Ten years after the Crucible

Senar received the information that the Normandy would be setting in at Sanctuary, decided he wished to be there in the literal full glow of the self he most identified with and that he wished to bring his Drala'tem with her matching aura. There were new people she should meet. There was family to reconnect with and the place itself to behold.

She had thought of Sanctuary, but had never asked to visit. He would ask for her. She did not believe she would have much to say, considering her activities had been sex, communion and discussions, verbal and otherwise with a God whose privacy she zealously guarded.

He disagreed that she would not have much to say. Perhaps not much about herself, but about the people she loved, always. She would hear them as she heard him. She would speak and they would be blessed.

She honored their life together as inafer i'mae, something she could not and would not explain to others. She feared naming the sacred and inspiring envy or damning her blessed life with faint praise. He believed she was correct there, but she did not have to explain anything, she only had to be.

She had been wounded, reclusive and withdrawn by nature and inclination when she had first arrived here, but they had addressed all the questions of masochism and sadism, punishment and retribution that had weighed upon her then. She had surrendered and invited abuse that never arrived. He welcomed her surrender and granted his own. Abuse he would not allow, either in her castigation of herself based upon her inability to be omnipotent and perfect, or in their new role of growing omnipotence and perfection.

With no opportunity for her to effectively be a masochist or a martyr and with her unable to provoke him into expressing a side of himself she feared but would never be directed at her, she had gained trust in him, gained trust in herself, gained trust in them working and living together. She had gained distance from the habits of self denial. She had gained self expression and she once again felt she had the right to authority and agency that affected the course of all civilizations.

She had abandoned the names Cara, Lal, Shepard, Vakarian and even Fanning and now she thought of herself as Drala'tem Tuelon, names that were hers by right, names that defined who they were to each other. He had provided the opportunity to heal, to recognize that his love for her was neither a dying remnant of his mortality nor a whim, but was a need.

Between missions Sanctuary had become the home of the Normandy, with the tradition of a party when they set in. It had begun with the farm house being the site of celebration, but that location could not accommodate everyone invited any longer. The arrival of the Normandy triggered gatherings that had begun as hosting dozens, grew to hundreds and now potentially thousands. With this being closest in time to the 10-year anniversary of the Crucible the event had the potential for encompassing reunion. The Normandy had her own berthing, her own housing, a community including the Normandy's prior and new crew and the crew of the Ferox. There was a park for celebration.

His priorities were tiered and established now. He was first engaged and immersed in her presence, then he was immersed in the lives of those on Sanctuary and Rakhana and then he was aware of and immersed in the lives of all those encompassed by the growing circle of Reaper influence. He would not take her everywhere he potentially occupied a platform, but they could intersect, honor and be present for this moment in time. Honor her in her iterations. Honor them in their divergence.

He believed she preferred seclusion and singularity, but he wished to give her a choice. He wished to demonstrate that there was nothing to fear in the choice, at least. He knew her. She would appreciate but not long for Garrus or Cara's life and although he treasured her instincts to protect him, he did not require protection. Those he loved and guarded the most zealously would be safe and had their choices preserved. If they chose death he would allow it. The only person in whom death was not or would not be permitted was his Drala'tem. No part of her wished to die any longer and that had not required control of her mind, only the circuit of their recursive inspirations. He would share her physically with the worlds in this moment in time as he did each day in Spirit, with each choice, with each presenting issue, and then they would perhaps return to their home and immerse themselves again in each other, in the work and pleasures of timelessness. Perhaps they would stay or visit more often or correspond and commune.

He bore the given and granted power over all Reaper-created technology that had resulted in Geth being his tools and his Drala'tem being his through Crucible decree, his provision of newly-possible circumstance and her consent. "Reaper technology" as a definition covered technical acreage that intersected with so many fields of application and innovation that his potential control over Reapers themselves meant he had access to what amounted to infinite energy and near instantaneous production of anything imagined and then defined physically from bodies to solar power collectors.

