Author's Note: As I do not have access to Season 1 episodes, the dialogue between Delenn and Lennier when he first arrives is not verbatim from the script. Instead, I worked from the Lurker's Guide Synopsis, which includes partial quotes and summarizes the gist of what they said. I have invented actual lines for the characters as necessary.

Part 13—New Beginnings

Time flew by, and at length Babylon Five was completed. I took up my new posting, and my title of ambassador, with an enthusiasm I could not hide even from the sourest and most skeptical of my Grey Council colleagues. Sinclair, and humans in general, had come to interest me greatly. I looked forward to spending daily time among them.

I knew they might not easily accept me, and was prepared for a certain coldness—perhaps even hostility—until I proved myself. Treaties and agreements signed by governments are one thing; learning to regard a former enemy as an ally, let alone a friend, is far more difficult. I had only my sincerity to aid me, and my own determination to deal honestly with the humans I met whenever I could. That, and the passage of ten years by Earth's reckoning since the end of the war. Time and honesty would help me with many; for others, I could only wait and see.

I was glad to encounter less difficulty than I had feared. Most of my dealings were with the station command staff, and they took their tone from Commander Sinclair. He was friendly enough toward me, if cautious at first. The rest followed his lead, and I soon came to know and value them. Michael Garibaldi, the blunt-spoken head of security who loved ridiculous cartoons and was far kinder than he admitted; Dr. Stephen Franklin, thoughtful and observant, whose boundless compassion for his patients was matched only by his curiosity; and Susan Ivanova, Sinclair's executive officer, whose warrior caste-like toughness and reserve masked a wicked sense of humor and a deep capacity for love. Her friendship, once given, was given forever—and I have rarely known anyone braver or with a keener sense of justice.

I also received an aide, sent by the Grey Council when it became clear that our embassy would be busier than initially believed. Unexpected numbers of Minbari chose to make Babylon Five their home, at least for a few cycles—and many others passed through on brief visits, indulging in curiosity about humans and other non-Minbari that they would not have admitted to at home. On the station, they could live among fellow Minbari and also make contact with outworlders, as often or as rarely as they wished. As ambassador for our people, and the highest-ranking Minbari aboard Babylon Five, I was in high demand; nearly everyone wanted a few moments of my time for one concern or another. Coupled with the demands of interstellar diplomacy, the workload soon became overwhelming—and so the Council sent me Lennier.

I had read his dossier in the days before his arrival. His clan, the Chudomo, were part of the warrior caste until Valen led the Minbari to victory in the first Shadow War—a victory that so impressed the clan Elder, Fanshon, that he persuaded his entire clan to join the religious caste. They were known for scholarship in the sciences, and also as supremely practical administrators in a variety of fields. Lennier in particular was well spoken of by his teachers; he had spent the past several cycles completing his studies at the Chulan Monastery south of Yedor, and had expressed interest in a posting "where I may learn as much as possible." A commendable attitude—though it seemed to me Babylon Five might end up being more of a learning experience than he had bargained for.

I was not prepared for him to be so young, or so overawed by my mere presence when I met him in the main docking bay. Barely taller than I and reed-slender, he could not manage to look above my collarbone. Was I ever so young and shy, I wondered, and then recalled myself with Dukhat, in our early days together all those cycles ago. The memory made me wistful, and gave me an instinctive affection for the young man standing before me.

I bowed to him, and he returned the gesture—a highly respectful obeisance much deeper than mine. "Welcome, Lennier of the Third Fane of Chudomo," I said. "I am honored to accept your service."

It was hard to see his face properly with his head down, but I caught a glimmer of a smile. I had said no more than ordinary politeness required, yet clearly he was immensely pleased by it. "The honor is mine, Satai Delenn."

His use of my title brought me up short. I would need to explain my position here, without delay. First, though, there was a habit that needed breaking. "You can look up," I told him gently. "In truth, I prefer that you do."

