Third Rituals

Chapter 2: Wanting

Delenn's sparring partner that day was Elorri, a sweet round-faced girl of the Night Walkers clan. Delenn did not often spar with Warriors, and even this half-grown half-trained young woman could knock her down in just under three minutes. Still, even now that she was no longer Entil'zha it was important to keep up her training, and this sort of fight was a challenge she enjoyed.

Elorri was a girl of mixed heritage, Worker on her mother's side, Warrior on her father's. Her maternal grandmothers, Nur and Barenn, were old friends of Delenn's, although Delenn had seen them only rarely in recent years. Delenn remembered laughing with Nur about her daughter's upcoming marriage just under twenty years ago to a young man of the Night Walkers, saying that when she was young Minbari were content to marry within their caste.

"Or at least their species," Nur had said, looking pointedly at Delenn's hair.

Since childhood Elorri had named herself of the Night Walkers clan, with the Warrior's salute, hand on fist. She still refused to undergo the caste transfer rituals, saying that anyone who said she wasn't a Warrior wouldn't say it twice. As Elorri winded her for the fifth time that day, Delenn decided that she believed her.

When Delenn decided her old bones were just a little too bruised for another beating, she sat with Elorri on the grass in the courtyard. "Are you thinking of joining the Rangers?" Delenn asked.

"No," said Elorri. "I am going to join a War Cruiser, like my father, as soon as I come of age."

"Why?" asked Delenn.

Elorri flushed, suddenly remembering to whom she was speaking. "I admire the Rangers very much, I really do," she began, flustered.

"But?" Delenn waited for a moment for Elorri to stop squirming, and then touched her hand to show the question was not meant harshly.

Elorri took a deep breath. "But I love Minbar more than anything else. Minbar is my home. If I die in battle, I want it to be defending Minbar."

"The Universe is our home," Delenn said, gently.

"Yes, but," Elorri stammered, then stopped, then started again. "I can't love the Universe the way I love Minbar. Is that wrong?"

"I don't know," said Delenn. "Thirty-five years ago, we almost destroyed another planet, the planet of the humans, because they killed one of our leaders. We could not love them the way we loved our own. Was that wrong?"

"I think so," said Elorri. It was easy to say, since everyone thought so, now.

"Then will you think about joining the Rangers?"

"I will think about it. But I still think I want to be on a War Cruiser."

It was a strange conversation, and Delenn thought about it for a long time after Elorri had gone. She was used to the pride of the Warrior caste, but this was something else, something rarely heard on Minbar. This talk of wanting. It reminded her of Morden, and of Zha'ha'dum, and the darkness that had nearly destroyed all.

Once, Delenn had slain the gods. She had stood on the White Star by John's side and banished the Shadows and Vorlons from the Galaxy. No more would they serve dark or light. Had she made it inevitable, in that moment, that a young girl would sit in her garden and speak of wanting? Was Delenn unwilling to live in the world that she had created?

Delenn took out Lennier's old diary from her bag, and opened it, turning to the second page.

Three is sacred because three creates possibility. When there is two, there is only destiny. When there is three one must choose between the other two, or choose none, or choose not to choose.

The moment on the White Star had been a moment of three. The younger races had stood between the Shadows and the Vorlons, and had refused to choose between them. The Minbari had rejected their old alliance with the Vorlons, the humans had renounced their new association with the Shadows, and each had refused the temptation of believing that under the other it could be better.

But even the Shadows and Vorlons had asked Lorien to come with them beyond the Rim, so that they would not be alone.

Choose, or choose none, or choose not to choose. So gently, Lennier had seemed to accept it, as if her refusal to renounce him while choosing John had done him no harm. Delenn remembered the feel of the scar on his face under her fingers, and the brave despair in his eyes. I never told him that I loved him, Delenn thought, and then realized that she had never before even said it to herself.

There was water in her eyes, that she had not noticed before. She paused to wipe away the drops that had fallen on the page.

