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Disclaimer: Well I certainly don't own them. If I did, they'd have a lot more fun. Everybody you recognize from the shows belongs to the suits; everyone you don't belongs to me. This story is written hopefully for the entertainment of fans, certainly not for any money; therefore no copyright infringement is intended. Like anyone would pay me for my writing.
Date: December 5th 2006
Summary: Marcus gets a view of a possible future in the flame of a meditation candle.
Warnings: none that I can think of per se, except for maybe my writing.
Notes: My rather poor offering for the 2006 Marcus/Neroon List's Advent calendar. First thing I've written since about September, the muse is being a total bitch, even the rabbit hatch isn't co-operating. The fic is not beta'd so caveat emptor, or rather in this case caveat lector applies more correctly. Minbari words are courtesy of Hightower's Dictionary.
Acknowledgments: December 5th for the one I still miss, so very much, happy birthday honey.
Marcus seated himself onto the small ceremonial mat using the correct form that Sech Turval had painstakingly tried to teach him on an almost daily basis since he'd been accepted as an Anla'Shok Shai'mir. The mat twitched into place with just that proper flick of his wrist once he'd assumed the meditative pose. The mistletoe and holly carefully twinned around the thick red candle with the weave exactly so, the bowl of Minbari herbs in the exact prescribed place, a perfect blending of Human and Minbari in this ritual. He could almost hear some of the others in his training class teasing him gently about his obsessive need to get everything just right, everything in its place so that nothing, nothing was less then perfect. Nothing left to chance or doubt, as he'd done on Arisia, that one act of doubt in Will's word, causing Arisia's and all those beings who called that dark and difficult rock home, their lives when the Shadows came to call.
Breathing deeply, he inhaled the soft scent of the herbs as he lit the candle; it's small flame flaring brightly in deepening darkness of the night surrounding him. Marcus had chosen to meditate not in the training center's meditation hall, but had instead sought out a small-secluded spot in one of the further and less frequented gardens that surrounded the training center. Concentrating fiercely on the flame as it flickered in the gentle night breeze, Marcus let the thoughts in his mind slow, trying to find that place that Sech Turval had promised lay in the deep secret place of his mind. Trying this time, without the impatient desperation that had until this attempt both thwarted and defeated him with each and every try at meditation. That place, that was his center, a center he needed to reach if he was to complete his training as a Ranger and take his fallen brother's place in the coming war.
Slowing his breathing down further, Marcus began quietly chanting the opening verse of the meditation that Sech Turval had recommended he try in order to reach the freedom of the mind and body to truly reflect on this path he'd chosen in his hour of deep despair, anger and self hate. Sinking slowly Marcus could feel his inner self-open to him in a way he'd never been able achieve before, a feeling of accomplishment sweeping sweetly into his thoughts, soothing the quiet doubts that had seeded themselves deep inside his mind. Seeking still further down deep into the core of who Marcus Cole was, he began to see quick glimpses of much happier times in his past. Will as a babe in arms, his beautiful mother smiling sweetly at him as she cuddled him close, even his usually stern father finding time to play a game with his two sons. Hasina, beautiful Hasina, the one who'd offered him only a sweet and innocent child's love that grew to the full deep soul of a one who would have stood at his side through any adversity.
Slipping deeper into his consciousness Marcus began to see even more of his old life, now the images he saw were not as gentle, pleasant or loving as the first memories he had seen as he began this meditation. Now the images playing in the deep recess of his mind were those of his old company in the EA Intelligence Corps. Men and women he'd trained with went on mission behind the lines during the Earth/Minbari War with. Soldiers he'd personally watched die, others he'd mourned when they didn't return from the covert missions they'd been sent on. Images of the things he, himself had done in the service of his species, growing more and more desperate as the tide of war turned against Humanity.
Startling sharply, Marcus found himself suddenly thrown out of the deep reflection that he'd so easily achieved this time, with a sharp and clear memory of strong-callused hands caressing his flesh as only a lover would. Deep dark eyes, looking with not only a fierce lust for his body, but a love so clear and bright, it hurt his soul thinking that he may never actually see those eyes in this lifetime. And the quietly whispered words in a rich deep voice with a Warrior caste inflection, " Ma'fela".