John ran a brush through his hair one last time, then surveyed the results in his bathroom mirror with satisfaction. Not a hair out of place. His uniform, laundered and pressed just that afternoon, was equally perfect—not a wrinkle or speck of lint anywhere. His appearance was impeccable enough to properly honor three prospective mothers-in-law; it certainly ought to reassure Delenn, who was as nervous as a cat on hot deckplates about this dinner. He wasn't entirely sure why. Granted, presenting your intended to your parents wasn't always an easy thing; but Chenann of Valeria wasn't exactly a formidable battleaxe dead set against him, at least not from what he'd been able to tell. Quite the opposite, in fact. She was quiet and unassuming, with a gentle manner remarkably like her daughter's. He rather liked her, even on barely a day's acquaintance. He was sure she would like him too, so long as he did nothing blatant to embarrass himself.

He'd surprised her by greeting her in Adronado—clearly, she hadn't expected him to know a Minbari language, let alone speak it correctly. He wasn't anywhere near fluent yet, of course, and he knew it—but he hoped his use of Adronado, little as it was, would show Chenann that he loved and valued Delenn for her Minbari heritage as well as her more recently developed human traits. He loved her for everything she was… more than he knew how to say, sometimes, except in long, tender kisses or little gifts bestowed just for the pleasure of watching her smile.

He shook himself out of his daydreams, smoothed his lapels and checked his watch. He'd be a little early if he left now, but that might be just as well. He and Delenn would have some time to themselves before the guests descended in force. Maybe he could calm her down a little.

He was smiling as he strolled down the corridor to Delenn's quarters. She'd been so funny earlier that afternoon, when she'd stopped by his office on her way to pick her mother up for a quick tour of the station. Hesitantly, without looking at him, she'd suggested that perhaps he should confine himself to English at dinner: "The Tzetai has had little chance to practice your language, and would welcome the opportunity, I am sure." He'd watched her twist her fingers as she talked, the way she did when she felt compelled to speak of subjects she found awkward, and had simultaneously felt sorry for her and wanted to laugh. She was trying so hard not to bring up his limited command of Adronado, or to imply that she was afraid he'd screw up any phrase he attempted. He'd thought of telling her it was all right to just come out and say it, but by now he knew her well enough to know she'd be ashamed he'd noticed. So he'd pretended not to hear the tension in her voice and heartily agreed with her suggestion. The relief and gratitude in her eyes had been more than worth it.

The First Commandment of Minbar, he thought as he drew near her door. Thou shalt not give offense. Well, he would do as she asked and confine himself to English tonight—except for one or two phrases he'd been practicing, in case a chance to use them presented itself. He was certain he had them down cold. He ought to speak at least a little Adronado every day just to keep himself from backsliding—and if he could further impress upon his mother-in-law-to-be his esteem for things Minbari, so much the better. Delenn, he was sure, would be pleasantly surprised.

He felt briefly disappointed when Mayan answered the door; he'd forgotten she was Delenn's houseguest. She bowed formally, then smiled at him in a decidedly un-formal manner. "Come in and talk some sense into your beloved," she said, her face and voice wryly affectionate as she gestured toward Delenn. "Lennier and I have both been trying, but we have done no good. Now she is fretting over the thickness of the cushions. Please—come and tell her she is being absurd."

"I've never been much good at that," he said with an answering smile as he stepped over the threshold. "But I'll give it a shot."

Delenn was wearing red and gold, a becoming combination he hadn't seen her in before. She was kneeling on one cushion by the low table in the center of the sitting room, with another clasped in her arms. The expression on her face made John think of the White Rabbit on his frantic way to the Mad Hatter's tea party. As he knelt down beside her, she looked up at him. "I can still feel the floor," she said, eyes wide with distress. "And there is no time to get other cushions. Lennier must go for the Tzetai in ten minutes."

He took the cushion from her arms and set it down on top of another one. "Here. Try two at once and see what that feels like. I can sit on the floor; I've never been too comfortable kneeling for a long time, anyway."

She got up and moved to his other side, knelt on the doubled cushions, and after a moment reluctantly nodded. "This will do. It will have to." She cast an eye over the table, chewing her lower lip. "I keep having a terrible feeling that I have forgotten something..."

"Looks the same as when you had me to dinner." He smiled. "And I slept through all the meditation. I guess I'm lucky you didn't throw me out on my ear."

"A painful spot to land on," she said, with a glimmer of her usual humor. "Though some might say you deserved it, snoring like that."

He gave her a mock scowl. "I do not snore."

