Field of Stars (B5, J/D, rated G)
For Valentine's Day, and 
babylon5_love month, a short piece about choices and paths.
Title: Field of Stars
Author:
vjs2259
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my world, but they are my words
Spoilers: post S5, pre SiL
Delenn sat alone on the white sand, her bare toes digging into the cool soft grains. A light wind lifted the curls off her neck, cooling the damp skin underneath. It had been a hot day, hotter than any day she could remember. The sun had soaked into her robes and left a residual warmth that surrounded her. It was a comfort as the sun dipped low towards the restless water and the heat leached away from the earth.
Reaching down, she picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through her open fingers. A small white shell stuck between her fingers. She carefully rubbed off the clinging grains and examined her find. The ridges along the back of the shell were mostly smoothed, presumably by the action of the incessant waves. It reminded her of a Minbari bonecrest, the rounded ones of some of the mountain clans. Idly she turned the shell over and over, wondering if the marks were as individual to the species as the crests of her people. The inside of the shell was pink, bright in the center and fading to a rosy brown along the outside edge.
She held it up to the setting sun, testing the color against the bands of clouds tinted by the sun's rays. The pink was very close. Squinting against the light, she didn't see her husband approaching down the shore. The roar of the waves masked the sound of his steps and she started as he sat down heavily beside her. Looking over she saw he was still in his formal clothing, suitable for the meeting that had apparently just ended.
“Did you not take time to change?” she asked. “Not that I am complaining. I am very glad to see you.”
John took her hand in his, and raised it briefly to his lips, then laid it gently against his cheek. She shifted her position, closer to him. Looking down at her other hand, lying open in her lap, he asked, “Picking up shells?”
“They are fascinating objects. All different, like snowflakes. I have been told they were at one time a part of a living creature, a creature that forms its own home from itself.” She held the shell up for his examination and he looked at it closely.
“It's a pretty common type. A scallop shell maybe. Or a cockle shell?” He smiled and began to chant, “Mary, Mary, quite contrary. How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row.”
“That is very pretty,” replied Delenn, closing her hand on the shell. “What does it mean?”
“It's just a nursery rhyme, poetry for children,” said John. He frowned, “Though I've heard those had some pretty dark origins.” He leaned back to examine the reddening sky, turning to blue at the far edges. “Now the scallop shells; those have some different history. One thing they were used for was as badges on hats or cloaks. Pilgrims used to wear them. They were religious folk, who went on journeys to various shrines. To prove their faith, or perhaps to find their faith.”
Delenn exclaimed, “These pilgrims...they are true seekers, is that right? They look for truth?”
“I imagine some of them do,” replied John. He pointed up at the darkening sky. “The stars are coming out. What direction is Minbar?”
“I have no idea. Were you not trained is astral cartography at your Academy?” She watched carefully, hoping the light teasing would lighten the strain she saw behind his eyes. The negotiations were wearing, and since the new Earth president had insisted on one-on-one talks, she was not able to help him directly. Indirectly, with her presence, with advice and support, of course she could, and did. She had received the distinct impression that President Xavier half-believed the old story that John's marriage to her had been one of political expedience. Her hand clenched on the shell, then loosened as his hand tightened on hers in a reassuring clasp.
“That was a very long time ago,” he chuckled at the thought, then added in some dismay, “I'm not sure I could read a star map right off, without some time for calculations. Haven't had to for some years now.”
“It would come back to you quickly,” she said with tranquil faith. “You tap into different talents, and while developing new skills, the old ones fall into the background. But they are never completely lost,” she assured him.
John visibly relaxed, which made Delenn relax in turn. She turned the shell over and over in her free hand, the other remaining tucked through his arm and firmly in his grasp. Looking out at the horizon, which was disappearing into the swallowing dark, she said dreamily, “I would like to have followed the Renna’wynd, the path to Truth. I knew some who did, even some who left directly from school. So early in life I left to serve the Council. There was no time. I wonder what happened, what they found.”
“You would have made a good pilgrim,” John said. “Do you ever wish you’d followed that path?”
“Not if that path did not lead to you,” she answered with quiet conviction. “And what of you? Do you ever wish you might return to the military life? To captain a ship, to go back out among the stars?” All around them pinpricks of light appeared, flowers on a field of night.
“I’ll go back out there, someday,” he said. “I know I will.”
She looked at him, seeing truth in his face, then down at the shell in her hand. “I will keep this as a memory of your home,” she said.
“Perhaps you will take it with you on that pilgrimage,” John said, smiling down at his wife. She kept her eyes focused on the horizon. She would go, but it would be after their work was done. After his return to space. After he was gone. Her hand tightened on his. Above their heads the field of stars whirled in space, bright and cold, but hiding the warmth of distant suns. This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/390619.html. Please comment there using OpenID.
babylon5_love month, a short piece about choices and paths.
