ETA: In the finished version, I took the liberty of slightly changing one of the characters' names: Lysandra Jaddo's short name used to be Lysa, but to avoid confusion with other character names, it was changed to Lyndra throughout.

The story is set during the same time frame as Peter David's "Legions of Fire" trilogy, but stands entirely on its own, so no knowledge of the novels is needed to read this.

Though I Walk Through the Valley

I. Londo

Through some quirk of fate, the main wing of the palace had remained intact. Amidst its raucous grandeur Vir Cotto had looked… lost. Not merely that; some of the old fear seemed to have crept back into him, making him stoop a little lower than he should.

There were many kinds of fear, some foolish, some useful, and Londo had developed something of a nose for them over the years. But it had been a long time since he had smelled this particular kind on Vir. Definitely not after the business with Cartagia, where Vir had learned once and for all that there were far better things to fear than an aging Centauri diplomat. Or so Londo had believed.

But it was clear from the set of Vir's shoulders that he was afraid now, and that Londo was the cause of it. Not simply because he was about to become Emperor, but for what it might change between them. What it had already changed.

The blame for that was entirely his own. Vir had come rushing here from Babylon 5, for no other reason than to make sure that Londo was all right, and how had he responded? By chiding Vir like a halfwit child for walking in on him as he was dressing. The irony was thick enough to choke on. How often had Vir helped him dress under conditions far less dignified, often with alcohol dulling his senses to the point where he could not button his own coat? Granted, that was years in the past, but the same could not be said about the first day after his heart attack, when he had needed Vir's help to lift so much as a spoon. Of course Vir would not hesitate to walk in on him now he was Emperor. Why should he?

The answer, of course, was them. And it. It had been over twelve hours since the Drakh had given him his Keeper, but it felt like only now his head was starting to clear. The Keeper's surface thoughts were utter chaos, as disorienting as they were primitive. Tuning them out was proving to be a challenge, but Londo was learning, slowly. As long as the Drakh named Shiv'kala – his Keeper's keeper, the one who spoke for the others – did not touch his mind directly, he was finding he could keep the horror at bay.

Still, every now and then his control would slip. Just now, he had been making his way to the gardens in hope of finding Vir, who seemed to have wandered off while Londo wasn't looking. Stumbling over a cracked step, Londo had lost his focus only for an instant. The wave of malice that washed over him, a lightning bolt of noxious pleasure that seemed to crackle through every nerve in his body, was sudden and sickening and intense enough to drive him to his knees. He was reduced to sagging down on the steps, gasping for air and struggling to hold on to the contents of his stomach as his Keeper writhed with glee. Shame burned behind his eyelids, but as always, his eyes remained dry. Of course they did. After Adira, he did not think he could have any tears left.

It was on those steps that Vir found him – more composed than he had been, thank the Maker, although he still felt too unsteady to risk getting to his feet. Londo heard Vir before he saw him: hurried, shuffling footsteps that broke into a run in the last few seconds.

"Londo – what are you doing here?" Vir practically flung himself onto the steps. His cheeks were red and puffy, but whether from anger or something else, Londo couldn't tell. It seemed Vir was getting better at hiding his emotions. "I thought you were going to address the people. Are you –" Vir cut himself off.

"I'm all right," Londo said. Not quite the truth, but that couldn't be helped. "And I am sorry if I gave the impression earlier that that had become an inappropriate question to ask. I was… preoccupied. I did not mean to snap at you." Oh, but you did, his Keeper hissed, but Londo gritted his teeth and pushed the thought away. "Believe me, I am glad you are here." That at least was not a lie. Still, he knew Vir would have to leave soon enough; every hour he stayed would put him more at risk of being noticed by the Drakh. It was a good thing those who did not know Vir tended to underestimate him. "And to answer your first question: I was looking for you. I was just… catching my breath."

Vir's hand, which had been plucking at his trousers, came to hover above Londo's arm. "I'm sorry I went outside without telling you," he said. "I – I needed some fresh air."

"I thought you would," Londo said, sitting very still. With the Keeper held in check and the sunlight trickling down through a thin layer of cloud, he could almost pretend everything was as it should be. At least as long as he did not look at the heaps of rubble where the Narn and Drazi weapons had hit, or at the pillars of black smoke still rising from the capital. "You've always enjoyed the orchid garden, did you not? I remember in the days after Cartagia, you often came here."

"I remember I once threw up on one of Cartagia's prize orchids," Vir smiled faintly. "The night of G'Kar's whipping. All of that seems so long ago now."

