Fic: In the Light of Two Moons
Aug. 28th, 2011 12:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivendellroseThe piece that ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hearts_blood and I wrote together for this year ended up getting a bit too big for a single post, so we'll be updating it in chapters over the next little while. It's not a WIP apart from a few little tweaks and additions that are ongoing... it's just big.
This is also the first part of the Delenn/Neroon AU that we've both been chattering about for nigh on a year, now. Hooray!
Title: In the Light of Two Moons, pt 1
Authors:hearts_blood and rivendellrose
Rating: PG
Pairing: Delenn/Neroon
Word Count: 8160
Summary: The singing drew Delenn from her sleep, as it had for the last two nights. Two voices, low and intertwining, chanting ancient prayers and making music of one another.
Notes: Pre-series. Words/phrases in Minbari are inspired by the Jumpnow Minbari Lexicon, but we've played extremely fast and loose with some of them.
Prologue
The singing drew Delenn from her sleep, as it had for the last two nights. Two voices, low and intertwining, chanting ancient prayers and making music of one another. The young acolyte dressed silently, taking care not to disturb her sleeping roommate, and slipped from the female dormitory.
Barefoot, she shivered through the cold stone passages, following the music made by the two voices--they were male, she realized--to the door of the Fal'Min Fi, the Star Temple, with its roof open to the night sky. The double doors were heavily carved stone, balanced to swing at the slightest whisper. Peeking in, Delenn saw who had infiltrated her slumbers, those past nights.
She was a little surprised to see Branmer sitting on the little platform under the stars, and even more surprised to see a young man in Warrior's dress sitting beside the priest and chanting the counterpoint.
She could not say that she did not mean to intrude. She did mean to intrude--she was intruding. But she did not wish to disturb them. So she stood quietly, motionless and small just inside the entrance to the tiny space, and listened.
Branmer, tall and broad even when he was sitting, chanting the ancient invocation to the stars in a voice as pure as the winter wind. The stranger, smaller and leaner even beneath his bulky uniform coat, stumbled a little over the unfamiliar language, but his voice was strong and rich, and stirred something within Delenn's soul that she had never examined before.
The song ended, but the music seemed to linger in the air.
As the two men rose, Branmer spied her. Delenn braced herself for a scolding, but instead the priest came to her with a wide smile and outstretched hands.
The stranger was called Neroon. He was a clan-brother of Branmer's, come on a private, unobtrusive visit. Though not so tall as the priest, he still seemed to tower over the young acolyte, and he made a small obeisance to her that was so full of arrogant amusement that Delenn feared she might strike him. His dark, dark eyes laughed at her, and so annoyed was she, and so intent upon hiding her discomfort, that she did not also see how they traced her form and admired her courage. "Do you know the songs?"
"I--yes."
Neroon's lips twitched. "Sing with us."
He was laughing at her, she was certain of it. "No."
Branmer touched her shoulder. "Do not mind my young friend's lack of manners," he said, his eyes twinkling. "His spirits are too high, but he means well."
"Master, I should return to the dormitory--"
"You got up to find us out; the least you can do is gift us with your company."
She looked up at the priest ruefully. "You are trying to get me in trouble."
Branmer laughed. "Delenn, you do not need anyone's help to get you into trouble."
Neroon's smile broadened, and Delenn blushed. But she obeyed, staying and singing with the Star Riders until the first hue of morning came to dim the glittering canopy overhead. "Are you tired, Delenn?" the warrior asked.
"No," she had to answer truthfully. "I am... alive."
His dark eyes were thoughtful under their caste superiority as she bade farewell and returned to slip back to the dormitory before the first of the morning bells, and for many days, her meditations were disturbed by the memory of them.
Finally, she sought out Branmer. "I am confused, Master."
He listened to her halting explanation patiently. "There is only one cure for such distractions, you know."
"I must forget him."
Branmer's smile was always gentle and often mischievous, but now there was something more to it. "If that is your wish."
~~~
Part One
The Falmin'Fi was cold. Delenn drew her blanket more closely around her shoulders and wished, not for the first time, that the keeper of the Star Temple would have the old space connected to the school's central heating system. Even during daily offices the circular chamber was cold; even when the astronomy classes met for midnight lessons during the summer, the students could see their breath as they huddled around portable heaters.
Now it was nearly winter, and Delenn was supposed to be in bed in the female dormitory. Instead she sat on the circular platform in the center of the little temple, her back firmly against the altar, looking up through the skylight at the stars wheeling overhead.
An extra blanket was laid over her knees, and Delenn tore her gaze from the sky to see the strong face and viridian eyes of Branmer, the astronomy master and the keeper of the Star Temple. He crouched beside her and spread the blanket up to her chin. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Are you missing Rathenn?"
"A little." Her friend Rathenn, two years her senior, had graduated the year before and left a small void in her life.
She shook her head.
Master Branmer's expression was kind. "Do you want to tell me?"
"It was nothing. I said something foolish in my history class. The other students... well, they laughed at me."
"Again? You know they don't mean anything by it, child."
"I know. And Master Firell was very kind and explained my error, but..." Delenn's face grew very hot, and she shrugged uncomfortably. "They did not need to laugh."
"No, but if you hold your tongue until the world stops laughing, you may never speak at all."
"I have nothing to say, Master. Certainly nothing worth listening to... or laughing at."
Branmer pursed his lips, and Delenn braced herself for the inevitable order to return to her room. "Come," he said instead, rising and offering her his hand. To Delenn's surprise, he led her instead into the Star Temple's small annex, where Branmer lived.
"You must forgive me, Master," Delenn said, taking the rich, spicy tea he offered her. "I did not mean to wake you."
"I always know when you visit my sanctuary."
"I do try to be quiet..."
"As quiet as falling snow," he smiled slightly. "But I was awake, in any case. I've had a message from my clan that has given me... pause for thought." He sipped his tea and contemplated her over his cup. "Do you remember my clan-brother, Neroon, who visited last year?"
Delenn lowered her eyes shyly. "Yes, Master. I do. He was... He had a lovely voice."
"Hmph. He has a lovely temper as well, it seems. My young friend is having some trouble at his training camp, and his mother has appealed to me for help." Branmer leaned forward. "Tell me, child... what would you think, if Neroon were to spend the rest of the year here?"
"Here?" Delenn squeaked. She took a gulp of tea and tried again. "Here? But why? Neroon is a Warrior, why would he want..."
"Oh, he wouldn't want. And if I can get permision from the school elders to have him here, he is going to be livid. But I want him here. If he can learn to control his temper here, then I shall have no further fear of his behavior on the battlefield. So. What do you think?"
"I..." She hesitated. "Master, what I think does not matter."
"It matters because I am asking you. You have met Neroon, you know a little of him--and if he comes here, he will need a friend his own age, to make his exile a little more bearable. Would you be willing to be that for him?"
Delenn stared into her cup. She wanted to say no, but she had neither the words nor the courage to say so to the enigmatic temple priest. He was not one of her own teachers, but she had always been drawn to him. There was an air of strangeness to him, a sense of contented isolation. He was not an outsider; he was born to the temple, and that was the home of his heart. But his father was Warrior caste, and a part of Branmer still ached for the stars. It was why he was caretaker of the Star Temple, the poky and cold little chamber that was open to the sky even in the depths of winter... Her brief encounter with the Star Rider boy had left her with inexplicable feelings of embarrassment and confusion for weeks afterward. Neroon was a handsome male, with snapping black eyes... and he did have a lovely voice. He was also arrogant, teasing, disdainful... Warrior-caste. She did not want to see him again, let alone be friends with him. But Branmer did her great honor by asking her to look after his clan-brother, and... "Yes, Master," she said at last. "Because you have been kind to me, I will be kind to Neroon."
The tall priest smiled. "That is all I can ask." As she turned to leave, Branmer caught her by the hand.
"Master?"
"Neroon is a good boy," he told her. "You have nothing to fear by calling yourself his friend. Or by calling me friend," he added. His green eyes were like stained glass, and crinkled at the corners.
***
Doing his best not to look nervous as he marched under escort to the commandant's office, Neroon's mind raced to intuit the reason for his summoning. His team had still managed to come out victorious during the last scrimmage--their 'casualties' had been grievous but acceptable, according to the mission and simulated terrain--the leader of the other team might be in the infirmary but he was surely in no imminent danger... If anything, Neroon felt he should be commended for his handling of the assignment. But the attitude of his escorts was not exactly calculated to inspire confidence.
The two Warriors stopped abruptly outside the commandant's office, leaving the young battle-acolyte to open the door and enter on his own.
Commandant Nashenn was seated behind his desk, his seamed, weathered face and ice-blue eyes intent upon a hand-written letter. Neroon saluted respectfully and waited, staring at the opposite wall, for his head-master to acknowledge him. "I hear your team won today's simulation."
"Yes, Commandant."
"Did you find the mission difficult?"
"No, Commandant."
Nashenn glanced up at him briefly. "I thought not. You seem to have cultivated a talent for ground combat."
"Thank you, Commandant."
"It was not a compliment." Nashenn laid the letter flat on the desk before him. "You have a fine mind, Neroon. Your teachers have tried for many years to direct your interests in more productive directions, but you seem determined to waste your abilities in hand-to-hand blood matches."
Neroon pressed his lips together in a thin line, but said nothing.
"Do not misunderstand me, boy: they have many good things to say about you. Things that would swell the ego of a lesser trainee..." Nashenn looked at him keenly, but Neroon did not flinch. "But they lament your lack of focus and your fiery temper." The commandant stood slowly. "I have read your captain's report of the scrimmage today. You rushed into the thick of the battle and attacked the opposing force's leader, with complete disregard for your safety or that of your team."
"My teachers have taught me not to fear battle."
"Obviously," Nashenn snapped. "And failed to teach you much caution or sense."
