Author's Note: This chapter covers part of the Season 4 episode "Atonement", with some dialogue quoted from it. As always, gapfiller scenes are my own. (And thanks to readers for your patience with the long gap between the previous chapter and this one!)

Part 52—Child of Valen

Meditation and sleep came hard, that night and the night after. A full day in between, spent in our household temple—the same place where I had undergone shan'diya not so long ago, and seen the face of my and John's son—did far less than it should have to settle my spirits. In the small hours I tossed and turned, listened to Mayan's soft breathing, and stared at the thin starlight that came in through the window. Finally I rose, left the bedroom, and padded downstairs to Mayan's writing-room. Years ago, it had been my father's study. Then as now, it held a low slanted desk and cushioned kneeler, an elegantly carved wooden shelf full of scrolls and brushes and ink stones, and a crystal mobile perfectly placed to catch the light from the floor-to-ceiling window in the western wall. A blue-white glow flooded the room; the moon Helat was past its zenith and coursing down the sky, its larger cousin Elleya not far behind. Four hours until dawn. Four hours until my destiny would be decided.

I clenched my fists. My destiny had been decided. Had John not returned from death for me? Had we not faced down the Shadows and the Vorlons together, with allies from dozens of worlds? I had seen his true face; we carried each other's hearts. I knew this as I knew my own soul. My task was to make Callenn and the other elders see it, and believe.

My bare feet carried me to the window, where I sank to my knees. I raised my face to the pale blue globe of Helat, hovering in the night sky as if balanced on the shoulder of Grandmother Mountain, and pressed my hands to the cool glass. It was too dark to see the patchwork of rust-red and gold and heathery green that gave the mountain slopes their summer beauty. I imagined walking there with John, taking him up my favorite path—by the little rill where the redbirds came to drink, to the hidden dell my father had found where a patch of moonflowers grew. He had shown them to me long ago…tiny fragile blossoms, rare and delicate and too soon gone. That last word slipped out on a breath—"gone"—and suddenly I was gripping the windowsill, shivering as if struck by a blizzard wind.

A soft footfall sounded behind me. "Delenn." Lennier crossed the room in a rustle of silk and settled beside me. Warm hands covered my cold ones. "You should be sleeping. Let me get you some r'fani."

I shook my head. Fear clogged my throat, and I grasped his fingers in a silent plea for help. What if the elders would not see what my heart knew? What if they chose not to? I thought of Dukhat suddenly, recalling his futile efforts years ago to persuade the Grey Council to make contact with humans. He had not made them see, and catastrophe came of it. My catastrophe would be personal, should I fail, but no less devastating to me. And to John—a second loss of his heart's love, not to death this time, but to a separation that might as well be.

Grief washed over me. I turned to face Lennier; our foreheads touched, and he cradled my hands against his chest. The contact brought tears, reminding me of what else I stood to lose if the Dreaming revealed too much. I had no way to know what would happen when we entered it some hours from now. But John and I had met during the Earth-Minbari War, after the failed peace mission, when he was no more to me than a nameless human prisoner. If the Dreaming took me there…if Lennier saw the war, and my full role in it…

John had forgiven me. Would he?

"Tell me what you fear," Lennier murmured.

"I can't." An abyss yawned before me, bottomless and dark. This is loneliness, I thought, and bit my lip until I tasted blood.

He gripped my hands tighter. "Faith manages. What is meant, will be." A rough note crept into his voice, from some emotion too deep to name. "We are told this all our lives, every day. We must believe. We must, or all is chaos. There is no other choice."

I did not know, then, all he meant by those words. But if I could have spoken without breaking down, I would have told him what a gift it was to have him there, declaring his faith even as mine wavered, in those dark hours before dawn.

ooOoo

"I wish I could come with you," Mayan murmured. The two of us stood close together, hands clasped, our breaths mingling in the cool morning air. "I will be praying, every moment until you return."

We left her at her door, watching us stride away across the grass. Lennier and I walked in silence for some time, each busy with our own musings. Once, I slid a glance his way. His face held the studied calm of someone deliberately not thinking of something. I wondered if he regretted his unusual demonstrativeness toward me in the pre-dawn hours. He was so kind, so thoughtful of others, especially of me. What had I done to deserve such devotion? One thing I knew—I could never repay it, not in a thousand years.