He blinked, as if startled by the notion. "It is forbidden."

He was so like I had been—overawed by Dukhat, who deigned to take kind notice of a timid young woman. The words Dukhat had spoken then came to my lips: "I cannot have an aide who will not look up. You will be forever bumping into things."

He did meet my eyes then, with a puzzled expression as if trying to determine whether or not I was joking. "I am in earnest," I said. "There can be no disrespect in doing as you are asked."

"You are right, Satai," he said after a moment's thought, looking me in the eye as he spoke. "There cannot be."

He was adaptable, this new aide of mine—and he learned quickly. Excellent qualities both, especially for this place. Now to settle the other matter. "Come this way," I told him, and led him out of the docking bay.

He took an avid interest in his surroundings as we walked down the corridor toward the core shuttle that would take us to the ambassadorial wing in Green Sector. When we reached a quiet section of hallway, I glanced over at him. "You must not use my title here. On Babylon Five, I am Ambassador Delenn."

His startled gaze met mine. "But—" Abruptly, he glanced away. "I must tell you… I am not certain of my fitness for this posting. I have no experience with anything as yet; to be one day a mere student at Chulan and the next, assistant to a member of the Grey Council is… a great change. And perhaps not merited."

I could almost hear my own voice, hesitant as Lennier's was now, speaking to Draal about my posting to the Valen'tha at the Mir clanhold long ago: Are they sure they want me? "You were highly recommended by your teachers," I told him with a smile. "You will soon adjust. You can begin by promising not to mention the Grey Council again during your stay. No one here knows of my connection; no one must find out."

Now he looked positively shocked. "But—to deny the Council—!"

"I am denying nothing. But it would lead to certain questions I don't want to answer just now. You will not use my title 'Satai'—you will address me only as Delenn. Do you understand?"

That thoughtful look again. I was to see it many times over the next several years, though less often as he grew in understanding and confidence. And also as he grew to hide things from me, as a way of dealing with internal conflicts he could not resolve. "I confess, I do not… but it does not matter. Understanding is not required—only obedience."

Another habit to break, I thought, as I nodded my acceptance of his reply. For the moment, it was convenient—but the time was coming when I would need him to understand before he acted. And it was likely to arrive sooner than later.

ooOoo

Over that first year, all of us slowly grew to know each other better. Sinclair was a man of great courage—a warrior's warrior in many ways, and yet possessed of a flexible mind and a deep spirituality that would have made him at home in the religious caste. When I remarked upon this once, during an informal chat in the Zen garden aboard the station, he laughed and thanked me. "Blame the Jesuits," he said. "I spent some years at a Jesuit university, mostly learning how to argue. The Jesuits are a teaching order in the Catholic faith tradition. They're known for intellectual pursuits, and occasionally making people in power uncomfortable because they won't stop asking questions."

I thought of my uncle Callenn, far away on Minbar, who had always disapproved of me for doing the same thing. "Minbari have a saying—'Understanding is not required, only obedience.'"

He gave me a quizzical look. "Do you believe that?"

I took a moment before answering. "When one is in charge, it is certainly convenient. But often, I find I prefer questions. If I am to obey, I would rather know why… and if I am to be obeyed, I would rather others knew why. That way, the burden of knowledge is shared."

"The burden of knowledge," he repeated, with a thoughtful expression. "That's one way of looking at it. Does that make you unusual among Minbari?"

I shrugged, a human gesture I had picked up. "I had not thought about it. I am myself, that is all."

He stopped by the little waterfall and gazed at it. "I envy you that confidence, Ambassador," he said quietly. "Some days, I'm not sure who I am at all."

ooOoo

That conversation came back to me many times, especially after Sinclair began to remember what happened to him at the Battle of the Line. Two men came aboard Babylon Five and kidnapped him; their intent was to prove he had betrayed humanity, and so they forced him to relive his capture and torment at Minbari hands. He escaped them, but was delirious with the drugs they had given him, and in his terrorized state saw Minbari enemies everywhere. I managed to persuade him to put down his gun. He recognized me from the Valen'tha, but also as his friend; he was therefore willing to trust me, despite my Minbari face. Later, after Dr. Franklin had undone the worst of the damage his kidnappers inflicted, Sinclair's memories mostly faded again. But not completely.

