XV. Delenn

She could not remember the last time she had felt so flustered. Not like this; not in a way that made her wish she could hide her face and wait for the world to pass her by. It was a foolish wish, of course. As Entil'Zha she was a public figure, and it mattered to people to see her act as such. More importantly, it mattered to Vir. He was trying so hard to do everything right. He might have chosen to keep his coronation a quiet affair, as Delenn knew he would have preferred, but instead he had turned it into a public event. Not a celebration; there was still far more cause for the Centauri to mourn than to celebrate. More like a memorial service. John was here for the political part, to announce Centauri Prime's reacceptance into the Alliance, but her own reasons to be here were far more personal. So were David's, who had insisted on coming. Physically, he had almost completely recovered, but the mental scars of what had happened would not fade so quickly.

The sunlight was warm on her face, but Delenn could barely feel it. In front of her, the Royal Gardens looked as damaged as they had sixteen years ago after the bombardment; Vir had refused to begin restoring them until the rebuilding effort was further along. It had not stopped him from opening the gardens to the public today. Judging by the size of the crowds, he couldn't have made a better decision. Delenn, too, would have preferred to be an anonymous spectator, but instead she was on a dais, in plain sight, with David and John on one side of her and Vir and the lady Timov on the other. John would give a speech later, and so would Vir. At the moment, the stage was held by a lone musician playing what Vir had told her was a listra, a medium-sized Centauri harp. Even amplified, the music sounded frail. It was far more subdued than she would have expected from a Centauri performance, but then, these were hard times. They'd all lost something on Centauri Prime. Even her.

When someone dies for you, it changes everything. She would know. For someone to sacrifice themselves for you was the greatest gift that existed, whether it was a stranger or a friend. Neroon had been neither, but she would never forget what he had done in the Starfire Wheel. And John… He died on Z'Ha'Dum, even if he had come back. Not a day went by that she didn't remember, or counted the time that was left to them. So, yes, she knew what it was like, and John knew it too. So did Vir, after what had happened. And now David as well. She would have given everything to spare him the experience, at least until he was older, but in the end it had not been her choice. All she could do was help him get through it. And hope she would do the same.

It had been two weeks since they escaped Centauri Prime, but she still remembered every moment. Impossibly, by the time she got back to Minbar, David had already been there, tattered but alive. She'd thought her heart would burst when they took her to him, but when she'd tried to embrace him he pushed her away. Instead he had said, voice cracking, "Mother, who was Lennier?"

He'd told her, then. How a Minbari had carried him from the Royal Palace, strapped him into a fighter and flown them out into the night. They'd been one small ship against three Centauri cruisers, but somehow Lennier had outmaneuvered them and made it to the jumpgate. Only then their luck had ran out. One of the pursuing cruisers must have hit them from behind; all David remembered was a burst of flame as Lennier's console self-destructed just as the jump point was opening. After that, he must have passed out. By the time he woke, the automatic controls had kicked in and they were well on their way to Minbar; David had flown the craft the last part of the way. Delenn could not even imagine the horror of being strapped into a fighter seat for hours, not knowing if the person with you was alive or dead. As it was, Lennier must have died almost instantly. That was a small mercy.

It was Vir who'd explained her everything, in a voice so raw with emotion she could not find it in her heart to blame him. He had kept Lennier's existence a secret, yes. But if that was what Lennier had wanted, what right did she have to question it? At least he and Vir had found some comfort in each other. And Vir was already blaming himself. "I'm so sorry," he'd said, when she told him of Lennier's death. He had sounded more crushed than surprised. "If I could have saved your son in some other way, I would have. But Lennier… I couldn't have stopped him if I'd tried. I think he – he'd almost given up hope that he could redeem himself to you, and when he heard that David… Well. I'm sure you understand. You knew him better than I ever did."

Delenn was not so certain that was true, but she had understood. Not that it made the pain any less. The news about G'Kar had hit her hard as well. As for Londo, she did not know if she ought to feel pity or admiration for him. Most of all, she felt guilt. As preoccupied as they had been with their own trouble – first the Telepath War, later the Drakh plague and its aftermath – it had been too easy to forget about Centauri Prime.

