Elena
wise men speak because
they have something to say
they have something to say
To say Elena was surprised by the request would have been an understatement. Leadership in any capacity was something she'd never sought, never strove for. In had been suggested -- before grief made her reckless and the consequences tore her down -- that she seek the Captain's position. She'd immediately refused even the idea. She was a soldier, too straightforward and honest, unsuited for the politics of leadership. their were others for whom the role was a better fit. People who were clever with tactics, who knew how to talk to the citizens without reverting to the practicality of a soldier.
But it was one thing to seek out power. It was another to accept a duty.
The acting Shields were all but gone, the Citadel's protections pocked with more holes than a Longheat ice-melt. The government was in shambles with the betrayal of one leader -- for what was Neron's reckless bargaining but a betrayal of the people's trust? -- and the death of another. The citizens had so many reasons to distrust anyone of thing that tried to replace them, but, by that same token, someone had to pick up the pieces. Morgan had been offered herself to the alter of leadership and her people had accepted. It was her right to choose who would help her. Elena might not have considered herself one of the better choices, but to refuse that duty now, when taking it could do some good, was cowardice and a dishonor to the Warden and their people.
So she walked through the snow to the temporary council seat, entering in a gust of icy air to see that she was the last one to arrive. Shucking gloves and puling down her hood, she walked forward, cane tapping in step, her limp barely visible. "Warden. I am at your service." She fought against the urge to salute, nodding instead, before turning and offering greetings to her fellow advisors and taking a seat.
But it was one thing to seek out power. It was another to accept a duty.
The acting Shields were all but gone, the Citadel's protections pocked with more holes than a Longheat ice-melt. The government was in shambles with the betrayal of one leader -- for what was Neron's reckless bargaining but a betrayal of the people's trust? -- and the death of another. The citizens had so many reasons to distrust anyone of thing that tried to replace them, but, by that same token, someone had to pick up the pieces. Morgan had been offered herself to the alter of leadership and her people had accepted. It was her right to choose who would help her. Elena might not have considered herself one of the better choices, but to refuse that duty now, when taking it could do some good, was cowardice and a dishonor to the Warden and their people.
So she walked through the snow to the temporary council seat, entering in a gust of icy air to see that she was the last one to arrive. Shucking gloves and puling down her hood, she walked forward, cane tapping in step, her limp barely visible. "Warden. I am at your service." She fought against the urge to salute, nodding instead, before turning and offering greetings to her fellow advisors and taking a seat.
fools because
they have to say something
they have to say something