We topped a small rise, and the crystal-veined stone bulk of the Great Hall came into view. I drew a shallow breath and tamped down a jolt of anxiety. Soon—too soon—my future would be determined there.

Lennier flashed me a glance. "What is meant, will be," he said.

I tried to take reassurance from his words. "Have you ever undergone the Dreaming?"

He shook his head. "I have not yet had that honor. But I am told there is nothing to fear."

"Only what you bring with you." Dukhat had told me that, trying to ease the mind of a terrified young acolyte, more cycles ago than I cared to count. His soul had long since gone on to rebirth, but just for a moment I felt his presence as strongly as if he walked beside me. Twice in the space of less than half a day, my beloved mentor had come to mind, and not merely in passing. An omen? If so, of what?

Lennier's gaze was fixed on the Great Hall, which loomed closer now. "I wonder…" he murmured, half to himself.

"What, Lennier?"

He glanced down at the grass. "What I will bring," he said, almost too softly to hear.

ooOoo

Callenn's chief aides—my kinsman Rodenn and the other, named Tironn—met us upon our arrival. They escorted Lennier and I into separate anterooms, where we would change clothes and purify ourselves for the ritual to come. The room to which Rodenn led me was a windowless chamber of pale gray stone, empty save for a single cushion, a candle and lighter, and a narrow shelf partway up one wall that held a folded pile of white silk. A supplicant's robe, symbolizing purity of intent…and also, in its stark plainness, my willingness to submit to the judgment of my clan. They might give whatever answer they wished to the question I had come here to raise, and I must accept it. Or refuse, and—

I tried not to think it, but the word came anyway. Exile. That would be the price, if my clan denied my love and I defied them. I had tasted something like it after my change, when the Grey Council expelled me and Neroon declared I could not go home…but that had been a mere shadow of the full, awful reality. If I chose John over the objections of the Mir elders, I could never come back to Minbar, or any other Federation world. My kindred would shun me, my caste and people turn their hearts from me. Call me stranger, outcast, zha'khen…one-who-walks-alone. Old tales and sagas said the souls of zha'khen could not be reborn as Minbari, could never be reunited with their kin of blood and heart. Exile even beyond death…and when John died in twenty years…

My hands shook as I stripped down to my underclothes and donned the white robe. I dropped the lighter twice in my attempts to light the candle. The scent of it told me it was swift-burning; I had an hour at most to reach the calm that brings insight for the ordeal I was soon to face.

I knelt on the cushion and closed my eyes. The faint, sweet aroma of the wax tickled my nose. I focused on it, breathing in and out. How was Lennier faring, in his own meditation room? Was he afraid, as I was? I wonder what I will bring, he had said, as if the notion troubled him. But there could be no fear for him in the Dreaming. He had no crimes to atone for, no regrets so deep they kept him awake nights. Nothing he should fear others might see.

Stop this. Think of hope. Think of the future that can be shaped, not the unchangeable past. Desperate, near to panic, I conjured John's face. Saw him smiling down at me, felt his hands resting gently on my shoulders. Then the vision wavered, the smiling face changed. Not John. Sinclair. Human at first, as he had been in our final farewell on the bridge of Babylon Four, his dark eyes brimming with kindness. Then a blurring, and his face became Valen's. His lips moved, but no sound came out, and I could not decipher the few words he shaped.

Another shift of vision, and Dukhat stood before me. The arching corridor of the Valen'tha rose around him. His voice echoed in my mental ear: I cannot have an aide who will not look up. My heart gave a painful leap. I had loved him so, and lost him, and at this moment I would have given a piece of my soul for just a few words of his advice—

A soft footfall echoed. I opened my eyes. The candle flame guttered out. Smoke rose from the blackened tip of the wick where it floated in melted wax. I blinked, then glanced toward the source of the footfall. Rodenn stood just inside the chamber doorway.

"Entil'zha Delenn," he said, with a slight bow. "The elders are ready for you."

I clambered to my feet, stiff-kneed and awkward. I was not ready—but the hour had come, and there was no avoiding it.

