The worst part about it had to be the waiting. Waiting, and wondering what exactly had changed in the year he had been gone. A year of anticipation and anxiety, always wondering when the portrait of Queen Cyrene would be complete and he would be able to return home. When he would be able to go back to her.

And now... here he was. The town was burning, its citizens afraid that Solaris would return at any time... but it was still home. And she was here as well, just as she had promised. But somehow it seemed... different than before. When he had left, she had simply been his Elly, his beloved. But now she was Sophia, the Holy Mother of Nisan... someone that he could not seem to get close to.

For the moment Lacan was glad that he was trapped on the outer edge of the press of councilmen and bodyguards around her. This way, no one would be able to clearly see the look of frustration and disappointment on his face, or if they did they would assume it was directed at something else. This was not the homecoming that he had expected... not by a long shot.

Lacan tugged at the collar of his Shevat uniform for a moment before he stopped and sighed. He wasn't going to gain anything by being frustrated... the crowd would break up sooner or later and then... what? He honestly didn't know... but he had to find some way to help. To find out everything that had been going on, and to be with her...

"That's settled, then." Elly's - no, Sophia's - voice rose above the discussion of her entourage, clear and strong, if a bit tired. It was the voice of a leader speaking, not the young girl who had watched her love walk away down Nisan's main road so long ago... and it was so different from that girl that she sometimes didn't even recognize it herself. But that was the way things were, now... at least in the public eye. "The extra divisions of troops Shevat has lent to us should take care of the gaps in our recovery teams. But I want you all to see to it that they do the job right - this is /our/ home, after all... Let's show them we know how to take care of ourselves."

Oh, how she longed to have some time to herself... just a little... Lacan and her daughter awaited. "We'll meet again tomorrow at seven to divide the work among everyone." She continued, as the knot of council members and retainers about her loosened. "For now, just make sure everyone has a tent and a fire to keep them warm, and as much food and water as we can spare with the ration in force."

At the sound of her obvious dismissal, Lacan raised his head slightly in order to watch the crowd of people disperse around her and into the different areas of the cathedral in order to discuss the situation. Eventually all that was left were Sophia and three of her bodyguards, standing in the center isle just beyond the patch of smokey light than fell from the broken window at the front of the cathedral.

He started to press forward after a moment, meaning to break through the thin crowd and reach her.

"El... Mother Sophia!" he said, raising his voice as he stepped into the splash of light on the floor, his face inclined respectfully as he paused a short distance away. No matter how he tried, it seemed that he was trapped in the roles they had assumed... he has a representative of Shevat, somehow, and she as the Holy Mother. He closed his eyes after a moment, trying desperately to think of something, anything, to say.

"I was hoping I'd find you here, Lacan." Sophia smiled, trying to let her feelings show through in that little gesture, though she knew it was hopelessly inadequate. When her guards tried to follow she waved them away, meeting Lacan at the edge of what had once been a crimson velvet carpet. Now it was as filthy and tattered as the rest of the town. "I'm sorry this took so long... there's just so much to do..."

There was a long pause; she wanted to tackle him to the ground right there, and squeeze him until his ribs would crack... but that wouldn't be very becoming for the Mother Sophia, would it? Pious religious figures could not dare do anything so human as hugging...

Eventually, she glanced over her shoulder, and gestured to a door hidden in the shadow of the balcony. "We should talk..."

The painter raised a hand slightly in what was almost a futile gesture, holding it between them for a moment before letting it fall back to his side. "Of course, your Holiness..." he replied quietly, his mind racing to try and find some explanation. After a long moment it came to rest on the worst case scenario, and he swallowed around a large lump in his throat.

He demurely followed her across the open expanse of the cathedral until they arrived at the door, and quickly stepped in front of her to open it.

His eyes looked up into hers for a long moment, trying to fathom what she might be thinking at this moment. It seemed almost impossible that his Elly had transformed into this elegant, regal lady... but at the same time, it also seemed perfectly natural. But that position also seemed an insurmountable gap between them now...

Lacan barely managed to hold back a frustrated sigh as she stepped past him into the hallway, and waited for a moment before he followed.

As soon as the door closed, the facade melted away. The poised, elegant Sophia slumped to her knees, bending like a wilted flower to stare at the floor through a wall of glimmering auburn hair. She used to think, working the gardens around their little cottage, that she had known exhaustion... but this feeling, of her limbs turning to rubber, the strain to breathe, the warmth of tears that pushed at her eyes - it all told her that she had known /nothing/ back then. Nothing at all.

