k (channe) wrote in rangersredux,

ghosts of coriana | 1

Sindell arrived obscenely early to the summit, a fact that seemed to disturb no one but the normally imperturbable Rathenn, who had been hunched over deployment plans in the security aerie for most of the morning. Rathenn - whose task it was to remember this sort of thing - found that he could not recall a single time when Sindell had been this early, or this eager, to attend an event that would inevitably end in the Centauri complaining, the Narns whining, the Earth Alliance throwing up their hands in denial, and the Drazi calling for some sort of military involvement.

It intrigued Rathenn.

He knew that Sindell, for being the spokesperson of an organization as devoted to progress as the Anla'shok appeared to be, was often stubbornly and immovably traditional - in fact, he had mentioned to Rathenn himself many times over that the day he went into the Senate chamber without undergoing the proper rituals was the day he could no longer call himself Minbari.

Rathenn peered at the display in the corner, which clearly showed Sindell, dressed in the grey-green robe of the Ranger Council, entering the chamber without a single lit candle, bow, or words said in soft Adronato.

Anyone else on Entil'zha's staff would have let it slide -- but for Rathenn, his master's departure from simple ritual was enough. He left the aerie to his deputies and set off across the east courtyard, questions on his mind.

In his younger years, Sindell could have hardly fathomed this thing that was unfolding before him -- this half-failure Interstellar Alliance, this flawed, unprecedented attempt at interspecies cooperation and mutual understanding, this grand, soaring Council Chamber that would soon be crawling with aliens of all stripes and species gabbing and bickering, conspiring against one another in Tuzanor's newest after-hours restaurant row, this almost-desecration of one of the continent's holiest cities.

But that man was dead. 

Sindell-that-is banished the dreams of Sindell-that-was, reminded himself that the hopes of a younger man never went hand in hand with the reality of an older. His allegiance had changed; once to Lenonn, his mentor, master, and brother-in-arms, and now to Delenn, the Entil'zha, and to the human John Sheridan.The aliens would stay. He would agree.

He was Anla'shok, and it was his duty. He lived for the One.

Sindell-that-was would have never understood the need for the Interstellar Alliance. That man remained trapped within the gunnery pod of his old patrol ship, addicted to the dizzying expanse around him. Addicted to the silence that used to be a Ranger's constant companion. Sindell-that-was had been a warrior, a listener, a guard against an ancient enemy too powerful to combat. Sindell-that-was had been Anla'shok. 

Sindell-that-is was a ghost created by the victory at Coriana, where the bridge had been defended at the cost of tens of thousands of his brothers, his Rangers, his Anla'shok. 

But now, he was waiting -- waiting for the summit to begin, waiting for his Entil'zha to arrive, waiting for confirmation that the mission had begun.

And that was the only thing Sindell the dead man and Sindell the living ghost had in common. 

They waited for the ancient enemy. 

They waited to be reborn.</font> 

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