance this one too. The United Corporation has been harassing Barrayaran trade as well, after all. So the trick is to find - some balance there. And to see if her request is as honest as it seems. If she can’t convince Miles personally, they’re done here.
He leans forward, gray eyes bright with intrerest. “So if you must offer honor as payment, I must know more about what kind of honor you have in mind. What you fight for, and how.” Convince him, Lakshmi; he’s certain she can.
no subject
A knowledge that sits in her tongue, that moves her hand to the long knife that had been gifted to her by her husband. Drawing it up to sit flat between her palms. Fingers curled around holding it up. Holds herself so sharply it hurts, if she thought to beg would save them all, she would already be on her knees. But the pain, it's there, the misery, it's there - and she cannot keep the desperation from her voice.
"The honour in saving a million lives from a life in bondage to those who see us as food to their hungry jaws." Slow, measured, without question. "Whatever you have heard, whatever you know, it is worse than you have been told. Millions starve, thousands more are killed for petty crimes. For near 500 hundred years they have blockaded us, stopped us from developing as we should in the guise of trade that stripped us bare, and when they could not drain anything from our earth, they took our food, our livestock. They snared thousands of those who were able-bodied as little more than fodder for their wars. They starve us, steal what made us beautiful, send our strongest far from their homes." Hard to sum up suffering, in so few words, but it cracks where she wishes to be measured. A pain that goes and goes and goes. "When we objected, we fought as well as we could. When they took our better weapons, we forged swords, and when they took our swords, we used rocks."
When she rises, it isn't to go far, it is to place the blade in her hands beside him on her bed. "Now we have nothing else but our lives to throw down. If that is what is asked, every one of my people would do so on my orders, as I was entrusted it by my husband when he died, and we can do so, but it will be nothing but a massacre without someone to engage their weapons. With you, with your mercenary, we can ensure victory with the ships we have been denied. My people are ready to move, but without you - ?" She reaches for his hand. Her hands, in turn, are rough. They work and they work hard, there is no softness, no kindness to them, for life had never been kind in return. But they are slow, measured, as she brings them up to press over her heart. Beating hard below her ribs, trapped it seems only by the skin that had become marred in the effort of doing so.
"But I ask you, I would ask every one of your man on my hands and knees if it is what is needed. I will be their last Queen, do not let me be the Queen who saw her people finally fall never to rise again."
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He is convinced. God help him, he was convinced from the first moment she started making her argument. There's something in her determination that hooks him even before she gets to the cause itself, and he knows he won't be able to say no. But he needs to be smart about this too. He must needs have good reason for the rest of his outfit, for their sakes as well as his own. This is a hell of a thing to get into. A blockade by the UC is no small matter; it will take all his cleverness and guile to break through it, not just force of arms. Even the Dendarii are not quite that good.
He holds her hands fast for a moment. Holding her gaze too, eyes bright. "Then we'll help you," he breathes. "On one condition."
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She swallows and nods her head slowly. "Name it, and it is yours if it is in my power to give."
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Here is the delicate part. She’s convinced him, yes, but it’s the romantic part of him that really wants to do this, not the mercenary part. And it’s the mercenary part that must needs be convincing. Or at least appear convinced. So - something that he can look like he’s being sensible about. Or a dick about. Or both. Maybe a little of both.
He faces her squarely, meeting her gaze with his own. He is being honest at least - or at least he’s being honest about the important parts. “Collateral,” he says. His own hands are warped and cramped in her grip. Hardly graceful. “Something valuable to show you’re serious.” Here he lets his gaze drop to he sword she’d brought. “I’m a collector of novelties, you see. Even got my hands on a Barrayaran deal dagger from the Time of Isolation.”
Let her think she’s some crazed collector who will try to steal a piece of her history. He’ll return it in private when all is done.
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And with that realisation, her face starts to warm up. It's not like she was new to this, she had been married, she had had children, she had ruled and seen to all manner of delegations where exchanges were made. Young, naive, but married. She has no business squirming that a stranger does not understand what he's asking for.
