God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall.
For all sad words of tongue and pen,
The saddest are these, 'It might have been'.
- John Greenleaf Whittier, Maud Muller
2269, Imperial Palace, Centauri Prime
Londo had retired to his quarters in the palace for the evening. His faithful attendant, Dunseny, had taken his sash, the seal of the Republic, and his white gloves, but as always, Londo had declined the assistance of Dunseny in other matters of dress. He had, after all, a Keeper perched on his shoulder that could be accidentally discovered by touch. Mollari wouldn't risk his attendant's life to do something he had always done for himself – namely dress and undress himself, even if his years were starting to wear heavily on him now. He shrugged himself out of his jacket and waistcoat before he rubbed his face with weariness, feeling the whiskers of his five o'clock shadow scratching his palm. He gazed despondently at the ornamental bed before him with his chin in his hand. The bed was large enough to accommodate a host of Centauri playthings or even several Pak'ma'ra if he had tastes along those lines, but sadly, the bed wasn't getting much use from him. Certainly, he craved sensual physical affection, but it was the companionship he desperately missed most of all.
It had been two years since he had sent Empress Timov from the palace, and the circumstances of their parting ensured he could no longer turn to her for companionship, but as bitter as their parting had been, he had ensured her safety from the Drakh infestation. Now, while his days were stacked with one official event after another, there were few people with whom he could let down his guard. It was the sad and unfortunate fact of his life as the Emperor of the Centauri Republic that he could trust no one. It was also a fact that his position isolated him, and he was wretchedly lonely. He knew of the royal court's murmurings wondering why he took no lovers – but he knew exactly why – he would not expose their most vulnerable moments to the prying thoughts of the Drakh network. His moral sensibilities were offended by the idea of his sexual partners being unconsciously raped by the entirety of the Drakh network, and he did not particularly relish the idea of the Drakh infiltrating his own private moments.
Mollari poured a vintage 2248 brivari into a crystal glass from the nearby wet bar. As he sipped it thoughtfully, he couldn't quite believe how much he missed sleeping next to a warm body. Or perhaps, he missed speaking frankly to a person without his every word being dissected by court mongers. Or, perhaps he missed the feeling that not everyone was having their daggers sharpened behind his back or was preparing to slip poison into his food. The most soul-wrenching reality of his life was not that he had a Keeper enforcing the Drakh's demands on him and causing him untold neurological damage, but rather, it was the ancillary loneliness his relationship with the Drakh had caused. The isolation was especially painful for Mollari because his extroverted personality thrived on constant social stimulation, and he was denied what he most craved: the company of lovers and friends.
Londo had passed many hours in content conversation with his ward, Senna, but the power structure of their relationship was entirely different than that of his contemporaries. Many of his peers had been brutally killed under Cartagia. A few of the lucky ones had died of natural causes. Others died in military service or in duals over matters of honor. Some had moved from the Capital City. Now there were only a handful of his old friends who periodically called on him, but his oldest and best friends were no longer counted among the living – men like Urza Jaddo and Lord Jano.
His despondent loneliness almost made him regret, almost, his divorces from Daggair and Mariel. Perhaps he would not have minded their subjugation by the Drakh – then he would have some companionship – even if it was their companionship, and they would get their just desserts living in the same prison he was being forced to endure. He snorted at this thought, dismissing it distastefully from his mind, for even he was not that cruel.
He turned off the lights, sitting in the darkness in his chair with his brivari. He contemplated as he rubbed his temples with his free hand and closed his eyes. There were women – and men – who threw themselves at him every day. Cartagia had certainly made use of these privileges of office. Even Turhan – Turhan who everyone believed belonged to a cadre of morally enlightened emperors – had his favorite concubines. But here he sat, a man who delighted in the sensual pleasures even more than most, yet here he was alone. The weight of the crown and the dignity it required had changed him; he could no longer enjoy the seedy pleasures of exotic dancers at the clubs in the Capital City, and even the restrained festivities at the palace had become stale. He was too distracted with vital concerns to enjoy such revelry, or, when he could forget the concerns of the country, the exhibitions only reminded him of bitter memories of dancers past. And the realities of his isolation that stemmed from the Keeper on his shoulder made the shameless flirting he endured everyday a form of subtle torture. It was one more reminder that he was an absolute prisoner of the Drakh, a helpless pawn. He was Emperor of the Centauri Republic, yet he was perhaps the loneliest man in the universe.
