The honour had almost overawed him. He was to personally serve Delenn of the Grey Council.

Some had been envious of his escalation in position, but others warned him that working with Delenn would not be an easy task. They told him she was stubborn, headstrong, possessed of a strength that belied her small size.

And when he finally met her under the green neon lights of Babylon 5's reception area, he discovered that they were right. Her strength was the steel of an intricately-detailed sword, elegant and dangerous. He knew immediately that he would not want to cross her, not want to feel the lash of her tongue or the coldness of her disapproval.

But what they had neglected to tell him was that she was also beautiful. They hadn't told him of the light in her eyes that shone so brightly with the reflection of her soul that he could almost feel it. They never mentioned her smile, with the corners of her mouth tweaking up, that reminded him of wildflowers or dancing in the summer rain. And they never mentioned her laugh, the laugh of utter joy and delight, of warmth and a love for life.

They hadn't told him he would feel so humbled.

He introduced himself, bowed low, eyes downcast.

"You can look up, Lennier of the third Fane of Chodomo," she said, a touch of amusement in her tone.

"It is forbidden." He hesitated, confused.

"I can not have an aide who will not look up. You will be forever walking into things."

Yet he hesitated still, not quite willing to believe that she would break with the tradition so boldly, just for him, when he was nobody, merely an aide.

But she had added: "Please."

And the singe word had broken him. Slowly, uncertainly, Lennier looked up and met Delenn's eyes, and he was lost in them, drowning, covering his unsettled state with a quick, shy smile.

"Better," she said, and returned his smile.

It might have happened then, or the minutes following, or the days or weeks or months that he walked beside her, as she asked for his opinions and listened and guided him and laughed with him. He wasn't sure when it happened, but he knew it for what it was.

He loved her. He loved her with every fibre of his being. He loved her in a way that was bigger than he himself; as though his feelings were spilling over into the universe itself, unable to be contained in this single fragile shell.

He knew he would follow her, into fire, into storm, into darkness, into death, and he would be glad to go, simply because she was there. And somehow he knew also that his love would never be returned, not in the way he hoped, or dreamed. He would be at her side, and yet he would be alone.

But she had given him a gift. She had told him to look up. And he had.