Happiness was such a fragile thing. Londo had known it once, what felt like several very long, very arduous lifetimes ago, when Adira had been in his life, when love had filled his heart, and joy had suffused his being at the very thought of her. He’d believed, when she’d said she was returning to him, that the universe was his, that nothing could cast a shadow over his future, a future he would share with the gentlest, loveliest, woman in all creation.

But he’d been wrong, because when the ship docked at Babylon 5, Adira had been on it, but already dead. All his hope, all his happiness, had crumbled to dust, all the light had gone out of his world, and all that had remained to him had been his duty as a Centauri, and as the emperor to be.

For any other Centauri, that would have been more than enough, the very pinnacle of ambition, but for Londo, it had been all but meaningless, not a triumph but a burden to be accepted and endured. Everything was ashes.

And yet now, here, in his quarters, happiness blossomed again, along with a fragile hope, because against all expectations, Adira was with him again, as sweet, and gentle, and passionate as ever she was, and if such a thing was possible, what else might he hope for?

If only it could last, if only it could be forever, but it was one night, and happiness faded with the dawn.


The End