"I must beg to differ," Lennier said from a corner, where he was lighting one last candle. "I have since observed sleeping humans in various... colorful... places on-station, and Marcus assures me that the sound they make—which is also the sound you made—is in fact snoring."

John stared at him, then turned back to Delenn with raised eyebrows. "Did you know he was going out bar-crawling?"

"Marcus would not let him come to harm," she replied. Her expression was lighter now, and her voice held a touch of laughter. Much better, John thought. Between the three of them and his father, they could probably joke Delenn out of her tension all evening if they had to. He wondered if Chenann was nervous, too. It couldn't be easy for her either, spending time with a daughter she'd seen only twice in her whole life. If Delenn and Lennier were anything to judge by, the Minbari—or at least, the religious caste—placed great store by correct behavior; and what was the correct behavior in a situation like this one? Delenn at least had developed a remarkably human-like capacity for improvisation, which her mother likely hadn't. He resolved to be as charming as possible to Chenann this evening; she and Delenn would both enjoy this dinner if he had anything to say about it.

A soft chime at the door announced his father's arrival. Lennier bowed to David Sheridan, welcomed him and slipped out to fetch the guest of honor. "Everything looks beautiful—especially you," David said to Delenn with a warm smile as she hastily stood to greet him. They exchanged bows, and he sniffed the air. "Smells good, too. Your handiwork?"

She shook her head. "Lennier's. He is much better at ceremonial meals than I; I am afraid my talents extend only to flatbreads and other simple dishes."

"Like flarn," John chimed in.

"Oh, but flarn is not simple. To prepare it correctly takes great skill and practice."

"Really? I guess I didn't do so badly then."

She gave him an affectionate look. "No. Not so badly at all." They held each other's gaze for a moment; then Delenn gestured gracefully toward Mayan and David. "David, may I present Shaal Mayan, poet of the First Tier and holder of the Crystal Star?" As Mayan stepped toward them, Delenn continued. "Mayan, this is David Sheridan."

As David bowed to Mayan, John took Delenn's hand and smiled down at her. "You look a lot better than you did five minutes ago," he said. "Almost as if you might live through this evening."

"Is it so obvious?"

"Not anymore," he answered, congratulating himself on his truthful yet diplomatic response. I think I'm starting to get the hang of this tell-the-truth-but-save-face-thing...

The door whispered open. They held each other's gaze for one last moment before turning to face the new arrivals.

ooOoo

Lennier was quite prompt, Chenann noted with approval as Delenn's aide escorted her out of her quarters. Whatever some might mutter about the dangers of prolonged exposure to alien ways, it did not seem to have affected this young man, nor to have altered Delenn's ability to train him properly. Just for a moment, she amused herself with a vision of Callenn aboard this station, having to cope with its dazzling variety of sentients. What he would make of tonight's dinner, she could only imagine. Simply sitting at the same table with a human, much less sharing food with one, would take more tact than she suspected Callenn had ever possessed.

What would it be like, sharing a meal with a human? And not just any meal, nor any human. A ceremonial dinner, eaten in company with the Starkiller. I ought to stop thinking of him that way. Delenn's own reports have shown me he is more than that—and how can I make a true judgment of his worth if I remain bound by such an image? Still, it was difficult. Starkiller was all she knew of Sheridan, except for the sketchy acquaintance of a day; and when one knew nothing real of another, it was frighteningly easy to fall back on false portraits and prejudice.

She wondered what Lennier thought of the man who held Delenn's heart. Lennier's affection for Delenn ran deep; she could sense it. Did he find Sheridan worthy of her? Part of her wanted to ask him if he did, and why. But such bluntness was highly indelicate. She was not yet so desperate as that.

This dinner could tell her much about Sheridan if she kept her eyes open. His attitude toward Minbari rituals, for one thing; how he dealt with them would say much about his understanding of and respect for Delenn. She gathered humans cared little for ritual. If Sheridan showed disregard for proper behavior this evening, it might well be a sign that he saw Delenn as wholly human, and her Minbari heritage a mere insignificant detail. With such a man, Delenn could not be who she was; the mask of humanity could never come off, and she would be always torn between her desire to please her lover and her need to be true to her own soul. Chenann would do a great deal to save her daughter from that.

Or was she misjudging him again, jumping to conclusions where there were none yet to be made? He had spoken in Delenn's language, which indicated at least some respect for things Minbari. And his manner toward Delenn, from what little she had observed, showed love mixed with more than a little admiration. Assuming she was reading him correctly, of course. On the other hand, love by itself was not enough. Without genuine understanding, one might easily love an image rather than the real person. Was it truly Delenn whom Sheridan loved, or only who he thought she was?