Silent, apprehensive but determined not to show it, I followed him out.

ooOoo

Callenn and the others were waiting in the Gathering Chamber when Lennier and I arrived, preceded and followed by acolytes. Our footsteps echoed off the polished stone floor, the sound mingling with the silvery shimmer of the bell-edged tzaki the two lead acolytes carried. The elders of the Mir clan septs, all twenty-seven of them, parted before us as our small procession approached the dais where Callenn stood. He wore an appropriately somber expression, but beneath it I sensed smug satisfaction, and my heart misgave me further. He had not wanted to permit the Dreaming when I asked, yet now he seemed…triumphant. Was he so sure of himself, that his will would prevail?

There was no reason for such surety. Not for him, not for me. No one could be certain what would happen in the Dreaming. I knew that from experience. The night of our arrival on Minbar, Lennier had said something felt wrong about Callenn's actions…yet what could be wrong? Callenn could not control the Dreaming. And I could not believe he would try, no matter how much he wanted to prevent my marriage to a "barbarian" human. The ritual was a sacred thing—to trifle with it, deep dishonor.

No. I was reading too much into Callenn's habitual look, his unshakable conviction that he always knew best. It had been the source of lifelong conflict between him and my father—over me, over Valen and the prophecies, likely over who should get the last piece of flatbread at the breakfast table back when they were children. An image of my father as a half-grown boy came to mind, and my throat closed over a pang of grief. What wouldn't I give to have him here, ready to defend me against Callenn and all others who would deny my heart's choice.

I fought my emotions down and made the expected ritual bow, as did Lennier beside me. Callenn responded in kind, then fixed me with a supercilious look. "Delenn. Do you understand why you have been brought here to stand before your clan?"

"I do." My voice shook slightly, and I knew my worry must show in my face. I had to get hold of myself, or I would lose any chance I had to convince the elders before the Dreaming began. Deep breath. Another. Again. The breathing discipline helped. Enough? I wouldn't know until the ordeal was over.

Callenn was speaking over me rather than to me now—what John would have called "playing to the crowd." I held the image of John's face in my mind, and it steadied me further as Callenn droned on: …no Minbari has ever taken an off-worlder as lover or mate…forbidden since our people first made contact with other species. His voice rose, tinged with reproof: "Without consultation or approval from any other members of your own clan, you made yourself genetically compatible with the humans and have now embraced one of them as a prospective mate. This has caused us great concern."

Great concern, indeed. His kindly look and tone were so palpably false, they set my teeth on edge. Stone-faced, I stared back at him. The other elders might believe his posturing, but I knew better. He drew breath to continue, but I spoke first. "I must follow the calling of my heart."

Annoyance flashed across his face. He stepped off the dais and came toward me. "What affects only you is your decision. But not if it affects the history and laws and rules of our society." Emotion was getting the better of him; he pressed his lips together, regaining control, and continued with something like his previous assurance. "We must determine if it is 'the calling of your heart'…or something else."

He had weighted the last two words as if they meant something he knew and I didn't. Anxiety crawled up my spine. "What else could there be?"

He actually smiled at that. Barely noticeable, but there. "That is what we must discover." A pause as he gazed at the assembled elders. "We have gathered the leaders of your clan to hear your case. You will tell us why you should be allowed to continue on the path you have chosen." He turned back toward me, practically smirking now. "If we decide to end your relationship with the human, you must give us your word that you will honor our decision."

I had known that was coming. Save for the words "the human," it was part of the ritual, on the few occasions in our clan's history that the Dreaming had been invoked to test the wisdom of a proposed marriage alliance. Even so, hearing it made me feel as if the ground had dropped from under me. I stood at the edge of a cliff, staring into an abyss—a life without John, half my heart gone and the remainder a shriveled thing good for naught but pumping blood through my veins. I was staking everything on the Dreaming and what would come of it, on my own powers of persuasion if the elders would not or could not see the truth I knew. Or, whispered a treacherous part of my mind, on the chance that you are wrong…that your heart has erred, for some reason you don't understand.

I would not believe that. My fear shamed me; I could scarcely look Callenn in the face. I drew a slow breath and answered him, with nothing like the strength I had intended. "I will abide by the decision of my clan."

Ritual words, heavy with the weight of centuries. There was no calling them back.

Callenn's expression softened, a warmth in it now that even I almost believed. "We are not trying to be cruel, Delenn." He came close, reached out and gently gripped my chin as if I were an errant child. "We want to help you understand yourself…why you have done this. And if it is truly the right thing for you. And for our world."

