Chapter 6

This night had been good. They were together from early afternoon, and all through the night, eating a bit, drinking a bit, laughing, making love. Playing a bit. Garrus had insisted that they have a ceremony in which they would be wed in the human manner. Although he could not wear a ring, he did give her one, placing it with the greatest care on her finger.

Earlier, before he joined her, Garrus had given Gavorn very specific instructions on what would be done upon his death and what would be necessary to transport his body back to Palaven, where he would be buried in the family crypt. His wife's braid would be placed with him. He believed that it would help him find her in the afterlife. This part worried him, because they were not the same species, he might not be able to find her. But the braid might help. He knew it was probably a vain gesture, but it was better than casting about in his pain. His captors, watching him carefully, observed that the alien seemed to have some modicum of civility as regarded burials and the hereafter. How quaint of them.

The Primarch had given the last of the orders to the turian contingencies: if the votes do not favor the Queen-Elect, then all turians would leave orbit and return home. He had reluctantly agreed not to declare war and also not to order Garrus back home, rather honoring his wish to die with his mate, a decision that the Primarch himself would have made, were the rolls reversed. This brave woman, who had helped his people with all her strength, and who had stolen Garrus' heart, had chosen to die for her cause rather than accept the political asylum that he had offered, knowing that these people who were so embarrassingly inept at space travel would never be able to retrieve her. She stayed, knowing that all the people who had backed her would suffer horribly should she run, and begged the turians not to declare war, but rather, go in peace, take what they had received for their survival, and not avenge her or the Second.

That is, after she realized that she was never going to persuade him to leave when the rest of the delegates had left on turian shuttles to wait in orbit until the votes were done. Grace had begged, and even cried though she had sworn she wouldn't, but Garrus would not go. He flatly and calmly informed her that she would not endure this night, nor face the sword in the morning should the count not favor her, without him. He had to specifically instruct the little humans on how to actually kill a turian, beheading not being feasible with their limited weaponry and promising to become a hideously protracted endeavor without guidance. He'd had to give them the appropriate gun, and then had shown them where to put the muzzle, right where a human's ear would be, hold it steady, and pull the trigger without jerking. No, it would have to be at an upward angle or they would just shoot his jaw off, the bullet needed to go through his brain to kill him. And while they were taken aback by his calm and his insistence on the instruction, he explained as though to children that he had no intention of thrashing in agony at the hands of some utterly inept executioner who had never killed anything or anyone his life.

But their final wishes, which both Grace and Garrus had insisted on, was that their last night together be perfection. Once the final documents had been signed specifying that the turians would not declare war on K'Orsachea in the face of Garrus' decision, but would also never make contact with K'OrSachea again, business was finished. Should the people vote against Grace's right to chose and therefore their own rights to chose, or should the votes not make the necessary percentages, Grace and Garrus would go to a private courtyard, Grace would go first, Garrus insisting on that so that he could ensure it be done correctly and painlessly, and then he would go.

So convinced was Grace that the vote would not be sufficient to ensure her survival that she did not give any thought to what would happen should she win. If she won, it would mean that the people had in fact taken control of their own destinies; that the Old Rule was over and that there would be a new, free, democratic day on K'OrSachea. It would also mean that she was out of a job, which she would not have minded, if she had thought of that. But all she could think of for now was that she push away the horrific fear she felt and spend her last night alive in bliss with sweet, tough, practical Garrus.

His calm was the only thing that stood between her and the suffocating terror. She had never been around someone so at ease in the face of death, and it helped. And that was in fact his goal, no matter what, that she not spend her last hours in fear. He touched her tenderly, made love to her with breathless patience and insistence, made her laugh, refused to let her cry, and told her stories of the brave Commander Shepard, Liara, Tali and Jimmy Vega, though not stories of war, but rather the good times, talking for hours aboard the Normandy, or playing poker, or joking around with that fascinating person, Jeff, who was actually nicknamed 'Joker.' And while she slept, he went through the scenario in his mind again. In the quiet of the courtyard, before they could hurt her, Garrus would declare his war against these people. The news feed would be turned off. He had threatened them with unbridled violence if they had actually tried to televise something as grotesque as the bloody beheading of a beautiful young woman. And when the news feed was suspended, it would be unprecedented, hellish death for these monsters that would kill one small individual for trying to be free, and for trying to gain freedom for those around her.

Yes, indeed, these Elitists would die. The ones who didn't know that when a turian sounded like he was whistling meaninglessly, or clicking so softly as to almost be beyond hearing, that he was in fact communicating volumes to his subordinates. Gavorn knew as well, of course, but kept up appearances carefully, taking the long black braid respectfully, making note of quiet instructions as they were given.

He already had snipers in place, so practiced and so well trained that they were invisible, waiting to remove the threats. No civilians would die. None of her household staff, unless a guard tried to stop him from protecting his mate. Only the very specific targets which he laid out in detail to his men were to be killed. The only casualties would be these saboteurs of her plan for freedom. Then he would take her out of this place. There would be no reason for her to stay. Her people would be free, vote or not.