As he sat in the darkness, he considered his Keeper. He wondered what it thrived on. It did not seem to need sustenance, yet it was intimately linked to his nervous system. My sorrow, he thought. It feeds on my sorrow.
He raised his brivari in a toast in the darkness, "To duty," he tipped the glass forward slightly. "Valtoo," he added quietly, without any hint of cheer.
The first time the Emperor's public audience was cancelled by the Prime Minister, Durla narrowly missed being pelted by a crystal tumbler.
At the news of the cancellation of the public audience, the Emperor had stalked toward Durla's office, and the infuriated blood pooling in his cheeks had signaled to everyone to get out of the way of his forceful footsteps before he turned his wrath on them. Mollari threw open Durla's office door without a knock, glaring at the Prime Minister with embers burning in his eyes.
"Get out," he hissed at the junior ministers through clenched teeth without averting his gaze from Durla.
The astonished subordinates vanished at the sound of the Emperor's dripping tone, leaving the two men alone in Durla's office. Mollari crossed the room in two quick steps, his hands seizing Durla's collar in an iron grip.
"The reason there is an emperor, Durla," he spat out the Prime Minister's name, "is for the people. Not for the convenience of whatever trivial schemes you are plotting behind my back."
Mollari felt strongly that it was his duty as emperor to discuss grievances directly with the people. Such public audiences were not only a long tradition among Centauri emperors, but the audiences also allowed the Emperor a rare amount of direct contact with the common people and their problems. Mollari sensed that Durla had become jealous of his rapport with the public at these weekly gatherings, and indeed, Durla felt that he could make better use of the Emperor's time than with the trivial matters discussed at the public audiences.
"Of course your Excellency is correct," Durla straightened his shoulders, feeling Mollari's grip pressing into his flesh while he tried to maintain his equanimity, "But the meetings on your schedule involve matters of the utmost importance, and they are all critical to the well-being of the people. Is not the entirety of the people the Emperor's concern, and not just the scattered few that have the means to wind up here on the palace steps?"
Londo felt the Keeper stir as soon as he laid his hands upon Durla, and now the pain was coming faster and in greater waves, so much that his vision blurred for a moment, so before the pain could overtake him, he shoved Durla against the wall, releasing the Prime Minister from his grasp. As soon as he released Durla, the Keeper settled, nestling deeper into his shoulder with satisfaction.
"Don't play your petty games with me, Durla. You have the skill of a mere apprentice in matters of deceit and intrigue, and I can smell the lies emanating from your tongue before you even speak." Mollari walked to the far side of the room and pointed an angry finger in Durla's direction. "You will reinstate my audience with the people waiting outside at once."
Durla offered his most placating tone. "If that is truly what you wish, Your Majesty. I will do everything in my power to ensure there are as few last minute adjustments to your schedule as possible."
"You will do better than that," Mollari growled, his hand curling around a crystal tumbler sitting on one of Durla's side tables. "You will not cancel the audiences scheduled with the people without my express approval. Do you understand?"
Durla bowed, "Of course, Your Majesty. Except when there are matters of national security or there are otherwise immediately pressing issues or..." Instead of catching Durla squarely in the face, the crystal tumbler smashed the wall close enough to Durla's head to leave shards of glass in his left ear. Durla's eyes widened in surprise at the Emperor's rage, and he licked his lips, trying to maintain the weak smile still painted on his face as he felt the stinging in his ear. It was unclear whether the Emperor had been trying to merely terrify him or if his aim was diminishing with age, but Durla did not have time to consider the matter.
"DID YOU NOT HEAR..." But before Mollari could express his further rage at Durla's continued impetuousness in the matter, he stopped abruptly and put a hand to his forehead, staggering as the Keeper sent new shock waves of pain through his body to wreak havoc on his nervous system. Durla watched in horror as the Emperor almost collapsed, and he immediately called for assistance, but as two guards entered the room, Mollari regained his footing.
"Do not touch me!" he put up his hands in a command for the guards to leave him be, and then he supported himself on the back of a nearby chair. With a pained expression, he realized his body would not stand much more abuse and allow him to remain vertical, so he would need some time to recover from the attack.
"I will be resting in the private residence," he said, bitterness evident in his voice as a fit of coughing overtook him. On his way back to the residence, the Emperor steadied himself twice on the hallway's walls, but he did not stumble again, though his muscles were spasming from the Keeper's torture.
As they watched the Emperor depart, an aide asked Durla if they should reschedule the Emperor's public audience for the day. "No," Durla said, watching his retreating figure with a glint of satisfaction in his eye. "He is feeling unwell today. Send the people away."