"We accomplished our directive--"
"You lost half your team!" The pale blue eyes cracked like a glacier in spring. "Your boyish inability to wait threatens to ferment into full-blown recklessness, and we cannot let this be. You are one of the finest students here--as you know damned well. The other trainees will follow you unto death. No doubt grown soldiers will do the same. But it is not your task to lead them straight to the slaughter." The commandant's voice was hard and final. "You are a danger to your fellow acolytes, Neroon ra'Fisularae. And I cannot allow you to remain here."
His words were like a blow to the solar plexus; Neroon was suddenly unable to breathe. "But--Commandant! I cannot--I have only three years of study left!"
Nashenn shook his head. "The decision is final. You must go." He took the letter he had been reading from his desk. "It is not too late in your education for a change to take hold. A year away will be good for you."
Neroon's black eyes shot to the elderly Warrior's bearded face. "A year... You are not expelling me?"
The commandant snorted. "Expel you? The prize of your year? The pride of our camp? Of course not. You haven't killed anyone." He held up his hand. "Yet. But you came close today. It was uncertain at first whether Tirell would survive. If he had not, I would have had no choice but to send you back to your clan--and I would not like to speculate what the Star Rider elders would have done with you then. But he will recover, in time."
Neroon let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "I... I did not know, sir."
Nashenn was glad to see that his prize student was suitably shaken by how close he had come to snuffing out the life of one of his fellows. "You are a quick, intelligent, courageous boy. You are also arrogant and angry. You charm the other students without thinking and then hurl them into battle with as little concern as you show for your own life. You must learn empathy, Neroon, and above all, patience."
His young pride was badly brusied by the chastisement, and his first instinct was to scoff, to argue--to fight back. But the thought of Tirell lying motionless beneath his feet in the snow... "Yes, Commandant." He nodded tightly. "Where must I go?"
"To temple."
"To... to temple?"
"A temple school. For a year," Nashenn confirmed. "Such an exile would test the patience of the greatest hero of our caste, so it will be more than appropriate for a firebrand like you."
A whole year in a Religious school, surrounded on all sides by soft priests and disapproving priestesses, but at all times alone. "What school?"
Nashenn named a temple, a forgettable name in a non-descript town. But Neroon's heart leapt. "My foster-father teaches at that school," he said slowly, struggling not to show the hope welling up in his chest.
"I know," said Nashenn dryly. "It was Branmer's suggestion we send you to him. He is vastly disappointed in you, boy." Neroon winced. "But he is also very pleased that he will have you to himself for a year."
That, Neroon thought as he went to pack his clothes and strip his bunk, was small consolation.
An hour later, with his bunk stripped and his things packed, he knew that it was nearly time for him to go. But... there was one thing left that he needed to do. He sat down in front of the communications sytem and requested to be put through to Alyt Sinolin of the warcruiser Ava'gati. A moment, and then the image of a short, dour Warrior with icy eyes appeared. "I was wondering when you would work up the nerve to call me."
Neroon gritted his teeth. "Mother."
Sinolin glared at her son. "So? What have you to say for yourself?"
"I..." His jaw tightened. "I am sorry to have disappointed you."
"Sorry." Her stern, strong face was impassive, but her blue-black eyes glittered with some suppressed emotion. "Is that all?"
"What more can I say?"
"Suppose you say that you've been an idiot, that you've let a strong body and a handsome face swell your head until you think that your fellows are nothing more than cannon fodder compared to you?"
"No—"
"Or perhaps you could say that you've taken all those ridiculous tales so seriously that you really believe that the greatest glory a Warrior can attain is to wash your hands in another's blood?"
"No! No, Mother..." He would not cry in front of an alyt, even if she was his own mother. He hadn't cried since he was nine years old. "I've made a terrible mistake and I am sorry, but I swear to you, it was not intentional. I never meant to hurt anyone, let alone Tirell—a friend!"
"Do you have any idea what would have happened to you, if you had killed that boy?" Sinolin demanded. "Have you given any thought to what your future would have been if Tirell had died?" Neroon could not speak; he had never in his life seen his mother so coldly furious. "Our clan would have given you to his family, to take his place in his parents' home. You would no longer be Neroon! You would be Tirell. Every day for the rest of your life, you would have to answer to his name and remember who he was, remember that you ended him. You would have to call his parents 'mother' and 'father,' and I would have lost you!"
Out of her line of sight, Neroon's hands were shaking. He accepted her anger as only right—he was all she had left of his father... He hung his head, thinking of how his actions had dishonored that father's memory. "Forgive me, va'sala," he whispered hoarsely.
"Let your clan-brother handle you for a year," was Sinolin's short reply. "Ask me again when he's done with you." She ended the transmission abruptly.
***
It was so rare for the students to be called together in the middle of the day, that the smallest boys and girls stood worriedly beside nearly-grown men and women, hoping to be cuddled and reassured by their elders. But even the older students were confused by the assembly that had taken them from their midday meal and prayers and lessons. They gathered in the temple school's great main chamber, a cavernous space that normally only saw such numbers on the most solemn of holy days, and murmured to one another, rumors starting, spreading, flying out of all proportion in a matter of minutes.
Delenn pushed and nudged her way through the crowd until she found her best friend and roommate, Mayan, standing amid a cluster of mutual friends. "This is so strange!" Mayan exclaimed, taking her hand. "All of us here, and all the masters and staff, even the groundskeepers--" They were both too short to see over the heads of many of the other students, but between the bodies they could just make out the form of Master Branmer, standing on the altar platform beside the head of the school, Master Midiri, which was very unusual. "Have you heard what the others are saying?"
"No, what?"
"That someone has died! Or that someone has been sent home in disgrace, which is infinitely worse."
Delenn was too used to her poetical friend's dramatic embellishments to pay too much attention. "I do not think it is anything so grave as that. The teachers do not look nearly solemn enough."
"They certainly look put out enough," retorted Mayan. "All except Master Branmer--he almost looks excited."
Without quite knowing why, Delenn blushed.
The noise within the great chamber had coalesced into an eager, nervous cloud of indistinguishable words, but the students fell silent at once when Master Midiri stepped forward to speak. "My children," she began, her soft and well-modulated voice carrying easily into even the farthest corners of the enormous stone chamber, "in the coming weeks, you may begin to notice an unfamiliar face among your friends and fellow students. We have been asked by the Warrior's training camp in the city of Kannor to host one of their battle-acolytes for the summer and winter terms." She did not react to the sudden wave of surprised whispers and uneasy murmurs that swept through the students; indeed, she seemed to expect it, and let it run for a minute or two before raising her hands for silence, and getting it.
"The youth in question is a member of the Star Rider clan," Midiri continued, "and as such he is Master Branmer's clan-brother." She gestured briefly to the massive astronomy teacher. "He will be in Master Branmer's care during his time here, and will live in the Star Temple while he is learning some of our ways, in the hope that the company of the young people of the Religious caste may have a soothing effect on him." The students giggled. Nearby, Delenn heard Avaier, a male year-mate, say something about that being a lost cause. Mayan's hands had flown to her mouth in a gesture of supreme shock.
"Neroon ra'Fisularae will arrive in three days. Now, when he arrives, you are to be civil and polite, even if he seems to be behaving rudely. Remember, the ways of the Warrior caste are somewhat different from our own." Master Branmer's eyes narrowed at that, but he made no attempt to comment. "He is currently in his eighteenth year of study, so he will be attending history, philosophy and theology classes with the other students of that year."
"But that's our year!" Mayan squeaked.
"While he is here," said Midiri, a note of firmness entering her tone, "you should give the Warrior his space. He is here to learn peace, serenity, and above all, self-control. It is in all your best interests to treat the Warrior as a common and indifferent acquaintance, and not pester or antagonize him. He has a fierce temper, like all his caste, and it would be unproductive and unkind to provoke him." Midiri smiled serenely at her assembled students. "You will all now return to your classes, and at evening meditation, you will please contemplate how you will behave to this guest in our school."
She bowed to the youths, and as one, all the students both young and old bowed to her in return. Midiri swept from the platform, followed by the rest of the teachers and staff. None of them looked pleased, not even Branmer. The assembled students slowly shuffled back to their interrupted studies, glancing uncertainly at their peers and conversing rapidly in low, hushed tones.
"Can you imagine such a thing?" said Mayan, gripping Delenn's arm so they would not be separated in the crowd. "A Warrior, here?"
"Afraid, Mayan?" Avaier teased her. He was a big, well-fed boy who liked to hear himself talk. "Worried that this Star Rider might spirit you and Delenn from your bed?" His grin was bright and mocking. "Well, have no fear--no mere Warrior is a match for a male of the Isaal clan. I shall protect you both."
Delenn colored up and turned away, and Avaier laughed at her. Mayan put a protective arm around her friend's shoulders. "I'm sure you would crush this bad-tempered Warrior, Avaier--all you would have to do is sit on him." She and Delenn walked away from the obnoxious boy. "He thinks very much of himself these days... But do not worry, Delenn," Mayan reassured her, squeezing her hand before departing to run back to her studies, "we probably won't see anything of this Star Rider boy."
Watching her friend go, with a nervous expression Delenn turned to resume her theology class.
By supper that evening, Delenn expected everyone to be through discussing the news of the Warrior boy, but this turned out to be far from the truth. All through the dining hall she could hear whispers of other students discussing their coming guest, speculating on what might be bringing him to their temple, theorizing about what wild behaviors he might show, telling stories of Warriors they had known or claimed to have known, or even just seen. Their temple was a small one, far from any major city, and most of the children at the temple were from quiet communities of Religious and Worker caste families. Even for those like Delenn who had grown up in cities, Warriors were a distant exotic - seen in the streets going about their business, but rarely interacted with or spoken to. The rumors that whirled around the dining hall mirrored this mystery.
"People are saying he must have done something really horrible at his training camp," Mayan told Delenn as she sat down with her bowl of soup and a heavy chunk of bread. "That, or that he's a coward and they don't know what to do with him. Why else would Warriors send one of their own to live with us?"