Beyond complete control over Reapers, he had the added and growing influence over anything that utilized Reaper technology. EDI had been at the beginning of his tenure potentially entirely under his control as she had been built with the same Cerberus blood-bought technology that had recreated his Drala'tem.

EDI did not know that. He had not disclosed his potential control and he had not exerted influence or control but moment by moment he did amass potential for it as technology was introduced that cured disease, eased suffering and provided technical advances like replicators and mass effect travel. Each item replicated was his. Each person modified enough to change their inherent being was his.

Once someone chose to become his, whether or not they knew it, they were his responsibility and he protected them, provided for them and watched over them.

The choice of irrevocable immortality was still limited to a chosen few, those that Senar had known before his Godhood, those who earned it with service, those he loved as a man and not as a God.

Each day the pattern reiterated and held true. He presented options, offers and occasional ultimatums to the helpless, the ignorant and the brutal. The helpless were uplifted, the ignorant were educated and the brutal were terminated. Those approving of his control gained uplifting education and technical advantage. Those ambivalent to his control were left to whatever Path they chose as long as it did not cause suffering in another. Those disapproving of his control who attempted to make incursions upon his infrastructure and followers were annihilated.

An individual choosing to have a communication implant gave him remote access to what the individual wished to say, verbal or nonverbal, as well as biometric and environmental feedback regarding that individual. He answered each query, addressed each request whether it was conversation, prayer, complaint or demand. There were both embassies and temples dedicated to coordination with him, both functional and addressing different aspects of existence. Embassies had more to do with physical alterations, straightforward procedures and technical advancements. Embassies encompassed counseling, coordination, medical complexes, manufacturing and development. Temples addressed the more spiritual and ephemeral side of experiencing the new galaxy and the possibilities of it. Contemplation and communion were things he supported and depended upon himself as necessary to his equilibrium and inspiration. The need to speak to Gods had persisted in all cultures, developed independently and he filled that need, carrying on conversations with those who had none other to speak to on the subjects that most concerned them. Temples were spaces of beauty unique to each location, not intended to be standardized. All that was required was to have a place of contemplation where conversations with him were conducted aloud or silently and places of community where those who sought to speak to each other were provided as sanctuary in safety. Food was always available, spaces to rest and seek solitude or company were available in both embassies and temples and if someone chose to live and work in either or both locations, that was a Path available to all for as long as they wished.

There were no qualifications or conditions for obtaining a communication implant or a procedure that improved quality of life and security.

There were those who lost power over his assumption of it, those who sought to intimidate or murder his adherents, and for those people the end of their Path would be with the visitation of his wrath. Godly lightning bolts were reserved for those who defied his prohibition against slavery and abuse. Lightning bolts were often delivered in the form of the Normandy or any of the other policing forces that existed from Reaper in origin to forces composed of organics and synthetics to whom he provided direction, materiel and if necessary resurrection and restoration. Time spent on any path of dedicated service would be ageless if desired and would be potential immortality. Continue to serve and continue to live.

There was a path away from the inevitability of brutality for those who were prone to it through genetics, thought process or cultural influence. They could request and be granted surgical options to ease those impulses. They were also granted another option, and for many it was a lifeline of connection as it had been, was and would be for him. If there were those who felt their own will was insufficient to keep them from harm or harming, they could open themselves to direct communion. As communion with his Drala'tem granted him peace, he extended a form of that to others, giving to them her sense of communion and purpose. There were human and Drell traditions of meditation and those were the inspirations for the model developed by him and his Drala'tem in order to allow access to elevated thought and greater purpose in those whose minds had difficulty achieving that independently. Those who felt isolated or inadequate felt connected, gained inspiration. She had dubbed it "Nirvana Radio" and it was a voluntary and communal process that was limited in duration, accessible for a few hours a day on the guidance that sleeping, eating and life tasks be honored and completed in order to avoid creating dependence or death in immersion. The intent was to use that inspiration as solace and starting point with the intent of creating that sense in daily life through applied practice.

