I own nothing.
"But what if you're wrong?"
Delenn wears that strange smile Lennier has seen on her face before as she answers. "Then speak well of me, after I am gone."
If even Delenn was unsure of what would happen once she retired into the chrysalis, then Lennier can not understand why she would do such a thing. In the end though, it doesn't matter at all. Understanding is not required, only obedience, and Lennier can not object.
There's no use for words, now that she has gone within. The glistening white threads come thicker and thicker across Delenn until he can barely see her at all and there is only the ability to listen. Lennier can only watch, and wait, and worry.
She is becoming… she is becoming something new. No, that's not the right word for it, not quite. There have been reports, admittedly unreliable, of this having been done before; Delenn is not the first to undergo the chrysalis. It's just that no one has ever survived the process; they always died not long after entering the chrysalis.
Delenn is becoming something that can not be properly named. It is not new, just very, very rare.
When Delenn comes out, she won't be the same. Lennier watches the threads thicken and he knows that she won't be as she is when she comes out.
If she comes out at all.
And that's the whole thing.
Lennier was taught to have faith in many things. He was taught to have faith in the universe, have faith that both the just and the unjust will receive their reward, and to have faith that if the call of the heart was truly followed then the universe would not throw insurmountable obstacles in the way. Living on Babylon 5 has taught him to have faith in Delenn, even when it seems like he should not. Being here now, he knows his faith isn't as strong as it should be, because he's still questioning "But what if she dies?" and "What happens next if she dies? What happens next?".
He can still hear her. Cries of pain, faint and mewling, barely audible but all too loud in the otherwise thick, chilly silence. Lennier may as well be swallowing his own tongue, feeling cold tear tracks on his own face and not moving an inch.
Delenn could die either way. She might die in the chrysalis, and she will surely die if Lennier interrupts the process and tries to get her out. He has faith in her but doesn't have faith in what she's doing right now, and Lennier can only watch.
He'll bear witness to the end, to whether Delenn becomes something unrecognizable or she dies in the chrysalis, the transformation a failure.
They say that the definition of faith in a higher power is believing in something you have no proof exists. They say that the definition of faith in your government is believing in it even when it makes choices that you do not believe wise, nor entirely just. They say that the definition of faith in a person is believing in them even when they make decisions you don't agree with.
All faith falters at least once, they say.
For now, Lennier does not know if Delenn will come out of the chrysalis, if she will survive the transition. The future is uncertain and that in itself is a terrifying prospect, more terrible than anything Lennier has faced.
And for now, he will sit, and he will listen. He will wait, and he will pray. The candles are burning and he will not let them go out. Lennier will put his faith in his ability to breathe and in hers, until the transition is done, for this is all he can do.