Epilogue:

"A prayer candle?"

Sister turned to the speaker, her teacher, Astraea, and nodded. Then she looked back at the small and crumbly bit of wax she'd set among the thousands in this hall. "Yes."

"Among the fallen Innocent? For whom do you light this candle?"

"The one who watched over me before I came to you." With that, she lit it with a long taper that sat close by for just that purpose.

Astraea made a sound in her throat indicating slight disapproval. "Seems a little far to stretch for a mercenary slave handler. Not exactly innocent, in the opinion of most."

Sister smiled. "No, he, in many ways, was an evil man. He killed, enslaved, lied, stole, cheated. If there ever was a crime, he probably did it. At least once."

"Then why pray for him?" Her mentor looked around at the mountain of light that covered this part of the congress of martyrs. "Why set a candle for him here, among so many more deserved, many of whom are your sister justicars. Those who died in the execution of their calling. Whose tremendous deeds lit the universe as these waxy pillars light this great hall."

The young human woman laughed. "It is a . . . small candle, with a really, really small flame."

"Still didn't answer my question." Astraea said.

"Why pray for Keigan, who bade me kill for Silva's profit?" She hummed in thought. "Because he was only a man. Because he chose to care for a skinny, starving little cull like me. Because without him, I'd have died so many times over. Or become something even less human. Because, in the end, he chose to stand true. He loved me. He saved me. And I loved him."

A long silence reigned. Astraea looked at the grubby candle for a moment, then reached into her own pocket, pulling out two, pure white tapers, identical to the thousands before them. Without a word, she picked up and snuffed the little candle and handed Sister one of the ones in her hand.

Sister looked from it to her mentor, then put it where the shoddy candle used to be. She lit it and put her hands together, saying a prayer to the Goddess for her dear, departed Keigan.

Nearby, Astraea did the same, whispering Cassia, her dead daughter's name on the wind. When the two women stood together once more, the asari said, "No half-measures, Sister."

Chagrin filled her. "I know. I just didn't think them-the others would approve. I thought no one would notice a small candle."

"No one will deny your grief. Do as it moves you to do." Her mentor put a hand to her shoulder and squeezed. "In helping you stay alive as best he could, and loving you as he did, he did much to redeem himself. And without hope of redemption, we have nothing."

The justicar left Sister to her thoughts.

The wind played about her face, teasing her long, dark hair into her face. She brushed it back as she thought of Astraea's words. Yes, redemption. Available to one and all. As well as that thing she finally knew the word for:

Hope.

A/N: So, this story sort of hurt me as I was writing it. Ouch. Anyway, thanks for holding out this long if you have and I hope you enjoyed it! Please feel free to leave a review or critique as the spirit moves you. It's just possible that I might round out this collection with another story about Keigan. Maybe. . .. Mmm-possibly. Who knows? Me, that's who. Ha!