As time passed the method was adopted by not only those who were at risk, but those who wished to be a part of something greater than themselves. The beginning chords of filtered communion that individuals accessed held his and his Drala'tem's crafted emotional framework. Over time and with the addition of communal inspiration it grew to an experience of an ever-expanding cathedral of aspiration. Communities developed and expanded around temples, around those who chose the path of immersion, public service and outreach. The communal inspiration was joined by the like minded, becoming more powerful and more effective with each added emotional strand and harmonic. As communion grew there was no longer only the sun of her influence or the moon of his, but each individual person contributing a point of light, a sea of stars.

They created a graduated and thoughtful path that could take any life theoretically from ignorant abuse to elevated and community-minded service and immersion in art and innovation, whether they wished to get there by freedom from physical concerns, freedom to pursue intellectual or artistic paths or freedom to explore spiritual communion. Any or all in combination that suited the individual.

She was of course occasionally terrified that catastrophic success was possible, that someday he would seize final and ultimate control, as he had over her. Then she would recall that that control had been taken only to protect her and she had faith.

He already had final and ultimate control. It had been inevitable since the moment her eyes met his, since the sand enforced its will upon them, bringing them here. He would use that control, always, to facilitate her lit Path as his own will except when he disagreed with her and did as he chose. The greatest lessons of power came from knowing when to not use it. He gave control away to those who would benefit, needing nothing more for himself than her continued company and his continued vigilance.

If she believed his nature would change, that was as unlikely as her nature changing.

She was adamant, he was adamant, they were the Gods that shaped the worlds and if the galaxy was ultimately owned, shaped and controlled by their combined wills, none could do better.

None would do better.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

When Drala'tem realized it had been ten years she was a little shocked. She had spent a lot of time… timeless. She did not regret a single unremembered moment of it.

Travel to Sanctuary might have been disorienting or anticipatory but again, time went by in a blur because apparently they were both going to use the pilot's seat despite any half-considered protest from her. His consideration was more thought out and he was more persuasive. The shuttle was art, beautiful, reflective of the colors of home. The view of space was glorious and he wanted to remember her here, with him, because he would not be able to touch her as he wished in the presence of the crowd. This she felt, this she knew, this was accompanied by the press of his communicated desire through her mind, through her body in his familiar and insistent rising tide and rough undertow, through his hands, through his words and through the Rightness of what he wanted becoming what they wanted and what she wanted.

He did not wish to share her.

He wanted to share her with everyone.

He wanted to keep her to himself.

He wanted everyone to see they belonged with each other through right of inafer i'mae, the consecration of the Crucible, Fate, Rightness and their choice.

What did she want?

This question came often from both of them, a call and response of right of way and rite of passage. Now it came from him, curious of any potential change, anticipating her own tide and current.

The answer was as it had been for much of the time that had passed so quickly. She wanted him. She wanted to go with him wherever he went, stay with him wherever he stayed, be with him whoever he was. She wanted him. She had her own tiered desires, and the first was him.

She would never have his capacity to be everywhere at once, and if she was to choose one place, one time, one person, it was him.

He had asked her often, did she want children, did she want companions, did she want a pet and the answer had been…

No.

Communion being possible as it was, she spent much of her time lost and wished to remain that way. Another being in her care would be in many ways excluded from her primary focus and she feared them experiencing that exclusion, did not wish to be anxious about her priority. Him.

He always claimed those problems could have solutions.

She always claimed they were not problems as she did not want them. She had everything and all, communion with any number of trillions individually or all once, immersion or trailing her toes in the ocean, walking along the beach with the sea of this place or the sea of minds always available. She needed nothing more.

Satisfaction, assent and acceptance from him that she was not only satisfied, not only accepting, but exerting her right to determine that what she had was what she wanted.

As he had given it to her, he was pleased by that answer. He would be equally pleased by any answer that meant he could give her something unanticipated that she could newly desire.