As if sensing her misgivings, Lennier said, "Captain Sheridan has been looking forward to this dinner. Our ways greatly interest him, and he has proved an apt student of them."

"Perhaps this evening I may come to know him better," Chenann replied.

They were approaching Delenn's quarters. The door opened, and Lennier gestured for Chenann to precede him inside. As she stepped through the doorway, she saw Sheridan and Delenn standing close together, hand in hand. They were gazing at each other in a way that made Chenann swallow hard. Ravenn used to look at me like that…

Then Delenn came toward her, and the moment was broken. Recalling her manners, Chenann bowed to her. Delenn, anxious but controlling it well, introduced her to the only member of the dinner party she didn't know: David Sheridan, John Sheridan's father.

She regarded him with interest. This man would be as a foster father to Delenn, if the impending wedding took place. Just as his son had, he surprised her with a gracefully executed bow of greeting and a short phrase in Adronado—though his accent, she noted, was better. There was a gentleness in his face she liked, and a friendliness that made itself felt without being overwhelming. Perhaps Delenn was in better hands with these Sheridan men than she had thought.

She watched John Sheridan surreptitiously as they took their seats. He was the only one lacking a cushion; instead of kneeling, he sat cross-legged on the floor. When she felt the double thickness of fabric under her own knees, Chenann guessed why. Her estimation of Sheridan rose a notch; he was willing to endure discomfort for her sake. Or perhaps for Delenn's, knowing she would want her mother to be comfortable. He did look awkward, with his long legs folded up and his knees perilously close to bumping the low table. Clearly, he was unaccustomed to such a posture. But he endured it with good humor; indeed, apart from the slight tension caused by his less-than-graceful position, both body and face told her Sheridan was enjoying himself. Perhaps Lennier was right about him. The next hour or so would tell.

When all were seated, Lennier served the meal with quiet efficiency before kneeling back down in front of his own filled plate. The dinner was wholly Minbari, Chenann noted with wry amusement; no pointed blending of Minbari and human foodstuffs here. Cooking foods of Earth ritually would have posed quite a problem; no guidelines existed for such a thing, and one did not trifle with occasions like this by inventing rituals on the spot. The flarn smelled particularly appetizing, though the flatbread and the braised kenar leaves looked and smelled good as well. The ritual spices, as familiar to Chenann as the sound of her own voice, tickled her nose pleasantly. She noted that neither of the Sheridans showed any inclination to start eating; either they were better informed than she had expected or Delenn had briefed them well.

After a brief invocation of Valen's blessing, Delenn picked up her utensil—the signal for everyone else to do the same. She set aside a small portion of flarn for Valen, and the rest of them followed suit—even the humans, Chenann noted with surprised approval. Delenn raised a bite of flarn to her lips, ate it and set her utensil down for the first meditation. This, too, the Sheridans did as if it were the most natural action in the world. Chenann was quietly impressed. Either John Sheridan was putting on quite the performance for her sake, or he genuinely understood and appreciated at least this Minbari ceremony. And if he understood one, even dimly, he could learn to understand more. Her heart lightened at that thought, and she suddenly realized just how much she wanted this marriage to be the right thing. She would discourage it if she had to, but she much preferred to be able to bless this union that Delenn so clearly wanted. They love each other. I can see that already. Even if he is wrong for her, it will cost her a great deal to part from him. Better if she does not have to… especially after all she went through for the clan's permission. Chenann squelched the inevitable surge of annoyance at the thought of Callenn and his machinations. Now was not the time for such things; she should be meditating calmly, like everyone else.

The second and third meditations passed smoothly, though Chenann noticed Sheridan shaking his head as if to clear it after the third one. She had a sudden vision of herself as a temple novice, unused to meditative practice and in danger of falling asleep, and warmed toward Sheridan further. He does what he finds difficult because it matters to Delenn. This is a good sign... I hope.

Delenn looked around the table with a smile. For the Sheridans' benefit, she said, "The time of meditation is over; now we may simply eat, and talk, and enjoy each other's company."

Conversation, halting at first, flowed with increasing freedom as the diners relaxed and the meal progressed. For a time Chenann allowed much of it to flow around her, content to watch and listen. David Sheridan and Mayan seemed to be getting on particularly well, sharing an avid interest in poetry. She was surprised to learn that David had read quite a bit of Minbari literature in translation; she hadn't known such works existed.

"There's one thing I'd love to do someday," David said as he speared the last kenar leaf on his plate. "I'd love to translate some of Earth's best poetry into the Minbari languages. The trick, of course, is learning your languages well enough. There's nothing worse than a clumsy translation; turns you right off reading the stuff."

