Location: Within my own Magic Murder Bag
Re: Babylon Five Fic - "Forgive and Forget"
Well, we move on. We move on. We find there are more important things to do, ever escalating duties. It’s common to all species, of course. Our lives become more rigid, more defined, less flexible. That’s the balance to our coming out of the shelter, the price we pay for the freedom. Except you never left the shelter, did you? Do you remember someone once told you that? You never left it, but you grew rigid and inflexible anyway. Old before your time. It doesn’t have to be that way, Mollari. Now is the time to change it. Take off the shoes. Take them off and dance!
You speak as though you don’t have a choice.
Not true. Ah, you still don’t see it! Mollari, you have always had the capacity - and the power - to choose. Never has it been lost to you.
Ah, then you have been living on Narn for the last sixteen years, in a cave no doubt. Tell me, was it nice there?
Do you know of Yalnarrs?
I did receive an education, yes, as incredible as that may seem. But go on. Don’t let my impatience or distaste impede your efforts to drown me in your voice.
Thank you. Yalnarrs. They’re mythological figures of fear and suspicion, from the early legends. Deceitful, impudent creatures; like Drazi without the charm. The etymology is particular interesting, if you’re versed in Old Haalatae. The word is from the same root as the contemporary “Yarlneran”, which brings us to modern Yane’en, “choice”. The yalnarrs, you see, are essentially, in metaphorical terms, our choices.
Yes, very good. Now, would you be as kind as to -
I’m not finished. The Yalnarrs are our choices, the living consequences. Whenever there are two doors, or more, to choose from, those we don’t choose to step through become Yalnarrs, and they linger. One by one, they come back when you’re vulnerable - when the illusions are stripped away - and they attack. They hound us. Associate with the yalnarr and you court your past selves, all dead and vengeful, is that not how the saying goes? In the old stories, that is how great men fall. They were besieged by these selves, these choices, these demons, until they could stand it no longer and they turned away from themselves in shame - and from Centauri Prime itself.
She has become a burden.
But an acceptable burden?
That is one thing I never understood from those stories, even then. How could you turn from it? To turn one’s back on Centauri Prime - it is unthinkable. I do not understand it, and yet I wonder if I did not do the same.
Choices. And pain. You see, every possible choice, every choice we have, is a door. The yalnarr emerges as we shut those doors, Mollari, yet there are paths left over, paths still open to us even then. Some lead us into the light. We can choose, Mollari, we can choose. But when we are hiding in the darkness, the yalnarrs haunt us, reminding us of ourselves, and we forget that there are paths out of the darkness. That there are roads still to take as well as roads we
failed to take.
Yalnarrs. Quaint myth, but surprisingly insightful. Quite what it says about the Centauri people...well, that’s a mystery escaping us all, I suppose.
I have Yalnarrs.
Why indeed you do, Mollari. Indeed you do.
Yal’Narrs perhaps, yes?
We are all the sum of our tears. Too little and the ground is not fertile and nothing can grow there; too much, the best of us is washed away.
Last edited by Deranged Nasat; September 20 2012 at 01:08 AM.