Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon stage,
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.
~William Shakespeare, Macbeth~
Tale One: Dreams
There was a dream that kept coming back to me, year after year, night after night. A dream so vivid and true that it couldn't be anything but a prophecy. In this dream I saw a hand that reached towards my world from the heart of a star. I saw myself crowned as the emperor, facing my death at the hands of G'Kar. And I saw the ships. Ships that filled the sky above my world, screaming in joy as if they were living things. Ships that filled me with fear.
A man came to me once and asked me a question: "What do you want?" I answered and he told me he could make my dreams come true. He said he could make my people great again and strike down the Narn. He was arrogant, as humans tend to be, and I laughed at him because I could not see how one human could grant my wish. What power could he have to give to my people?
I laughed and asked Mr. Garibaldi to make sure the man didn't bother me anymore.
He never came to me after that. Every now and then my spies would tell me that he had been seen talking to G'Kar, and I laughed each time I heard it, imagining how he tantalized G'Kar with his empty promises.
I don't laugh anymore.
There is a dream that keeps coming back to me, year after year, night after night. A dream so vivid and true that it couldn't be anything but a prophecy. But the dream is not the same anymore. The hand is still there, reaching towards me, towards my world, wanting to crush it like a bug. G'Kar is still there, his hands around my throat, but there is no crown on my head. I am not an emperor and my hands are useless, powerless, and I can't fight G'Kar as he kills me. And the skies are still dark with ships, the air filled with their screams.
I don't laugh anymore because the dream no longer goes away when I open my eyes. The skies of Centauri Prime are dark, and even when I'm awake I can feel G'kar's hands around my throat, killing me. Killing my world.
My dream has come true. May the Great Maker help us, it has come true.
Tale Two: Words
"I don't like the way he's looking at me. I'm trying to decide what to do about it. Would you care to make a suggestion?"
He has come to see any discussion with Cartagia as a walk on a tightrope; an exercise in balance where one false move could plunge him into a certain death. It has become second nature for him, the game of words he has to play to keep himself and G'Kar alive. But he is tired. And so when the Emperor pulls him aside and confides to him about his latest folly, he only wants to stop playing and go to his own quarters, as far a way from Cartagia as possible. He almost says it, almost gives up the game and simply tells Cartagia to do what he wishes, but at the last moment a fear of angering the Emperor makes him change his strategy. He will play this to the finish, this one last time.
"Your majesty could have him blindfolded."
Cartagia seems to think about it for a moment, then shakes his head.
"No, that would not prevent him from looking at me. It would only prevent me from seeing how he is looking at me. You can do better than that, Mollari."
Londo has no time to think of a better answer when Cartagia suddenly smiles. "We'll pluck out his eyes," he exclaims like a child that has invented a new game.
From the corner of his eye Londo can see G'Kar tense. "You can't," he says unthinkingly and only realises his mistake when it is already too late.
"You dare to forbid a god?" Cartagia asks dangerously. "You dare to say what a god may and may not do?"
"Your majesty, I did not-" Londo tries to amend his mistake, but Cartagia does not allow him to finish.
"You would tell a god what to do?" he asks again, this time louder, and the guards on eather side of G'Kar leave their post and walk towards them.
"I only meant that if you pluck out his eyes, he will not be able to see your greatness when we put him on trial."
Cartagia gestures to the guards to stop. "Then we will only pluck out one eye," he says casually, as if he had already forgotten his anger only a few seconds earlier.
Again Londo feels the want to simply give up and let Cartagia have G'Kar's eye, but the memory of mass drivers forces him to continue.
"That would be most unwise, your majesty. To take out only one eye would be very unlucky."
"Unlucky?"
"Yes, your majesty, unlucky," he repeats, hoping that Cartagia too would be too tired to continue the game any longer and would simply accept it without any further explanations. For a few seconds, neither one of them moves.
"This is most annoying, Mollari," says Cartagia finally and Londo lets out a sigh of relief. "I understand your point about letting the Narn see my glory, and I also believe that you are learned enough to know what old writings have said about taking out the eyes of your enemy. The situation is most unreasonable, is it not Mollari?"
There is something in Cartagia's voice that makes Londo's heart grow cold.
"No, we cannot possibly leave before we have come up with a solution as I don't care at all for the way he looks at me..."
Smiling triumphantly, Cartagia puts his hand on Londo's shoulder and he feels how the rope is suddenly snatched underneath his feet.
"We shall pluck out one eye from the Narn and then, so as not to bring bad luck upon us on the eve of my ascension... you will of course offer your eye for us, will you not, Mollari?"
Tale Three: Ghosts
"My sweet Londo," she whispers, her hand caressing his face as she leans down to kiss him one last time. "The sun is rising and the time for dreaming is over. I must go now."