Beside her, David was fidgeting in his chair, staring hard at the object in his hands. Vir had asked the people to bring mementos of those who'd died under the Drakh rule, and to leave them at a shrine he'd had erected for that purpose. An hour into the proceedings, it was overflowing. Some people had brought pictures, others pieces of clothing or small personal items. Vir was going to leave something for Londo, and Delenn had proposed to do the same for G'Kar; she and Vir would each say a few words during the ceremony. David had insisted on bringing something of Lennier's.

It felt strange, her son's devotion to a person he had never even known. It was natural, of course, but it pnly made her own grief that much sharper. What made it worse was that she no longer even had anything that had belonged to Lennier. Vir did, though. He'd given David a ceremonial candle, the last one Lennier had been burning before he left. David had held on to it all day.

"How much longer?" David whispered, not for the first time. "Everyone else has been to the shrine already, why do we have to wait?"

Of course he knew the answer as well as she did. But he was looking for comfort, so she replied as patiently as she could, "Not much longer, I think. After the performance, Emperor Cotto and I will say a few words, and then all of us will go to the shrine."

David nodded jerkily, turning the candle around in his hands. "Why did he do it? Lennier… You said he used to be your friend, but he didn't even know me. Why would he risk his life for me?"

Delenn clenched her hands in her lap. Beside her, Vir stirred faintly, but gave no other sign that he had heard anything. "He… loved me." She could not believe she was telling him here, of all places, but suddenly she could not have held back the words if she'd wanted to. "He was my aide on Babylon 5, as I told you, and… he had loved me for a long time before it started to consume him." She drew in a breath, feeling as if she might break under the weight of it all. "David, we… we all have our moments where we become someone else. Sometimes those moments turn out for the better, and sometimes… sometimes they are tragedies." And sometimes they are both, as they were for me. The knowledge of what she had done after Dukhat's death would be with her forever. "I believe Lennier saved you because, in doing so… he thought he could find that part of himself that he feared he had lost. Can you understand that?"

David's eyes were very wide, but he nodded. Beside her, Vir made a soft, strangled noise that sounded almost like a sob. Delenn turned towards him.

"I – I'm sorry." Vir wiped his eyes. On his knees was a picture of himself and Londo at a table in the Zocalo; the Vir on the picture was grinning shyly, Londo's arm around his shoulders. They were so young then, Delenn thought. All of us were. "I just – every time I think I don't have any tears left, I –" He covered his mouth. "Gods, I'm – I'm terrible at this. What kind of Emperor am I if I can't even stop crying?"

"A decent one," Timov said, and took his hand. She was looking more composed than any of them – which was remarkable, given that just before the ceremony she had stood weeping quietly in Vir's arms. But this was a public event, and showing weakness in public must be the last thing a Centauri noblewoman was permitted to do. In the end, they were all the product of the society that raised them. Even Vir, although he had resisted it more strongly than some. Delenn hoped he would be happy. Earlier, she had seen him hold hands with the young woman introduced to her as Timov's foster daughter; he had looked more at peace than she had seen him in years. She could only pray it would last. He deserved it.

"Let the people see you, Vir," she said, with sudden conviction. "Londo spent sixteen years playing a part, but there is no reason why you should do the same. To be seen mourning is not weakness. Your people have many things to grieve about; show them that it is all right for them to do so. Only then can they begin to heal."

Vir's face was wet with tears, but he lowered the hand he had been raising to brush them away. "You're right," he said. "We have to heal, and… and for that, we need to grieve first. All of us. Together. There's been enough hiding." He swallowed hard.

Up on the stage, the harpist was playing the final notes, to muted applause from the people. Vir stood, clutching his picture in his hands, and Delenn followed after a moment. No healing without grief, she thought. She had not allowed herself to grieve for a long time. Perhaps today, she could.

Though I Walk Through the Valley 13 - Londo