Project Boussh: Epilogue: Until It So Desires
by Durandir

He'll ask today, I know he will.

The day begins as usual -- well, no it doesn't. Usual would be waking 
up, dressing, eating breakfast, going to class. I left that behind 
some time ago, though: about a week now, but it feels like a 
lifetime. Last week I was a student; now, I'm an agent in a secret 
organization dedicated to defending the planet from the forces of 
evil, or whatever. Nothing, anymore, fits the usual definition 
of "usual." Within the realm of the unusual, however, today begins 
normally. The sun rises -- that's usual enough for me.

It seems I'm not the only one who knows. Actually, it looks rather 
like I'm the last to know. (Does *he* know yet?) Breakfast this 
morning is leftovers from yesterday's celebration -- hors d'oeuvres, 
lunchmeat, sweets -- revisited in the way that we'll be revisiting 
yesterday's adventures in the days to come. Yes, son, let me tell you 
about the time I saw a Grand Admiral shot on his own bridge! Yes, 
Kirret, those little pastries are just as delicious this morning as 
they were last night.

Kirret's still giving me that funny smile. And she's still surprised 
that he hasn't asked yet. When has he had time, I want to ask: but I 
don't, because the question that matters is when have *we* had time? 
I only met him a few days ago; even among whirlwind courtships this 
one must hold some sort of record. I can't shake the feeling that 
it's a bit early yet for proposals.

"He has," Kirret tells me over the pastries, "rather good sense after 
all, it seems. Choosing you. I knew perfectly well he couldn't marry 
me, no matter what everyone expected. But there were moments when I 
feared that if I didn't marry him, one of *them* would."

"Them?" I ask.

"Oh, you'll meet them soon enough. I suppose you really can't avoid 
it now. The nobility of Mendellia. Snobbish twits, one and all."

"Lucky for *us* that they are," says Reth, winking at me while 
grinning at his fiancée. By the wink I know I've been included in the 
pronoun. Lucky, aren't we, marrying into this nobility that Kirret so 
despises (and just happening to marry into the only two people of it 
that she willingly admits to the human race, no?). Lucky for him, 
maybe -- though I doubt luck really has much relevance to Reth: 
whatever he does or experiences is lucky because he believes it so. 
As for me -- it remains to be seen where my luck shall lie.

Kirret ignores him and continues: "If Thayer had -- had 
*condescended* to marry one of *them*, I should have entertained 
serious doubts of his sanity. That he chooses you, though -- " Her 
smile says enough. Kirret doesn't smile unnecessarily. I've known her 
no longer than Thayer, but it doesn't take long to figure *that* out.

So I'm the sensible choice. How's one to take that? Well, coming from 
Kir, it's good, I suppose, for Kir holds good sense high among the 
virtues. But what choice for me is Thayer?

News, in this Palace, travels fast, soaring along on the drafts. O 
daughters of Jerusalem, I charge you --

Thayer's nowhere to be found after breakfast. Little it matters, 
though; I don't think I'm going to have opportunity to find him 
anytime soon. How can such an enormity of a Palace seem so crowded? 
How many of us are there, anyway? Well, all those New Republic folks 
who fought with us in yesterday's battle, I suppose that's part of 
it. I hardly notice them though -- background. Bit parts. White 
noise. It's crowds of friends and allies that I see today. And well-
wishers. Those Graces are still here, and Anaugi's even more 
talkative than last night. Sweet Heaven, give me strength. . . .

Kell wants to wish me well. I've hardly seen him and my Hermits 
since -- well, not so long, actually. We just left yesterday morning 
for the battle, didn't we? It seems forever. They're leaving soon, my 
Hermits, going back to their own galaxy with all our Rogues and 
Wraiths, and they come now to say goodbye. We laugh over the blue 
still faintly visible in Runt's fur. Tyria says it was lovely staying 
at the Hermitage, but she'd thought the cities of Terra were larger. 
I tell her, oh, that's just Terre Haute, biggest small town in 
America. Come back some day, my Hermits, and we'll give you the full 
tour, as I did once before with Wedge and Tycho, all the way to D.C. 
Kell stays behind as the other two go: he has something to say. 
Because he knows it too. Everyone does, this morning.

"Remember," says he, after he's sufficiently noted what a fine fellow 
my Thayer is, what high regard my Hermits hold him in, "just remember 
to be sure it's the real you he's in love with. And that when he 
spends every moment he can thinking about you -- that's when you know 
it's real."