She stands up to leave, but he reaches after her, taking her hand and pulling her back to him even as she fades away like a dream in the morning.
"Please. Stay."
Her smile is sad and her eyes filled with tears as she takes his hands and kisses them. Her touch is like the touch of cool silk, and he feels no breath on his hands as her lips touch them. She is already almost gone.
"I cannot."
"Then I will come with you, Adira. I said I would give it all up for you. None of it means anything to me if I can't be with you."
"You will be the Emperor, Londo. You cannot escape that fate."
"For all I care, they can put G'Kar on the throne instead of me. Let me come with you."
"Londo..." she whispers, her voice nothing but a sigh that vanishes with her smile.
The lights return and he is alone once again.
"His hearts simply failed," is all the answer Doctor Franklin can give to Vir afterwards.
Tale Four: Monsters
I run even though I know that people will think I'm insane. Ambassadors do not run. They walk and let their aides do all the running. At most, they stride in hurry, but never run. Yet I run. I run faster than I have ever ran. I run as if chased by a mad leati. But this time, I'm not running away from a monster. I'm running towards one.
I find him in the center of the maze. He is dressed in that boring costume that so many human men often wear and yet he doesn't look boring. I am reminded of a human phrase I have heard Mister Garibaldi occasionally use - dressed to kill - and I think I finally understand the meaning.
"Ambassador," Morden greets me with a smile, "I did not expect to see you this soon."
"Call back your ships," I tell him as soon as I can catch my breath again. "Call them back. I don't want this anymore."
He cocks his head like a young woman assessing her husband-to-be and his smile widens.
"I'm afraid it's too late, Ambassador."
"Call back the ships!" I shout. "Call them back or I'll have you killed."
I can taste the brivari in my mouth - the best brivari on station - bittered by my guilty concience. "There is still hope for us after all," G'Kar says over and over in my head, but there is no hope, no hope at all unless I can call off the ships before they reach Quadrant 14.
"It's too late," Morden repeats, and I wake up to the sound of Shiv'kala's keeper in my head.
Tale Five: Lovers
"Marry me," he says, but she simply smiles and shakes her head.
"No Londo, you are of the House Mollari and I but a dancer. There would be no future for us."
She begins to unlace his shirt.
"Let us enjoy tonight, because tonight is what we do have."
He comes again the next night, waits until she has danced her last dance and goes to her.
"I can buy you freedom, I can give you a life no-one else can. Marry me."
Again she shakes her head, then takes his hands and kisses him.
"If you marry me, Londo, you will have no fortune to give me."
He goes to her every night and asks the same question and every night her answer is no.
"If you marry me, Londo, your family will disown you."
"I don't care," he says, and realizes that he really means it. He realizes that for the first time in years he is happy, free of the scheming and games of the court and his family. "My dear lady," he whispers, but she puts her fingers on his lips to silence him, and once again shakes her head sadly.
"I am no lady."
"You are to me. Marry me."
And she says yes.
"A dancer?"
There is no emotion in his father's voice. No contempt, no disappointment, nothing. For a few moments, they look at each other, like two fighters measuring each other before a Morago. Finally his father turns away and takes a bag of dukats from his desk drawer.
"There is no need to marry them, Londo. A few ducats or perhaps a small piece of jewelry would be enough." The old man does not smile when he says it. "She will be paid to divorce you. Everything will be arranged in just a few hours."
"No."
His father looks at him as if he were an animal that has suddenly acquired the ability to speak.
"You expect to have some say in this matter?"
"She is my wife. I married her. It should be my choice whether or not I divorce her."
"A marriage is a matter of politics, and as the head of House Mollari, I am the only one who has any say on who you marry and when."
"I love her."
"Love? There is no room for love in marriage. A marriage for love is a foolish idea that radicals have created to bring down our society. Love is what you pay for when you can no longer stand your wives."
"I don't care."
"You don't care," his father says, and starts laughing. "What is it that you don't care about, my son? Wealth? Power? Connections? Status? Because these are the things you will be giving up if you keep up this nonsense."
"I don't care," he repeats and turns to walk away. His father's laughter dies away and after a moment's silence there is a sound of a sword being unsheathed.
"Turn your back on me and you will regret it."
Londo hears his father's footsteps draw close, but he remains silent and doesn't stop. When the sword passes over his head, it feels like like a sudden breath of wind, but he doesn't flinch and walks out the door. It isn't until he has left his father's house - until he's back in the bar, holding his weeping wife in his arms, telling her that everything is all right - it is not until then that he dares to touch his head to feel what is left of his crest, shorn, as he is of his status, his money, everything. It isn't until then that he realises what he has done. But he doesn't regret it.