In the following weeks, Durla always seemed to find a new pressing reason to cancel the scheduled public audiences, and while the cancellations had enraged the Emperor the first few times they had occurred without his express approval, the Drakh's painful warnings made it clear that the Drakh network agreed that these ceremonial audiences with the public were a nuisance at best.
"How dare you tell me that the Emperor of the Centauri Republic's time would be better spent than by speaking to the people who are his charges!" Mollari raged at Shiv'kala, the Drakh who controlled the Keeper. Shiv'kala had appeared out of the shadows to discuss Mollari's latest misbehavior. At Mollari's angry words, Shiv'kala expended no further energy on discussing the matter; rather, he immediately sent the Emperor to his knees in a fit of pain, leaving Londo helplessly vomiting blood on the floor. Shiv'kala allowed Mollari to consider his position on the floor for a moment before he addressed the Emperor.
"We have already considered the matter and decided," he hissed. "Why must I always remind you that you have no say in these decisions? Now, you will think on your disobedience." The Drakh sent waves of pain through Mollari again, leaving him slumped on the floor in a puddle of his own blood and bile, his muscles quivering. He was unable to stand or even drag himself to the wall of his private quarters for several hours by which time his motor skills were exhausted, and he was reduced to unconsciousness. So he slept there, on the floor, bent against the wall in bloody and soiled clothes, once again condemned to being a helpless and stranded prisoner of the Drakh.
Once the rays of sunlight announced morning's arrival, he dragged himself and his vanquished pride to the bathroom to clean up before he was found on floor devoid of his dignity, thinking all the while what the people would say if they could only see the pathetic excuse for an emperor that existed behind closed doors. We Centauri live our lives for appearances, he thought to himself as he stared at the deplorable and defeated figure in the mirror.
"We made it," Turo elbowed his brother in the ribs and threw back his unruly shock of hair that never seemed to settle properly into a crest. "Can you believe it? We are at the royal palace!" Though commoners, he and his brother had been admitted to the palace because it was the weekly day dedicated to public audiences – the day on which a commoner had a legitimate right to seek entry to the palace grounds. Turo's dancing eyes took in the manicured grounds, alighting on several women lingering by the reflecting pools.
"We are lords for the day, brother," he whispered with glee.
As Turo floated toward the ladies, he felt Puck's iron hand clamp around his arm. "No, we are not. Stealing the clothes of nobles does not make you one, so try not to get us in further trouble..."
"Borrowed," Turo corrected his brother, his eyes unable to remain in one place as he took in the grandeur of the palace grounds. "Besides, we look dashing. The women will not be able to resist us."
Puck sighed as he smoothed his perfectly sculpted crest. His pale complexion and dark hair was the antithesis of his brother's sun-soaked skin and the sandy blond mop his brother called a crest.
"Turo," he stilled Turo with the eyes of an older brother's glare. "Are the people you borrowed the clothes from aware of it?"
"Not yet," Turo replied, unperturbed by the question. He ran a hand through his hair ruffling his unkempt crest.
Puck tugged the tight clothes down. "We'll never pass for lords, anyway. You wouldn't know how to behave if your life depended on it. You'll be drunk and pissing naked in the royal fountains before midnight."
Turo flashed his teeth in a grin, "Now, that brother, that would be a good time. We'd never have to buy our own drinks again when we get back to Porto if we pissed in the Emperor's fountain. We'd be heroes in our quarter."
Puck grabbed his brother by the arm with a forceful look on his face, "Do not do anything foolish today, Turo. It is treason to even speak such things, especially here on palace grounds. The Emperor is not a man to be trifled with, and he'll have our heads on display in the courtyard as a warning to other commoners putting on airs. Besides, have you forgotten why we are here?" Puck glanced at the courtiers in the royal gardens that were periodically looking their way before he diplomatically squared his shoulders and struck off for the main entrance of the palace in a brisk militaristic walk.
Turo considered pursuing the delightful delicacies that were lounging in the royal gardens, but his brother would likely find him and drag him out by the ears, so he inhaled the beaming sunlight with a thump on his chest and put on his best aristocratic swagger as he wove through the light crowd in pursuit of his pale older brother.
