Author's note: The first section of this work is made up of vignettes that concern the immediate aftermath of the war, but the bulk of the story will take place in the decade that follows. I've attempted to stay faithful to Mass Effect source material where possible, but I haven't bothered with some of the vaguer elements of the game. I've tried my best to fill in anything that is missing.
At the end of every chapter I have included the title & lyrics to a song that either inspired me to write the chapter or helped me build the tone/mood.
Lastly, I have planned some companion stories to go along with select chapters (squadmate/crew related), so do watch for those in the future.
CHAPTER 1: Furrows/Tilth
3 years after the Reaper War
2189, Earth
A family of quails skitters past the low fence of the garden. Still, except below the elbow, Shepard brings her forearms down to strike the hard, unyielding earth. Her hands begin to tremble as she clutches the heavy mattock. Not a weapon to kill living things—like the rifle she carried in her fighting days—but a tool to cultivate life. Her fingers gnarl around the handle awkwardly. They look more like talons than fingers.
3 days earlier
2189, Palaven
"General Vakarian, sir! The shuttle due to pick up the Dalatrass is experiencing a malfunction with its drive core. Remaining shuttles in the area were assigned to the TSF Laurus for colony business. It will take approximately 2 hours to complete repairs."
Garrus strained to keep his mandibles from reflexively tightening against his face. Another fuck up on his watch and Primarch Victus would have his head on a plate.
"We can't afford to keep the Dalatrass waiting, not with a new treaty on the line," he barked. "Tell the mechanic he has one hour to complete repairs. Hell, I don't care if you have to strap a million thrusters to it, just get your ass up in the air and get her here safely." Garrus let out a sigh and ran his talons along his temple. A headache was beginning to crawl its way up the backs of his eyes.
It had been a good six months since he had had anything resembling decent sleep. No one had really slept in the last three years—not with all the work of rebuilding, shoring up fleets, and restoring the rest of the mass relays. But the last six months had been the worst of it. Negotiations were at an impasse amongst the Council worlds; the account of actions taken or not taken had soured talks, particularly with the Salarians. Further complicating matters, the Krogan and Quarian requests to join the Council were building to a distracting din. The threat of the Reapers may have been quashed, but the once unstoppable machines were still wielding their influence over the galaxy.
Garrus rapped on the Primarch's door and listened for a reply.
"Enter," said the Primarch, who was seated at his desk with a glass of Turian brandy in hand.
"Sir, there's been a complication with the shuttle. The Salarian delegation won't be arriving for at least another two hours."
Under normal circumstances, the Primarch would never scoff at such a minor problem. The profound losses of wartime meant that all sectors of Turian society, the Hierarchy included, were experiencing shortages, and it was reasonable to expect hiccups along the way. This hiccup, however, was one they could not afford.
Primarch Victus held Garrus' gaze for a few moments.
"Well, I suppose that's a relief—maybe I have time for another drink. Listening to that slippery woman talk makes my fringe fall limp," he said wryly. "Diplomacy is supposed to be about making peace, but if my experience so far is any measure, it's more like war."
"Worse than war, sir. At least when someone on the other side of a battlefield pisses you off you can just fire a round and call it a day."
The Primarch's subvocals resonated in a chortle. "I do miss the challenge of the fight. But I suppose there is a strategic art to diplomacy too." He took a long sip of brandy and set his glass down gently. "Let's proceed as planned when they arrive. Any word from Urdnot Wrex?"
"Yes sir, I heard from him this morning. He's had his hands full with all the clans clamoring for priority on the new colony. He's given us permission to proceed as planned. "
"Good. We're going to need him on our side if we want to win anymore concessions from the Salarians. Thank you, Garrus."
Earth
Shepard draws a slow, greedy breath and permits it to silently escape her lips. Her fickle hands stop trembling and she lifts the mattock once more. It crashes down as a voice on her audio stream interrupts.
Announcer: "Welcome. You're listening to ANN News for Monday, April 24th , 2189. This is the news at the top of the hour... Treaty talks have resumed on the Turian homeworld of Palaven. Primarch Victus of the Turian Hierarchy received Dalatrass Linron and the Salarian Union delegation at the steps of the Taetrus Memorial, which was recently erected to honor the lost Turian colony of Taetrus..."
The mattock cleaves a broad gash in the soil, revealing dozens of pill bugs, some curled into protective balls, others scurrying away from whatever had exposed them. Shepard crinkles her nose in disgust.
Announcer: "The failure of previous talks between the Turians and the Salarians has intensified pressure to find a mutually agreeable solution to the shortage of military forces in Council controlled space. Their previous disagreement, over the proposed reassignment of the CDEM, or Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission, has yet to be resolved. But the delegations are said to have made significant progress this weekend. In a statement made this morning, the Hierarchy announced that the Salarian Union has agreed to some of the more divisive portions of the draft agreement."
Primarch Victus: "After many long and...spirited... discussions over the last few days, the Dalatrass has graciously agreed to allow a limited number of Krogan forces to serve under the guidance of the Turian fleet. This has been a natural point of contention, of course, given our histories. But I believe our worlds will, in good faith and comity, come to an agreement that benefits the entire galaxy."
Shepard continues to listen as she sifts through the loosened soil with her fingers, tossing any rocks or large pebbles into the bucket by her feet. Things will grow a lot better here if there aren't any obstacles for roots to reach down deep, no obstacles preventing water and nutrients from penetrating the soil.
Primarch Victus: "I would like to take this opportunity to thank one of my most trusted men, General Garrus Vakarian. General Vakarian has been instrumental in the success of this week's talks, providing us with insight that has turned the tide of these delicate negotiations."
Bending down to reach for the mattock one more time, Shepard stops halfway through her stoop.
Announcer: "General Garrus Vakarian, former C-Sec officer and head of the Hierarchy's Reaper Task Force, served aboard the SSV Normandy and Normandy SR-2. Fighting closely alongside Alliance Commander Circe Shepard, General Vakarian distinguished himself..."
The mattock clatters to the sere ground; a small cloud of dust billows around Shepard's feet. Her eyes sting. She squints towards the sky and wipes the back of her hand across her moist cheek. She flees, heavy footed, to the back door of the house.
Inside, Shepard sinks into a wrinkled leather chair. She inhales slowly, until the air in her lungs feels like it will split her torso in two. She exhales slower still. She reminds herself that living always comes down to the breath.
Song: "Born in a War" – Future Islands
It's all so temporary
Life's work, don't play that way
Life's more than cash and carry
All your guns, to your grave
Is it too much to carry?
Is it too much to ask you why?
I have a sinking feeling I know why
I have a sinking feeling I know
Born to an insensitive fool
You've been damned by
You're scared
That when a strong man cries
Is when a strong man dies
Raised up in a town that's eighty proof
Shotgun shells under every roof, every jail
Didn't learn a lot from public school
All our books went off to wars, they could sell
Is it too much to carry?
Is it too much to run and hide?
And what's too much to bury?
Is it too much to ask you why?
I have a sinking feeling I know why
I have a sinking feeling I know
Swore you an impossible dream
You've been damned by
You swear
That when a strong man cries
Is when a strong man dies
You're scared
That when a strong man cries
Is when a strong man dies
But a strong man cries
A strong man cries
Just look into this strong man's eyes
Oh, look into a strong man's eyes
Look into a strong man's eyes
Oh, look into a strong man's eyes
Raised up in a town that's eighty proof
Look into a strong man's eyes
Shotgun shells under every roof
Bloody hell