All Good Things (B5, Lennier/Ivanova, post SiL, rated G)
So I missed the free-for-all day for babylon5_love (somehow I had it in my head it was September 1st!) I hope ruuger forgives me for the late posting but I had a couple of folderols left over. Here is the second.
I can't believe my brain came up with a Lennier/Ivanova story after all this time. I quite enjoyed checking in with them and Delenn. This was originally meant to be a triptych, with all three POVs, but all I got written was Susan's.
All Good Things
Post Season 5, Minbar
Lennier/Ivanova, Delenn
“Flames to dust
Lovers to friends
Why do all good things come to an end?”
All Good Things (Come To An End)--Nelly Furtado
The phrase 'all good things must come to an end' is attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer in the year 1374.
Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words.
A terrace of interlaced flagstones was outlined by a trim lawn, grey and brown in the winter chill. The flowers were cut low to the ground, beds tucked in with white stones and black mulch. It made a patchwork of shadows outside the small cottage. The windows were bright with fire and candlelight. The terrace had glass doors with windows on either side, crystal triangles inset in stone.
An older human woman opened the glass doors and came out onto the stones. Her low soft boots made no sound but shifted the swirling spirals of snow. She moved from one side to the next, hands sweeping ice crystals off low planters, full of bare cold dirt, spaced evenly on the short walls.
A figure appeared in the doorway, outlined by the light. It was a Minbari, male, religious caste from his crest, medium height, shoulders slightly stooped with age. “Come in, Susan. The temperature drops quickly at this time of year. You will catch cold.”
Susan Ivanova turned and re-entered the house, catching Lennier's outstretched hand and accompanying him to the small living area beyond the terrace doors. They sat side by side on the couch, legs and shoulders touching as they leaned together. “I made tea,” said Lennier. A tray sat on a low table, crystal edged with silver and inlaid with stone, on legs of grey driftwood imported from the Western sea. He leaned forward and poured steaming liquid into two white porcelain cups, handing one to Susan.
“Is she asleep?” asked Susan.
“Yes,” replied Lennier, taking a deep draught of his tea and returning the cup to the tray. “Anniversary Day is always hard for her.”
“At least the ceremonies are getting shorter as time goes on. There are less people who ask to speak, less who attend the speeches.” Susan turned the cup around and around in her hands. She saw the loose skin, veins blue and prominent. They were strong hands, capable, with long fingers square at the tips. They had once piloted StarFuries and White Stars, held the reins of command and the lives of countless others in their grasp.
“I do not know if Delenn sees that as a good thing,” responded Lennier. “Do you?”
“Fewer and fewer people who actually knew John are involved in this dog-and-pony show. It's for posterity, that's what Delenn says.” Susan put down her cup, which trembled slightly in the saucer, and took Lennier's free hand. “She doesn't want him, or what he did, to be forgotten.”
“I asked if you thought it was a good thing,” Lennier repeated, giving her hand a squeeze. He waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts.
After a moment, she answered. “I never thought the ceremonies were a good thing. The whole return of the king idea; it's nonsense. John was a good man, even a great man, but he was just a man. I don't think we'll ever see him again, in this world or any other.” She leaned against his shoulder. “I wish I did believe it.”
Lennier put one arm around her. “Delenn believes, and that is enough. It has kept her going for many years now.”
“I know,” said Susan. She looked around the small room, dim in the dancing fire light. Light scattered across glass and silver, touching random points. Susan recognized some items from Delenn's quarters back on Babylon 5, from John's, from the residence in Tuzanoor. Delenn had encased herself in memories like a snail in a shell. Yet she seemed unburdened, and Susan privately wondered if all the medals and pictures were for other people rather than for Delenn. Maybe it was the same with the other rituals too.
“Lennier,” said Susan. She pointed around the room. “Is all this stuff important to Delenn?”
“Important, yes. Necessary, no.” Lennier refreshed both their cups with fresh tea. “Delenn carries everything she needs within herself.”
“I suppose she does.” Susan picked up her cup, then let it clatter back on the low table. “Too hot.”
Lennier quickly took her hand and examined it. “Do you wish healing?”
“Hell no,” replied Susan. “It's not even blistered.” She didn't withdraw it from his clasp. Her voice trembled. “How much longer will she be with us?”
“I cannot tell,” said Lennier. “She grows more frail every year, yet her spirit remains strong.”
“Is it right that we've moved in here with her? She was independent so many years after John left, then she moved out here with only a single attendant. When she got sick last fall I thought...well, I thought we might lose her. Would she tell us if she didn't want us around to help?”
Lennier kissed her gently on the forehead. “She would tell us.” He smiled at her concerned face. “And she has not.”
Susan slowly stood and began to circle the room, examining the artifacts and artwork. “I've been here so many times and heard the stories.” She pulled down one piece from a shelf. “I can't believe she has this here. I gave it to John myself, years ago.”
“The piece of the Drala Fi?” asked Lennier. “Yes, I know she has it. It is not prominently displayed, or labeled. But it is a piece of Sheridan's history, and it was a gift from you to him and so it is here.”
“All these things,” said Susan, continuing her circuit of the room, running her fingers over one item after another. “The sum of a life.”
Lennier rose, his once quick and subtle movements now slow and deliberate. He walked over to Susan and put one hand on her shoulder. “While she needs us we will be here. It has been a hard winter, but spring is coming and we may yet return to our home. If we do not, then we do not.” He gestured towards the walls and cabinets. “Our life is measured in the lives we touch, the hearts we hold dear, not in possessions and trinkets. Delenn would be the richest woman I know if she left this word tomorrow, if she had none of this.”
Susan turned and settled into Lennier's arms. “Rich in friends, rich in people who love her.” She whispered into his chest. “And so am I.”