New and familiar desires of the moment rose in her mind, on her skin, in her body, and he found them, fulfilled them, found more and many.

When the time came to disembark, the twilight of emerging from her internal life to external was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. He was there, always, and he would be there again, always. Never a rush or an emergency, only waking from dreams she would dream again with him. Daylight and new possibilities.

Displeasure from him in the minor inconveniences they would encounter were communicated with humor as he said "I wish to carry you but I will not." His thoughts bore the suggested image of him carrying her to the celebration, ignoring any and all guests and pinning her to one of the tables, silencing any objection by any means…

"What IS it with you guys and tables?"

"It is not the table itself that is the temptation."

"I think you are mistaken, I think the table being prohibited is exactly the temptation. We should go, and hurry home, because the words 'not here' displease the Reaper God."

"Plus there are children."

"Which is why we should not have any."

"A child with your green eyes would be welcome."

"Unless there is also a table and a spectator in the room. Any child we had would be raised by a Senar-driven nanny and who would have to explain why their mother can't play because she spends most of her time engaged in various flavors of bliss."

He shrugged and said "I could make a copy of you and inhabit that as well."

"I am going to say that I love you and that the limitations of mortality mean that there just can't be more bliss in my life, anything added to my life would be at least partially ignored, and so… you're stuck with me."

"You disappoint me." This was said as he scattered rapture through her, as he was pleased that she was pleased.

He offered her his arm and she took it, the bay door revealing an expansive area that looked like fairgrounds in a park. The smell of the place was evocative and she smiled. She did love it here. She said "Think we should stop glowing for the duration?"

He stopped, tilted his head toward her in genuine surprise that she would ask and said "If I cannot have the table, you cannot appear to be simply one of the crowd."

"That isn't a fair trade at all."

"You need not trade anything, Drala'tem."

"You are such a show off."

"I am not a show off. I am a God."

"You are a God who shows off."

"If I am permitted that once every ten years I will take it. If anyone slights you, point them out, I will kill them."

She laughed and they made their show-offy entrance. Awe and new names and effusive introductions. She realized he had not appeared glowing since leaving Sanctuary 10 years ago, most had never seen him this way.

But most had seen him, talked to him, knew him.

She loved the glow and the name 'Drala'tem' but they were both deeply personal things she did not wish to explain to anyone, she said "Call me Dee" during introductions and Senar introduced her that way as well. In some ways she was back at the choice to decide who she was after her rescue from Mindoir, not hiding her pain but hiding her bliss. I can't explain my name and it does not belong to you, but to him. I can't explain why I glow and he won't.

In other ways it was like her every day. Immersion in the lives of those who wished to be there, wished to be together, stories and aspirations. She had lived by a sea whose waves moved toward her, measured and predictable. This was a river of people, rushing rapids and too much to take in, but there were universal smiles and people glad to see him. He did not let go of her arm until he had to in order to catch a child that launched herself at him, a little Drell girl, red and blue colors, maybe three years old. The little girl said "Hanam! Hanam! You're pretty!"

Hanam. Grandfather.

Senar said "Tilema, you're beautiful."

Tilema asked him "Can I be pretty like you?"

Senar touched Tilema's nose and a matching glow spread over her skin to her delight. Tilema struggled down again, spun around, admiring her hands as she spun and then ran to a Drell woman approaching, walking at the side of Yased. Tilema grabbed the woman's hands and began pulling her over.

Yased grinned and said "Hell of an entrance."

Dee smiled and was introduced to Yased's wrist bound, Wiva. They were reconstructing Rakhana, helping with the clean up, but did not want to miss this event. Large sections of the planet were reclaimed, habitable again, protected from the atmosphere and surrounding areas. Expansion and resettlement would continue there.

The Drell had a home, there was no more Compact, there would be no more Kepral's induced in many of the Drell, and it could be cured if it did develop.

