#ivan vorpatril
Even more vorkosiverse…
Some Gregors and some Ivans with a little Miles mixed in
Alys was complaining about Ivan, and Simon wasn’t attending. It was a bad habit left over from the chip, when he could spend whole conversations not actually listening to the person he was talking to, just playing back their words on fast forward to access the relevant information when called upon to respond to something the other person said. It was something he really needed to learn not to do, but in this instance Simon could afford to let his mind wander, Alys complained about Ivan frequently, and by this now Simon was well-versed on all the relevant points.
“You’re not listening to any of this, are you?” Alys said, “I’m sorry, I know it’s been a long day.”
“What?” Simon said, “No, don’t apologize to me for my own rudeness. I was just thinking.”
“Oh?” Alys said.
Simon considered the Alys and Ivan problem, trying to get his thoughts into some sort of comprehensible and effective order. It was arguably not his problem, but it was a problem he cared about, so he felt more or less compelled to stick his foot in it.
“Ivan,” Simon said slowly, “Really isn’t an idiot, you understand.”
“Yes,” said Alys, a little dryly, “It’s one of the most frustrating things about him, I think.”
“It’s not just a matter of Ivan wasting his potential,” Simon continued, “it’s— Ivan takes after you, you know, he plays the game very well, and in just the same way. It’s just that Ivan is playing a different game.”
“And what game is that, may I ask?” Alys said, her tiredness and exasperation showing through here, where it was safe, “Because so far as I can tell he’s accomplishing precisely nothing.”
“Precisely,” Simon said with a small smile, “Cordelia says that Barrayar eats her children. Ivan has spent his entire life endeavoring not to be eaten. He’s been remarkably successful, and against all odds.”
Alys’s frown turned thoughtful. “But,” she said at last, “Would it be being eaten to marry well? Would it be being eaten to let himself be promoted, to grow into the potential I know he has?
“For Ivan? Maybe,” Simon said, “You chose the political. You stepped into Princess Kareen’s shoes and danced in them, made the entire Vorbarr Sultanna political scene turn around you. Ivan was born politically, and he’s done the opposite. You taught him too well, Alys. He desperately does not want to be used, not for anyone’s political agenda, not even by you. Perhaps especially not by you.”
“Oh,” Alys said, and there was pain in her dark eyes as she said, “But he isn’t happy. If all this… this wastrelism made him happy I wouldn’t mind so much, but it doesn’t, and increasingly so. I don’t care about the politics, not really, when I try to get him settled, I just want him to be happy. Is that so wrong?”
“Were you happy, dearest, all those years you spent shaping yourself into the Lady Alys, untouchable and unattainable, never letting anyone in too close?” Simon asked gently, “Ivan chose the life he has. You both chose the same thing, you know: freedom and safety over happiness, you through power and he through powerlessness. And everything you do is political, Alys, you know that.’
“I don’t know,” he sighed, “I think Ivan’s backed himself into a corner now. He could loosen his guard a little, now that Gregor’s married and can put several heirs between Ivan and the camp stool, but now it’s too late. To extend the metaphor, Barrayar is a very large predator, and Ivan has had to make himself very small to escape her. I don’t think even Ivan knows how much of the idiot act is real, or rather how much of his personality is innate and how much of it was constructed in self-defense, because I don’t believe any of it is an act as such, the best cover is always the truth after all.”
Alys was silent a moment before she said, “Do you think there’s no hope for him then?”
“Oh, there’s always hope, my lady. It’s just that there’s nothing you can do about it, and even for you that’s quite a different thing.”
Simon went on, slowly and thoughtfully, “People grow in odd ways sometimes. And sometimes they can get themselves terribly tangled up in mazes of their own devising. And it can be terribly tempting to try to pull them out by brute force, to fix what’s broken in them. But I don’t believe that works in practice, because you can never predict where the next good turn might lead, and the only way out is through. People have to find themselves for themselves, because no one else has the ability or the right to say who they are. Ivan will be alright, I think, in the end. He’ll find his own way, but he can’t be led, more so even than most people.”
“Mm,” Alys said, digesting this perspective, then added with an appreciative wry humor, “You seem remarkably knowledgeable on this subject, my dear, you don’t have a son of your own hidden somewhere that you’re not telling me about, do you?”
Simon grinned in return. “No,” he said, “But I did pull Aral Vorkosigan out of every gutter in Vorbarr Sultanna.”
“Ha,” Alys said, “I suppose you did at that. Do you suppose, then, that Ivan will surprise us all by bringing home a Betan survey captain at forty five?”
“I expect,” Simon said, his eyes twinkling, “Something entirely unexpected.”