This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/312470.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
I can't believe my brain came up with a Lennier/Ivanova story after all this time. I quite enjoyed checking in with them and Delenn. This was originally meant to be a triptych, with all three POVs, but all I got written was Susan's.
All Good Things
Post Season 5, Minbar
Lennier/Ivanova, Delenn
“Flames to dust
Lovers to friends
Why do all good things come to an end?”
All Good Things (Come To An End)--Nelly Furtado
The phrase 'all good things must come to an end' is attributed to Geoffrey Chaucer in the year 1374.
Standard disclaimer applies; not my characters or settings or backgrounds. But they are my words.
A terrace of interlaced flagstones was outlined by a trim lawn, grey and brown in the winter chill. The flowers were cut low to the ground, beds tucked in with white stones and black mulch. It made a patchwork of shadows outside the small cottage. The windows were bright with fire and candlelight. The terrace had glass doors with windows on either side, crystal triangles inset in stone.
An older human woman opened the glass doors and came out onto the stones. Her low soft boots made no sound but shifted the swirling spirals of snow. She moved from one side to the next, hands sweeping ice crystals off low planters, full of bare cold dirt, spaced evenly on the short walls.
A figure appeared in the doorway, outlined by the light. It was a Minbari, male, religious caste from his crest, medium height, shoulders slightly stooped with age. “Come in, Susan. The temperature drops quickly at this time of year. You will catch cold.”
Susan Ivanova turned and re-entered the house, catching Lennier's outstretched hand and accompanying him to the small living area beyond the terrace doors. They sat side by side on the couch, legs and shoulders touching as they leaned together. “I made tea,” said Lennier. A tray sat on a low table, crystal edged with silver and inlaid with stone, on legs of grey driftwood imported from the Western sea. He leaned forward and poured steaming liquid into two white porcelain cups, handing one to Susan.
“Is she asleep?” asked Susan.
“Yes,” replied Lennier, taking a deep draught of his tea and returning the cup to the tray. “Anniversary Day is always hard for her.”
“At least the ceremonies are getting shorter as time goes on. There are less people who ask to speak, less who attend the speeches.” Susan turned the cup around and around in her hands. She saw the loose skin, veins blue and prominent. They were strong hands, capable, with long fingers square at the tips. They had once piloted StarFuries and White Stars, held the reins of command and the lives of countless others in their grasp.
“I do not know if Delenn sees that as a good thing,” responded Lennier. “Do you?”
“Fewer and fewer people who actually knew John are involved in this dog-and-pony show. It's for posterity, that's what Delenn says.” Susan put down her cup, which trembled slightly in the saucer, and took Lennier's free hand. “She doesn't want him, or what he did, to be forgotten.”
“I asked if you thought it was a good thing,” Lennier repeated, giving her hand a squeeze. He waited patiently while she gathered her thoughts.
After a moment, she answered. “I never thought the ceremonies were a good thing. The whole return of the king idea; it's nonsense. John was a good man, even a great man, but he was just a man. I don't think we'll ever see him again, in this world or any other.” She leaned against his shoulder. “I wish I did believe it.”
Lennier put one arm around her. “Delenn believes, and that is enough. It has kept her going for many years now.”
“I know,” said Susan. She looked around the small room, dim in the dancing fire light. Light scattered across glass and silver, touching random points. Susan recognized some items from Delenn's quarters back on Babylon 5, from John's, from the residence in Tuzanoor. Delenn had encased herself in memories like a snail in a shell. Yet she seemed unburdened, and Susan privately wondered if all the medals and pictures were for other people rather than for Delenn. Maybe it was the same with the other rituals too.
“Lennier,” said Susan. She pointed around the room. “Is all this stuff important to Delenn?”
“Important, yes. Necessary, no.” Lennier refreshed both their cups with fresh tea. “Delenn carries everything she needs within herself.”
“I suppose she does.” Susan picked up her cup, then let it clatter back on the low table. “Too hot.”
Lennier quickly took her hand and examined it. “Do you wish healing?”
“Hell no,” replied Susan. “It's not even blistered.” She didn't withdraw it from his clasp. Her voice trembled. “How much longer will she be with us?”
“I cannot tell,” said Lennier. “She grows more frail every year, yet her spirit remains strong.”
“Is it right that we've moved in here with her? She was independent so many years after John left, then she moved out here with only a single attendant. When she got sick last fall I thought...well, I thought we might lose her. Would she tell us if she didn't want us around to help?”
Lennier kissed her gently on the forehead. “She would tell us.” He smiled at her concerned face. “And she has not.”
Susan slowly stood and began to circle the room, examining the artifacts and artwork. “I've been here so many times and heard the stories.” She pulled down one piece from a shelf. “I can't believe she has this here. I gave it to John myself, years ago.”
“The piece of the Drala Fi?” asked Lennier. “Yes, I know she has it. It is not prominently displayed, or labeled. But it is a piece of Sheridan's history, and it was a gift from you to him and so it is here.”
“All these things,” said Susan, continuing her circuit of the room, running her fingers over one item after another. “The sum of a life.”
Lennier rose, his once quick and subtle movements now slow and deliberate. He walked over to Susan and put one hand on her shoulder. “While she needs us we will be here. It has been a hard winter, but spring is coming and we may yet return to our home. If we do not, then we do not.” He gestured towards the walls and cabinets. “Our life is measured in the lives we touch, the hearts we hold dear, not in possessions and trinkets. Delenn would be the richest woman I know if she left this word tomorrow, if she had none of this.”
Susan turned and settled into Lennier's arms. “Rich in friends, rich in people who love her.” She whispered into his chest. “And so am I.”
This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/312470.html. Please comment there using OpenID.