I did not intend to tell Hedronn, or anyone on the Grey Council. With regard to Sinclair and his memories, I had said only that I would do what was best for the good of us all—and that certainly did not include killing Sinclair, secret or no secret. I decided it also did not include relating the kidnapping incident. If they knew of it, they would keep closer watch on Sinclair and I both—and I had begun to suspect Sinclair would prove pivotal to certain things that were taking shape, that much of the Council either did not see or did not wish to acknowledge.

So when an envoy from the Council turned up at my quarters, with far more knowledge of the kidnapping and its results than he should have had, it was an unpleasant surprise. I persuaded him that, as Sinclair himself said, he still recalled nothing—that the neurological device his captors had used to re-create his missing memories had only a temporary effect. The envoy reminded me yet again of the Council's orders to dispose of Sinclair should he become inconvenient, and I yet again dodged acknowledgment. And I wondered how long it would be before Hedronn—or someone else—recognized what I was doing. Sinclair and I might well be on borrowed time.

Many other things occurred during that first year—some pleasant, others less so. Mayan accepted an offer to tour several cities on Earth, singing tee'la; she was by this time an accomplished composer, and had performed her works throughout the Minbari Federation. En route to Earth, she stopped over to see me on Babylon Five, and was attacked not five minutes' walk from my own door. They beat her, branded her and left her for dead—a small group of humans from something called the Home Guard, who hated not only Minbari but every non-human race, and chose Mayan to make their point. Thanks to Stephen Franklin, she lived—and in lucid moments between bouts of controlled fury, I reflected on a universe in which a human whose life I had spared at the height of the Earth-Minbari War should be instrumental years later in saving the life of the one person who meant the most to me.

Of the other human I had spared back then—the tall man with the flame-colored hair—I thought rarely. I did think of him, though. At odd moments, often in the twilight of meditation just before sleep. His face would appear in my mind, and each time I felt the subtle pull of that inexplicable familiarity. I thought once or twice of looking for him, but something always distracted me. The arrival of the soul hunter and his attempt on my life—from which Sinclair rescued me, at great risk to himself. Sinclair's kidnapping. My old friend Branmer's death, and the attempt by Alyt Neroon of the warrior caste to make of his body a spectacle designed to inflame fading passions over the war. (Branmer would have hated it—and it made me ill to think of the effect this parade must have had on Mayan. In the end, I saw to Branmer's cremation as he would have wanted, and made certain Mayan received his ashes to scatter amid the mountains around Tuzanor. He had loved them nearly as much as he loved her; they made a most fitting place for his remnants to rest.)

Then there was the unexpected arrival of my old teacher, Draal, who found a new lease on life when he agreed to become guardian of the mysterious Great Machine on Epsilon Three. And the brief reappearance of Babylon Four, which gave me another piece of the vast puzzle that connected the Shadow War of a thousand years ago to the one that was surely coming. And finally there came a summons from the Grey Council to the Valen'tha. There, in the Council Chamber, with all the pomp and ceremony in which the Nine could indulge when we wished, they offered me Dukhat's place as leader. Jenimer, who had served as a provisional leader of sorts for the past ten years, clearly expected me to take it—and Hedronn looked so satisfied, I was certain his hand was at least partly behind the offer. How he had gotten Coplann to agree, I could not imagine—but he had, and was obviously quite proud of the accomplishment.

They were shocked when I declined. Honor though it was, I could not accept. My place is on Babylon Five, I told them. Events are unfolding that Valen's prophecies foretold, and Babylon Five is at the heart of them. As is Sinclair, who is Valen reborn.

