"That is all. You are all dismissed."
Then they left, one by one, just as they had come. Carn left talking with the Narn Warleader. The Narn was probably offended that Londo had not spoken to him, but there had been nothing to say. A formal meeting would have to be arranged later. Durano left with Vir, both already making plans for the provision of staff for their embassy. Virini wandered away, muttering to himself. The guards resumed their normal positions. Except for the bodies on the floor, everything was normal.
Morden was, not surprisingly, the last to leave.
"I am surprised you did not object," Londo said, wearily. "You did not even say anything."
Morden shrugged. "You're the Emperor, after all. Everything you did was within your power. The treaty between us will be arranged soon. I think we should pass it as swiftly as possible, don't you? The sooner we sort it out, the sooner we can begin providing aid. And protection, of course. After all, someone is going to have to guard the homeworld with your fleet away.
"And as for Marrago, well.... it's a big galaxy, but not that big. We'll find him. Eventually.
"Well, at least that's all over now. We can begin preparing for the future."
Londo did not have the energy to laugh. "I do not believe we have much of a future. Not any more."
"Oh, you do. It just isn't the sort of future you might have imagined you were going to have."
With that, Morden left. Londo was alone.
* * *
Before the End.
Alone.... but not for ever.
Londo looked up and smiled wryly. "I know you're there, my friend," he whispered. "You can't hide from me."
The shadows parted and Lennier stepped out. Londo looked at him, and was relieved that he appeared unharmed. "I do not think I have been a very good bodyguard for you," he said softly. "A bodyguard would not have left you alone."
"You have been a fine bodyguard, Lennier. And a finer friend. I do not know what I would have done without you."
Lennier looked down. He had always seemed to have the weight of several worlds on his shoulders, but now.... the burden seemed even heavier.
"I must go."
"I know. I have sent away everyone who cared for me, Lennier. I cannot keep you behind."
"No, it is more than that. I am.... Shadow–tainted. They have given me one of their Keepers. Soon the Vorlons will find out, and if I am still here, then...."
"I know. I have always known. Just as I knew you would never be a threat to me or to this throne." Londo sighed. "There have been few who have served this Republic half so well as you have. I just wish there was a better gift I could give you as you leave us."
"You have given me all that is necessary. I was proud to be your friend."
Londo rose from his throne and took the few short, hesitant steps towards Lennier. He reached out his hands and Lennier took them both, grasping his wrists. For a moment they both stood there, and then Lennier pulled back.
"I must go." He made to leave.
"I will undo this," Londo called back. "I will drive the Vorlons and 'Ambassador' Morden from this world. When I do.... you can come back. I will take you to the red light district and get you drunk."
Lennier smiled sweetly and sadly. "That would be nice, but I do not think I will live to see it."
"No, you will, my friend."
Lennier smiled again, and then he was gone.
Londo sat back on the throne. Lennier was the last of them, the last of those who knew him as a man and not an Emperor. They were all gone now. So who was he?
What was he?
Alone.
* * *
After the End.
"No, not alone."
Londo looked up, unsure of how much time had passed. Long shadows covered the throne room. Everything was dark. The only patch of light in the whole room was where Lyndisty lay.
"Somehow I knew you would be here, Londo. You always were one for melodramatic gestures."
He groaned softly as he saw the woman enter the room. Her clothes were scorched and burned. There was a soot mark on her cheek and numerous scratches on her face, but still Timov looked every inch the Empress she refused to allow herself to be.
Timov stopped and looked down at the second body, the one covered with darkness. She sighed. "Ah, poor Mariel. She never did have the sense to know when to come in out of the rain."
"Timov, you should...."
"Oh, I'm fully aware of what you think I should do, Londo. I heard all about your little proclamations earlier. Sending everyone away like that.... Maybe the others will buy into the Imperial edicts rot and all that, but I know you too well. I've never obeyed a single order you gave me in all these years of marriage, and I won't be starting now. You can't get rid of me, Londo."
"You don't understand. You'll be in danger."
"Oh? Then I suppose today was a simple walk in the park, was it? I have always been in danger, Londo. I was raised knowing that would be the case, and I've never shirked from it yet. You cannot get rid of me."
"But Timov...."
"Stop it. I'm not listening. No.... you may be our Emperor, but you're also a man, and you can't begin the fight back if you drop dead from lack of sleep. Things may look better in the morning. Now come to bed, Londo dear."
In spite of himself, Londo smiled. "Yes, darling," he said, without a hint of sarcasm.
No, maybe he was not all alone after all.
Chapter 4
"So this is what victory feels like. All these years and yet.... what has our struggle brought us?"
"There is a saying among some peoples. Everyone gains exactly what they deserve. It would appear you have gained the victory which you most deserved."
"For all our sakes, I hope not."
* * *
She sleeps, her mind filled with dreams, and memories....
.... of what it was like to be dead.
