Date: 30th July 2007
Disclaimer: None of it mine, everything Ms Bujold's.
Characters: Gregor, Henri Vorvolk, Princess Kareen
Warning: Unbeta'd; more like short snippets than a coherent story...
Prompt: Gregor, hopefully featuring horses. Cordelia. Ekaterin. Anything about canon characters as teenagers. I tend to like sexual 'shippiness more than explicit sex. No bloody gore/violence
Notes: Well, I actually don't know how old Vorvolk is; so I just assumed he's Gregor's age. If he wasn't, then, well...
*****
Like most Vor young males, Gregor was thrown onto a pony the same time he began his education.
At first he was afraid of the huge animals, since they looked like they could step on him and squash him into bits without so much as a glance. When his tutors insisted, he took to crying so loudly that not even Droushie could calm him down.
After a week of such, his tutors gave up and went to his mother. Princess Kareen listened to them, nodded, and went with him to his next riding lesson.
Instead of forcing him onto his pony, however, his mother climbed onto her own horse and put him in front of her.
"Isn't Rose pretty?" she whispered and smiled, stroking his hair.
Still a little fearful, he simply nodded. The horse was indeed pretty, all black and glossy, with a flowing mane.
Her hand still on his shoulder, she did something with the horse and they started moving slowly in a circle. Round and round they went, until he began to feel just a little impatient at their slow pace.
He looked up into his mother's face. She was looking straight ahead, but there wasn't anything but the wall encircling the practice yard, and the wall couldn't have been that interesting. He pulled on her sleeve and asked, "Can we go a little faster?"
Blinking, she looked really sad for a moment, then smiled again. "Of course, my dear." She kicked the horse a little, and suddenly they were over the fence and flying deep into the gardens.
He gasped and hung on for dear life, his heart beating in his chest like a struggling fawn. He felt like he could do anything right now, and nothing else in the world mattered, except here and now, with his mother laughing and happy.
They slowed down after only a short while, and Gregor let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He felt a brush of something soft against his ear and heard his mother say breathlessly, "Now do you want to learn how to ride?"
He looked up again, saw that light in her face, and nodded. Anything to make his mother grin like that again. "Only if you'd come practice with me."
She laughed and kissed him on the head.
*****
So he learned how to ride and ride well, though his original reason for doing so sort of disappeared after a year or so. But by that time he had grown rather fond of the activity itself.
When he was eleven, he took up polo as well, but couldn't find enough people to form both teams.
His Armsmen were of course out of the question, as half of them could barely stay on a horse, let alone play a game on horseback; and it would be a pretty odd purpose for them anyway. He supposed he could always ask Aunt Cordelia for a few more playmates around his age, but since he would be off to that prep school in a year and a half anyway, it didn't seem too urgent.
Meanwhile, he was stuck playing with Miles, Ivan, and Elena; and although neither Ivan nor Elena could do much better than a simple trot, Miles was already riding as well as Gregor had been only a year ago. In fact, Count Vorkosigan, who had promised Gregor a real horse for his twelfth birthday present, would probably give Miles the same for his seventh birthday.
But no matter how much Gregor liked riding or playing polo, horses were always a means to an end. He was thankful for their comforting presence during those scary and chaotic weeks caused by Vordarian's stupidity, but the great beasts, magnificent as they were, represented the past — Barrayar's past and his past. And his past, well, was something that he would rather not visit again.
Spurring his pony into a canter, Gregor began his way home.
*****
Gregor had only been at the preparatory school for a week, and he already wanted to kill everyone there.
The fact that he actually did have the power to do so was the only reason he didn't.
Like the Imperial Military Academy, the school had a policy to treat every student the same. But as the school only took in boys from the wealthiest and/or the most aristocratic families, most of the students already knew who Gregor was, and those who didn't only needed to take a look at the ImpSec guards to figure out.
Watching his fellow students, and sometimes even his teachers, fidgeting in front of him, invariably caught in mid-bow, might have been funny the first few times, but after a week of almost bumping into people who were trying their best not to drop down to their knees, amusement had definitely turned into annoyance.
Hopefully it'd all pass after they got to know him a little better. And he did plan to be known, though not as young Emperor Gregor-- no, he was determined to become Gregor Vorbarra, the youngest captain the polo club would ever have. That would only happen, of course, if he joined the club and was then selected to play for the school.
Every club in the school would be meeting for the first time that evening, right after supper, which of course meant every single class Gregor had that day seemed to take forever. That he already knew most of what his teachers were lecturing on didn't help either. His tutors, it seemed, had done too good of a job.
When the last bell finally rang, Gregor commended himself for his patience and walked briskly to the stable.
His horse was a black Thoroughbred standing about 16 hands tall, one of the mares bred from Count Vorkosigan's stable. Gregor preferred not to deal with the horses from the Imperial stable and, luckily, Count Vorkosigan was good enough to indulge his liege.
*****
As luck would have it, Gregor did make the school team in his fourth year, but never did manage to capture the position of club captain, even after two years on the school team. Instead, the position went to a boy in Gregor's year called Henri Vorvolk.
Gregor hated the boy for five minutes, realized how stupid it was for an emperor to be jealous of a count's heir, even one who'd made polo team captain, and congratulated the boy instead.
Vorvolk led them to victory so often that even Gregor was impressed. But what impressed him most wasn't Vorvolk's athletic prowess, but the boy's surprising ability to say Gregor's name without the silent "Emperor" in front of it.
At first, Gregor assumed that Vorvolk hadn't even realized who Gregor was; the boy was certainly unobservant enough for it to happen. But when he remained just Vorbarra even after they were better acquainted, Gregor smiled and began calling the other boy Henri.
It didn't take long for Henri to return the favor by calling him Gregor, and that was all it took for Gregor to realize how seldom anyone called him by his given name. Even at home, Uncle Aral would usually begin with "Sire," then moved slowly onto his name after a few drinks. Tante Cordelia would also begin with his title, though usually accompanied by a sardonic smile, and switch easily to his given name.
Henri was one of the few people who could say his name the way his mother had, as if his given name was more important than his family name. So it would only make sense for Henri to also be the only person at school, both student and faculty alike, who could look at Gregor without shame, greed, or fear.
*****
He stood in front of the Imperial stable and considered the horses there. None of them was young, though a few were only around ten.
His mare was actually in one of the stalls, getting properly groomed by one of the stable boys right now. Gregor didn't know if she would like it or not, as he had always taken care of her himself when he was at school. But he was going to be a lot busier these days, and his horse would probably fare better under proper care.
He waved one of the stable boys over. "Is Rose still alive?"
"Yes, Your Majesty. She's right over there."
"Take me to her, please," he forced out and followed the young man to the stall.
There was grey on the mare's face now, but when he pressed his hand to her cheek, she neighed and rubbed against his touch. He took out the apple in his pocket and offered it to her. She took a bite, chewed carefully, and took another. He continued feeding her until the apple was gone.
Rose, if he'd remembered correctly, was the same age as he was. Seventeen shouldn't be too old for a lap or two in the yard.
He grabbed her tack and strapped it on her, watching for any signs of discomfort. But the only thing he saw was an impatient shake of her head. He smiled and vaulted onto the horse.
She neighed again as he brought her out into the practice yard in a slow and easy walk. When he saw how well she was taking it, he pushed her slowly into a gallop, giving her plenty of time to adjust.
Soon they were racing through the practice yard at a cutthroat pace, with wind whipping through his hair. He laughed, exhilarated, and silently offered a prayer of thanks to his mother.
--finis--