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The Shadow of His Thoughts page3
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The Shadow of his Thoughts
by J. Michael Straczynski
page 3
which were now overgrown and little used. The crowds 
grew smaller and appeared less often, until they 
disappeared altogether.  From time to time Londo 
glimpsed a lone travelerwalking along the road who 
looked on, astonished, at the passing parade.  The 
rest of the time he was left alone with his thoughts, and 
he little cared for the company.  He did best when the 
business of rebuilding left him no time to dwell on his situa-
tion, or the choices that had brought him to this point. 
Butalone in the carriage, with only the bumps in the road 
and the silent forests on either side to keep him company, 
he was left only with his thoughts, , hi doubts, his recriminations--
     ---and the occasional whisper from the Keeper 
residing invisibly on his shoulder, reminding him of the 
things they needed him to do upon his return to the 
palace.  He wanted a drink desperately, but since his 
gradual discovery that alcohol was the one thing that 
could buy him a moment's privacy from the Keeper 
(don't think it too loud, don't let them know you've 
figured that part out yet, it's the only tool you have), 
he saved that for moments when it could be used to his
advantage.
     By night they camped by the side of the road, where 
he could at last contact the royal palace by viewer and receive updates on the state of his people.  Then a few 
hours of fitful sleep, and back on the road again.
     On the third day out, another procession caught up 
with his own.  The carriages were white, lined with white veils, and drawn by pure white dromes.  Londo recognized the markings and knew that they contained the new prophetess of Tuwain.
     He emerged and went to meet them.  As he drew 
closer, the doors of the main white carriage opened, and amid a shower of white flower petals, the prophetess emerged with her entourage.  She was dressed all in 
white, her face veiled; even so, Londo could see her well enough, and took a breath in astonishment.
     She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
     And she could not have been more than sixteen seasons.
     This can't be right, Londo thought. She's too young 
by far.
     As he stopped before them, an older woman--the young
girl's escort, he supposed--bowed deeply.
     "Your Majesty," she said.  "I am Delasi Miro of House Miro.  It is my honor to present to your Shiri Dei of House Dei, whom I am honored to serve as guardian."
     "It is an honor, good lady," Londo said, his curiosity piqued even further.  Under Centari law, to be guardian 
was to speak on all matters of importance for someone 
too young to speak for himself or herself.  Anyone 
wishing to benefit from Shiri's prophecies would have 
to go through Delasi first.  Interesting, he thought.  "Are 
you the child's mother?"
     "No, Highness, her mother died in childbirth.  She has been raised by her father."
     "Ah.  And where is he?"
     "He did not come.  His . . . . business does not allow 
him to be away for long periods, and it was decided that 
she would do better on her own."
     Londo smiled.  It was decided almost always meant I decided it would be to my best advantage, but I don't 
want to say that. He looked now to the young girl. "Is 
this what you wanted, child?"		      She spoke without looking up.  "I am my emperor's servant, and I gladly honor him with my utmost obedience."
     "A fine answer," he said, and glanced sharply at the 
older woman.  "Also we rehearsed."
     Delasi smiled and nodded.  "She takes instruction well, and wishes only to be of service."
     "Of course," Londo said.  "Perhaps the two of you 
would care to ride with me in the royal carriage.  We could talk further."
     The girl glanced up for a moment, and looked almost
frightened.  Delasi only nodded.  "We would be most honored, Your Majesty." "And how long have you been a prophetess?" 
Londo asked.  The countryside passed slowly outside the carriage.
     "She has been able to see since she was barely a 
child of three seasons," Delasi said.
     "An advanced case, to be sure," Londo said.  "You 
would almost think that a child who could see at three 
could be allowed to speak at sixteen."
    Delasi's  lips pursed in a way Londo found most 
satisfying. Any further, and he was sure her face would disappear entirely into her head.  It was a trick he would actually pay to see.  With her silence won, for the moment 
at least, he looked back to Shiri.  "What can you tell me 
of my future, child?" he asked. 
