"G'Kar…. is not like that."

"I accept that, Londo, but can you speak for all the Narns he commands? What about the other aliens on Kazomi Seven? Can we trust the Minbari…. or the humans? No, I say again that we need to be as strong as we can be. Then we will go to the Narns as equals, not defeated and on our knees."

"Yes," Londo muttered. "Good advice, again. Ah, Gods…. I am tired. Sooner or later, Marrago, we will have to go there, and I would rather it be sooner. That is it…. if I stay here any longer I will fall asleep. Do you have anything else to report?"

"No," said Marrago. "Nothing else."

"Durano?"

The Minister for Intelligence had been silent throughout the exchange between Emperor and Lord-General. His gaze had been firmly fixed on Marrago, but he now slid it away smoothly. "No, Majesty," he said. "The Shadow Criers have been very quiet of late. Perhaps whatever madness has gripped them has simply…. died down."

"Or maybe they are all dead. Burning yourself alive in the middle of the street is unlikely to bring in many new converts. In any case, they are a problem for another time. I am to bed. Gentlemen." He rose, as did both of them. They bowed as he left, and then stalked from the room through opposite exits, not exchanging a single word.

The silent Minbari who had stood alone in the shadows in the corner of the room waited until they had gone, and then followed Londo.

The Emperor passed six separate groups of Palace Guards on the two-minute walk from his personal study to his bedroom, a fact he found most distressing. When he arrived at his bedroom he closed the door firmly and found Timov already in bed, pretending to sleep.

"I know you are awake," he said, undressing and changing into his night attire.

"You know me too well," she said acidly. "Do you know what time it is?"

"I am sorry I was out too late, Mother," he said, in smiling sarcasm. "I will try to be home for supper tomorrow."

She sat up. "That is not funny, Londo. You are up working until past midnight every night, and up again at the stroke of dawn every morning. You cannot keep up this pace. Leave it for younger men."

"There is…. too much to do," he said, sighing. "Too much…." He finished changing and walked over to the bed. "May I come and join you, lady Empress?" he asked, smiling. "Or are you still angry with me?"

"Idiot," she whispered. "I don't know. My husband will return soon, and I do not know what he will say when he sees me in bed with the Emperor."

"I am sure he loves you too much to remain angry with you for very long," he said, climbing into bed.

"I wonder if I love him that much," she replied. "Good night, Londo."

"Good night, dear."

Sleep was a long time coming. It always was these days.

He was sleeping. At least, his eyes were closed, so she hoped he was sleeping. The lights in the room were down as low as they could be: it was almost too dark for her to see him, and the most Delenn of Mir could make out of John Sheridan was a vague outline, marked by the slow, regular movements of the machinery that sustained his paralysed body.

The Ambassador from the Shadows would be arriving soon, within a few days at most. A thought had struck her not long after she had been told of his request to visit.

A cure. The Shadows had a cure for John.

She had contacted Sinoval again, in desperation. He had received her message, and he had replied in no uncertain terms that he had studied Deathwalker's files all he could, but he had found no trace of her cure. The Shadows had it, but that was all he knew. He then ended the conversation, pointing out that he had his own responsibilities to his own people.

Was it worth it? Would it truly be worth asking the Shadows for their cure? She had thought not. She and John had spoken of it once, and he had said he would not enslave himself to them for any cure. She had agreed, but that had been long ago, before the battle.

What if there could be peace? Was the Ambassador genuine? Could she…. ask…. him…?

She sighed, and tried to clear her head. The virus was not yet contagious, at least not according to the physicians here. They had managed to trace its progress to some extent and had constructed a hypothesis as to its effects, but they were a long, long way from a cure. All they could say for certain was that John would have to be placed in strict quarantine within two weeks at most.

And not long after that, he would be dead.

He moaned slightly, and she thought she could see his eyes flicker open. They looked…. so bloodshot.

"Delenn," he whispered. "Are…. are you there?"

"Yes," she replied softly. "Yes, I'm here." She was holding his hand, but she knew he could not feel it. "How…. how are you?"

"I was dreaming. I…. don't remember what about. It…. wasn't…. a nice…. dream though."

"You should sleep," she whispered.

"Sleep? Why? It's not as if I'm exerting myself here. I'm kept alive by machines, and…. medicines and I'm just waiting to die."

"John, you shouldn't…. talk like this."

"Why not?" He sounded angry. "Why not, Delenn? Why are you…. still here? What…. use is there tying yourself to a…. dead man."

"I am here because I love you," she said softly. "I will never leave you, John. Never."

"I…. I know. I'm sorry. I just…. are you holding my hand?"

"Yes."

"How is…. David? I haven't seen him…. in…. a while."

She hesitated, trying to think of what to say. Commander Corwin had been to see him only that morning. "He's…. on a scouting patrol," she lied. "He's still breaking in the Babylon." He was on board the Babylon, that was true. He rarely left it these days. Corwin too had been looking almost haunted recently.

"My ship," John said, almost proudly. "Not…. my ship any more. They…. changed it…. did…. things…. to it…. Gave it to someone else…."

"It wasn't altered as much as you thought," she said, hoping that would comfort him. Compared to some of the other human ships they had fought, the Babylon had contained remarkably little Shadow technology. "It was just…." How had Commander Corwin put it? "It was just beefed up a little. Improved hull integrity, navigation, weapons…." She had told John this before. Several times.

"My ship," he said, his voice growing quieter. "My…. ship…." His eyes closed. "Love you…. Anna," he whispered, as he fell asleep.

Delenn did not cry. She wanted to, but she could not. She had no more tears left.

Speeches. He had made so many, to so many different people. They were all much the same really. Empty promises, pledges and assurances that he knew he would not be able to meet, hollow guarantees and offers of friendship. All the while people back home would be preparing their own actions, completely indifferent to every word he was saying.

The situation here was a little different, but the speech was largely the same.

"We do not wish further violence between our peoples," he said, addressing the Inner Council of the United Alliance, and making sure to study each figure in turn. "The tragedy of the altercation at Epsilon Three only shows the true horror that can arise from such a conflict."

They were listening, some more patiently than others. Minister Lethke was most attentive, and the Narn Ambassador G'Kael seemed quite interested. The two Drazi frequently snorted and tutted under their breath, but they made no interruptions.