"Maybe it's like Master Midiri said, and they just want him to learn from us," Delenn suggested, trying to keep her voice steady. It would not do to betray the trust that Branmer had placed in her.
Mayan, fortunately, was too distracted by the dramatic rumors in her mind to notice if her friend showed any sign of not telling the entire truth. She glanced sideways at her, smirked, and shook her head. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
"I'm sure our teachers wouldn't bring him here if he was a danger to us... Maybe... maybe he just wanted a change. Or maybe it has something to do with Branmer being his clan-brother. Branmer is Religious caste, after all, even though his father was a Warrior. Maybe he wants his clan brother to understand both castes."
"Midiri was at pains to emphasize his temper. She wanted us to be sure not to provoke him, so it cannot be that he is a coward." Mayan soaked her bread in her soup, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Besides, I expect they still expose children who are cowards, like people did in the ancient songs. Leave them out on some cold rock outcrop to die, or give them to the river, or at the margin of the sea."
"No one does that anymore! Valen forbade that, and it was hardly practiced even in his day!"
Mayan shook her head. "You just don't know, with Warriors. I haven't heard of anyone doing it for a thousand years, but we don't see everything they do. My parents told me about a tomb they found once, from before we burned our dead. There was a queen buried in this hill, piled with broken swords and knives and bows all around her - the weapons of her enemies. And there were other bodies, too - Mother said some people thought they were her servants, that they'd gone to death with her out of loyalty, but they'd all been strangled, and some of their skulls had been crushed in the front, and some of the others were curled around themselves, or stretched out with their hands grasping the walls of the cave, as if they'd changed their minds, woken from a torpor and struggled to find their way out of the tomb before they died."
Delenn shuddered. "But that was a thousand years ago or more, Mayan."
"More," her friend agreed. "But with Warriors, people say the difference isn't that great. They just haven't learned from those years in the same way we have, Delenn. It's not the same for them. And now we'll have one living with us, taking classes with us?" Mayan shook her head and chewed the crust of her bread. "We'll all have to take great care, not to anger him or be caught alone with him."
Delenn thought of the Warrior's dark eyes and his haughty smile, and kept her mouth shut. The rest of the evening passed quietly between them in their usual routine of studying and prayers, after which they returned to their little room in the female dormitory. Walking past the younger girls as they settled into bed in the open dorm, Delenn was pleased to note that none of them seemed disturbed any longer by the news of the coming visitor. Consoled by their elders out of the initial shock, surely they would all accept him with equanimity, now, as would the others. Mayan would surely be the same.
Inside their on comfortable little private room, the two girls studied a bit more - Mayan was all nerves about a test in history the following morning, and begged Delenn to review a few last things with her - and then settled into their little bed.
"I'm so nervous," Mayan sighed as she snuggled ino the thick blankets.
"The test will be fine," Delenn assured her. "And you're not specializing in history, anyway. I don't see why you should be this worried."
"I don't mean the test."
"What, then?"
"It's this Warrior." Mayan shuddered and slid closer to Delenn. "Imagine having one of them here among us, Delenn. I don't know how we'll feel safe. The whole time, it will be like the temple isn't even ours anymore."
"He's a Warrior, Mayan, not an alien or a monster."
"How would you know?"
Delenn blushed. "There are Warriors living in Yedor, along with the Religious and Workers. We've never had any troubles."
"But those are Warriors used to living among other castes, surely. This one... From the way Master Midiri describes him, he sounds positively savage."
"He was, a bit," Delenn admitted before she could stop herself.
Mayan squeaked. "You've met him? Delenn! How? Why didn't you say something?"
"I wasn't supposed to, and it was only briefly, and months ago. He was visiting Master Branmer, and I... couldn't sleep, so I went walking and ended up at the Star Temple. I had heard them singing, though I didn't know what it was, then."
"Singing?" Mayan screwed up her face in thought. "I wouldn't imagine Warriors as much for music. It sounds almost artistic of them. But I suppose there are songs for marching, songs of war and such, like the ancient poets sometimes wrote."
"This was not a song like that..."
But Mayan seemed not even to have heard her protest. "Well, I can understand now why you were so quiet earlier, if you've already seen this boy. And I suppose that if he was with Master Branmer, he must have been on what passes for best behavior with their kind. Still, you must have been so frightened, Delenn!"
Delenn remembered the fitful jumping of her heart when the boy looked at her, the way her hands had trembled and how she had felt smaller even than she was used to under his black gaze. "I... I was, yes. But..."
"Well, don't worry. We'll keep well away from him while he's here, and you needn't spend any more time with him."
"But... I promised Master Branmer that I would help him to feel comfortable here. He will have no friends here, and--"
"Then he will return all the more quickly to his proper place, Delenn. How can Branmer expect you to be friendly to a boy who frightens you, Delenn? He presumes too much if he thinks that is right." Mayan stroked her friend's arm, and pressed her hand to her heart. "Don't worry. Just ignore this Warrior boy, when he gets here."
"But I promised," Delenn insisted.
"Well, then... say hello to him once or twice if you must, or... I don't know, help him to find his classes or something. But you needn't spend any more time with him than you feel comfortable with. That will be plenty to fulfil your agreement with Master Branmer."
Delenn wanted to argue, but she also wanted to sleep, and Mayan was clearly not willing to concede to her, nor to let her point go if Delenn did not relent. So she nodded vaguely and snuggled into the blankets. She tried to feel comforted by Mayan's warmth beside her, and to put out of her mind the confusion that continually set on her concerning Master Branmer's young friend and his impending visit, and all the upset that seemed to surround him even before his arrival. I will do as Mayan suggests, she told herself - only enough be with him enough to satisfy my promise, and no more. She felt relieved at the thought, and that told her it must be the right thing to do. But it still worried her somewhat that her classmates, and even her own best friend, seemed so determined to fear the strange boy even before they had met him. If even a good-spirited girl like Mayan was inclined to hate him sight unseen, what kind of life would the boy have for the next year?
***
Neroon was bound and determined not to disgrace himself any further, but when he stepped off the transport onto the tiny local platform and saw the tall, looming presence of his clan-brother waiting for him, he almost started to cry. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat, tightened his grip on the strap of his rucksack, and strode up to Branmer, saluting smartly, afraid to see the disappointment in his surrogate father's sharp green eyes.
A heavy, steady hand on his shoulder made him look up. "All will be well, my son," he said quietly, a resolute expression on his handsome face. Neroon nodded once, tears stinging his eyes. "Come."
The walk to the temple school was a short one, and Neroon was too busy trying to keep up with Branmer's long, purposeful strides to ponder on his exile too much. Instead of entering through the great main door as Neroon feared, they slipped round to the side and went directly into the Star Temple. The smells of old stone and lingering incense were a small comfort.
Inside the annex, Branmer showed him the small storage room he had cleared out and turned into a bedroom for his unwilling guest. "It's bigger than what you have at the camp, I think."
"Yes." Neroon set his bag down on the floor. "Bigger and private."
Branmer leaned against the frame of the door. "Would you prefer to sleep in my room?"
Yes, Neroon nearly said. "No. I'm here to be punished. I will learn to be lonely."
His clan-brother let out a sigh. "You are not here to be punished, Neroon. You are here to learn a lesson your mother and I should have taught you years ago." Neroon turned with a questioning look on his face. "We did not, I'm afraid. So you will simply have to make the best of it. As to you being lonely, that is entirely up to you." Branmer stepped into the room and laid an arm around Neroon's shoulders. "You're good at making friends, and just because you're here against your will is no reason to be melodramatic. It doesn't suit you."
The boy shrugged gloomily. "Who here would I wish to be friends with? Pale, limp, bloodless Religious--" He stopped short, too late to prevent Branmer's big hand from smacking the back of his crest. It didn't hurt, but it rattled his teeth and got his attention.
"Perhaps the better question is, who would wish to be friends with you, if you're going to behave that badly in the home of your host."
Chastened, Neroon bowed his head. "Forgive me, sir. I am... not myself this evening."
"Small wonder. Come and have something to eat."
There was bread and butter and cold meat and hot tea; Neroon ate hungrily but nothing seemed to have any taste. Branmer nursed a cup of something that smelled intense and spicy. "Do you remember when you visited a year or two ago? The girl who stumbled into our singing?"
He had not thought of her in a very long time, but as soon as Branmer mentioned her, Neroon's mind was flooded with the memory of the young female, her prettiness and her pale eyes and her quaking boldness, and he smiled without realizing it. "Her name was Delenn."
"It was, and is. I've asked her to look after you during your stay, at least until you can find your bearings among us."
Neroon's head snapped up. "You--you didn't tell her why I'm here, did you?"
"You mean, did I tell her that in your negligence, you nearly killed one of your classmates?" Branmer glared coldly at his clan-brother until Neroon gulped and lowered his eyes in shame. "No, that I did not tell her. I merely said that you were having some troubles at your training camp that made it advisable for you to spend some time away, under more calming influences."
"Thank you, Master," the boy whispered.
Quietly, Branmer took the stoneware cup from Neroon's unresisting fingers. He refilled it with the thick, spicy tea of his own blending and pushed it back into the boy's hands. "Drink that," he said kindly. The liquid slid rich and smooth down Neroon's throat, sending the blood back into his cheeks. "Now get yourself to bed."
"But the evening prayers--"
"The universe will forgive you for neglecting it for a night, and you need the rest. Get some sleep, Neroon. What the night condemns, the day befriends." They rose from the table, and the boy bowed respectfully. To his surprise, Branmer pulled him forward and embraced him tightly, and Neroon clung a little to his robes.
His small room was simple and clean and warm, with a narrow, slit-like window looking out onto the frost-covered garden outside. Slowly, Neroon stripped down to his skin, murmuring the armor prayer, laying each piece of clothing away with the utmost reverence. He pulled on his nightclothes and extinguished all the candles but one, and lay back on the bed, staring at the rough stone ceiling.