I laugh and say, "I thought that was obsession, not love. But yeah, I 
know it worked for you. So I'll keep it in mind."

But does it work the other way around? You have stolen my heart with 
one glance of your eyes --

I wander, and I find myself in a room that looks familiar. Can't 
place it, though. Then through a door I glimpse the next room, a long 
table -- now I remember. In there I dined with the old Dictator on my 
first day in the Palace, and in here I danced with him. This of 
course stirs the memory of last night's dance, waltzing with the new 
Dictator even when the music wasn't a waltz -- and even when, though 
it *was* a waltz, my trickster of a wingmate managed somehow to time 
the songs such that they were just a half-beat off of what we were 
dancing. And ultimately that was the most delightful part of it, a 
challenge. . . .

Once, with the Sleeping Beauty Waltz syncopating to our steps thus -- 
and such a fast waltz! It *would* be, wouldn't it -- I got to 
laughing so that I almost threw us off. But Thayer kept us going.

It's lonely in this room now: the crowds of friends and allies seem 
to have overlooked it. I sought him, but I could not find him --

Then he finds me, there where I first danced in this Palace. 
Questions flee (hitching a ride with Time) when he's there in my 
sight. So I smile and let him kiss me.

"I meant to find you sooner," he says, "but I couldn't get away. The 
Council of Lords has been at me all morning, trying to get this new 
regime soundly established as soon as possible."

"It's all right," I say.

"There's so much to do, you'd think we hadn't won the battle 
yesterday, it couldn't be any busier if we still had my uncle to 
fight, I'm sure."

"At least today's battles aren't quite so deadly."

"Oh," he says, "I don't know about that. Some of the lords are 
thoroughly vicious. If I'd not grown up weathering Kirret's sharp 
tongue, I suppose I'd wilt under their abuse as readily as they seem 
to expect me to." But he smiles as he says it, and from the light in 
his eyes I know that the lords have been no such trouble to him, 
sharp tongues or not. In fact, I'm quite certain they've adored him 
from the start. And I tell him so.

"Well," he says, "they do seem to prefer me to my uncle, at least."

Anyway, he's come looking for me because he's devised a plan to get 
away from the endless councils, at least for a few hours. He's heard 
(I'm afraid this must be as much common knowledge in the Palace as 
our impending engagement is. . .though of course he has yet to ask, 
hasn't he? I shove that thought back into the scrap pile of my memory 
and try to concentrate on what he's saying now.) -- heard, as I was 
saying, of my unfortunate inability to shoot straight. This inability 
being wholly alien and incomprehensible to his nature, he spirits me 
away to a corner of the Palace grounds, a corner as yet undiscovered 
by the crowds -- and unknown to the council, I suppose -- and there 
he sets about trying to correct this unfortunate inability of 
mine. "Because," he says, "if you're going to be in Terra Group from 
now on, you're going to need to know how. Your safety's more 
important than any council meetings."

"I wouldn't say that to your councilors, if I were you," I say, as 
another of my shots goes wide. "Let me try this with my eyes closed," 
I sigh. "It seems to work better that way."

Patience is *not* an integral part of Thayer's nature. He's getting 
even more frustrated with this than I am, but we persevere. I find 
that while leading comes naturally to him, teaching doesn't so much. 
What frustrates him, I think, is that marksmanship is almost an 
instinct for him, and he can't find a way to convey an instinct to 
one who's never possessed it. Still, I learn well by example: and his 
is an exemplary example. So I catch on eventually. Finally he 
declares my progress satisfactory, and we put away the blasters, and 
then we just wait a moment in the delight of each other's company.

Precious are the hours, and too quickly they pass. This is my 
beloved, and this is my friend, O daughters of Jerusalem --

"And now," he says, "back to work, I suppose." But he holds me tight 
still, and I don't think he means to go.

"I suppose," I say. "More council meetings?"

"No, that's done for the day. I'm sure they'll be at it again 
tomorrow, though. But even when I'm done with them, there's so much 
yet to do. I watched my father at this job all my life, Bec, and I 
never realized then how weighty a responsibility it was, governing 
this land."

"Do you regret it, taking up that responsibility?" I ask.

He answers almost before I can finish the question. "No. Not in the 
least. Anyway, I couldn't very well have left my uncle on the throne, 
could I? Mendellia is my country -- my people -- they need a good 
Dictator."

"And that's what makes it such a burden," I say, hugging him because 
it is good to hear this. "You're determined not just to rule, but to 
rule well."