The public audience had just ended. It had been the only one held in weeks, and unsurprisingly, only nobles with ducats to spare had made their way to the Emperor's ear. The commoners were resigned to the back of the room, straining on their tiptoes to catch a glimpse of the Emperor's white attire, but the throng of people ensured most of them would have nothing but the crush of bodies scuffing their shoes to remember their one moment in the palace. Little did they know that they shared a matter of ignorance with the Emperor himself: Durla was receiving bribes for places in line at the public audiences, and only the Prime Minister's prized allies could afford the prices he set.
Nevertheless, the Emperor was sensitive to the crowds who were turned away at the times dedicated to public audiences, and at the conclusion of them, he took time to entertain the palace visitors. On this sunny afternoon in the Capital City, the Emperor was doing just that.
The Emperor was standing with several of his ministers flanking him, and an aide was presenting each individual in a long and winding receiving line. The Emperor was in good spirits, cheerfully greeting each person in turn.
The constant shuffle of names and faces was invigorating to Mollari. His social nature thrived on conversation, and he was adept at switching his demeanor from diplomatic, witty, serious, or attentive depending on the person in front of him. He effortlessly waved his aide away for a good portion of the introductions, having retrieved from his long memory the name and occupation of most of the individuals being presented to him. His warmth and diplomacy were on display as he cast his undivided attention on each person. He raptly listened to each person's brief remarks, warmly making them feel like they were the center of the universe for the few moments they were in his presence. Though his temper at the palace had noticeably soured in the past years from the machinations of the Drakh, the ilk scratching away at the Republic's soul, and the effects of his isolation, his good-natured self returned in spades at times like these.
"Lord and Lady Montego," the aide announced as the lord bowed and the lady curtsied to the Emperor. The Emperor took a fluted champagne glass from a nearby aide, sipping politely at their introduction before expertly engaging them on what he knew was their favorite topic – the happenings at House Montego. Hearing of the latest intrigues at House Montego, the Emperor threw a hand on Lord Montego's shoulder with a hearty laugh. "I cannot help you with the bills your fifth wife is running up, but if you ask very nicely, perhaps I will grant you a divorce from her before the Festival of Janulus when you are sure to go broke," he chuckled as he saw Lord Montego's first wife agreeing heartily at this prospect.
As the next group was introduced to him, the Emperor listened with a concerned expression to the plight of Southern province farmers, agreeing that the current drought was almost at the tipping point for drastic weather interventions, and he assured the farmers that the Ministry of Agriculture was keeping a careful eye on the situation on his behalf.
As the farmers departed, Mollari snorted at the sight of another aging nobleman from his past, "Well, well, well, well, Lord Fantagio. The last time I saw you, you were at the point of Ursa's coutari. I don't know quite how you escaped him, but here you are." Fantagio threw up his hands in a happy shrug before quickly departing the Emperor's presence, likely because he owed a great deal in taxes and had been overheard around town publicly chastising the Emperor's government at length.
"Perhaps a coutari will yet find him," Londo grumbled, and his aide leaned forward with angst on his face, preparing to take down a note. Londo sucked in a breath when he noticed the aide's expression. "Don't write that down, Santio. If he is found dead in the next week, I will hold you responsible," he said. Then, he added good-naturedly, "Perhaps I will even grant you a raise, eh?" He chuckled as he watched Fantagio's retreating back.
The line continued to inch forward, and a diminutive, quiet commoner was almost at the Emperor's elbow.
"The Lady Aryella," Mollari's aide announced to his ear.
Mollari watched Fantagio disappearing into the crowd, and as he turned forward, he stated, "You know, I once knew a magical creature with your name, Lady Aryella..." He stopped abruptly as his eyes settled on the woman before him. He immediately noticed her deep emerald green eyes, and in an instant, he recognized the sway of her body. He could tell merely by the way she was standing with strained muscles that nerves had almost paralyzed her. The light smile on his face faded as her visage caught his eyes.
The woman curtsied in respect as she nervously addressed the Emperor, her eyes on the ground, "Just Aryella, Excellency, I have no title."
The only thing the Emperor could hear was the overwhelming sound of his hearts beating out of his chest and his ragged breath coming faster and harder as he stared at the woman. The aide glanced around nervously as he noticed the Emperor had fallen speechless.
"Aryella," the Emperor managed at last, suavely stepping forward to take her hand as his diplomatic mask settled over his startled features. "Well, this is a surprise." He paused again, studying her features for a few moments as he tried to gather his thoughts and determine a course of action. At last, with her hand in his, he motioned to one of the guards with his champagne flute.