The silence thundered in his brain. He turned this way and that, half-expecting to see someone in the next bed over and finding only a wall to greet him. He missed the low hum of his age-mates, breathing softly as they slept. He missed the warmth exuded by many bodies in a small space. Most of all, he missed the security of his skin knowing that there were people nearby. Here, there was only Branmer, and even then there were walls between them.
Finally he could stand it no longer. Taking his denn'bok and tucking it into the belt of his robe, and grabbing the blanket from his bed, Neroon softly slipped into the living space. His bare feet were light and silent on the old wooden floor as he settled down outside Branmer's bedroom door. He drew his knees to his chest, pillowed his head on his folded arms, and let the faint sound of his clan-brother's breathing lull him to sleep.
He dreamed of his father that night, the father he had know for the first three months of his life, before the man had died in space. He dreamed that his father came and picked him up in his strong arms and brought him to his own bed, kissing his son's head, and standing beside the bed and softly singing to him back to sleep.
It was a sweet dream, one that Neroon tried to hold on for as long as he could.
When he woke in the dark morning, he was in Branmer's bed, and the priest was kneeling before a small altar on the wall. "Thank you, va'malid," said Neroon softly. Branmer said nothing, but his green eyes flickered to the son of his favorite cousin, and his lips quirked up in a brief smile.
***
This time her footsteps were steady and sure on the cold stones. This time, the two men were waiting for her, and she joined them on the platform with only a little of her previous hesitation. Neroon had grown taller. Within a or two year he would be an adult, when the torrakhon fell away from his crest and left only bone.
Delenn suddenly felt small and young beside such maturity. "Have you come for another quiet, unobtrusive visit?" she asked.
Neroon's smile turned a little sour; Branmer put a hand on each of their shoulders. "A longer, less obtrusive and probably very much noisier visit. Neroon's teachers have sent this young battle-acolyte to us to learn." The green eyes were amused , but there was also flint beneath the fondness. "He is to study such difficult arts as 'patience,' and 'calm,' and 'keeping one's temper.' Is that not so, ah'malier?"
The younger man was visibly annoyed; Delenn had to stifle a giggle. "That is so, Master."
"Good." Then, to her surprise, Branmer turned to her. "He is also here to teach." Neroon's irritation turned to perplexity. "He will instruct you, Delenn, in equally important subjects, such as 'confidence,' 'assertion,' and 'trusting in oneself,' a skill as valuable to a Religious as to a Warrior." It was her turn to wilt slightly under his stern gaze. "Is that not so, shaimira?"
Delenn bowed her head. "That is so, Master."
Branmer nodded. "Good." He stepped back, and without another word, returned to his quarters.
On the platform, Delenn and Neroon stared at one another warily.
***
The first few weeks of his stay were, without exaggeration, an exile. The students ignored him and avoided him like a contagious pariah, the priests slid lofty gazes at him from the corners of their eyes wherever he went, and he felt as though the only thing that anyone besides Branmer expected of him was to damage books and steal their cutlery.
His somber grey coat stood out from among the pale-robed priests and acolytes like a dead tree in a snowbank. No one spoke to him, not even in the calm, bland Religious tongue, save the teachers of the few classes he was required to attend: history, philosophy, theology. In his own school, he had relished his history lessons, but here they were lifeless, without vigor or excitement; he memorized important dates and facts to reel off when he was called and forgot everything else. Philosophical and theological studies were a closed book to him. He spent his days more or less in silence, contemplating only the injustice to which he was being subjected. His dark eyes glowered at everything and everyone, he was impatient in study, and he fidgeted constantly in temple, unable to keep his limbs still.
When he was not in class, he hung around the Star Temple, helping Branmer to prepare the chamber for offices and astronomy classes and trying, in his groping way, to follow the course of meditation and reflection that Branmer had laid out for him. Glad as he was to be with his clan-brother again, the older man's disapproval was hard to bear, far harder than the unfriendly atmosphere he had been plunged into. The highlight of his day was to go into the grounds after evening prayers to practice his denn'bok, a consideration for which Neroon was grateful. He had always been more comfortable outdoors than in, and the last thing he wanted was for his skills to wane while he was in exile.
The girl Delenn watched him sometimes, from the edge of the courtyard. She never said anything, never tried to talk to him, just sat on the low wall with a book in her hands, and watched. Her grey-green eyes were veiled and shy, and just the tiniest bit afraid of him, but sometimes their eyes met, and in the instant before she looked away, he would see a sharp, piercing expression in their clear depths that always made him stumble. After a few times, he would find himself waiting to catch that expression, and in disgust he would growl loudly at her and demand that she leave him alone.
And she would... until the next day.
"Go away," he snarled one evening, after making a fifth misstep in his form.
She drew back instinctively at his harsh tone, and for a moment, she looked as though she would turn and run as she usually did. Instead, to his surprise, she lifted her chin defiantly. "I am doing you no harm."
"You are distracting me."
"That is not my fault. It is you who cannot keep your mind on your weapon."
"Shai'mira Delenn, if you do not leave me alone, I will—"
"You will what?" He could almost hear her heart pounding against her ribs, as though it would break loose and fly away, but to his amazement, her voice was calm and steady. "Tell Branmer that his clan-brother cannot concentrate on the simplest of exercises? Tell my teachers? Attack me?"
"I would never attack a Religious. My caste is sworn to protect yours."
"Then why is your pike raised as though ready to strike?"
Aghast, Neroon collapsed the weapon quickly. "You are learning confidence in plenty," he remarked gruffly, shaken and staring at his hands.
"You are a good teacher in that respect." Now that the danger was past, Delenn was shivering. Without a word, Neroon swept off his heavy cloak and put it about her shoulders. "But I have not taught you patience."
"Yes, you have," he said quietly. He turned and walked away as quickly as he could without running, trying to escape her pale eyes.
He went into the Fal'min Fi and, finding Branmer in the middle of a lesson with a group of young students, hid himself behind a pillar. He slid to the floor with his back against the stones, hid his face in his gloved hands and tried to focus on the deep, calm voice of his clan-brother as he patiently guided the children through the motions of a rudimentary star chart--they must be very young, Neroon realized dimly, to be having astronomy lessons during the day.
The lesson was familiar to him; he had sat through a similar one in his eleventh or twelfth year. But while his teacher had made much of the old stories behind the constellations and the old names of travelers using the stars to guide their way home, that man had not possessed Branmer's lyric quality of voice, of turning the names and legends into prayers without even trying. Like a burst in his mind, Neroon could see the stars wheeling overhead in the night sky, dancing together like a living hymn, written in light.
Those stars, the symbols of his people, were almost the only familiar thing in this strange, alien world of prayers and monks and disturbingly fascinating acolytes. Delenn's wide-eyed expression rose up before his face like a phantom, her measuring admiration... her fear.
A hot ball of shame exploded in Neroon's chest. He wrapped his arms around his bent legs and buried his face in his knees, shaking.
It seemed like a very long time before the young boys and girls left the temple, trying and failing to walk decoriously now that they were free to do as they liked until bed. But at last, the temple was silent, save for the sound of Master Branmer's robes rustling gently as he closed books and picked up discarded papers. Neroon gritted his teeth as hard as he could, but it was no good.
At the sound of the quiet sob, Branmer was at his side almost at once, his tall frame sinking down beside his young friend. "Are you ill, ah'malier? Or injured?"
Neroon shook his head. He wiped his face messily on the backs of his gloves and moved to rise, to run away and hide himself in his room. To his surprise, Branmer caught him by the shoulders, pulled him against his broad chest, and simply held him. "Let it go, boy," said the priest softly.
The young Star Rider didn't think he had ever wept so painfully; his lungs and throat burned with the force of it, and his tears soaked through the front of Branmer's robe as he clutched at the fabric as though afraid of falling. His clan-brother only held him tightly, silently, giving Neroon what strength he could with the sheer force of his presence, until the boy had cried himself out. "Do you want to tell me?"
"I..." Neroon squeezed his eyes shut against another flood of tears. "Don't abandon me, va'malid."
Branmer snorted softly, though his heart bled, and in the safety of the empty and darkened temple, he pressed a kiss to the crown of Neroon's head. "Never." The boy's story spilled out, everything that had happened at the training camp, which Branmer already knew, and what had passed between Neroon and Delenn in the courtyard. "You wanted to hurt her?"
"No! I didn't want... anything! I didn't think about it at all... but the pike was in my hand and I was ready to strike her. It was..." Neroon swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Monstrous. I don't want to be a monster, Branmer."
He looked up fearfully at the priest, but Branmer's green eyes were calm. "My son, you relieve my mind unspeakably." He wiped Neroon's tear-stained face with a fold of his wide sleeve. "Come into the Annex, child."
(to be continued... Click here for Part 2)
hearts_blood and I wrote together for this year ended up getting a bit too big for a single post, so we'll be updating it in chapters over the next little while. It's not a WIP apart from a few little tweaks and additions that are ongoing... it's just big.This is also the first part of the Delenn/Neroon AU that we've both been chattering about for nigh on a year, now. Hooray!
Title: In the Light of Two Moons, pt 1
Authors:
hearts_blood and rivendellroseRating: PG
Pairing: Delenn/Neroon
Word Count: 8160
Summary: The singing drew Delenn from her sleep, as it had for the last two nights. Two voices, low and intertwining, chanting ancient prayers and making music of one another.
Notes: Pre-series. Words/phrases in Minbari are inspired by the Jumpnow Minbari Lexicon, but we've played extremely fast and loose with some of them.
Prologue
The singing drew Delenn from her sleep, as it had for the last two nights. Two voices, low and intertwining, chanting ancient prayers and making music of one another. The young acolyte dressed silently, taking care not to disturb her sleeping roommate, and slipped from the female dormitory.
Barefoot, she shivered through the cold stone passages, following the music made by the two voices--they were male, she realized--to the door of the Fal'Min Fi, the Star Temple, with its roof open to the night sky. The double doors were heavily carved stone, balanced to swing at the slightest whisper. Peeking in, Delenn saw who had infiltrated her slumbers, those past nights.
