Honor Harrington rolled over and pushed the snooze button on her screaming alarm. Nimitz poked his sleepy head off his perch, and gracefully landed on his true-hands and hand-feet. Then he jumped onto her bed and sprawled across her. She grinned. "You scoundrel, you." She said teasingly at the treecat. His compassion flowed through her, and she picked his nearly ten kilo form up and got out of bed, turning off her alarm when it buzzed again.

Stretching, she looked around her spacious quarters in the Harrington Steading on Grayson. Her holopic of Paul that lay beside her bed caught her eye as always and she sighed as she looked back on those happy times. Nimitz noticed her concern and at the picture she nipped Honor's ear. She yelped and dropped Nimitz, who easily took the fall.

Nimitz looked up at her and she shook her head sadly. She had thought she could never come to terms with Paul's death-the one man she had loved. At last she accepted it, but that didn't mean she didn't feel her loss-she did, every day. She had also accepted that there was little else she could do in that respect.

The war with Haven was still going strong but Manticore hadn't given up yet. It had been a bit over a year since she had left for Grayson, and after she got there she completely immersed herself with the activity at her steading. There was enough work to be done to keep a dozen Honor Harringtons busy, but she had learned quickly. The Dome Project was progressing smoothly and she had little to worry herself over.

Her life was as good as it could be, barring the memories of her days in the RMN: Paul and Hancock, Basilisk, Pavel Young, Denver Summervale. She still longed to feel the Nike's command desk, talk to Rafe, Alistair and the others as she might have then, not these messages interspersed over T-weeks, but she was satisfied with how things were in Grayson. More than satisfied, was everything she thought it could be and more, she thought as she touched the golden bands on her Grayson civilian 'little-girl-playing-dressup' costume. In actuality, she had gotten used to the traditional Grayson dresses more than she ever thought she could.

Harrington Steading itself had also done well the past few months. Part of it was that same quality that made her an outstanding commander in battle-that utter control, that she was there. There was no way to explain it, but for her presence, carriage, and just the hows of how she commanded as well as an innate ability to project confidence that united her crew and got them working better, harder, faster than anyone could believe possible, and left them with their grins to show for it.

Despite the people who were too conservative to like her status, as a woman, she had found acceptance almost anywhere she went. Nimitz had gotten an even warmer welcome than she in some places, especially those full of celery for the cat to munch on, much to Honor's distress. Even so, he'd learned to limit his intake after a particularly bad stomach ache. And thank goodness for that she thought wryly.

When she made her way into the office to be greeted by Howard Clinkscales. "Good Morning, Milady!" He said cheerfully, looking up from a report he had been reading.

"Good Morning, Howard. What's that about?"

"It's a summons for you, actually. More of a request. A group of Harringtons would like you to dedicate a church alongside Reverend Hanks. It's for tomorrow, so I thought I'd ask you now."

Honor grinned briefly. "If the Reverend has no problem with an 'infidel' accompanying him, then I'd be honored." She said the word that so many Graysons had once used (and some still did) to describe her with a lightness. Howard smiled.

"Alrighty then, Ma'am." He said, holding out his hand, just under his desk and invisible to her. But while she didn't see it, Nimitz certainly did. And Honor felt the spike of joy as she heard a crunch, and Nimitz flowed back up her chair, which she had by now sat in, and onto his shoulder.

She grinned. "You know you're spoiling him, Howard." Nimitz turned away from her with a sniff of lordly disdain while Howard chuckled.

"Ah, of course Milady."

A few hours later more laughter could be heard from that office. It was late before either of them emerged, but when they did it was al smiles with little trace of anything amiss. In fact, for the first time in her life Honor was truly carefree, and Nimitz heartily approved of the change. Not that the simple joys of all the celery people slipped him when they thought Honor wasn't looking hadn't bolstered his contentment.

Sure, there were reactionaries who hated her for who she had been and the swirl of change she represented, but Honor seemed more focused on her life than she was on them. She was content to be as she was, and people like Mac and Miranda were glad to see her in such good condition. Weeks passed, then months, and even years but Manticore never took her off half-pay. Which was just as well when she officially retired to spend all of her time buried in her steading.

Indeed, she had been as good for Harrington Steading as it had been for her, and was now a quietly busy, prosperous place in its own right. She even learned how to play baseball and taught her people how to swim. Upon his passing, which was seventeen years later, thanks to Manticoran medicine, Howard Clinkscales was honored by her and hers.

Sure, Manticore may be glad to be rid of her. But on Grayson, she had a place, a small corner of society to call her own. It was on Grayson that she healed of her internal injuries, the wounds opened by the murder of Paul Tankersley. She would never forget him or anyone from Manticore, but as Grayson had healed her she was dedicated to helping them. In turn, she did whatever she could to help them become the best they could be. And that was all anyone could ever have asked of her and more besides.

And somewhere along the way, Honor Harrington had become a Grayson girl, and she was darned proud of it!