There are times awake when she still feels tentatively for the burn marks left by the shot that killed her. They are not there, but that does not stop her looking. She remembers it clearly, tears in her eyes, a soft determination, and the final words in her mind, the words she could not give voice to.
John, I love you.
Then came a moment of pain, and she was dead.
It was not what she had expected. She was a priestess. She had grown up learning about the passage of souls, the continual cycle of birth and rebirth, of which death was only a part. She had dreamed of a place where no shadows fall, a place where she could be at peace, away from struggle and war and loss, where she could wait for her love to come to her.
Instead, there had been nothing. An empty blackness stretching out before her in all directions. She had never in all her life felt so alone.
She had been there for so long, crying out for someone, for anyone. There had been nothing. Then, just when fear was all she knew and all it seemed she had ever known, he had come to her. Lorien, the eldest of the elder races, the first of the first ones. He had smiled, and she had returned to the world of flesh.
She still dreamed about being dead. Sometimes she awoke to darkness and felt she was still dead, that all her life since that moment had been a dream. There were times in the night when all she could hear was her own heart beating, an echo of an echo of a mockery of her life.
She knew what she had to do now. She had rested enough. She was well now. She had said her final goodbyes. She had visited the grave of Mr. Welles and rested there in silent meditation for several hours, hoping he had at last found peace. She had gone to Dexter Smith and spoken of his dreams for Sector 301. She had visited the shrine that had arisen at the place of her death and tried to impart something to the people who expected her to solve all their problems for them. She had communicated with the Alliance Council, preparing herself for her return to them.
There was just one person she needed to talk to.
She reached out across the bed, and her eyes stung with tears. Of course. He was not the
re. He had not been there since that first night she had returned from the hospital. He had loved her then. He loved her still, but their responsibilities hung over them both. There was a sadness in him as well, a dark hollow behind his eyes, as if he had sacrificed everything to survive, and now could never bring any of it back.
Delenn of Mir sighed, and as she had for the past so many nights, she fell asleep alone.
* * *
"I will.... be going then."
There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the cries of mourning that echoed in Delenn's mind. Sorrowful thoughts, dark and anguished.... And some of them were directed at the man in front of her.
"That's.... probably for the best," he said finally, and she could hear the pain in his words. It was true. It was for the best. Politically, militarily, personally....
John had to remain here, on Proxima. The world was set to fly apart, torn between recent tensions, the deaths of President Clark and Mr. Welles, the constant threat of Shadow reprisal, the surge in anti–alien prejudice.... they needed someone here, someone special. Not just a symbol, a leader.
That had to be John. He was the only choice. He was the leader of the Alliance war fleet after all, and also the most obvious sign of human involvement in the alliance of races. No one else would do. Corwin was a soldier, not a leader - although one day he would be - Welles was dead, Dexter represented only his own province and his own people.... It had to be John.
"You'll be.... safer there," John continued, the words sounding painful and forced. "We're still catching some of the extremists, some of Clark's men.... people who blame you. There's also the possibility of a counterattack, of course."
All true, but none of these were the real reasons she needed to go to Kazomi 7 rather than remain here. The real reasons she couldn't give voice to.... not to him.
She didn't want to be near him. She didn't want to have to hold in her regret and guilty thoughts whenever she was around him. She didn't want to have to concentrate so hard not to say the words that would destroy him.
I killed our son.
She had tried telling herself a thousand times that was not true, and on some level she knew it. On that level she knew that others were to blame. If the Vorlons hadn't made her that fatal offer. If John hadn't been so badly hurt.... But if she hadn't accepted their proposals....
If, if, if.... so many ifs.... none of which resolved the main issue that their son was dead, and they both had to grieve for him, but neither of them had time. If she stayed here, sooner or later they would grieve, and then both of them would be destroyed.
"Then.... I will be leaving soon," she whispered.
He looked unhappy, not surprisingly. He also looked tired. He had told her what had happened to him, the dealings with the Alliance, the strangeness of the Dark Star ships, the argument with Sinoval. He had kept some things quiet, she knew, but she had not pressed him on them. Compared to what he had told her, any secrets he still kept would be inconsequential.
Our son is dead.
No! Reach out to him! Tell him you love him!
In truth she was unhappy here on Proxima, and she couldn't wait to leave. She was a leader and a leader of leaders. She wanted to make everything better, to heal the galaxy and everyone in it, to create a universe where everything would be so much simpler.
But here.... here nothing was simple. There were countless divisions between peoples who should be allies, divisions wrought from fear and hatred and mistrust. It fell to precious few people to try to undo those divisions, to end the war between the Narn and the Centauri, to unite humanity with the other races, to end the threat the Shadows posed....
It would be difficult. It would all be so difficult. She wanted to be a healer again, but she could not heal until everyone was ready to be healed. Someone had to bring everything together so that the galaxy could be healed. And if not her, then who?
Tell him you love him!