I could scarcely stand his touch. Mercifully, his hand dropped away. The other elders were nodding, somber-eyed, clearly swayed by his words. Would any of them hear me, now or after the Dreaming? Shaken to the point of tears, I spoke from my heart: "If I say I love him…is that not enough?"

"No." So full of compassion, his voice—but I heard the false note in it, though no one else appeared to. "You must convince us on other grounds."

Us. He was that sure of his fellow elders. Why? "But what other grounds could there be?" An unwelcome memory came then—the empty Council Chamber aboard the Valen'tha, Hedronn emerging from the darkness with Valen's staff in his hands, telling me I was no longer Grey. My plea for the hearing that was mine by right rebuffed for no good reason. "If you set the rules, and you have already decided this is wrong…what hope do I have of convincing you?"

"That is what you must discover." He turned away, playing to the crowd again. "You may find you have reasons for what you are doing that you do not realize. You may even find that they are the wrong reasons. It will be difficult. But what you have asked us to accept is equally difficult. You will begin by purifying your thoughts." He had reached the dais by now, and turned to face me. "You will enter the Dreaming. We will speak again when you emerge."

He shifted his attention to the room at large, asking for a second to accompany me, while I tried to make sense of his earlier words. Reasons I did not realize. Wrong reasons. But there were no wrong reasons. I loved John and he loved me, he had come back from death for me, we were two halves of the same soul…I was scarcely aware of Lennier stepping up as my protector and guide, or Callenn calling for the Whisper Gallery to be prepared. His eyes met mine again before we turned to leave, and a chill swept through me. He was so sure of himself. And I?

Except for my own heart, I no longer felt sure of anything.

ooOoo

Cool white mist swirled through the open doors of the Whisper Gallery. Looking through it into the chamber beyond was like peering through clouds on the mountain peaks. The taste of sech'lich'lenn lingered, cool and astringent, at the back of my tongue. The sacred drug lowered barriers between minds, permitting Lennier to share my visions while I experienced them as a lived reality. Lennier would be my anchor to the other reality where my body dwelled, as I had been so long ago for Dukhat. Don't think of Dukhat now. Think of John, of our future together.

Lennier set the silver cup of sech'lich'lenn back in its niche. Callenn murmured the ritual blessing while my heart thudded against my ribcage. Partly the drug, partly my own fear threatening again to overwhelm me. What have I to fear? I know my heart. There is nothing to fear in the Dreaming. Only what I bring with me…

Callenn's voice died away. I took Lennier's hand. Together, we stepped into the Gallery.

The roiling mist caught my gaze and held it. Already the drug was taking effect. Lennier was speaking, I realized belatedly. Asking about the time I had done this before, seeking reassurance. I sensed his anxiety, pulsing through him like a heartbeat. I answered, but scarcely knew what I told him, except for the last three words: I was terrified… How young I was then. How in awe of Dukhat, how little aware of what fates awaited us both.

My thoughts conjured him. Suddenly Dukhat was there in the Gallery, alive and well, my younger self beside him. I had saved his life that day—steadied his seizing heart, given him strength to breathe. But I had not saved him years later, when it mattered most…

The mist, the Gallery, swirled away. I was falling, falling down a gray-white tunnel into otherwhere, into darkness seared by laser flashes and fire and a shattering roar…

Explosion behind me. Fire in the bulkhead. Tortured metal shrieks as support beams topple. The sound of them striking the deck rolls across the bridge like thunder. More laser fire erupts, scores through a bulkhead, hurls Dukhat across the bridge. He lands hard on his back and something snaps. Horror-struck, I run to where he lies, motionless and broken.

My own voice, screaming: Somebody help me! Stench of burning wires, acrid drifting smoke. I gag on it, spit it out. Deck plates hard under my knees as I scrabble backward, dragging Dukhat with me. He is alive. In Valen's name, alive. Agony in his face, blood trickling from his mouth. He fights to breathe. He is so heavy I can barely move him. Support struts are falling around us, shattered conduits swinging and sparking through the smoke. I must get Dukhat to safety, to shelter. Keep going. Keep going, keepgoingkeepgoing…

"Delenn!" Lennier's voice. I heard him dimly, as if from half a world away. Along with the sound came sensation—a padded bench beneath my huddled body, one hand clutching Lennier's like a lifeline in a storm. Then the vision grabbed me again and pulled me under.