"Majesty," the woman's eyes grew wild at the approaching guard. "I request but a few moments of your time. I have been trying for weeks to see you," the woman dropped her eyes to the ground in nervousness. "This was the first public audience you have granted in some time, and I was unable to have you hear my grievance because I could not afford the fee."
Londo leaned in, his voice low and his brows knitted together. "Are you saying the guards did not let you in? Did you tell them who you were?"
"I – I thought you did not want to see me. The guards were unable to find a record of my name. So I awaited one of your public audiences."
"What do you mean when you said you could not pay the fee?" he asked, suspiciously.
"I was told there was a fee for the right to have you settle a grievance."
Mollari's eyes narrowed at this revelation. Such a practice defeated the point of the public audiences, and he sensed Durla was behind it. He dismissed his rising ire for the moment to concentrate on the woman before him.
Londo barely noticed the outdated clothes that clung to her diminutive figure, but they had caught the eye of the Royal Court, and he heard the murmurs behind him commenting on the commoner's choice of attire to appear before the Emperor. Mollari raised his chin in displeasure as the murmuring continued behind him, and he gazed at his first wife, a waterfall of thoughts cascading through his brain.
A thin smile settled on his lips.
"We will talk. But not here, and not now," he told her. "I will be along shortly." Turning to the guard, he instructed them curtly. "Take her to my private study." The guard snapped his heels together in compliance.
Londo was thoroughly annoyed that Aryella would be turned away without his knowledge, although he was even more annoyed that his ex-wife could make her way onto the palace grounds without his guards being aware of her movements, but then he recalled that his father had the official records of their marriage destroyed 30 years before, and his annoyance faded. As these thoughts thundered through his brain and he saw her departing on the heels of the guard, Santio whispered, "Would you like me to have her thrown off the palace grounds, Excellency?"
Mollari turned to the aide, his eyes surprised at the suggestion. "No," he replied, assuming a blank mask of diplomacy while he sorted through the cascade of emotions overcoming him. "Make our apologies to our guests as a matter of importance has arisen," he said as he nodded a brisk goodbye to the waiting room.
Without another word, Londo left the room for his personal study, flanked by his guards.
On his way to his study, Mollari saw Durla in the hallway, and Mollari pointed him into an empty room, leaving the guards outside as fury colored his face. "What is this I hear about fees for the public audiences?"
Surprise rippled across Durla's features momentarily before he quickly reassumed his detached political face. "Excellency, I can explain..."
"No," Mollari cut him off with a dangerously low and livid tone, "I doubt very much that you can explain to my satisfaction. You have been receiving bribes in my name. I am under no illusions, Durla. You have been undermining my relations with the people to stuff your purse in anticipation that you will need money for your own bid for the crown, no doubt."
"Your Excellency has misconstrued the..."
Mollari could not suffer the Prime Minister's babble anymore, and he could not help the angry grip he closed around Durla's collar. He knew there would be painful repercussions later, but he could not restrain himself in light of Durla's greed and his subversive erosion of the people's good will. Mollari twisted the Prime Minister's collar until Durla's face turned blue.
"You will provide an account of every single ducat you have stolen from the people, do you understand me?" Mollari hissed in Durla's face. "And then you will transfer that amount in triplicate to the treasury where it will be used to help the people you are stealing from. And if I ever..." Mollari ignored the warnings of pain sent to him by the Keeper as Durla's face took on a deeper shade of blue, "...find out about anything like this again, even mere whispers, I will ensure that you find your grave before the sun sets over the palace. Do I make myself clear?" The rolling waves of pain were seizing Mollari's ability to breath just as he was choking Durla, but the effects of Durla's selfishness and gluttony combined with the Keeper's bridle of pain fueled Mollari's anger. Durla's nodded his head anxiously, gasping for air. Mollari violently hurled Durla into a nearby ornamental settee that rocked as the body hit it.
Mollari stared at Durla, too angry and wracked by the Keeper's pain to move. As he regained his composure, he felt the resulting weakness in his nerves unsteady him, but after a few moments, he was calm and collected enough to return to his study, and he cast a last smoldering glare at Durla over his shoulder. "Do not forget who wears the crown, Durla, for I, myself, will relieve you of your life if you ever line your pockets with the people's money in my name again."
Mollari left Durla, and he made it back to his study putting one foot after the other purely through his willpower. Reaching the door, the guards dutifully waited outside. Mollari did not wait for the guards to pull it closed behind him, but instead, he latched the door himself, taking a reflective breath before he turned to meet the woman staring at his back.