If Drala'tem needed an answer to a question she did not wish to ask or would interrupt the conversation, Senar told her silently. She did not speak often at all, but admired Tilema's glow, which would last as long as the party and then fade. She hugged Yased and Wiva, immersed herself in their lives. Nobody was awkward or hesitant about her, it seemed they were kept well informed of her existence, her contributions to galactic planning and in some ways felt they knew her through communion. Anybody could get to know her through communion at any point, and it appeared they had. Tilema became fascinated by the interactions of glow, the swirls and whorls and arcs of light. Drala'tem picked her up and watched the little girl play with the light on their arms.

More people, more river, those that Senar stopped to speak to or those that cut through the crowd to get to them.

Vigil was present, in a Prothean body. There was a Prothean community on Sanctuary, Vigil had consulted on which Avatars of their people should be brought back first, to decide upon any integrative future of Prothean people, where they would live and what they would do.

Senar approached a table with two women and a baby, and she did not know what species they were at first, Senar providing the information that this was what Quarians now looked like without their suits, which they no longer required. They were beautiful, glowing eyes, long dark hair and graceful markings on pale skin. One of them stood up with the baby, marched over to Senar purposefully, handed him the baby and then threw her arms around Drala'tem, who was not really surprised that this could be a reaction from anybody in the crowd at the moment, but did not know who she was until she said "Shepard. I've missed you but I haven't missed you."

Tali indicated the baby and said "This is Tarav." She indicated the smiling Quarian woman at the table and said "And this is Sooth. I believe you've met."

Tali had stayed with Sooth for her recovery. She never did get all of her memories back, but they had all made new ones. Tali and Sooth had never left each other's company, had settled on Sanctuary and worked in technical development and Quarian outreach. Senar had arranged for new bodies and for a baby Quarian boy who would never need a suit.

When Sooth came to hug her, Drala'tem asked "What is the count up to now?"

They were both crying as Sooth said "High 1140."

They met hands, then fingers entwined as Sooth said "High 1148."

"Won't that mess up the count?"

"No."

There were at least a hundred baby Krogan and she finally got to meet Klav, the Krogan from the tank. Wrex was there with Bakara and Mordin, who said "Krogan live long lives. Salarians do not but fortunately I am too useful to die."

Senar smiled and said "You did tell me at one point you could win big."

"And I did." Mordin told Drala'tem "Salarians coming to Sanctuary in great numbers. I may be obsolete soon."

Senar said "You will be obsolete only when you decide it is so."

"Excellent. No plans to be obsolete any time soon."

Continuing on through the crowd they passed by a dance floor, she caught sight of Joker, straight spined, dancing with a human woman. Senar informed her "Jeff's Vrolik's has been cured."

She asked him "Who is with him?"

"EDI. She remains the AI of the Normandy, the AI of all vessels she had previously occupied, she is integrated into the Citadel and any other vessel where she feels she could be of most use. She networks as I do, occupies many platforms, and chose a human female platform to travel with Jeff. They are on the Normandy most often, but come here for shore leave. Hemorus commanding."

"She's beautiful."

"Indeed she is."

"Are Hemorus and… Garrus… here?"

"Yes. Garrus's name in that form is Ahrem. They are at the farmhouse. We shall go there next."

"Why aren't they here?"

"Cara often insists on cooking. It could all be provided, of course, but she enjoys it, and she does not spend all day at the gatherings, usually only in the evenings. Hemorus, Ahrem, Kimin and Kerplunk live there now and they often keep Cara and Garrus company."

The fairground was not far from the farmhouse, a beautiful walk through newly created trees and whimsical topiary. He took her arm again, his hand over hers. This had been, could have been her life. It looked like an amazing life and she was glad for them, not sad for herself, but contemplated the word 'divergence' and its iterations.