Tears on my cheeks, black streaks of soot on my aching hands. Dukhat's head and shoulders heavy in my lap. Help him. Help him breathe. He can't. He can't breathe. He's dying, dying before my eyes and I can't save him—

His gaze locks with mine. He struggles to speak, his lips shaping words I neither hear nor understand. "Don't talk, master, save your breath, save your strength…" Still he struggles to tell me something, neck and shoulders taut, eyes pleading—

A rattling breath, a last spasm. Head lolling, eyes empty. Gone.

No. Not dead. He can't be dead…

Anguish strikes. A tidal wave, a tsunami. There is no burning deck, there are no panicked voices or dead bodies around me. Only Dukhat's empty eyes that will never see mine again. Grief is all, is everything, will always be this moment that will never end…

A voice nearby. I know it. Him. Morann. Grey Council. Why does he intrude on my grief? What does he want! Scattered words break through my pain: "…Council is divided…whether to follow them…take revenge…or wait…deciding vote, Delenn…"

My vote. I am to decide something. Decide? What? Slowly, his full meaning comes clear. Pursue the humans who killed Dukhat. Pursue them back to their base and kill them—or wait, talk, demand explanations. Explanations? Useless words. What explanation can tell me why our greatest soul, my beloved mentor, lies dead in my arms?

Fury stirs, dark and dangerous. Seductive. Fury will burn away my pain, fill the bleeding gap where my soul used to be. I am trembling as if with fever, sobbing out words: "They struck without provocation, there was no reason… animals…brutal…" I am on my feet, though I don't remember standing. Fists clenched, beating at Morann's chest, shrieking like a madwoman: "Strike them down! Follow them to their base and kill them, all of them! No mercy! No mercy! No mercy…"

I came back to myself slowly, surrounded by the fading echoes of my own screams. My skin felt hot, my mouth dry—partly from the sech'lich'lenn, more from shame. I could scarcely look Lennier in the face as he helped me stand, then tactfully permitted me to take a few steps away and compose myself somewhat. I stared into the mist, fighting an overwhelming desire to weep.

"Is this what you were afraid I would see?" Lennier said softly.

I couldn't say yes. Just to look him in the face was hard enough.

"Then you were not thinking clearly, Delenn," he went on. "The fault is not yours. The humans misinterpreted the gesture of respect. They thought it to be a prelude to an attack. You were…"

"The one who gave the order." He was trying to absolve me, but I could never escape that reality. Because of my words—no mercy—millions had died. No absolution, no amount of blame rightly shared by others, could change that.

"We followed the human ships back to their base," I said dully. I could see it as I spoke—our devastating assault, the humans' unexpectedly fierce response until we overwhelmed them, the dead bodies of human and Minbari scattered through the wrecked structure like grain stalks after a grim harvest. The vision was not so strong as before, as the sech'lich'lenn's potency waned, and I was no longer sure Lennier could share it directly. So I kept talking. "So many dead. Only when I saw them did I realize that was not what I wanted. Dukhat would not have wanted it. He would have mourned all those slain to avenge him…Minbari and human alike." My throat burned with unshed tears. I had cried then…stray, silent drops, underscoring regret that came too late. "Morann was with me. I told him we should end it. Both sides had suffered great loss…perhaps it wasn't too late to talk to the humans, find another way. He said it was too late. It was a holy war now, with a life of its own; it would not stop until our rage exhausted itself in blood."

Lennier made no response. He stood with his head bowed, as if grieving himself. I turned away, overwhelmed by his and my own emotions. Mercifully, his were ebbing as the sech'lich'lenn wore off. We must have been in the Whisper Gallery for hours. "A moment of rage," I murmured, mostly to myself. "I have spent the past ten years of my life trying to make up for it…"

"And that is why you have agreed to become one with Sheridan," Lennier said.

Stunned, I turned and stared at him. He gazed back, impassive. For the first time since he came as my aide aboard Babylon Five, I could not read his face. Surely he didn't think… he could not really mean…

"You are still grieving for your actions," he went on, calmly. "Still guilty over the death of so many humans… trying to atone for your mistake."

Belatedly, I found my voice. "You cannot believe that. Not after you've been through so much…you've seen…!" He had seen, from the beginning. He of all people knew what John and I were to each other. He could not mean what he had just said. He was simply analyzing (he must be) as he always did. Testing an idea from all angles, to be certain in mind of what his heart already knew…

"Yes, I have. And no, I do not believe it."