"I can't, in good conscience, do otherwise."

I smile my agreement. "Then you'd better go. You're not doing your 
country much good wasting time with me."

"Ah," he says, and his eyes show amusement, a sort of devious 
amusement, "but perhaps I am."

"What?"

In answer, he steps back, bows just slightly, then holds out his 
hand. "Dance with me?"

And just how is *that* to the good of his country, I wonder. But I 
confine my skepticism to merely raising an eyebrow, then I shrug and 
take his hand. "Well, since I know now that the music's not 
essential. . . ."

We're waltzing again, as before, and I remember again my first dance 
in the Palace. "You dance very well," I say, and it's true. "Far 
better than your uncle," and that's true, too, though Eugor was a 
better dancer than some I've known.

He actually misses a beat when I say that. "You *danced* with my 
uncle?"

"Only under duress," I reassure him: I think his expression is more 
startled than hurt, but I can't be sure. "I was his prisoner, and I 
guess he was trying to win me over to his side."

Startled, hurt, whatever: but definitely upset. "Win you? He had no 
business -- "

Note to self: avoid references to Eugor Atner in future; still a sore 
spot, apparently. "Thayer," I whisper, "it's all right. He's dead 
now, it doesn't matter."

"If I had known. . ."

"You'd, what, have rescued me a day earlier? You'd not even met me 
then, silly. It doesn't matter."

He doesn't answer; he looks away; when he looks back, though, he's 
smiling. "I suppose it doesn't. A bit late for me to be jealous of 
him, isn't it?"

"Yes, rather."

Then the dance comes to a stop suddenly, and, taking both my hands in 
his, Thayer commands, "Close your eyes."

"Why?" But he won't be moved until I comply, so finally I do. Then 
he's leading me away, I know not where, but I can feel the earth soft 
beneath my feet still, so we're still outside the Palace. Arise my 
love and come with me, until the day breaks and the shadows flee --

I open my eyes when he gives leave, and we stand in an orchard. 
Strange it seems, this orchard: I don't recognize most of the plants, 
for in this tropical climate, what grows best is not what grows back 
home in Indiana, on the banks of the Wabash, and thereabouts. Still, 
though strange, it's beautiful, blooming furiously and so vibrant 
with color.

And in the midst of it, standing under a tree by a little pool, two 
Ewoks, each carrying something but I can't tell what.

I look to Thayer, hoping that he intends to explain, and he's 
smiling, motioning the first Ewok to step forward. "I spoke of it to 
the council this morning, and I have their support. Some of them were 
disinclined to give it, of course -- but they were overruled. You're 
a war hero now, did you know? The people are singing the praises of 
Terra Group today. Not even the Council of Lords can deny *that*."

"Um. . ." is all I manage to say. I think I missed his point 
somewhere in there. The council gave their support for *what*?

The Ewok reaches us, and now I see what he's carrying, as Thayer 
bends to take it from him, then holds it out to me.

"Olive," I say, surprised to see the thin branch with its grey-green 
leaves. An olive branch. I don't see any olive trees in the orchard. 
The leaves on this branch look fairly fresh, though. And the aroma -- 
I've not smelled olive like that since I stood in Gethsemane, and now 
I'm overwhelmed with delight.

"The Queen's symbol," says he. 

Queen? Oh dear. . . .

"Olive is the Queen's symbol? Why?" I ask. I think I know where this 
is going, now. And so all the questions come flooding back, the ones 
that usually fly away from the brightness of his eyes. But for the 
moment the only one I ask out loud is "Why?"

He waits till I take it, then launches into the story. An olive 
branch means peace, you know, says he. Well, it dates back to the 
first King of Mendellia and his Queen. Old Reenaccub, pirate that 
he was, first made use of this island as a hideout, from which to 
launch raids on the native peoples and European colonists on the 
mainland. He was Dictator then, and his people still barely
civilized out of their pirating ways.

Well, there was one tribe of those native peoples whose 
queen decided that she'd had enough of this raiding. But the tribe 
was small, and the pirates were many, and if it came to war the 
natives wouldn't have a chance. Knowing this, the queen prepared a 
canoe and, all alone, sailed out to the island of Mendellia, which of 
course wasn't yet called that, it was just Atner's Island in those 
days. Sentries spotted her and intercepted her, but they didn't know 
what to do with her, coming unarmed as she did. So at last they 
brought her before Reenaccub Atner. 