Title: Field of Stars
Author:
vjs2259
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not my world, but they are my words
Spoilers: post S5, pre SiL
Delenn sat alone on the white sand, her bare toes digging into the cool soft grains. A light wind lifted the curls off her neck, cooling the damp skin underneath. It had been a hot day, hotter than any day she could remember. The sun had soaked into her robes and left a residual warmth that surrounded her. It was a comfort as the sun dipped low towards the restless water and the heat leached away from the earth.
Reaching down, she picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through her open fingers. A small white shell stuck between her fingers. She carefully rubbed off the clinging grains and examined her find. The ridges along the back of the shell were mostly smoothed, presumably by the action of the incessant waves. It reminded her of a Minbari bonecrest, the rounded ones of some of the mountain clans. Idly she turned the shell over and over, wondering if the marks were as individual to the species as the crests of her people. The inside of the shell was pink, bright in the center and fading to a rosy brown along the outside edge.
She held it up to the setting sun, testing the color against the bands of clouds tinted by the sun's rays. The pink was very close. Squinting against the light, she didn't see her husband approaching down the shore. The roar of the waves masked the sound of his steps and she started as he sat down heavily beside her. Looking over she saw he was still in his formal clothing, suitable for the meeting that had apparently just ended.
“Did you not take time to change?” she asked. “Not that I am complaining. I am very glad to see you.”
John took her hand in his, and raised it briefly to his lips, then laid it gently against his cheek. She shifted her position, closer to him. Looking down at her other hand, lying open in her lap, he asked, “Picking up shells?”
“They are fascinating objects. All different, like snowflakes. I have been told they were at one time a part of a living creature, a creature that forms its own home from itself.” She held the shell up for his examination and he looked at it closely.
“It's a pretty common type. A scallop shell maybe. Or a cockle shell?” He smiled and began to chant, “Mary, Mary, quite contrary. How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, and pretty maids all in a row.”
“That is very pretty,” replied Delenn, closing her hand on the shell. “What does it mean?”
“It's just a nursery rhyme, poetry for children,” said John. He frowned, “Though I've heard those had some pretty dark origins.” He leaned back to examine the reddening sky, turning to blue at the far edges. “Now the scallop shells; those have some different history. One thing they were used for was as badges on hats or cloaks. Pilgrims used to wear them. They were religious folk, who went on journeys to various shrines. To prove their faith, or perhaps to find their faith.”
Delenn exclaimed, “These pilgrims...they are true seekers, is that right? They look for truth?”
“I imagine some of them do,” replied John. He pointed up at the darkening sky. “The stars are coming out. What direction is Minbar?”
“I have no idea. Were you not trained is astral cartography at your Academy?” She watched carefully, hoping the light teasing would lighten the strain she saw behind his eyes. The negotiations were wearing, and since the new Earth president had insisted on one-on-one talks, she was not able to help him directly. Indirectly, with her presence, with advice and support, of course she could, and did. She had received the distinct impression that President Xavier half-believed the old story that John's marriage to her had been one of political expedience. Her hand clenched on the shell, then loosened as his hand tightened on hers in a reassuring clasp.
“That was a very long time ago,” he chuckled at the thought, then added in some dismay, “I'm not sure I could read a star map right off, without some time for calculations. Haven't had to for some years now.”
“It would come back to you quickly,” she said with tranquil faith. “You tap into different talents, and while developing new skills, the old ones fall into the background. But they are never completely lost,” she assured him.
John visibly relaxed, which made Delenn relax in turn. She turned the shell over and over in her free hand, the other remaining tucked through his arm and firmly in his grasp. Looking out at the horizon, which was disappearing into the swallowing dark, she said dreamily, “I would like to have followed the Renna’wynd, the path to Truth. I knew some who did, even some who left directly from school. So early in life I left to serve the Council. There was no time. I wonder what happened, what they found.”
“You would have made a good pilgrim,” John said. “Do you ever wish you’d followed that path?”
“Not if that path did not lead to you,” she answered with quiet conviction. “And what of you? Do you ever wish you might return to the military life? To captain a ship, to go back out among the stars?” All around them pinpricks of light appeared, flowers on a field of night.
“I’ll go back out there, someday,” he said. “I know I will.”
She looked at him, seeing truth in his face, then down at the shell in her hand. “I will keep this as a memory of your home,” she said.
“Perhaps you will take it with you on that pilgrimage,” John said, smiling down at his wife. She kept her eyes focused on the horizon. She would go, but it would be after their work was done. After his return to space. After he was gone. Her hand tightened on his. Above their heads the field of stars whirled in space, bright and cold, but hiding the warmth of distant suns. This entry was originally posted at http://vjs2259.dreamwidth.org/390619.html. Please comment there using OpenID.