I, Mengsk

ENDINGS

BUT FIRST WE HAVE TO BURY HER...

Valerian sat in the leather armchair before the dying coal lire, swirling another tawny port in his glass as his father poured himself another rich amber brandy. That wasn't his usual drink of choice, but he'd always drunk brandy when in Ailin Pasteur's home and didn't see any need to change now.

The funeral service of Juliana Pasteur had been brief, but dignified, attended by the majority of the Umojan Ruling Council and a few of the emperor's closest advisers. Ailin Pasteur had read his daughter's eulogy and no one had been surprised when he did not ask Arcturus to say anything.

Valerian had planned to speak, but when the moment came he had been unable to move, such was the weight of grief pinning him lo his seat.

His mother's death was the most painful thing Valerian had ever endured.

It had taken a further eighteen months after the attack on her father's house for her to die, her last breath taken a month before Valerian's twenty-first birthday. It had not been an easy death: her last year had been spent confined to bed with only infrequent bouts of lucidity.

Valerian had spent those months at her side, holding her hand, mopping her brow, and reading passages from Poems of the Twilight Stars. Often she forgot who he was or believed him to be her long-lost love, Arcturus: her great and glorious prince.

That had been hard to bear, for she recalled a man who no longer existed, if he ever had.

Her last morning had been glorious, the sun a brilliant bronze disc in the sky and the wind fresh off the river, carrying scents of far-off provinces and the promise of undiscovered countries.

Valerian had opened the curtains and said. "It's wonderful out there today."

"You should go for a run," replied his mother. "It's been so long since you went outside."

"Maybe I will," he answered. "Later."

She nodded and propped herself up in bed.

Though her illness had robbed his mother of much of her former beauty, the copper light from the newly risen sun bathed her in a pearlescent glow that most healthy people, never mind cancer sufferers, could only dream of.

"You look beautiful today," said Valerian.

She smiled and said. "Sit with me."

Valerian sat in the chair next to her bed, but she shook her head. "No, on the bed."

He did as he was bid and she slipped her arms around him, pulling him to her as she had done so many times when he was a little boy. She stroked his golden hair and kissed his forehead.

"My dear boy," she said. "You are everything I wished for. Do you remember that day beside the river before the attack on your grandfather's house?"

"Yeah, I remember. What about it?"

"Do you remember what I said to you there?"

"I do," he said, wary as to where this conversation was going.

"You've been so good to me since then, honey, but it's time for you to live your own life now. You can't be tied to me anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it's time for you to be your own man now, Val," said his mother urgently, and he could hear her heartbeat flutter like a caged bird in her chest. "You tried so hard to make me better and fought against something that can't be fought, but it's time to let go."

"No," he said, tears gathering in his eyes as he held her tightly.

"You have to," said Juliana. "Acceptance is the only way you can defeat death, my beautiful boy. I've made peace with it and now you have to as well. Tell me you understand..."

Valerian closed his eyes, unwilling to say the words, but knowing that she was right, for had fought against the inevitable for so long that he had forgotten there was nothing he could do to prevent it. His mother was dying and part of him would die with her, but so long as he lived, part of her would live on.

That was her legacy to him. Her goodness and her compassion had always been part of his character, her life and beauty and vitality part of his soul. But so too was his father's ruthlessness and determination to succeed at any cost. Those qualities passed on by his parents had blended within him to make him who he was, and only now did he understand what that meant.

He was neither his mother nor his father: he was Valerian Mengsk, with all the qualities and faults such a state of being entailed. The things he had inherited and learned from both of them would forever guide his steps, but the final choice of where his life would lead was down to him.

"I understand," he said, and he knew she felt the truth of his words.

"I know you do, my dear. You make me so proud."

"I love you," he said as tears streamed freely down his face.

"I love you too, Valerian," said his mother.

Those had been the final words she said to him, her heart finally giving out as she held him on that last glorious morning on Umoja.

Valerian had stood and folded her arms in her lap, smiling at the serenity he saw in her, the lines of care, worry, and pain erased from her face in death. She was at peace, and she was beautiful.

His father had come to Umoja a week later and they had circled one another like the largest wolves in a pack, each gauging the other's strength as mourners arrived for the funeral. Now, with the burial concluded and the guests sipping expensive wine and eating canapes, father and son retired to Valerian's study.

"Your grandfather spoke well," said his father, pouring a glass of brandy and taking the seat opposite Valerian. "It was a moving eulogy."

"Yes, but you'd expect that," said Valerian, his voice hollow and empty, "what with him being a politician."

"I suppose so," agreed Arcturus.

"So?" said Valerian, when his father lapsed into silence. "You were going to tell me of Korhal. Of your father. And my mother."

"Yes," mused Arcturus, swilling brandy around his glass. "Are you sitting comfortably?"

His father then went on to speak for several hours, telling him of his youth on Korhal, his time with the Confederate Marine Corps, and what had transpired between him and Juliana. Valerian had been surprised by his father's candor, but soon realized that Arcturus Mengsk had no need to lie to anyone anymore.

His father had done most of the talking, but as the tale had caught up to the present, Valerian had spoken, injecting his father's story with his own memories. At the conclusion of the narrative both men lapsed into silence.

It was a silence that wasn't uncomfortable, simply a space between two men who had not yet decided what to say to one another.

Valerian broke the silence first. "I won't be like you," he said.

"I'm not asking you to be like me," said his father, taking a mouthful of brandy. "I never wanted that, I just wanted you to be someone I could be proud of."

"And are you? Proud of me."

His father considered the question for a moment before answering. "Yes, I am proud of you. You are intelligent and have courage, two qualities that will get you far in this galaxy, but you have more than that, Valerian. You have greatness within you, just as I do, and everything we have talked about today only reaffirms my belief that we Mengsks are made for greater things than the common herd can expect of their lives."

"I am my own man, Father, and I'll not live my life in your shadow."

His father chuckled. "Nor do I expect you to. Ah, Valerian, so many of the things you say remind me of the arguments I had with my father all those years ago.”

Arcturus stood and drained the last of his brandy. "Sometimes I think we're doomed to repeat the mistakes of our fathers throughout eternity."

"I won't make the same mistakes you made," promised Valerian.

"No, I'm sure you won't," agreed Arcturus. "You'll make new ones.”

"That's not very reassuring."

"It wasn't meant to be, son," said Arcturus. "Now come on, pull yourself together: We have an empire to build."