She was a little surprised to see Branmer sitting on the little platform under the stars, and even more surprised to see a young man in Warrior's dress sitting beside the priest and chanting the counterpoint.
She could not say that she did not mean to intrude. She did mean to intrude--she was intruding. But she did not wish to disturb them. So she stood quietly, motionless and small just inside the entrance to the tiny space, and listened.
Branmer, tall and broad even when he was sitting, chanting the ancient invocation to the stars in a voice as pure as the winter wind. The stranger, smaller and leaner even beneath his bulky uniform coat, stumbled a little over the unfamiliar language, but his voice was strong and rich, and stirred something within Delenn's soul that she had never examined before.
The song ended, but the music seemed to linger in the air.
As the two men rose, Branmer spied her. Delenn braced herself for a scolding, but instead the priest came to her with a wide smile and outstretched hands.
The stranger was called Neroon. He was a clan-brother of Branmer's, come on a private, unobtrusive visit. Though not so tall as the priest, he still seemed to tower over the young acolyte, and he made a small obeisance to her that was so full of arrogant amusement that Delenn feared she might strike him. His dark, dark eyes laughed at her, and so annoyed was she, and so intent upon hiding her discomfort, that she did not also see how they traced her form and admired her courage. "Do you know the songs?"
"I--yes."
Neroon's lips twitched. "Sing with us."
He was laughing at her, she was certain of it. "No."
Branmer touched her shoulder. "Do not mind my young friend's lack of manners," he said, his eyes twinkling. "His spirits are too high, but he means well."
"Master, I should return to the dormitory--"
"You got up to find us out; the least you can do is gift us with your company."
She looked up at the priest ruefully. "You are trying to get me in trouble."
Branmer laughed. "Delenn, you do not need anyone's help to get you into trouble."
Neroon's smile broadened, and Delenn blushed. But she obeyed, staying and singing with the Star Riders until the first hue of morning came to dim the glittering canopy overhead. "Are you tired, Delenn?" the warrior asked.
"No," she had to answer truthfully. "I am... alive."
His dark eyes were thoughtful under their caste superiority as she bade farewell and returned to slip back to the dormitory before the first of the morning bells, and for many days, her meditations were disturbed by the memory of them.
Finally, she sought out Branmer. "I am confused, Master."
He listened to her halting explanation patiently. "There is only one cure for such distractions, you know."
"I must forget him."
Branmer's smile was always gentle and often mischievous, but now there was something more to it. "If that is your wish."
~~~
Part One
The Falmin'Fi was cold. Delenn drew her blanket more closely around her shoulders and wished, not for the first time, that the keeper of the Star Temple would have the old space connected to the school's central heating system. Even during daily offices the circular chamber was cold; even when the astronomy classes met for midnight lessons during the summer, the students could see their breath as they huddled around portable heaters.
Now it was nearly winter, and Delenn was supposed to be in bed in the female dormitory. Instead she sat on the circular platform in the center of the little temple, her back firmly against the altar, looking up through the skylight at the stars wheeling overhead.
An extra blanket was laid over her knees, and Delenn tore her gaze from the sky to see the strong face and viridian eyes of Branmer, the astronomy master and the keeper of the Star Temple. He crouched beside her and spread the blanket up to her chin. "Couldn't sleep?"
"Are you missing Rathenn?"
"A little." Her friend Rathenn, two years her senior, had graduated the year before and left a small void in her life.
She shook her head.
Master Branmer's expression was kind. "Do you want to tell me?"
"It was nothing. I said something foolish in my history class. The other students... well, they laughed at me."
"Again? You know they don't mean anything by it, child."
"I know. And Master Firell was very kind and explained my error, but..." Delenn's face grew very hot, and she shrugged uncomfortably. "They did not need to laugh."
"No, but if you hold your tongue until the world stops laughing, you may never speak at all."
"I have nothing to say, Master. Certainly nothing worth listening to... or laughing at."
Branmer pursed his lips, and Delenn braced herself for the inevitable order to return to her room. "Come," he said instead, rising and offering her his hand. To Delenn's surprise, he led her instead into the Star Temple's small annex, where Branmer lived.
"You must forgive me, Master," Delenn said, taking the rich, spicy tea he offered her. "I did not mean to wake you."
"I always know when you visit my sanctuary."
"I do try to be quiet..."
"As quiet as falling snow," he smiled slightly. "But I was awake, in any case. I've had a message from my clan that has given me... pause for thought." He sipped his tea and contemplated her over his cup. "Do you remember my clan-brother, Neroon, who visited last year?"
Delenn lowered her eyes shyly. "Yes, Master. I do. He was... He had a lovely voice."
"Hmph. He has a lovely temper as well, it seems. My young friend is having some trouble at his training camp, and his mother has appealed to me for help." Branmer leaned forward. "Tell me, child... what would you think, if Neroon were to spend the rest of the year here?"
"Here?" Delenn squeaked. She took a gulp of tea and tried again. "Here? But why? Neroon is a Warrior, why would he want..."
"Oh, he wouldn't want. And if I can get permision from the school elders to have him here, he is going to be livid. But I want him here. If he can learn to control his temper here, then I shall have no further fear of his behavior on the battlefield. So. What do you think?"
"I..." She hesitated. "Master, what I think does not matter."
"It matters because I am asking you. You have met Neroon, you know a little of him--and if he comes here, he will need a friend his own age, to make his exile a little more bearable. Would you be willing to be that for him?"
Delenn stared into her cup. She wanted to say no, but she had neither the words nor the courage to say so to the enigmatic temple priest. He was not one of her own teachers, but she had always been drawn to him. There was an air of strangeness to him, a sense of contented isolation. He was not an outsider; he was born to the temple, and that was the home of his heart. But his father was Warrior caste, and a part of Branmer still ached for the stars. It was why he was caretaker of the Star Temple, the poky and cold little chamber that was open to the sky even in the depths of winter... Her brief encounter with the Star Rider boy had left her with inexplicable feelings of embarrassment and confusion for weeks afterward. Neroon was a handsome male, with snapping black eyes... and he did have a lovely voice. He was also arrogant, teasing, disdainful... Warrior-caste. She did not want to see him again, let alone be friends with him. But Branmer did her great honor by asking her to look after his clan-brother, and... "Yes, Master," she said at last. "Because you have been kind to me, I will be kind to Neroon."
The tall priest smiled. "That is all I can ask." As she turned to leave, Branmer caught her by the hand.
"Master?"
"Neroon is a good boy," he told her. "You have nothing to fear by calling yourself his friend. Or by calling me friend," he added. His green eyes were like stained glass, and crinkled at the corners.
***
Doing his best not to look nervous as he marched under escort to the commandant's office, Neroon's mind raced to intuit the reason for his summoning. His team had still managed to come out victorious during the last scrimmage--their 'casualties' had been grievous but acceptable, according to the mission and simulated terrain--the leader of the other team might be in the infirmary but he was surely in no imminent danger... If anything, Neroon felt he should be commended for his handling of the assignment. But the attitude of his escorts was not exactly calculated to inspire confidence.
The two Warriors stopped abruptly outside the commandant's office, leaving the young battle-acolyte to open the door and enter on his own.
Commandant Nashenn was seated behind his desk, his seamed, weathered face and ice-blue eyes intent upon a hand-written letter. Neroon saluted respectfully and waited, staring at the opposite wall, for his head-master to acknowledge him. "I hear your team won today's simulation."
"Yes, Commandant."
"Did you find the mission difficult?"
"No, Commandant."
Nashenn glanced up at him briefly. "I thought not. You seem to have cultivated a talent for ground combat."
"Thank you, Commandant."
"It was not a compliment." Nashenn laid the letter flat on the desk before him. "You have a fine mind, Neroon. Your teachers have tried for many years to direct your interests in more productive directions, but you seem determined to waste your abilities in hand-to-hand blood matches."
Neroon pressed his lips together in a thin line, but said nothing.
"Do not misunderstand me, boy: they have many good things to say about you. Things that would swell the ego of a lesser trainee..." Nashenn looked at him keenly, but Neroon did not flinch. "But they lament your lack of focus and your fiery temper." The commandant stood slowly. "I have read your captain's report of the scrimmage today. You rushed into the thick of the battle and attacked the opposing force's leader, with complete disregard for your safety or that of your team."
"My teachers have taught me not to fear battle."
"Obviously," Nashenn snapped. "And failed to teach you much caution or sense."
"We accomplished our directive--"
"You lost half your team!" The pale blue eyes cracked like a glacier in spring. "Your boyish inability to wait threatens to ferment into full-blown recklessness, and we cannot let this be. You are one of the finest students here--as you know damned well. The other trainees will follow you unto death. No doubt grown soldiers will do the same. But it is not your task to lead them straight to the slaughter." The commandant's voice was hard and final. "You are a danger to your fellow acolytes, Neroon ra'Fisularae. And I cannot allow you to remain here."
His words were like a blow to the solar plexus; Neroon was suddenly unable to breathe. "But--Commandant! I cannot--I have only three years of study left!"
Nashenn shook his head. "The decision is final. You must go." He took the letter he had been reading from his desk. "It is not too late in your education for a change to take hold. A year away will be good for you."
Neroon's black eyes shot to the elderly Warrior's bearded face. "A year... You are not expelling me?"
The commandant snorted. "Expel you? The prize of your year? The pride of our camp? Of course not. You haven't killed anyone." He held up his hand. "Yet. But you came close today. It was uncertain at first whether Tirell would survive. If he had not, I would have had no choice but to send you back to your clan--and I would not like to speculate what the Star Rider elders would have done with you then. But he will recover, in time."
Neroon let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "I... I did not know, sir."
Nashenn was glad to see that his prize student was suitably shaken by how close he had come to snuffing out the life of one of his fellows. "You are a quick, intelligent, courageous boy. You are also arrogant and angry. You charm the other students without thinking and then hurl them into battle with as little concern as you show for your own life. You must learn empathy, Neroon, and above all, patience."