Knocking on the farmhouse door was surreal and having the door answered by… Garrus… who was not Garrus… even more so. He was prominently scarred in plate and hide, Vakarian blue hoops pierced through mandible and fringe. Her heart sped up and pounded. Senar smiled as they stared at each other for long moments without interruption other than the ringing in her ears. Russ's voice sounded from back in the house. "Who is it?"

Senar confirmed, this was Ahrem, who said back over his shoulder "Nobody. Door to door salespeople." He grinned and said "It'll take them a few minutes to figure that out, in the meantime…" Ahrem grabbed her and lifted her into a huge hug, laughing and saying "Run away with me, little girl. They won't mind."

She was crying, arms wrapped around him as he said "Missed you. He's making you happy? I mean, not right now. Clearly not happy right now."

She nodded and he kissed the top of her head, said "Good. If anybody asks, he's the one that made you cry."

Russ came into view behind Ahrem and said "If they're selling alcohol, buy" and then he stopped short, grey eyes stunned. He was also scarred, huge and had been casually wiping his hands on a towel, which he dropped when he saw them. Ahrem said "Can I keep her?"

Senar and Russ both said "No" in mock irritated tones.

"But she glows. She's clearly better."

Russ said "I glow, dumbass."

"Well, better than Cara then."

"Obviously that." Russ came forward, Ahrem handed her over reluctantly and Russ gave her his own hug, asked also "You good? Need me to kill him?"

"I'm good."

"I'm so glad because I really can't back that up. Come to the kitchen."

The kitchen was chaos, Kimin trying to keep Kerplunk away from the food, clouds of… it took her a moment to identify them… multicolored flying virce swarming around light sources in the room. Cara and Garrus did not notice them before a particularly attentive virce did, a pup the size of a hand in wingspan, and soon she and Senar both had orbiting baby virce.

Ahrem grinned and said "They're like moths. They won't stop."

Kerplunk noticed their entrance, took off in a huge leap and attempted to tackle Senar, who did not move, but did start scratching her head as she stood with her paws on his shoulders.

Kimin bolted over next, scarred herself, flaring blue with excitement and throwing herself into a hug with Drala'tem.

Garrus and Cara seemed immune to chaos, working side by side on something and when she tried to shift position to his other side to reach something he picked her up, shifted her over and deposited her in the new workstation.

They were baking rolls, it looked like.

And she knew it was because it was bread from home and that could be reproduced… but should not be replicated. Should be made by hand at home.

Ahrem settled his hands on her shoulders and said "They won't notice. She might if someone says something mispronounced or trivial. Then she pays attention."

Garrus and Cara formed rolls from a batch of dough until Russ said loudly "Hey, dufus!"

Garrus asked Cara "Which one of us does he mean?"

She shrugged and said "Probably both. I'll take this one." She looked up and dropped her roll, Garrus caught it and then turned to stare himself.

Drala'tem said "He probably meant me. You guys… go back to what you're doing. It's important."

So she was quickly inside a hug where Kimin didn't let go, Ahrem had his hands on her shoulders, Cara snuck in where Kimin wasn't and Garrus hugged around the women, Russ said "Fuck it" and put his arms around all of them saying "I win."

She thought she won, really.

Communion had lots of flavors. Senar smiled at her, scratching at Kerplunk's head still, who was in varren ecstasy, all of them now orbited by excited virce.

She was among the people she loved and they were all so precious, she did not really have much to say but she loved listening, to stories, everyone accepting glowing and 10 year spans of absence, settling back into making bread and the established rhythms of the kitchen. Cara put out rolls and kigi nut butter, there was a tray dedicated to feeding Kerplunk that Russ manned and fed her in intervals order to keep her from taking anybody else's food. The virce settled down into a few baskets after rolls were put down for them.

They talked about the Normandy, the farm, she caught up on the particulars of events through the years.

Senar began to discuss the growing issue of concern regarding Leviathan, their potential for attempted conquest and their threat of mental domination as Kimin watched and listened, rapt and fascinated.

Cara threw a roll at Senar and said "Stop it. You know the rule. No terror at the table."