Relief rushed through me, until he continued, still deathly calm: "But we cannot lie about the Dreaming. And when we tell them what the Dreaming has shown us, this is what they will say. And that is what they will believe."

There was Callenn's excuse, the reason for his smug assurance, laid out with damnable precision. Heartsick, I turned away. The swirling mist held no answers, nor did my scattered wits. It was not guilt that had drawn me to John or made me love him so. I knew that bone-deep. But if not guilt, then…"Why would the Dreaming show me this, of all things? Why this?"

The swish of the doors cut off my thought. I looked up. Callenn stood in the Gallery entrance, flanked by two aides, triumph in his face. My heart began to pound. That expression—what could it mean? Did he know what we had seen, had he guessed somehow? He couldn't have. No one could know until the ritual questions were asked and Lennier and I answered them…

Callenn spread his arms. "The Dreaming is finished. You must rest now. In the morning you will tell us what you have seen. Then we will render our decision."

He and the gathered elders, he meant. They would decide and I would obey, as I had promised. Or break my word and be forsworn, return to John as an exile…twenty years, and then?

Lennier squeezed my hand. Courage, the gesture said. You have until morning before the truth must be told.

What truth, I wondered as we left the Whisper Gallery behind. I had the next few hours to find it…if I could.

ooOoo

I could no more have slept than I could have transformed into a Vorlon. Meditation was out of the question; I could not focus enough for calm. Only extreme fatigue kept me from pacing the room until I wore a path in the flagstones.

Instead, exhausted, I lay on the bed in the sleeping chamber prepared for me and stared at the ceiling while the same thoughts spiraled over and over through my mind. Why had the Dreaming returned me to the worst day of my life, the day Dukhat died? Why that moment of grief-stricken rage—source of the most terrible error I had ever made, for which nothing could fully atone? I had sought the Dreaming as a way to prove my love for John was genuine, the true voice of my heart. Those awful moments on the Valen'tha, the attack by the EarthForce ship Prometheus, Dukhat dying in my arms…they had nothing to do with it. Why had I brought those memories into the Dreaming with me, to conjure up such visions? Unless… A chill spread through me. Unless it was guilt, and I had spent the past two years and more deluding myself…

No. Certainty welled up from deep within. My love for John was woven into the fabric of my being. I would always be responsible for my careless words that launched a war; I would always carry the weight of the deaths that came of it. But I alone was not responsible; others shared equal blame for their parts in the tragedy. John had shown me that, forgiven me and allowed me to forgive myself. For that and a thousand other things, I loved him and always would.

My restlessness made itself felt in my body. I shifted position to ease a crick in my neck. Why had the Dreaming shown me what it did? Why visions of that awful day on the Valen'tha? It made no sense, it—

A new and disturbing thought broke through. What had Callenn said to me in front of the assembled elders—almost the last words he spoke before the Dreaming began? You may find you have reasons for what you are doing that you do not realize. You may even find that they are the wrong reasons. He had meant to sow doubt, make me wonder what "other reasons" I could possibly have for wanting to marry John. Knowing, or believing he knew, where my mind would go, and linger…

I sat up. That smirk on his face. Other reasons. Wrong reasons. And I, with my naïve question—"What other reasons could there be?"—had played right into his hands. Outrage made me clench my fists. Callenn believed it was guilt that drove me. He had been sure the Dreaming would prove it. Only not quite sure enough. So he had tried, through carefully chosen words, to manipulate the Dreaming, to ensure that what I brought with me would show what he wished me to see. I would confess it to the elders, who would reach the inevitable conclusion and decide as Callenn wanted. Then he could go back on his sworn word in the shan'diya, which the other elders would never know he had given. And John would be lost to me, as Callenn intended.

One fist struck the pillow. "Son of a fragging bitch!" One of John's favorite oaths when he forgot to curb his tongue in my presence. Saying it made me feel close to him, in spirit at least. The ridiculousness of that made me laugh softly. Then, abruptly, my eyes stung with tears. I drew a deep breath and slowly let it out. I must keep calm. I still hadn't answered the vital question—why this? The Dreaming had its own ways of revealing hidden truths, Callenn's attempt to direct it notwithstanding. There must be a reason, apart from his machinations, why I had seen what I had.

