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Even as a girl, Alys was never the sort to go looking for a savior. They were all very well in books of course, the sort of male hero who swooped in at just the right moment and saved his damsel in distress, it could even be quite romantic, if executed correctly. But in real life, Alys had no use for saviors. A woman in the real world ought to look after herself, and she had more than enough weapons at her disposal to do so. A woman was not without resources, her wit and her charm, the subtle power of persuasion, a good understanding of logistics and household management, were far more powerful than men realized, and of course if all else failed, Vorfemme knives existed for a reason. A woman ought not to need a man to save her, and even if she did need one, he was not likely to be forthcoming, and still less likely to be worth the cost.
After Vordarian, after Padma’s idiocy Alys swore off male saviors even in theory.
Lady Alys had more than enough to keep busy after the pretendership, what with a new baby and a wedding to plan, and soon enough, she realized, a whole empire to run on the social domestic side. (Cordelia had little interest in the task, which frustrated Alys more before she realized that Cordelia also genuinely wasn’t suited to it.)
So, Alys didn’t have much time for grieving, locked as she was in a whirlwind dance of living, of surviving and weaving her net of social protection, the image of stability that the Imperium needed.
At first the brand new Chief of Impsec seemed little more than an annoyance, encroaching on her domain. She understood the utility of him, of course, the necessity, but it was frustrating to have to work around him.
But, Captain Illyan listened. He listened when she told him what things she could not allow, and then he asked her why, and then he altered his plans accordingly. He listened, and heard what she said, and showed true respect for what she did.
And he made her listen to him in return, in that quiet, insistent way of his. He explained to her his reasonings and laid out his logic for the things he could not allow, and refused to back down until she saw the sense of it. He forced her to respect him, this quiet prole boy who was no older than she was, and he needn’t have. He had real authority, official authority, and she had none. He could have just as easily ordered her to do what needed done, but he didn’t. He respected her and her authority over the Residence, and over Vorbarr Sultanna society in general, unofficial and feminine though it was, as though he understood it was real. And so she respected him in return, even though he was as prole as they come, even though he was a man encroaching on her domain.
And he encroached well, Simon Illyan. He flowed, unobtrusively, like water, adapting and changing as the situation warranted. He learned quickly, about Vor and women’s work both, and he was not too proud to ask her when there were things he needed to know.
Alys learned too. A girl must know how to watch, of course, and listen, to hear and not truly be seen. But she learned more now, the art of spy craft, how to recognize a poison before it’s too late, how to take the temperature of politics, how one might hide a stunner, or a nerve disrupter, or a plasma arc on one’s person, and all the subtle nuances of the guilty.
And before long they were working seamlessly together, she and the Chief of ImpSec, like two sides to one coin, like a tree and its roots. Lady Alys still danced her whirlwind dance, but now she danced with a partner.
Somewhere, buried in ImpSec HQ there must be a report on the Nightingale Incident, one such barely averted disaster among many, unremarkable. But just after, she and Simon sat down in the quiet together in her office at the Residence, giddy and exhausted.
“I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that you were the savior of Barrayar tonight, my lady,” he said.
“Nonsense,” Alys replied, “At least half the credit is yours.”
Lady Alys did not believe in male saviors, but this man she would gladly save the world with.