     For the first time, she met his gaze.  Her eyes were windows onto an old soul, framed with resignation and a sorrow that should never have been allowd into one so young.  Her gaze seemed to pass right through him, to a 
place somewhere behind his head.  Then she looked away again.  "Perhaps His Majesty would prefer to hear of other things," she said. 
    "The emperor asked you a question," Delasi said.  "Answer truthfully." 
    Shiri considered her words carefully.  "I see little joy, 
and much sorrow," she said at last.  "I see fire and death 
and pain.  I see you betrayed by almost everyone you 
have ever trusted." 
    "Almost everyone?" 
    "Your greatest enemy is also your greatest friend, and 
the trust you place in him is rewarded at the end of days. 
He is your freedom, and you are his.  And in the end. . ." 
She hesitated, then forced herself to continue.  "In the end, you die in the arms of your friend, and he dies in yours, 
that a world might live." 
    For a moment, Londo felt the world slide out from 
under him.  The image she described was a dream that had 
always been with him, the dream of his own death, in which he and G'Kar of Narn ended their long and strange relationship by strangling one another to death.  It was a relationship born in mutual hatred, the kind of rage that 
only a conquered people can have against those who have enslaved them, as Centauri Prime and enslaved Narn. 
G'Kar had grown from a resistance fighter to a leader 
among his people following their liberation, and had finally been assigned as ambassador to Babylon 5, as Londo had 
in his earlier days.  There they had fought, and squabbled, and gradually carved out a mutual respect that had, impossibly, grown into something approaching friendship. 
    Until this moment, he had alwasys believed that the dream 
pointed to a final act of vengeance by one against the other.
Page  1  2 3  4 5  6 7
 Glass Tattoo


The Shadow of His Thoughts page3
This is G o o g l e's cache of http://www.glasstattoo.net/TSofHTpage3.htm.
G o o g l e's cache is the snapshot that we took of the page as we crawled the web.
The page may have changed since that time. Click here for the current page without highlighting.

Google is not affiliated with the authors of this page nor responsible for its content.
The Shadow of his Thoughts
by J. Michael Straczynski
page 3
which were now overgrown and little used. The crowds 
grew smaller and appeared less often, until they 
disappeared altogether.  From time to time Londo 
glimpsed a lone travelerwalking along the road who 
looked on, astonished, at the passing parade.  The 
rest of the time he was left alone with his thoughts, and 
he little cared for the company.  He did best when the 
business of rebuilding left him no time to dwell on his situa-
tion, or the choices that had brought him to this point. 
Butalone in the carriage, with only the bumps in the road 
and the silent forests on either side to keep him company, 
he was left only with his thoughts, , hi doubts, his recriminations--
     ---and the occasional whisper from the Keeper 
residing invisibly on his shoulder, reminding him of the 
things they needed him to do upon his return to the 
palace.  He wanted a drink desperately, but since his 
gradual discovery that alcohol was the one thing that 
could buy him a moment's privacy from the Keeper 
(don't think it too loud, don't let them know you've 
figured that part out yet, it's the only tool you have), 
he saved that for moments when it could be used to his
advantage.
     By night they camped by the side of the road, where 
he could at last contact the royal palace by viewer and receive updates on the state of his people.  Then a few 
hours of fitful sleep, and back on the road again.
     On the third day out, another procession caught up 
with his own.  The carriages were white, lined with white veils, and drawn by pure white dromes.  Londo recognized the markings and knew that they contained the new prophetess of Tuwain.
     He emerged and went to meet them.  As he drew 
closer, the doors of the main white carriage opened, and amid a shower of white flower petals, the prophetess emerged with her entourage.  She was dressed all in 
white, her face veiled; even so, Londo could see her well enough, and took a breath in astonishment.
     She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.
     And she could not have been more than sixteen seasons.