They found a cabin boy who'd picked up a bit of the queen's language, 
and between his efforts at translation and the queen's at pantomime, 
the leaders of these two peoples were able to make themselves 
somewhat understood. In the end it was clear that the queen had come 
as a sacrifice for the deliverance of her people. "We cannot live 
with your raiding," she said: or at least that was what the cabin boy 
thought she said, "so you must stop. I offer myself for your hostage. 
You may kill me or enslave me: if you will spare my people from this 
day forth, then their queen's life is yours."

And Reenaccub was so charmed with her that he married her on the 
spot. Of course this necessitated a treaty with the queen's tribe, so 
she got her wish. Reenaccub gave up being a pirate Dictator and took
the title of King to match his consort's role. And because this first
Queen of Mendellia was thus the bringer of peace, the legends of the 
country began to say that the King's gift is war and the Queen's 
gift is peace. And eventually they adopted symbols for that: olive 
for the Queen, a sword for the King.

"Does it always work that way?" I ask. "The Queen for peace and the 
King for war?"

"Well, not exactly," says he. "We've had a few rather warlike queens. 
Even occasionally a bachelor queen -- those were always interesting 
days in Mendellia. But that's the tradition -- the Queen's gift is 
peace."

I'm as charmed by the story as old Reenaccub was by the queen, and 
the questions can rest a moment longer. But there's more. The second 
Ewok approaches. What this one carries is a ring, glittering 
erratically on its little white cushion, as the leafy light hits it 
through the trees above us.

An Ewok as ringbearer. If this is the proposal, I'm not sure I want 
to think about what the wedding's going to be like.

Thayer takes the ring and holds it up for me to see: I recognize the 
colors. Like the flag. Gold in the band, red rubies, purple 
amethysts: it's a very patriotic ring.

"My mother was the last to wear this," he says, "but now that I'm 
Dictator it is mine to give as I choose." His eyes meet mine, and the 
hope in them is bright. "Will you -- " oh please do, say the eyes --
"marry me -- " turn away thine eyes from me, for they have overcome 
me-- "and be my Queen?"

Set me as a seal upon thine heart: for love is strong as death --

Now there's no avoiding the questions, so I look away.

"Will you?" he whispers again.

And though I can wish it were that simple, I can't quite believe it, 
so now the questions break forth. "Thayer," I begin, "I don't think 
your mother much likes me."

He knows that as well as I do, and sighs. "Well, it's her loss."

"Perhaps it's also mine," I say. "I mean, it's hard to say for 
certain, since she can't seem to look at me without giving the 
impression that she's going to be sick or something, but -- if she'd 
give me a chance, I think I'd rather like *her*. She seems quite the 
grande dame."

He smiles to hear me speak well of her, at least a little. "So she 
is. It is hard for her now, I know, when everything is changing so 
fast. But while my father lived, why, she was such a Queen as hasn't 
been since Reenaccub's lady came to the island, a great lady, a wise 
ruler."

Such lovely shoes *those* will be for me to fill. "Her children arise 
and call her blessed," I say, trying to avoid sarcasm.

He laughs: he knows the reference. "Her husband also, and he praises 
her. Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all. . . ."

Why do I get the feeling he's not speaking of Queen Llessur now? I 
counter with, "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting. . . ." So 
are some kinds of love. But have I ever been in love like this 
before? Crushes, but I don't think *this* can be shrugged off as mere 
infatuation. It's all happened so fast, I'm not sure what to think. 
Charm, beauty -- is that all? Or is this more?

"But a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised," he finishes it.

"Is it your mother in that chapter?" I say, arching an eyebrow.

"It wasn't her I was thinking of."

"Well, it's not exactly me, either. Don't entertain any delusions, 
silly; that's an awful way to begin a marriage."

"Is that a yes?" he grins.

"Oh." I blush and remember the questions. "Well -- are you quite 
sure? Is it even legal for you to marry someone who's not from the 
Mendellian nobility?"

He brushes that off easily. "That's what I had to clear with the 
council this morning, so yes, it's legal. But you're just taking my 
mother too seriously. And she hardly has room to talk, really -- 
she's not quite nobility herself."

"What?"

"No, Father met her in France -- her father was a banker there. Upper 
class, I suppose, but not at all aristocratic."

"Then why is she so set on you marrying nobility?"

He shrugs. "I suppose it's all she knows now. Most of her life she's 
been Queen -- she forgets sometimes where she came from."