His young pride was badly brusied by the chastisement, and his first instinct was to scoff, to argue--to fight back. But the thought of Tirell lying motionless beneath his feet in the snow... "Yes, Commandant." He nodded tightly. "Where must I go?"
"To temple."
"To... to temple?"
"A temple school. For a year," Nashenn confirmed. "Such an exile would test the patience of the greatest hero of our caste, so it will be more than appropriate for a firebrand like you."
A whole year in a Religious school, surrounded on all sides by soft priests and disapproving priestesses, but at all times alone. "What school?"
Nashenn named a temple, a forgettable name in a non-descript town. But Neroon's heart leapt. "My foster-father teaches at that school," he said slowly, struggling not to show the hope welling up in his chest.
"I know," said Nashenn dryly. "It was Branmer's suggestion we send you to him. He is vastly disappointed in you, boy." Neroon winced. "But he is also very pleased that he will have you to himself for a year."
That, Neroon thought as he went to pack his clothes and strip his bunk, was small consolation.
An hour later, with his bunk stripped and his things packed, he knew that it was nearly time for him to go. But... there was one thing left that he needed to do. He sat down in front of the communications sytem and requested to be put through to Alyt Sinolin of the warcruiser Ava'gati. A moment, and then the image of a short, dour Warrior with icy eyes appeared. "I was wondering when you would work up the nerve to call me."
Neroon gritted his teeth. "Mother."
Sinolin glared at her son. "So? What have you to say for yourself?"
"I..." His jaw tightened. "I am sorry to have disappointed you."
"Sorry." Her stern, strong face was impassive, but her blue-black eyes glittered with some suppressed emotion. "Is that all?"
"What more can I say?"
"Suppose you say that you've been an idiot, that you've let a strong body and a handsome face swell your head until you think that your fellows are nothing more than cannon fodder compared to you?"
"No—"
"Or perhaps you could say that you've taken all those ridiculous tales so seriously that you really believe that the greatest glory a Warrior can attain is to wash your hands in another's blood?"
"No! No, Mother..." He would not cry in front of an alyt, even if she was his own mother. He hadn't cried since he was nine years old. "I've made a terrible mistake and I am sorry, but I swear to you, it was not intentional. I never meant to hurt anyone, let alone Tirell—a friend!"
"Do you have any idea what would have happened to you, if you had killed that boy?" Sinolin demanded. "Have you given any thought to what your future would have been if Tirell had died?" Neroon could not speak; he had never in his life seen his mother so coldly furious. "Our clan would have given you to his family, to take his place in his parents' home. You would no longer be Neroon! You would be Tirell. Every day for the rest of your life, you would have to answer to his name and remember who he was, remember that you ended him. You would have to call his parents 'mother' and 'father,' and I would have lost you!"
Out of her line of sight, Neroon's hands were shaking. He accepted her anger as only right—he was all she had left of his father... He hung his head, thinking of how his actions had dishonored that father's memory. "Forgive me, va'sala," he whispered hoarsely.
"Let your clan-brother handle you for a year," was Sinolin's short reply. "Ask me again when he's done with you." She ended the transmission abruptly.
***
It was so rare for the students to be called together in the middle of the day, that the smallest boys and girls stood worriedly beside nearly-grown men and women, hoping to be cuddled and reassured by their elders. But even the older students were confused by the assembly that had taken them from their midday meal and prayers and lessons. They gathered in the temple school's great main chamber, a cavernous space that normally only saw such numbers on the most solemn of holy days, and murmured to one another, rumors starting, spreading, flying out of all proportion in a matter of minutes.
Delenn pushed and nudged her way through the crowd until she found her best friend and roommate, Mayan, standing amid a cluster of mutual friends. "This is so strange!" Mayan exclaimed, taking her hand. "All of us here, and all the masters and staff, even the groundskeepers--" They were both too short to see over the heads of many of the other students, but between the bodies they could just make out the form of Master Branmer, standing on the altar platform beside the head of the school, Master Midiri, which was very unusual. "Have you heard what the others are saying?"
"No, what?"
"That someone has died! Or that someone has been sent home in disgrace, which is infinitely worse."
Delenn was too used to her poetical friend's dramatic embellishments to pay too much attention. "I do not think it is anything so grave as that. The teachers do not look nearly solemn enough."
"They certainly look put out enough," retorted Mayan. "All except Master Branmer--he almost looks excited."
Without quite knowing why, Delenn blushed.
The noise within the great chamber had coalesced into an eager, nervous cloud of indistinguishable words, but the students fell silent at once when Master Midiri stepped forward to speak. "My children," she began, her soft and well-modulated voice carrying easily into even the farthest corners of the enormous stone chamber, "in the coming weeks, you may begin to notice an unfamiliar face among your friends and fellow students. We have been asked by the Warrior's training camp in the city of Kannor to host one of their battle-acolytes for the summer and winter terms." She did not react to the sudden wave of surprised whispers and uneasy murmurs that swept through the students; indeed, she seemed to expect it, and let it run for a minute or two before raising her hands for silence, and getting it.
"The youth in question is a member of the Star Rider clan," Midiri continued, "and as such he is Master Branmer's clan-brother." She gestured briefly to the massive astronomy teacher. "He will be in Master Branmer's care during his time here, and will live in the Star Temple while he is learning some of our ways, in the hope that the company of the young people of the Religious caste may have a soothing effect on him." The students giggled. Nearby, Delenn heard Avaier, a male year-mate, say something about that being a lost cause. Mayan's hands had flown to her mouth in a gesture of supreme shock.
"Neroon ra'Fisularae will arrive in three days. Now, when he arrives, you are to be civil and polite, even if he seems to be behaving rudely. Remember, the ways of the Warrior caste are somewhat different from our own." Master Branmer's eyes narrowed at that, but he made no attempt to comment. "He is currently in his eighteenth year of study, so he will be attending history, philosophy and theology classes with the other students of that year."
"But that's our year!" Mayan squeaked.
"While he is here," said Midiri, a note of firmness entering her tone, "you should give the Warrior his space. He is here to learn peace, serenity, and above all, self-control. It is in all your best interests to treat the Warrior as a common and indifferent acquaintance, and not pester or antagonize him. He has a fierce temper, like all his caste, and it would be unproductive and unkind to provoke him." Midiri smiled serenely at her assembled students. "You will all now return to your classes, and at evening meditation, you will please contemplate how you will behave to this guest in our school."
She bowed to the youths, and as one, all the students both young and old bowed to her in return. Midiri swept from the platform, followed by the rest of the teachers and staff. None of them looked pleased, not even Branmer. The assembled students slowly shuffled back to their interrupted studies, glancing uncertainly at their peers and conversing rapidly in low, hushed tones.
"Can you imagine such a thing?" said Mayan, gripping Delenn's arm so they would not be separated in the crowd. "A Warrior, here?"
"Afraid, Mayan?" Avaier teased her. He was a big, well-fed boy who liked to hear himself talk. "Worried that this Star Rider might spirit you and Delenn from your bed?" His grin was bright and mocking. "Well, have no fear--no mere Warrior is a match for a male of the Isaal clan. I shall protect you both."
Delenn colored up and turned away, and Avaier laughed at her. Mayan put a protective arm around her friend's shoulders. "I'm sure you would crush this bad-tempered Warrior, Avaier--all you would have to do is sit on him." She and Delenn walked away from the obnoxious boy. "He thinks very much of himself these days... But do not worry, Delenn," Mayan reassured her, squeezing her hand before departing to run back to her studies, "we probably won't see anything of this Star Rider boy."
Watching her friend go, with a nervous expression Delenn turned to resume her theology class.
By supper that evening, Delenn expected everyone to be through discussing the news of the Warrior boy, but this turned out to be far from the truth. All through the dining hall she could hear whispers of other students discussing their coming guest, speculating on what might be bringing him to their temple, theorizing about what wild behaviors he might show, telling stories of Warriors they had known or claimed to have known, or even just seen. Their temple was a small one, far from any major city, and most of the children at the temple were from quiet communities of Religious and Worker caste families. Even for those like Delenn who had grown up in cities, Warriors were a distant exotic - seen in the streets going about their business, but rarely interacted with or spoken to. The rumors that whirled around the dining hall mirrored this mystery.
"People are saying he must have done something really horrible at his training camp," Mayan told Delenn as she sat down with her bowl of soup and a heavy chunk of bread. "That, or that he's a coward and they don't know what to do with him. Why else would Warriors send one of their own to live with us?"
"Maybe it's like Master Midiri said, and they just want him to learn from us," Delenn suggested, trying to keep her voice steady. It would not do to betray the trust that Branmer had placed in her.
Mayan, fortunately, was too distracted by the dramatic rumors in her mind to notice if her friend showed any sign of not telling the entire truth. She glanced sideways at her, smirked, and shook her head. "You don't really believe that, do you?"
"I'm sure our teachers wouldn't bring him here if he was a danger to us... Maybe... maybe he just wanted a change. Or maybe it has something to do with Branmer being his clan-brother. Branmer is Religious caste, after all, even though his father was a Warrior. Maybe he wants his clan brother to understand both castes."
"Midiri was at pains to emphasize his temper. She wanted us to be sure not to provoke him, so it cannot be that he is a coward." Mayan soaked her bread in her soup, pursing her lips thoughtfully. "Besides, I expect they still expose children who are cowards, like people did in the ancient songs. Leave them out on some cold rock outcrop to die, or give them to the river, or at the margin of the sea."
"No one does that anymore! Valen forbade that, and it was hardly practiced even in his day!"
Mayan shook her head. "You just don't know, with Warriors. I haven't heard of anyone doing it for a thousand years, but we don't see everything they do. My parents told me about a tomb they found once, from before we burned our dead. There was a queen buried in this hill, piled with broken swords and knives and bows all around her - the weapons of her enemies. And there were other bodies, too - Mother said some people thought they were her servants, that they'd gone to death with her out of loyalty, but they'd all been strangled, and some of their skulls had been crushed in the front, and some of the others were curled around themselves, or stretched out with their hands grasping the walls of the cave, as if they'd changed their minds, woken from a torpor and struggled to find their way out of the tomb before they died."