So, then. I was meant to relive those terrible moments aboard the Valen'tha, when Dukhat died in my arms. Why? What was it about them I needed to understand?

I shivered, though the room was comfortably warm. I didn't want to remember again. But I had to. I lay down, closed my eyes, and let come what would.

The memories are harmless at first. Happy. Dukhat in the corridor of the Valen'tha, gazing down at me with kind eyes: "I cannot have an aide who will not look up." Then I am older, standing near Dukhat for the first time as one of the Grey Council: "You have a proud heritage. Prouder than you know." The scene shifts to my quarters, Dukhat's arm around my shoulders, his voice low as he says "You should know I did not choose you by accident—"

The memory I have been dreading surfaces abruptly, takes hold of me like a rip tide. I am in it, part of it, a frail leaf spun in a raging current.

The bridge is in chaos, full of smoke and panicked shouts. My hands dig into the thick wool of Dukhat's cloak, tugging at his body. He struggles to breathe, to speak…

His lips move. I cannot hear him through the shouts and screams and laser fire. I bend closer as he reaches up with a faltering hand. "…child…" The smoke is choking him. Don't speak, Master, save your breath…

His fingers brush my collar. I can almost hear him now, almost read the words on his lips. "…Purpose in my selection…heritage…you are…child of…"

Awareness broke over me like thunder at dawn. I heard Dukhat's last words to me—fully heard and remembered them, for the very first time.

I rolled off the bed and onto my feet. I had to be sure, beyond all doubt. For doubts would be voiced, by Callenn and anyone else he could sway to his side. My only defense was certainty, unshakable as granite. And there was only one way to get it.

ooOoo

Lennier was camped not far outside my door. The sight of him there, seated as for meditation when he should have been asleep in his own guest chamber, brought momentary surprise, but I was a woman on a mission and did not stop for even a second. Clearly startled, he hurried after me. From a cross-corridor somewhere behind both of us, I heard a muffled gasp and swiftly receding footsteps. Callenn had set someone to watch my quarters through the night. My uncle was taking no chances. Fair enough—neither was I.

"Where are we going, Delenn?" Lennier said, slightly breathless as he caught up to me.

"To the Whisper Gallery." I wondered how long it would take Callenn to show. He would make his way there with all speed, I guessed, as soon as he learned I was up and about.

Lennier's gaze sharpened. "You have discovered something."

"Yes." I slid him a glance. "You will come with me back into the Dreaming? Help me prove the truth?"

"Can we go back? Is it permitted?"

"Yes, and yes." We were nearly there. I found myself listening for Callenn's slippered feet on the flagstones up ahead.

"Then…" Lennier drew a deep breath. "I am with you. Now and always."

The hall outside the Whisper Gallery was deserted. We approached the niche where the cup of sech'lich'lenn reposed, and the miniature doors slid open. I grabbed the silver goblet. The sound of hurrying feet echoed, closing in. Seconds later, my uncle came into view. "Delenn! What are you doing?"

I gulped from the cup and handed it to Lennier, who sipped. "Going back."

Shock, then disapproval, crossed Callenn's face. "This cannot be allowed! The Dreaming is over! We must now wait until morning."

"No." Anger gave my response extra bite. He had treated me like a recalcitrant child for the last time. "We are going back and you are going with us. Do you want to see? Do you want to know the truth?" I thrust the goblet toward him. "Then come and see. Touch and feel what I have seen. Then you will understand."

He was trapped like a fish in a net. I could see the knowledge in his eyes. He took the cup as if I had handed him a giant stinging insect, sipped, and quickly gave it back. I set it in its niche, then led the way into the Gallery.

Callenn halted just inside the doors as they whispered shut. "This is not how things are done, Delenn! You know this!"

He was trying for righteous indignation, but his true feelings undid him. Outriders of his fear—for fear it was—lapped at my mind. Why he was afraid escaped me as yet, but suddenly I felt sorry for him. I had not expected that.

I held out a hand to him and spoke far more gently than I had a few minutes before. "Take it. There is nothing to fear in the Dreaming. Only that which you bring with us. Walk with me in the Dreaming, Callenn." A line from an old Earth poem came to me then, echoing as if spoken through our triple rapport: For you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free.