*

It was not the first time that Lennier had watched her. There was a time when he had come here often, unnoticed in his Worker's robes, to work in her garden. He had seen her with Sheridan, and he had come here, after Sheridan's death, to keep her silent company as she awaited the dawn. He watched her tears fall down her face and on to the page. He saw her fingers trace the lines in the book, and return to her lips.

Watching, there was something that he began to wonder, or perhaps guess, or perhaps understand. He had thought that he was being kind to her, by staying away. He had thought that it was a mercy, to go to the Darkfire without her knowledge. He had not thought that he would make her cry. He had not thought that she would ever cry for him.

Minbar is not what it was. Everything has changed, everything is different. The knowledge that Delenn could never love him was the foundation upon which Lennier had built his life. He knew this like the feel of stone in his hands. But water melts stone, and in the face of Delenn's tears his knowledge was nothing.

And nothing mattered. He belonged to her, as he always had, heart, soul, and body. Lennier covered his face with his hood, and stepped forward in the second impulsive act of his life.

*

It was strange, how many tears were in her, once she began to cry. She fell to her knees, as if to pray, but her tears mingled with the dried blood on the book she held clutched to her chest. When she heard footsteps in the grass she put down the book, and covered her face with her hands. Perhaps it was Susan, or Elorri returning for something she had left behind. Delenn did not want to be seen. She wanted to weep, as she had never wept since John's death. But instead of turning aside, the footsteps came closer, and suddenly there was a hand in her hair. A large hand, strong and soothing. Another hand came to rest on her shoulder.

"Look up, Delenn," he said, and it was a voice she knew like her own breath. The tears came faster now, as she felt the solidness of his presence, the sureness of his return, a return she had never really doubted. Still, she would not look up. She did not know what she feared, to see the love in his eyes or to see that it had gone. So she gripped on to the hand that lay on her shoulder, and turned her face to press it into his arm.

"Look up, Delenn," he said again, and his voice was gentle, and she knew then what she would find if she would turn her head, but still she could not.

And so Lennier knelt down, and lowered his face so it was below hers. Then he took her hands from her eyes, and pressed them to his chest.

Neither could speak for a long time. She studied his face, the new lines, the new scars, and the eyes that were exactly the same. She did not know if she were laughing or crying, but her hands were on his chest and his hands were clasped in hers and he was smiling.

"What became of you?" she asked at last.

"Nur and Barenn found me, on Centauri Prime, as you thought. They helped me change caste, to Worker, and to take a new name. I needed one, after," he hesitated, "after what I had done. I worked for Barenn for many years, as her aide. Now I work alongside her."

Delenn remembered when she had chosen the Grey Council, Barenn among them, and the future she had then imagined for Lennier. "You work alongside Barenn? You are among the Grey?"

Lennier gave a half-smile, embarrassed. "I appear to be the head of the Grey," he said. "They know who I was, and they honour me for your sake."

"They honour you because you are worthy of honour." She stood up, took his hand, and led him to the garden bench. They spoke for a long time, laughing, telling stories of the last twenty years. Her hand returned, often, to his face, reassuring her of his presence. He did not pull away, and smiled when she touched him.

"I need to ask," she said at last, as they sat close together. "Can you ever forgive me?"

He pulled his hand back from where it had fallen on her thigh. His face changed, and he looked as young as she remembered him. "Forgiveness?" he asked. "Is that what you want from me?"

Wanting. What do you want. A question that never used to be asked on Minbar. Lennier had asked it to her once, in a darkened alleyway in the depths of Babylon 5, although then she had pretended not to notice. If he was among the Grey, then he must have brought the question here, to Minbar. It was he who had taught it to Elorri. And now he asked it of her.

So many times she had sent this wanting question away, and now it was before her at last. But Lennier was with her as well, and that seemed so much more important. She touched him again, on his wrist, on his cheek, and finally let herself fully enjoy the feel of his skin under her touch, and the pure clear love in his eyes. Yes, she could live in this new world that they had created, and be glad of it.

"Let me tell you what I want," she said.