Delenn shuddered. "But that was a thousand years ago or more, Mayan."
"More," her friend agreed. "But with Warriors, people say the difference isn't that great. They just haven't learned from those years in the same way we have, Delenn. It's not the same for them. And now we'll have one living with us, taking classes with us?" Mayan shook her head and chewed the crust of her bread. "We'll all have to take great care, not to anger him or be caught alone with him."
Delenn thought of the Warrior's dark eyes and his haughty smile, and kept her mouth shut. The rest of the evening passed quietly between them in their usual routine of studying and prayers, after which they returned to their little room in the female dormitory. Walking past the younger girls as they settled into bed in the open dorm, Delenn was pleased to note that none of them seemed disturbed any longer by the news of the coming visitor. Consoled by their elders out of the initial shock, surely they would all accept him with equanimity, now, as would the others. Mayan would surely be the same.
Inside their on comfortable little private room, the two girls studied a bit more - Mayan was all nerves about a test in history the following morning, and begged Delenn to review a few last things with her - and then settled into their little bed.
"I'm so nervous," Mayan sighed as she snuggled ino the thick blankets.
"The test will be fine," Delenn assured her. "And you're not specializing in history, anyway. I don't see why you should be this worried."
"I don't mean the test."
"What, then?"
"It's this Warrior." Mayan shuddered and slid closer to Delenn. "Imagine having one of them here among us, Delenn. I don't know how we'll feel safe. The whole time, it will be like the temple isn't even ours anymore."
"He's a Warrior, Mayan, not an alien or a monster."
"How would you know?"
Delenn blushed. "There are Warriors living in Yedor, along with the Religious and Workers. We've never had any troubles."
"But those are Warriors used to living among other castes, surely. This one... From the way Master Midiri describes him, he sounds positively savage."
"He was, a bit," Delenn admitted before she could stop herself.
Mayan squeaked. "You've met him? Delenn! How? Why didn't you say something?"
"I wasn't supposed to, and it was only briefly, and months ago. He was visiting Master Branmer, and I... couldn't sleep, so I went walking and ended up at the Star Temple. I had heard them singing, though I didn't know what it was, then."
"Singing?" Mayan screwed up her face in thought. "I wouldn't imagine Warriors as much for music. It sounds almost artistic of them. But I suppose there are songs for marching, songs of war and such, like the ancient poets sometimes wrote."
"This was not a song like that..."
But Mayan seemed not even to have heard her protest. "Well, I can understand now why you were so quiet earlier, if you've already seen this boy. And I suppose that if he was with Master Branmer, he must have been on what passes for best behavior with their kind. Still, you must have been so frightened, Delenn!"
Delenn remembered the fitful jumping of her heart when the boy looked at her, the way her hands had trembled and how she had felt smaller even than she was used to under his black gaze. "I... I was, yes. But..."
"Well, don't worry. We'll keep well away from him while he's here, and you needn't spend any more time with him."
"But... I promised Master Branmer that I would help him to feel comfortable here. He will have no friends here, and--"
"Then he will return all the more quickly to his proper place, Delenn. How can Branmer expect you to be friendly to a boy who frightens you, Delenn? He presumes too much if he thinks that is right." Mayan stroked her friend's arm, and pressed her hand to her heart. "Don't worry. Just ignore this Warrior boy, when he gets here."
"But I promised," Delenn insisted.
"Well, then... say hello to him once or twice if you must, or... I don't know, help him to find his classes or something. But you needn't spend any more time with him than you feel comfortable with. That will be plenty to fulfil your agreement with Master Branmer."
Delenn wanted to argue, but she also wanted to sleep, and Mayan was clearly not willing to concede to her, nor to let her point go if Delenn did not relent. So she nodded vaguely and snuggled into the blankets. She tried to feel comforted by Mayan's warmth beside her, and to put out of her mind the confusion that continually set on her concerning Master Branmer's young friend and his impending visit, and all the upset that seemed to surround him even before his arrival. I will do as Mayan suggests, she told herself - only enough be with him enough to satisfy my promise, and no more. She felt relieved at the thought, and that told her it must be the right thing to do. But it still worried her somewhat that her classmates, and even her own best friend, seemed so determined to fear the strange boy even before they had met him. If even a good-spirited girl like Mayan was inclined to hate him sight unseen, what kind of life would the boy have for the next year?
***
Neroon was bound and determined not to disgrace himself any further, but when he stepped off the transport onto the tiny local platform and saw the tall, looming presence of his clan-brother waiting for him, he almost started to cry. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat, tightened his grip on the strap of his rucksack, and strode up to Branmer, saluting smartly, afraid to see the disappointment in his surrogate father's sharp green eyes.
A heavy, steady hand on his shoulder made him look up. "All will be well, my son," he said quietly, a resolute expression on his handsome face. Neroon nodded once, tears stinging his eyes. "Come."
The walk to the temple school was a short one, and Neroon was too busy trying to keep up with Branmer's long, purposeful strides to ponder on his exile too much. Instead of entering through the great main door as Neroon feared, they slipped round to the side and went directly into the Star Temple. The smells of old stone and lingering incense were a small comfort.
Inside the annex, Branmer showed him the small storage room he had cleared out and turned into a bedroom for his unwilling guest. "It's bigger than what you have at the camp, I think."
"Yes." Neroon set his bag down on the floor. "Bigger and private."
Branmer leaned against the frame of the door. "Would you prefer to sleep in my room?"
Yes, Neroon nearly said. "No. I'm here to be punished. I will learn to be lonely."
His clan-brother let out a sigh. "You are not here to be punished, Neroon. You are here to learn a lesson your mother and I should have taught you years ago." Neroon turned with a questioning look on his face. "We did not, I'm afraid. So you will simply have to make the best of it. As to you being lonely, that is entirely up to you." Branmer stepped into the room and laid an arm around Neroon's shoulders. "You're good at making friends, and just because you're here against your will is no reason to be melodramatic. It doesn't suit you."
The boy shrugged gloomily. "Who here would I wish to be friends with? Pale, limp, bloodless Religious--" He stopped short, too late to prevent Branmer's big hand from smacking the back of his crest. It didn't hurt, but it rattled his teeth and got his attention.
"Perhaps the better question is, who would wish to be friends with you, if you're going to behave that badly in the home of your host."
Chastened, Neroon bowed his head. "Forgive me, sir. I am... not myself this evening."
"Small wonder. Come and have something to eat."
There was bread and butter and cold meat and hot tea; Neroon ate hungrily but nothing seemed to have any taste. Branmer nursed a cup of something that smelled intense and spicy. "Do you remember when you visited a year or two ago? The girl who stumbled into our singing?"
He had not thought of her in a very long time, but as soon as Branmer mentioned her, Neroon's mind was flooded with the memory of the young female, her prettiness and her pale eyes and her quaking boldness, and he smiled without realizing it. "Her name was Delenn."
"It was, and is. I've asked her to look after you during your stay, at least until you can find your bearings among us."
Neroon's head snapped up. "You--you didn't tell her why I'm here, did you?"
"You mean, did I tell her that in your negligence, you nearly killed one of your classmates?" Branmer glared coldly at his clan-brother until Neroon gulped and lowered his eyes in shame. "No, that I did not tell her. I merely said that you were having some troubles at your training camp that made it advisable for you to spend some time away, under more calming influences."
"Thank you, Master," the boy whispered.
Quietly, Branmer took the stoneware cup from Neroon's unresisting fingers. He refilled it with the thick, spicy tea of his own blending and pushed it back into the boy's hands. "Drink that," he said kindly. The liquid slid rich and smooth down Neroon's throat, sending the blood back into his cheeks. "Now get yourself to bed."
"But the evening prayers--"
"The universe will forgive you for neglecting it for a night, and you need the rest. Get some sleep, Neroon. What the night condemns, the day befriends." They rose from the table, and the boy bowed respectfully. To his surprise, Branmer pulled him forward and embraced him tightly, and Neroon clung a little to his robes.
His small room was simple and clean and warm, with a narrow, slit-like window looking out onto the frost-covered garden outside. Slowly, Neroon stripped down to his skin, murmuring the armor prayer, laying each piece of clothing away with the utmost reverence. He pulled on his nightclothes and extinguished all the candles but one, and lay back on the bed, staring at the rough stone ceiling.
The silence thundered in his brain. He turned this way and that, half-expecting to see someone in the next bed over and finding only a wall to greet him. He missed the low hum of his age-mates, breathing softly as they slept. He missed the warmth exuded by many bodies in a small space. Most of all, he missed the security of his skin knowing that there were people nearby. Here, there was only Branmer, and even then there were walls between them.
Finally he could stand it no longer. Taking his denn'bok and tucking it into the belt of his robe, and grabbing the blanket from his bed, Neroon softly slipped into the living space. His bare feet were light and silent on the old wooden floor as he settled down outside Branmer's bedroom door. He drew his knees to his chest, pillowed his head on his folded arms, and let the faint sound of his clan-brother's breathing lull him to sleep.
He dreamed of his father that night, the father he had know for the first three months of his life, before the man had died in space. He dreamed that his father came and picked him up in his strong arms and brought him to his own bed, kissing his son's head, and standing beside the bed and softly singing to him back to sleep.
It was a sweet dream, one that Neroon tried to hold on for as long as he could.
When he woke in the dark morning, he was in Branmer's bed, and the priest was kneeling before a small altar on the wall. "Thank you, va'malid," said Neroon softly. Branmer said nothing, but his green eyes flickered to the son of his favorite cousin, and his lips quirked up in a brief smile.
***
This time her footsteps were steady and sure on the cold stones. This time, the two men were waiting for her, and she joined them on the platform with only a little of her previous hesitation. Neroon had grown taller. Within a or two year he would be an adult, when the torrakhon fell away from his crest and left only bone.