I can't quite decide whether to feel sorry for this bourgeois Queen 
or simply be annoyed with her. Thayer interrupts my 
deliberations: "Anyway, there's no reason at all why you shouldn't be 
Queen. And every reason in the world why you *should* be my bride. 
Won't you?"

I would, I think, but there's yet one question left. "But how can I? 
My -- well, my old life -- I've got school to finish. Why, by the 
time I get home it'll be final exam season already. And then I've 
still got a few more semesters to finish before I'll graduate. And 
now there's Terra Group, too! How can I be Queen and Terra Three at 
the same time? I'll be off on missions. . . ."

I think, from the disappointment in his eyes, he suspects I'm just 
stalling. I begin to wonder myself if I really am. "It won't be a 
problem," he insists. "Besides, we're going to turn a few floors of 
the Palace into a headquarters for Terra Group. It'll be closer to 
home when you're Queen than it possibly could be before. Please -- I 
love you, and whatever obstacles there may be, we'll overcome them. 
Will you marry me?"

Patience really isn't an integral part of his nature: he's anxious 
for my answer. My questions expended, I'm left with a choice. I fix 
my eyes on my feet, uncertain which way to turn. I am my beloved's 
and he is mine --

His banner over me is love. Don't I love him? Daughters of Jerusalem, 
I charge you by the gazelles and by the does of the field: Do not 
arouse or awaken love --

No, it's too late for that. This isn't going back to sleep.

The Queen's olive, the red and purple of the ring. I think of his 
morning with the councils, the work of governance that he must even 
now get back to. He's the Dictator: he could have simply ignored the 
councils to look for me sooner, he could stay with me now and let the 
work of the Palace wait till later. Would I love him more then?

No, I know better. I see it now. I am, after all, daughter to a 
pastor. In some ways a parsonage is very like a palace. At least for 
us, it is: for I can see that Thayer learned the same lesson growing 
up in the Palace that I learned from my family. The Dictatorship 
isn't just a job for him, and it's not just a matter of power or 
prestige. It's a calling, and he is his country's shepherd as surely 
as my father is shepherd to his small flock. A calling which can't be 
refused, which can't be shrugged off, abandoned, ignored. Only served.

Then can I stand beside him in his calling, bearing with him the 
burden of this little island nation?

My voice says "Yes" before my mind's quite certain, but I think my 
voice was listening to my heart today, anyway. Then the Queen's ring 
is on my finger -- Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for 
thy love is better than wine --

"Only," I say after the kiss, sorry to interrupt his joy at my 
answer, but I have to say it, "not right away. I mean, we've known 
each other hardly a week. Let me go home and finish college, and then 
I'll come back and marry you."

"That's more than a year," he frowns. "I don't like to wait -- "

"So I've noticed," I laugh. "I know, you don't waste time, that's 
your motto and all, isn't it? But I don't think it'll be a waste. 
It'll be a year for us to get to know each other better, to be quite 
sure that this is right."

"I'm quite sure *now*," he insists.

"But give it time," I say. "It'd be foolish to marry too quickly." 
What is it I fear, after all? The deceptiveness of charm, the brevity 
of beauty?

He looks away for a moment. "The council won't like it. They think it 
of great importance that there be a Queen as soon as possible. 
When a prince ascends the throne he's Dictator, but when he marries
he becomes King. Bachelor Dictators are held in some superstition in 
Mendellia -- a bad omen. The country's stability is said to depend
on the presence of both King and Queen."

"Well, then," I sigh, and petulantly start to take off the ring, "go 
find one of the nobles, some girl your mother approves of, who'll 
marry you tomorrow if you ask, and make her Queen. Thayer, I won't 
marry in haste. Fairy tales are all well and good, I'm sure, but -- 
well, this isn't one. Happily ever after doesn't come by coincidence, 
and it generally doesn't come in a hurry."

He grasps my hand and the ring stays where it is. "No," he says. "No, 
if I must wait for you, then wait I will."

I'm startled by the determination in his eyes, though maybe I 
shouldn't be. "Even a year?"

"It'll feel like a century," he protests. "Can't it be any sooner?"

"I've got to finish college," I say. "I too seldom finish what I 
start as it is."

"Just mind," he smiles, "that you finish what we've started today. 
Come back to me, love."

I promise, and kiss him again, and then he goes, for there's a 
calling yet to follow and the day's work is not done for my Dictator. 
And I wait there in the orchard, holding the olive branch and the 
ring close to me, like a seal upon my heart, until the yubbing of the 
Ewoks calls me back to the present.