He could not tell her this plan, she might not be able to keep up the ruse, and he knew from past arguments that she would vehemently try to stop him, saying that it was too dangerous to too many people, and that it was her duty to be a martyr for her people, as their ruler, if that was what destiny decreed. To be the example that freedom was worth it, and was not free, if that was what must be. How was that different than any other soldier willing to give up his life for his cause?

But as soon as he could, he would relieve her fear. And avenge her years of pain.

Dawn came too soon. Garrus had returned to his suite to prepare. Turians had such different needs as pertained to their diets and rituals, that they needed their own sanctums. What they ate was toxic to humans, what they wore was designed superficially for their needs. These things would have required a great deal of space in her environment, and rather than interrupt her, Garrus preferred his own suite for his habits. And he was glad to have this space on this particular morning to ensure his plans were in place, as well as his men.

Grace bathed and dressed. She thought back to an historical piece she'd watched a few years earlier. Anne Bolyen… what did she say… ? Something… Something… and I have a small neck. Then she'd laughed. Grace cursed her failed memory. Queen Anne was a much stronger person than I.

Her handmaidens helped her finish, although it was a bit of a messy affair, tears and fumbling being the biggest obstacles to the process. In the end, though, Grace was beautiful, wearing her obligatory blue gown and crown. Her long hair had been tied into a braid and cut short the day before. She had insisted. She didn't want the sword to make an uneven cut. When it was suggested she pull it up, somehow that just wouldn't do. After it was done, she realized that she had wanted a part of her to go back with Garrus to his home world, and that was the real reason it had been shorn. Her body would stay here, buried in a potter's field for her shame; which really meant the Elitists would have to hide her body in an unmarked grave to keep it from being opened and her body displayed as a martyr.

Grace walked down the hall toward a gathered crowd at the balcony. There seemed to be a disturbance of some sort. Safe within the carefully guarded cocoon that Garrus had built around them the night before, neither of them had been aware of anything outside the palace. Quickly the fragile shell of calm that she had erected around herself started to crack. She had no idea what might be outside and below, but she was sure she didn't want to know, didn't want another thing to jump out of the dark and attack, wakening her from the happy dream she had with Garrus.

But she forced herself to walk forward, her legs turning to lead. She saw Garrus there, tall and impressive, dressed in his beautiful uniform and light turian armor. The heavy armor, the one that made him look humpbacked, was not necessary today. He had explained to her that what looked like a humpback was integrated emergency life support and hostile environment gear that turians always wore on-board warships and in battle scenarios, expecting at any time to have the environment of their ships to be compromised. She'd laughed when he said that, at first, humans actually thought turians were humpbacked, or had some sort of prominent cowl. What he really had was a bulky array of plates at the top of his spine and across his shoulders. The plates, as they progressed down his back, were thinner and tapered. But no, there was no humpback as she had seen firsthand.

Now the krogen, he had explained, were in fact humpbacked, carrying up to a year's worth or more of nutrients in the thick fat there. What's a krogen, she had asked. When he had described them, she had responded, oh, a giant talking iguana… While he had no idea what an iguana was, he simply said he hoped to possibly introduce her to a few and let her decide for herself then. As she remembered the conversation, she thought, Well, guess I won't be meeting that individual that Garrus respected so much, the one with the strange name of 'Grunt,' or Eve, or even Wrex. She pushed away the thought before it could distract her. No thoughts of krogen or any of those other wondrous creatures out there somewhere that she would never get the chance to meet.

No, the only armor for today was his official dress armor, blue and black, with his winged insignia. Two human guards flanked him. She wondered if they knew they would be helpless against him should he decide to attack. She suspected that, in fact, they did. Then a detail stood out suddenly. These were not Council guards. They were her guards. There were no Council here, no Elitists, no one outside of her personal entourage.

She moved closer. Finally she was able to see what they saw. And now, she realized why she had no guard with her. She had been curious about it, but obviously didn't to let someone know that…. Hey, she wasn't being guarded…... But now she knew… really knew… why she'd had no escort. They thought she was still in there in her chamber. And that she saw what they saw from her own window. But she hadn't looked out, so caught up in her own thoughts she didn't think to.

There were hundreds of thousands of people out there. Could it be millions? It looked like the entire population of K'OrSachea was at the gates of her palace. And they were all shouting for her.

Garrus turned and saw her. He went to her, and the guards didn't try to stop him. He lead her to the balcony, then bent low to whisper in her ear… You won. And with that, Grace St. Clair Chehada literally collapsed in weakness. Garrus caught her, helped her stand. The crowd cheered, and she saw tears, banners, flags of all the colonies. She suddenly realized, there are no Elitists here… Her guard at her right yelled over the noise, "Highness, the Council have all been arrested."

She turned to him, laughing and crying at the same time. "You don't have to call me Highness any more. We're free."