Delenn suddenly felt small and young beside such maturity. "Have you come for another quiet, unobtrusive visit?" she asked.
Neroon's smile turned a little sour; Branmer put a hand on each of their shoulders. "A longer, less obtrusive and probably very much noisier visit. Neroon's teachers have sent this young battle-acolyte to us to learn." The green eyes were amused , but there was also flint beneath the fondness. "He is to study such difficult arts as 'patience,' and 'calm,' and 'keeping one's temper.' Is that not so, ah'malier?"
The younger man was visibly annoyed; Delenn had to stifle a giggle. "That is so, Master."
"Good." Then, to her surprise, Branmer turned to her. "He is also here to teach." Neroon's irritation turned to perplexity. "He will instruct you, Delenn, in equally important subjects, such as 'confidence,' 'assertion,' and 'trusting in oneself,' a skill as valuable to a Religious as to a Warrior." It was her turn to wilt slightly under his stern gaze. "Is that not so, shaimira?"
Delenn bowed her head. "That is so, Master."
Branmer nodded. "Good." He stepped back, and without another word, returned to his quarters.
On the platform, Delenn and Neroon stared at one another warily.
***
The first few weeks of his stay were, without exaggeration, an exile. The students ignored him and avoided him like a contagious pariah, the priests slid lofty gazes at him from the corners of their eyes wherever he went, and he felt as though the only thing that anyone besides Branmer expected of him was to damage books and steal their cutlery.
His somber grey coat stood out from among the pale-robed priests and acolytes like a dead tree in a snowbank. No one spoke to him, not even in the calm, bland Religious tongue, save the teachers of the few classes he was required to attend: history, philosophy, theology. In his own school, he had relished his history lessons, but here they were lifeless, without vigor or excitement; he memorized important dates and facts to reel off when he was called and forgot everything else. Philosophical and theological studies were a closed book to him. He spent his days more or less in silence, contemplating only the injustice to which he was being subjected. His dark eyes glowered at everything and everyone, he was impatient in study, and he fidgeted constantly in temple, unable to keep his limbs still.
When he was not in class, he hung around the Star Temple, helping Branmer to prepare the chamber for offices and astronomy classes and trying, in his groping way, to follow the course of meditation and reflection that Branmer had laid out for him. Glad as he was to be with his clan-brother again, the older man's disapproval was hard to bear, far harder than the unfriendly atmosphere he had been plunged into. The highlight of his day was to go into the grounds after evening prayers to practice his denn'bok, a consideration for which Neroon was grateful. He had always been more comfortable outdoors than in, and the last thing he wanted was for his skills to wane while he was in exile.
The girl Delenn watched him sometimes, from the edge of the courtyard. She never said anything, never tried to talk to him, just sat on the low wall with a book in her hands, and watched. Her grey-green eyes were veiled and shy, and just the tiniest bit afraid of him, but sometimes their eyes met, and in the instant before she looked away, he would see a sharp, piercing expression in their clear depths that always made him stumble. After a few times, he would find himself waiting to catch that expression, and in disgust he would growl loudly at her and demand that she leave him alone.
And she would... until the next day.
"Go away," he snarled one evening, after making a fifth misstep in his form.
She drew back instinctively at his harsh tone, and for a moment, she looked as though she would turn and run as she usually did. Instead, to his surprise, she lifted her chin defiantly. "I am doing you no harm."
"You are distracting me."
"That is not my fault. It is you who cannot keep your mind on your weapon."
"Shai'mira Delenn, if you do not leave me alone, I will—"
"You will what?" He could almost hear her heart pounding against her ribs, as though it would break loose and fly away, but to his amazement, her voice was calm and steady. "Tell Branmer that his clan-brother cannot concentrate on the simplest of exercises? Tell my teachers? Attack me?"
"I would never attack a Religious. My caste is sworn to protect yours."
"Then why is your pike raised as though ready to strike?"
Aghast, Neroon collapsed the weapon quickly. "You are learning confidence in plenty," he remarked gruffly, shaken and staring at his hands.
"You are a good teacher in that respect." Now that the danger was past, Delenn was shivering. Without a word, Neroon swept off his heavy cloak and put it about her shoulders. "But I have not taught you patience."
"Yes, you have," he said quietly. He turned and walked away as quickly as he could without running, trying to escape her pale eyes.
He went into the Fal'min Fi and, finding Branmer in the middle of a lesson with a group of young students, hid himself behind a pillar. He slid to the floor with his back against the stones, hid his face in his gloved hands and tried to focus on the deep, calm voice of his clan-brother as he patiently guided the children through the motions of a rudimentary star chart--they must be very young, Neroon realized dimly, to be having astronomy lessons during the day.
The lesson was familiar to him; he had sat through a similar one in his eleventh or twelfth year. But while his teacher had made much of the old stories behind the constellations and the old names of travelers using the stars to guide their way home, that man had not possessed Branmer's lyric quality of voice, of turning the names and legends into prayers without even trying. Like a burst in his mind, Neroon could see the stars wheeling overhead in the night sky, dancing together like a living hymn, written in light.
Those stars, the symbols of his people, were almost the only familiar thing in this strange, alien world of prayers and monks and disturbingly fascinating acolytes. Delenn's wide-eyed expression rose up before his face like a phantom, her measuring admiration... her fear.
A hot ball of shame exploded in Neroon's chest. He wrapped his arms around his bent legs and buried his face in his knees, shaking.
It seemed like a very long time before the young boys and girls left the temple, trying and failing to walk decoriously now that they were free to do as they liked until bed. But at last, the temple was silent, save for the sound of Master Branmer's robes rustling gently as he closed books and picked up discarded papers. Neroon gritted his teeth as hard as he could, but it was no good.
At the sound of the quiet sob, Branmer was at his side almost at once, his tall frame sinking down beside his young friend. "Are you ill, ah'malier? Or injured?"
Neroon shook his head. He wiped his face messily on the backs of his gloves and moved to rise, to run away and hide himself in his room. To his surprise, Branmer caught him by the shoulders, pulled him against his broad chest, and simply held him. "Let it go, boy," said the priest softly.
The young Star Rider didn't think he had ever wept so painfully; his lungs and throat burned with the force of it, and his tears soaked through the front of Branmer's robe as he clutched at the fabric as though afraid of falling. His clan-brother only held him tightly, silently, giving Neroon what strength he could with the sheer force of his presence, until the boy had cried himself out. "Do you want to tell me?"
"I..." Neroon squeezed his eyes shut against another flood of tears. "Don't abandon me, va'malid."
Branmer snorted softly, though his heart bled, and in the safety of the empty and darkened temple, he pressed a kiss to the crown of Neroon's head. "Never." The boy's story spilled out, everything that had happened at the training camp, which Branmer already knew, and what had passed between Neroon and Delenn in the courtyard. "You wanted to hurt her?"
"No! I didn't want... anything! I didn't think about it at all... but the pike was in my hand and I was ready to strike her. It was..." Neroon swallowed hard, his throat tight. "Monstrous. I don't want to be a monster, Branmer."
He looked up fearfully at the priest, but Branmer's green eyes were calm. "My son, you relieve my mind unspeakably." He wiped Neroon's tear-stained face with a fold of his wide sleeve. "Come into the Annex, child."
(to be continued... Click here for Part 2)
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2011-08-28 11:48 pm (UTC)I look forward to reading more. :)
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Date: 2011-08-29 02:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-29 01:03 am (UTC)*ahem* yeah...so...uh...hi, I'm Lutra, and I've been searching for a fic of this pairing for years. So you just made my day *awesome*.
aaaaanyway.
So I love fics that explore Minbari life, because I'm that weirdo that always wants to know what everyday life is like in alien cultures. Also, I adore the Minbari, so of course that makes me even happier.
"Every day for the rest of your life, you would have to answer to his name and remember who he was, remember that you ended him." <--that's interesting, and I like it.
I love seeing Mayan and Delenn together. bffs for life!
So I'm going to be following this for sure. It's a great start, definitely.
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Date: 2011-08-29 02:11 am (UTC)*waves* Hi, Lutra! Don't worry, you're in good company here. ;)
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Date: 2011-08-29 03:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-29 02:38 am (UTC)The Minbari are, trufax, my favorite thing about B5. A million other things about the show are awesome, of course, but the Minbari are the best for me. I ♥ them far too much.
I'm that weirdo that always wants to know what everyday life is like in alien cultures.
Lol. Me as well, which is why I write it. It's just so fun!
I love seeing Mayan and Delenn together. bffs for life!
Aren't they lovely?
So I'm going to be following this for sure. It's a great start, definitely.
Again, hooray! And thank you!
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Date: 2011-08-29 03:25 am (UTC)I *love* the Minbari. So I'm right there with you. They're so fascinating.
Alien culture is my favorite thing about scifi altogether. I love worldbuilding (my favorite part about writing!) and exploring new ideas, I love stretching the bounds of the imagination to make a culture work and develop. So alien cultures make me :D and B5 gives me that and it's one of the reasons I adore B5. (but if I were to give all my reasons for adoring that show, we'd be here a long time)
Fics with Mayan and Delenn being bffs are one of my favorite kinds of fic ^_^
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Date: 2011-08-29 05:26 am (UTC)I love worldbuilding (my favorite part about writing!) and exploring new ideas, I love stretching the bounds of the imagination to make a culture work and develop. So alien cultures make me :D and B5 gives me that and it's one of the reasons I adore B5. (but if I were to give all my reasons for adoring that show, we'd be here a long time)
Exactly! It's so interesting to try to stretch and see where a culture can go and what it can be. We're both total culture wonks, so we had a lot of fun messing around with that, and B5 is the best playground in the world for fandoms with alien cultures, IMHO.
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Date: 2011-08-29 02:52 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-29 05:23 am (UTC)(Whoops, edited for icon!fail.)
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Date: 2011-08-29 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-29 05:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-29 04:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-08-29 05:20 am (UTC)