The voice would not be quiet, and she wanted to listen to it. She really did.... but she couldn't.
Our son is dead!
Delenn bowed her head, and turned. She began to walk away.
Tell him. You must.
Tears welled up in her eyes as she walked away.
Tell him!
She left the room. She did not look back.
* * *
Power was a nebulous thing, a concept many people spoke of, but few truly understood. The controlling, the mastery, the capturing of power.... It was said that the person who fully understood these things would have no need actually to carry out any of them.
The man who called himself Vejar was one of the few who did understand them. He knew that sometimes the greatest exercise of power comes not by using it, but by sitting back and merely watching.
He had not always understood that. Indeed, one of the reasons he had chosen to remain behind when the rest of his order had fled to their long–ordained place of sanctuary had been because he wanted to use his power to help. Not just to help his order, but to help any who needed it.
That had been over two years ago, and now he understood a little better than he had then.
He did possess power. Physical power. The capability to kill, to destroy, to tear down whole cities. If he but wanted to, he could destroy most of Kazomi 7 in less than a day. It was all a simple matter of making the right incantations, the rights glyphs and words, and it would be done.
But the best power is the sort that is never used. The strongest sword is the one never removed from the scabbard. Sometimes there are no masks....
And sometimes it is worth staking the lives of all who live on the decision of one person.
Vejar was human, although racial differences mattered little within his order. Sometimes he even forgot that he was human, but not today. Today was the day he knew at last that the right decision had been made.
Delenn of Mir had gone to Z'ha'dum, and there, as had been foreseen, she had made the decision that could change the future of the galaxy. She had been offered the chance to travel anywhere she liked. Home, to safety, to the arms of the one who loved her.
But she chose the path of pain and repentance and redemption. She gave up, however unknowingly, the unborn life growing within her, and in doing so, equally unknowingly, she had given birth to something greater.
An ideal had arisen within humanity. The witnesses to her sacrifice, to her nobility, to her remorse. It had begun with just two, two men who both had every reason to hate her, and it had spread. At the time she had died, her work was only just beginning.
Humanity had been saved. It was entirely possible that Delenn would never realise what she had done. It was also entirely possible that had she been given the chance to change her mind over that fateful decision, she would have done nothing differently.
The order was pleased. Master Elric was pleased, as was the One Above All. Neither would explain their reasons of course, their own hopes for humanity, but that hardly mattered. The order was pleased.
Save one member of it.
Vejar raised his hand and traced a pattern in the air. A silver mirror appeared from nowhere, and within it was an image of Delenn. Dignity and strength shone in her every movement, but Vejar could see the pain within. She was walking away from something.... no, from someone.
Vejar frowned. She was returning home, to Kazomi 7. There he would have to face her, and acknowledge his betrayal of her. How could he explain it to her? How could he explain the necessity of what she had done, of what she had lost?
How?
* * *
Home.
That was a strange concept for Delenn, especially when applied to anywhere other than Minbar. She had grown up on Minbar, played in its streets, worshipped in its temples, climbed its mountains and drunk from its crystal lakes. She had never thought her home would be anywhere other than Minbar.
But that was Minbar as it had been, not as it now was. Sinoval and the humans and the Drakh had destroyed all that, turning he
r world into a poisoned, barren rock, turning her people into paranoid, twisted reflections of what they should be. She remembered saying goodbye to Minbar, knowing she would never return.
But as she looked out at the planet below her, she realised that in many ways she had a new home now. Kazomi 7 was not Minbar, and it never could be Minbar. In many ways it was an ugly planet, colonised by the Drazi and used for decades as a merchant waystation for a variety of illegal purposes.
Until something changed. Like Minbar, the Drakh had come and devastated the world, but unlike Minbar, Kazomi 7 had survived. Its people had survived. Hope had survived and now.... now the world was her home.
There was a procession waiting for her, naturally. News of her return had been circulating for weeks. Lethke would have arranged it all, she was sure. He was waiting for her just outside the spaceport, as soldiers tried to hold back the swelling crowd here to greet her. She looked at them all, and marvelled at how many races there were. Narn, Brakiri, Drazi, Minbari, Vree, Llort, Abbai, a few humans. No Centauri that she could see, but almost every other race was represented.
She took a deep breath and stepped out of the ship to greet them.
The roar almost knocked her backwards with its volume. She steadied herself and walked calmly across to where Lethke waited, a unit of guards around him. Lethke smiled broadly as he extended his hand to her, and she took it.
"Welcome home, Delenn," he said simply.
"Thank you," she replied. "It feels good to be home."
The journey to the Neuadd was naturally designed to be as long and as visible as possible. Much as Delenn disliked the manipulation of the people, she had to admit it did serve a purpose. She had been gone for so long, and without her as a figurehead, the Council would have had trouble holding the planet together. Now that she had returned, everyone had to know she was alive, that she was back.
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