     This can't be right, Londo thought. She's too young 
by far.
     As he stopped before them, an older woman--the young
girl's escort, he supposed--bowed deeply.
     "Your Majesty," she said.  "I am Delasi Miro of House Miro.  It is my honor to present to your Shiri Dei of House Dei, whom I am honored to serve as guardian."
     "It is an honor, good lady," Londo said, his curiosity piqued even further.  Under Centari law, to be guardian 
was to speak on all matters of importance for someone 
too young to speak for himself or herself.  Anyone 
wishing to benefit from Shiri's prophecies would have 
to go through Delasi first.  Interesting, he thought.  "Are 
you the child's mother?"
     "No, Highness, her mother died in childbirth.  She has been raised by her father."
     "Ah.  And where is he?"
     "He did not come.  His . . . . business does not allow 
him to be away for long periods, and it was decided that 
she would do better on her own."
     Londo smiled.  It was decided almost always meant I decided it would be to my best advantage, but I don't 
want to say that. He looked now to the young girl. "Is 
this what you wanted, child?"		      She spoke without looking up.  "I am my emperor's servant, and I gladly honor him with my utmost obedience."
     "A fine answer," he said, and glanced sharply at the 
older woman.  "Also we rehearsed."
     Delasi smiled and nodded.  "She takes instruction well, and wishes only to be of service."
     "Of course," Londo said.  "Perhaps the two of you 
would care to ride with me in the royal carriage.  We could talk further."
     The girl glanced up for a moment, and looked almost
frightened.  Delasi only nodded.  "We would be most honored, Your Majesty." "And how long have you been a prophetess?" 
Londo asked.  The countryside passed slowly outside the carriage.
     "She has been able to see since she was barely a 
child of three seasons," Delasi said.
     "An advanced case, to be sure," Londo said.  "You 
would almost think that a child who could see at three 
could be allowed to speak at sixteen."
    Delasi's  lips pursed in a way Londo found most 
satisfying. Any further, and he was sure her face would disappear entirely into her head.  It was a trick he would actually pay to see.  With her silence won, for the moment 
at least, he looked back to Shiri.  "What can you tell me 
of my future, child?" he asked. 
     For the first time, she met his gaze.  Her eyes were windows onto an old soul, framed with resignation and a sorrow that should never have been allowd into one so young.  Her gaze seemed to pass right through him, to a 
place somewhere behind his head.  Then she looked away again.  "Perhaps His Majesty would prefer to hear of other things," she said. 
    "The emperor asked you a question," Delasi said.  "Answer truthfully." 
    Shiri considered her words carefully.  "I see little joy, 
and much sorrow," she said at last.  "I see fire and death 
and pain.  I see you betrayed by almost everyone you 
have ever trusted." 
    "Almost everyone?" 
    "Your greatest enemy is also your greatest friend, and 
the trust you place in him is rewarded at the end of days. 
He is your freedom, and you are his.  And in the end. . ." 
She hesitated, then forced herself to continue.  "In the end, you die in the arms of your friend, and he dies in yours, 
that a world might live." 
    For a moment, Londo felt the world slide out from 
under him.  The image she described was a dream that had 
always been with him, the dream of his own death, in which he and G'Kar of Narn ended their long and strange relationship by strangling one another to death.  It was a relationship born in mutual hatred, the kind of rage that 
only a conquered people can have against those who have enslaved them, as Centauri Prime and enslaved Narn. 
G'Kar had grown from a resistance fighter to a leader 
among his people following their liberation, and had finally been assigned as ambassador to Babylon 5, as Londo had 
in his earlier days.  There they had fought, and squabbled, and gradually carved out a mutual respect that had, impossibly, grown into something approaching friendship. 
    Until this moment, he had alwasys believed that the dream 
pointed to a final act of vengeance by one against the other.
Page  1  2 3  4 5  6 7
 Glass Tattoo