They did not want to be reminded of that. Between those who resented Valen's choice to reincarnate as a human, and those who did not wish to face a second Shadow War, few on the Council were willing to contemplate what might be necessary. Rathenn was one, though as the newest of the Nine and leader of the Anla'shok they discounted him. Hedronn was another, but he was reluctant. In his heart, he did not want the truth to be what it was. And so he counseled patience, waiting to be absolutely sure.

My father would have understood, I thought, on my final night aboard the Valen'tha. He knew Valen's writings better than anyone. Perhaps that was why he had so bitterly opposed the war against the humans; he knew how vital they were to the survival of us all. I missed him fiercely as I tried to sleep that night. I might almost have given my soul to have him with me again, to talk to for as little as an hour.

I left the Valen'tha the next day, with Hedronn's words of warning in my ears and a precious artifact—the Triluminary—in my hand. Of the two, I knew which to heed more. "You must agree to wait, Delenn," he had told me, before relinquishing the Triluminary. "Wait until the Council gives you word. What you propose is dangerous on many levels—we cannot risk it until we are certain. Will you wait?"

Such a straightforward question was unlike him. He had learned from my evasion about Sinclair—and, perhaps, was annoyed that I had wasted all his politicking on my behalf over the Council leadership. For a long moment, I could not even look at him. I thought through my options, and in the end realized I had only one. That he was giving me the Triluminary meant he knew it, too.

I bowed my head and for the first time in my life told a plain, unvarnished lie. "I will." And I reminded myself, as guilt engulfed me, that it was no dishonor to lie if it was needed to save a life. Billions of lives in this case, if what I feared proved true. To save so many, I would brave dishonor, disgrace, even the death of the soul.

He gave me the Triluminary. And I went back to Babylon Five, to Sinclair and my loyal aide Lennier, and the others among the humans whom I had begun to call friends. And I waited for the next act to begin.

During this same time, I regularly spoke with the Vorlon ambassador to Babylon Five. The Vorlons—Tenansai, Golden Ones, in the ancient language of Minbar—had been our allies against the Shadows a thousand years ago, and had guided us as a people both before and since. They prized order, as did we; contemplation, consideration, control were their watchwords. When they moved, they moved slowly, and they laid plans that often took centuries or longer to execute. Ambassador Kosh was typical of them in many ways, though not so in others. He took a personal interest in we younger races, and though his utterances were frequently as cryptic as any Vorlon's, he went to greater lengths than most to help us understand.

From him I learned much that had been unclear before. I wanted to tell Sinclair; as Valen reborn, clearly he would once again play a pivotal role against the Shadows. Yet when I suggested as much to Kosh, he demurred. "The chosen is not yet," he said, in that shimmering Vorlon voice, and I could get nothing else out of him.

Upon my return from Minbari space, I showed Kosh the Triluminary. He was silent for so long that I thought myself dismissed. As I turned to leave his quarters, he spoke. "It begins."

I knew what he meant, and felt cold. The Triluminary—an ancient artifact from Valen's time—was the last component of a device known as the Chrysalis. At Kosh's behest, I had been building it piece by piece in my quarters over the past few months. Once completed, it would, in the words of prophecy, "create a living bridge between two peoples at bitter war, that both may know they are kindred and join together against the darkness." How this was to occur, prophecy did not say. Only that a person was required, to enter the Chrysalis and eventually emerge… changed. From what few details were given about the one whose role this was, I had begun to suspect it might be me. And I was terrified.

"Will I know when?" I managed to say, when I had made my heart stop pounding.

"Yes."

"How?"

He was silent again for a time. My nerves were stretched so taut, I wanted to scream. Through force of will I made no sound. Then Kosh said: "One will come. You will know."

"How will I know?"

He gave no further answer, only turned away.

Ten days later, a dark, sleek, too-smiling human named Morden came to my quarters and asked me a question. A question I recognized, was waiting for and dreading.

What do you want?