Londo nodded, but the memory did not make him smile. Already he regretted bringing up Cartagia in the first place. The whole affair had brought them closer together, yes, but it had also shown him how much they truly differed. Vir had taken Cartagia's life, an act Londo knew continued to haunt him. He knew this because several times over the past months, Vir had brought him his breakfast red-eyed and disheveled, and Londo was far too familiar with the ravages of nightmare not to recognize them on sight. As for himself, he did not dream of Cartagia's murder, or the other ones – like Refa's, or Morden's – committed in his name. Unlike Vir, he was capable of killing in cold blood. That didn't mean he did not dream. Images of the Narn bombing still disturbed his sleep, as did his death dream, and one other nightmare that had been plaguing him of late: that of Centauri Prime in flames. Now that it had come to pass, Londo wondered just how cold his blood would prove to be once the Drakh started ordering him to do their bidding. He remembered the Regent, forced to turn off the defense grid, having to watch the city burn. The thought made his gorge rise.

Beside him, Vir straightened abruptly, as if he'd reached some decision. "Londo, I – we should talk." He swallowed once, hard, but his voice came out unexpectedly firm. "I – I realize things have happened here, ugly things that – that can't be undone. The attacks, the Shadow technology that was stolen and used on our ships… And now the Alliance wants us to make amends, and I understand that, but surely you aren't just going to give in? If the Regent acted alone…" Vir paused to bite his lip. "Gods, Londo, I can't even begin to understand how the Regent of all people could be capable of that, but if he was, and if he did, say, crack under the strain, then why can't we… I don't know, be open about it? Surely if we extend a formal apology, President Sheridan and Delenn would reconsider –"

"It's not that simple," Londo cut him off. He pushed himself to his feet with a jerk, a maneuver that nearly overbalanced him, but Vir caught him before he could embarrass himself. Londo was forced to cling to his shoulder until the weakness passed.

"But why can't it be that simple?" Vir pressed, as he steered them both up the steps and across the rubble-strewn path. "And why do I get the feeling you're keeping things from me? After everything we've been through, you still don't trust me?" His voice was hurt, indignant. "I mean, I – I know I don't have much experience in things like these, but won't you even consider what I just said?"

That stung, badly. Of course he had considered speaking with Sheridan again, possibly even telling him the truth. But the Drakh would never allow it; if there had ever been a chance for him to speak out, it had been taken from him when he accepted the Keeper. And even if he could somehow reveal the Drakh's presence, he had no idea how many they were and what they were capable of. Great Maker, the damage they might do before it was all over...

No. He had one hope, one vision of a better future: the one where Vir became Emperor after his death. It might take years to come to pass – there was no telling how many, because he could not say when his death dream would come true – but it would not come to pass at all unless Londo played his role. If that meant having to carry a Keeper for the rest of his days, if this was the burden he had to bear, he would not shy away from it. Right now Centauri Prime was crippled, unable to fight, which meant his only other option was to put his world at the mercy of the Alliance. And look what mercy their precious Alliance had dispensed so far, asking for recompensations knowing full well Centauri Prime could not pay the price! No, if the Centauri were going to overcome their plight, they would do it themselves, as the proud people they were, and not by bending their knee and groveling like Sheridan would have them do. But how could he make Vir understand?

"Vir…" He stopped, groping for words. How to come up with an explanation that would seem inconspicuous to the Drakh, yet leave Vir with more than hollow excuses? "I do trust you. It is… others, whom I do not trust." A glance to his side confirmed he had Vir's attention. "There are forces at work here too strong for one man to oppose. Even for a man who might call himself Emperor. The Regent tried, but failed, and I am not at all certain that I can succeed. As long as that is the case, I cannot keep you safe except through silence."

Vir's eyebrows scrunched up as he pondered that. "With 'others', you mean… someone in court? Someone other than the Regent? But… you told everyone he acted alone."

"So I did," Londo said. "Not every word you hear from my lips will be the truth, Vir. You must remember that. And – I am endangering you even by telling you this. The moment Delenn and Lennier leave with Sheridan, you must go with them. G'Kar, too. I have not told him any of this, but he has seen much. I wouldn't be surprised if he has written it all down in that wretched book of his. You should talk with him… but not here." His Keeper twitched restlessly on his shoulder. Had he said too much? No, surely not – just vague words and riddles, nothing the Drakh would concern themselves with. Yet.

Vir nodded. For once his expression betrayed nothing. "I understand," he said quietly. "Or, well, I don't, really. Not all of it. But I will. At least I – I hope I will. Thank you, for telling me what you did." He looked across his shoulder at the palace, his face clouding again. "We've been out here for a while. Maybe we'd better go back, before they miss you."

"Oh, they will hardly miss me," Londo said darkly. "But you are right. I must address the people. And Delenn and Sheridan will be wondering where we are. We should go to them." If only to make sure Shiv'kala kept his promise and did not have them executed anyway, in a dark, damp corner of the palace where no one was watching.

Londo suppressed a shiver. Beside him, Vir pressed his lips together and returned his hand to where it had been at Londo's elbow. He only removed it as they passed through the gate that led them back inside.

(To be continued...)