"I would like to read some of your poets, whether in our tongues or not," Mayan said. "Whom would you recommend?"

"Robert Frost, maybe, or William Butler Yeats," David replied after a moment's thought. "They're a couple of my favorites—and many of their better-known works have the virtue of being short, which can be a good thing when you're trying to read in a foreign language. Keeps the brain from getting tired."

"I have been reading Yeats... at John's recommendation," Delenn said, with a smile in his direction. "It is beautiful work—full of feeling. He writes for the heart, I think; like our memory-poems."

"I remember the first Yeats poem I ever read," David said. "'When you are old and gray, and full of sleep/And nodding by the fire, take down this book/And slowly read, and dream of the soft look/Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep...'"

Smiling, John picked up the quotation. "'How many saw your moments of glad grace/and loved your beauty with love false or true;/But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you/And loved the sorrows of your changing face.'" He paused, then went on. "It's a sad poem, actually... mourning a love lost. But it's one of my favorites."

"Pilgrim soul," Chenann said. "We know this idea well."

"It is rather Minbari, isn't it?" John replied with a grin.

"You have read Minbari poetry?" Chenann asked.

"Some." He glanced at Mayan. "Mostly Shaal Mayan's work—from Delenn's sizable collection—and a few pieces by Korenn. I can just barely read some of the shorter ones in Adronado, with a lot of help from Delenn and Lennier." He paused, gave her a serious look and said in Adronado, "I have great lust for things Minbari."

Chenann stiffened. There was a shocked silence, broken only by a muffled sound from Mayan's end of the table.

"Ummm..." Sheridan said after a long moment. He swallowed, then looked around at the circle of startled Minbari faces. "I'm sorry—I seem to have said something wrong."

"It is nothing," Chenann said faintly. As she looked away from him, to allow him privacy in which to compose himself, she saw the expression on Delenn's face. Delenn was staring at him with a wounded look—mostly shock, but with a definite undercurrent of reproach. What in Valen's name...?

"I'm really sorry," Sheridan said. "I'm not sure what I—I didn't mean to give offense. Please accept my sincere apology."

"As I said, it is nothing," Chenann repeated, still not looking at him. Delenn had shut her eyes, as if unable to bear watching this shocking breach of etiquette. Chenann felt a flash of anger. Did Sheridan not understand that he was only upsetting Delenn by continuing to call attention to it?

"It's not nothing if it distressed you. That's the last thing I intended to do." She could see him from the corner of her eye; he was tangling one hand in his hair, clearly upset. "If there's anything I can do to—"

"You can be silent," she said firmly. "I have told you, it is nothing. Accept that."

"Oh." His voice had gone small, like a child's. "Of course." Then, mercifully, he subsided.

Silence fell once more. Delenn was having difficulty regaining her composure; the kindest thing would be to begin some harmless conversation to distract them all. But Chenann could find no words. She was still shocked herself, and more than a little disappointed... not so much in Sheridan's initial error, but in his bumbling attempts to make up for it. He had been so intent on clearing himself from any suspicion of intentional insult that he had utterly ignored Delenn's distress; a Minbari adolescent would have been more observant, and would have ceased all references to the incident at once. But this... bumptious human had kept talking of it, refusing to allow any of them to set his error aside. Chenann had done her best to save face for him, and he had ignored it. Perhaps my first thought was right. His ease with the ritual was a performance, calculated to impress me. But when the unexpected happened, he was not prepared and so reverted to his natural behavior. And if this—insensitivity—is natural to him, then he is no fit match for my daughter. No fit match at all!

"I wonder, David," Mayan said, as if nothing at all untoward had happened in the past several minutes, "if you might be willing to lend me some of your Yeats while I am here. I would very much like to read it."

Valen bless her, Chenann thought, as David replied and Lennier added a comment of his own. Within a minute or two, conversation resumed something like normally, at least among half the guests. Chenann busied herself with the remains of her flatbread, pretending to listen with great interest while debating what she should say to Delenn. She would leave well enough alone for the moment; Delenn had suffered enough this evening. But she would have to speak her mind soon, no matter how difficult either of them found it.

She snuck a last glance at Sheridan, and was gratified to see him gazing uncertainly at the top of Delenn's bowed head. Delenn was finishing her flarn with immense concentration; her posture told Chenann she was still upset, but beginning to calm down. At least Sheridan now appeared to have some sense that he had distressed her. Perhaps he was not completely hopeless.

I don't know. Chenann shredded the last morsel of flatbread, suddenly annoyed at her own indecisiveness. I simply don't know.