Five things, the third
For lizamanynames, Farscape. Spoilers through the whole series + mild for PK wars.
Five times people told Stark he was loved, without saying those words
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1003:
His mother always said, "Work hard, and die strong."
1008:
Words, always words. They spill from him unheeded. Unhinged. Sound blocks the bridge that dead minds walk upon, and he thinks there must have been a time, before the Chair the Chair the Chair, when he was stronger. Bare before her in body and mind, he stutters and stammers, ashamed.
Zhaan embraces him. Her cool hands soothe his trembling limbs, and there is silence.
1006:
Pilot tells him of Talyn's death. Stark scans the den, wondering what space could possibly contain Moya's grief.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be there."
"It is more comforting to know you were with him in life."
10014:
In four weeks on Moya, Noranti makes him more dishes than he has seen in a lifetime. Truthfully there are few that he cares to taste at first glance, but it is hard for a former slave not to eat what he is given. Most times he is pleasantly surprised.
Noranti putters and talks. She gives him meditation and herbology lessons. She speaks frankly about her captivity at the hands of the Peacekeepers. She tells him secrets, and asks nothing in return. Some days he just listens. Some days he does more.
"Crichton was strong, and brave, but it makes me so angry sometimes, that I just... followed him. Into more death, more suffering."
A spoon clatters to the counter. "Crichton was a fool, and he'll be a fool again if they get him back together."
"But--" he starts.
She abandons her stove and holds her hands to his face, unflinching. "You are wise. You may yet learn from Crichton, but he will not teach you anything."
After the war, he understands. There is something inside him, something very new-- or very old-- that anchors him. He releases loss and regret, and is content to leave.
10016:
We all remember that sorrowful time. It was the third phase of Stillwater and unseasonably cool, as if Hyneria held summer close to her chest in deference to our beloved Dominar's passing. We remember the summons, pealed across the Ten Worlds. We remember the squabbles that followed, as his heirs attempted to discern which among them had held Rygel the Sixteenth's final counsel, thus gaining his Empire's favor.
Give me another drink, and I'll tell you a secret. It was none of them.
You may wonder how someone of my breedpond would know this. I wasn't much more than a tadling then, and just a common tradesman. But my family has tended the Royal gardens for millennia, you see, and the birthpools and deathpools. I was there, repairing a temperature gauge behind a trellis a few kicks from Rygel's very pool. My hands shook with nerves, though the Dominar couldn't have noticed me. There was barely a breath of life in him.
My thoughts were only to serve his comfort and leave, but when the gate opened I froze. And I didn't look away, honor take me, which is why I can tell you this.
Dominar Rygel's final counsel was a whispering, scarred alien who disturbed not a droplet as he settled in the pool. He smiled, and the garden was infused with it. The deathpool was aglow, golden. He took Rygel's hand, and the Dominar sighed.
And I heard them, the last words Rygel uttered before surrendering to the currents.
"About time, you old lunatic."
Five times people told Stark he was loved, without saying those words
---------------------------------------------------------------------
1003:
His mother always said, "Work hard, and die strong."
1008:
Words, always words. They spill from him unheeded. Unhinged. Sound blocks the bridge that dead minds walk upon, and he thinks there must have been a time, before the Chair the Chair the Chair, when he was stronger. Bare before her in body and mind, he stutters and stammers, ashamed.
Zhaan embraces him. Her cool hands soothe his trembling limbs, and there is silence.
1006:
Pilot tells him of Talyn's death. Stark scans the den, wondering what space could possibly contain Moya's grief.
"I'm sorry I couldn't be there."
"It is more comforting to know you were with him in life."
10014:
In four weeks on Moya, Noranti makes him more dishes than he has seen in a lifetime. Truthfully there are few that he cares to taste at first glance, but it is hard for a former slave not to eat what he is given. Most times he is pleasantly surprised.
Noranti putters and talks. She gives him meditation and herbology lessons. She speaks frankly about her captivity at the hands of the Peacekeepers. She tells him secrets, and asks nothing in return. Some days he just listens. Some days he does more.
"Crichton was strong, and brave, but it makes me so angry sometimes, that I just... followed him. Into more death, more suffering."
A spoon clatters to the counter. "Crichton was a fool, and he'll be a fool again if they get him back together."
"But--" he starts.
She abandons her stove and holds her hands to his face, unflinching. "You are wise. You may yet learn from Crichton, but he will not teach you anything."
After the war, he understands. There is something inside him, something very new-- or very old-- that anchors him. He releases loss and regret, and is content to leave.
10016:
We all remember that sorrowful time. It was the third phase of Stillwater and unseasonably cool, as if Hyneria held summer close to her chest in deference to our beloved Dominar's passing. We remember the summons, pealed across the Ten Worlds. We remember the squabbles that followed, as his heirs attempted to discern which among them had held Rygel the Sixteenth's final counsel, thus gaining his Empire's favor.
Give me another drink, and I'll tell you a secret. It was none of them.
You may wonder how someone of my breedpond would know this. I wasn't much more than a tadling then, and just a common tradesman. But my family has tended the Royal gardens for millennia, you see, and the birthpools and deathpools. I was there, repairing a temperature gauge behind a trellis a few kicks from Rygel's very pool. My hands shook with nerves, though the Dominar couldn't have noticed me. There was barely a breath of life in him.
My thoughts were only to serve his comfort and leave, but when the gate opened I froze. And I didn't look away, honor take me, which is why I can tell you this.
Dominar Rygel's final counsel was a whispering, scarred alien who disturbed not a droplet as he settled in the pool. He smiled, and the garden was infused with it. The deathpool was aglow, golden. He took Rygel's hand, and the Dominar sighed.
And I heard them, the last words Rygel uttered before surrendering to the currents.
"About time, you old lunatic."