"Are you - ?" This wasn't the time, Lakshmi. "Yes. It is yours." It wouldn't mean anything, anyway, so no one had to know what had passed between them.
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That... is not quite the reaction he was expecting. Anger, yes, or horror, but not... What is this anyway? Because there’s some horror there, but there’s that flush too. What exactly did he ask for? Something more precious than the blade itself, yes, but what?
“Then we have a deal.” He takes up the blade, looking it over with unfeigned appreciation. All Barrayarans enjoy a fine blade, and Miles is hardly an exception. “You seem startled, though. Have I asked for something particularly rare?” Here he gives her a grin that he doesn’t feel. Still trying to play the part of a rogue mercenary in it for a bit of treasure. Better to let her think she has this piece of leverage over him, for her own sanity as well as his own control over the situation.
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"Not... exactly.." She takes her breath, steeling herself. She doesn't return his grin, only takes it as confirmation that all he thinks he has, is a knife. "Only the royal blade of the house of Newalker. To sum that is worth much, others, nothing at all." Which is grand enough in and of itself. But that wasn't what it truly was, what it meant.
"But you must never show any of my people that you have it."
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So he swallows, slowly. Lowering his hands with absolute reverence, so that the blade rests gently in his lap. "A symbol of your planet held as collateral for the honor of your planet," he murmurs. "That seems fiercely appropriate."
He runs his fingers gently along the details again. Just. Overwhelmed a moment. Perhaps more than a Betan should be, but he does not particularly care at the moment. "I will keep it secret, and hold it in trust until you have been freed."
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The rest - it didn't matter. He wasn't aware of how that between those that upheld that honour, this was the world. Such a thing was binding until death. That he had asked for her whole soul, bound for the rest of their lives, completely, in asking for the blade. That she had no choice but to accept. It wasn't much more than the central part of a longer ceremony when she had married the first time. But she'd heard of it certainly, it happened with village girls in these times often enough. A blade that could be the only certainty a married couple might have. A need to find some hope in that motion. If she thought of it like that, it wasn't so bad. So then, let it mean that, in motion if not quite in... well, body. If anyone asked ( and they would, is the irritable groan of a thought ) she could say it had been given in mutual goals.
She rises then from his bedside. "If we are not are freed, perhaps I can take comfort with you having it. Should I fall, should they take my life -" an understanding, that if she was going lose, she would die in the battle to the end. " - the hope of my people will not not fall into my enemies hands."
A miserable thought, but for it, she smiles softly.
It will be held with her new husband.
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But he doesn't know any of that. So instead, he nods up at her, moving to stand as well. As with almost everyone, he is considerably shorter than her, the frailty of his bones and frame even more obvious as he gets to his feet. His spine curves to one side; his head is squashed, sitting poorly on his shoulders. "Then I will defend your world with my life," he says, with a slight bow. "As will my fleet."
And frankly, he has quite a lot of experience in breaking blockades. Surely he can do it again here.
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If you wanted someone to think around a problem - get the Dendarii, but especially, get Naismith.
So when he stands, and she looks over him, there's a shakiness to her smile as she looks down at him, but it spreads, brilliant and wide. Guileless, and for once younger than she seems. Hope, for the first time, a chance for something other than a massacre. All she sees at that moment, in him, is hope. It fills her all the way up and out. "I thank you." She begins a motion, almost to reach for him once more before she lets it stop. Her hands falling back away.
Business then.
"I will gather my people, and meet you in the morning. My retinue is small. I escaped with few others, but they are my most trusted advisors."
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In response to her shaky smile, his own is bright and warm. Confident, even, though he doesn't know how the hell he's going to do this yet. And hopeful. If he can give her this hope, that's good enough to start with, right? The rest ... eh, he'll figure it out as he goes.
That hand gesture, though. His gray eyes flicker a bit as he notices it, and he decides to take a chance. Gently, he reaches to take her hand, bowing over it with entirely too much ceremony. Then he lets it drop.
"I look forward to meeting your full entourage, then," he says. "Hopefully you will forgive me if I don't look completely well-rested."
Given she did wake him up super early.
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"They will be glad to meet you too, we have heard much of you and your exploits. Though I hope our differences does not bother your... Betan ways if we are to travel together. We are... very private. I would request a room where we might have some seclusion amongst ourselves. I am comfortable being exposed, but they are... they have never been so far from home."
To say the least, they were very out of their depth, on Earth and around Betans. Some of it reactive. A need to cut themselves off with what little they could keep from the UC, others... older.
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"You shall have it," he says with a wave of his hand. "As long as you leave your quarters clean and undamaged at the end, I couldn't care less about what you do in them." Hell, if they leave the place clean after they leave, they'll be better guests than most. "Do they have any fears that I might be able to allay more directly?"
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But she takes a moment. "Two, I suppose. This is somewhat personal a request. Of an evening, I would like you to join us for a drink. I am trying to help them adjust to the galaxy they have been denied. You will be a good... starting point." Then she takes a deeper breath. "... And of a morning, we pray and train together. Unless it is a pressing matter, I would like us to be undisturbed at that time."
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"Granted," he says. "As long as the drink is decent, anyway." He'll just make sure he brings a good bottle of wine along with him.
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But with that she steps away, and looks about - she needs to go, relate to her own people everything that has passed in more detail for what they would only have heard half of.
"I should leave you to get what rest you can."
And she heads - not towards the door, but the balcony. Out the way she came, down the side of the building.
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"I do need my beauty rest," he says with another bow, this time small and sarcastic. Beauty, ha. Though he just sort of. Pauses as she moves to leave. "I see I need to lock my balcony more thoroughly this time."
Which he is absolutely going to do, goodness. If she'd been an assassin, he'd have been dead.
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But she slides open the door, letting in the fresh night air and the sounds of London below. The call of nightlife, the yowl of cats squabbling. Lights that glittered like fine embroidered gold. Weaving and shining. She turns back to him, just the once, as she flicks the button on her helmet, her visor sliding back down over her eyes a nose. Leaving no more than a smiling mouth. "Well met, Admiral Naismith. I look forward to meeting you again in the morning." Looks, briefly, over the edge. "We will arrive through more usual means." Some assurance.
She hops up onto the bar of the balcony railing. Holding her weight in a crouch, body tensed with her inevitable jump to the balcony below.
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He trails after her, all the more fascinated after that little revelation. Goodness, he can just picture her scaling the walls somehow. What an extraordinary woman ... "As do I," he says, just the slightest bit awed. "We'll be here to receive her when you do."
He'll stay on the balcony for a while; he wants to watch her go.
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She swings down with no warning - one arm holding her weight as her feet get the perch she wants on the outside edge. Dropping with a heavy landing that springs into a running step that launches her at speed, a long-stride sprint that gains the momentum she needs so that when she jumps over the street - off and across to a nearby roof she clears it easily, rolling in a summersault to break her landing before she's up and moving again. Wasting no time in her departure - there was too much to do as she scrambled into the night over rooftops. Disappearing into the echo of street lights and neon signs of Earth.
The rest - the intervening hours - she barely gets more than a few hours sleep. Telling her people the good news, their preparations to leave in the hotel where no one asked their names and didn't bother strangers. They left there at some early hour with as little sleep as any of them got. Preparing herself in a long hour of silence that - it was coming together. This war, it might just be seen through. The blockaded might just be broken, she scarcely dare breath as she codes the message back to her father. To tell him to begin the preparations, a feverish feeling that seizes her. Bold and sharp that grips her and infects her guards. Gambling with something intangible.
Though when she is waiting for him the next morning, she's easy to spot sitting in the lobby for him and his men. A serious, darkly dressed woman, rich in fabrics. She sits shoulders back, hands in her lap, elbows on the arms of the chair. Draped to a position far greater than one she currently was. Flanked by the guards that stand either side of her. All six of them in total. Hard in the mouth, hard in the eyes. Their plasma arcs and swords were worn in even weight to each other. Serious and quiet, watching for the slightest thing that would dare approach their Rani.
Far different, to how she'd been, appearing in the dark of night. A Queen, not a woman, and she holds herself to that purpose - at least until she sees him approach, and rises to greet whoever comes to lead her away.
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