"I'm sorry..." Her arms braced her against the cold tile floor, keeping her from collapsing, but only just. "I'm sorry, Lacan..."

Not a moment had passed before Lacan was on his knees beside her, his arms gently supporting her shoulders as he held her against him. He gently brushed her hair back away from her face, his fingers lightly tracing along her cheeks and brushing the tears from her eyes. Any foolish notions of rejection or loss were gone now... everything buried under his concern for her.

"Elly, Elly... its fine," he replied, leaning his head against her crown of auburn hair. "We do what we need to... everyone else needed you, needed your support..." His brown hair spilled down to gently tickle her face as he shook his head. "Are you... hurt? Please, what's wrong, Elly...?"

"You deserve better than this, Lacan..." Another tear streamed down her cheek in a salty trickle. A nightmare, this was... She had often dreamed of the day Lacan would return, but never like this. Never in the middle of a war, with the wall of her position standing between them like a steel bastion. "I couldn't stay with you. I'm so sorry... You deserve so much more..."

"No, Elly..." he whispered quietly, his fingers brushing away the tear before it could roll any further down her cheek. It seemed almost unnatural for her to be crying, this elegant lady... but his Elly... The confusion of her two identities tore at him again like a knife, and Lacan shook his head again after a moment. "Please... I was the one who left you. I should never have gone and left you alone here... I should have been by your side..."

What could he have done, if he had stayed? He was no politician... he had never been anything more than a simple painter. Now he might have a court appointment, and have lived among men and women of power... but in the end, he had not changed.

Not like she had... And never had he expected their joyous reunion to be in the midst of such tragedy. After a moment he reached down and gently clasped her fingers with his, his pained expression clearly demonstrating his loss for words.

Elly pressed her face into his chest, letting the coarse material of his uniform soak up the tears that tricked down her cheeks despite his reassurances. If he only knew... "I'm sorry," she repeated again, shaking her head with a shudder. Things weren't okay; they would never be okay... He didn't even know. He had know idea what he'd just lost... all because of her carelessness. Surely he'd hate her for it... She already hated herself.

Gently hands brushed down the length of her hair, trying to reassure her and stop the shaking that seemed to have gripped her. Lacan gently held her against him, his mind searching frantically for the reason why she seemed so hurt. All that he saw was her outward pain and anguish, not at all lessening as the moments past.

"Elly please... can you tell me what is wrong...?" he asked again after a moment, gently tilting her tear streaked face towards him so he could look into her blue eyes. "Something is hurting you, terribly... let me help... please..." He could think of nothing more to say than that, with no conception of what was truly upsetting her at this point...

"It's all falling apart..." she whispered finally, voice thick with tears. "Everything. Me. Nisan... Our family... Everything is unraveling..."

"Shhhh... its alright... Elly..." he replied after a long moment, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. Lacan paused, before leaning forward and gently kissing the tears away from her eyes, desperate to find a way to stop them. So great was his concern for her that part of her words went right by him, dismissed as part of a single line of though... that the family that she referred to was the people of Nisan.

"We... I... Elly, we should get you to your quarters, if we can... or someplace else..." he said after a moment, his voice thick with emotion. "If someone were to come along... I..." he shook his head, unwilling to admit what he knew now was going to be the truth of their lives. Sophia was the Holy Mother, the woman who was supposed to nurture and guide the people as a while... no his fiance, Elly...

"I don't care!" Her sudden response was fierce, almost a shout, and she hid her face in his shoulder again, her arms finally encircling his waist in a grip much stronger than most people would give her credit for. "I don't care anymore... It doesn't matter, they took her away from me... it doesn't matter anymore..."

It really didn't matter; she was just another god-forsaken wretch, crying out her misery... 'Mother Sophia' was just an icon, an illusion, nothing more... Sophia didn't exist anywhere but in the imaginations of the people who followed her. She wasn't worthy of them - not when she couldn't even protect her /own/ loved ones.

"I can't do it anymore..." Her voice dropped again to a whisper, muffled by his shoulder. "I can't even take care of my own family, let alone an entire nation... I can't..."

The sudden outburst, along with the emotions behind it, were enough to force Lacan into silence for a moment, his only reaction to tighten his own grip around her in response. After a long moment he managed to find his voice, and ask a single question, not certain how she would respond. But his voice was tight with concern as he asked, a sense of finality and revelation slowly dawn on him, as if everything that had happened was leading up to this moment...

"Who did they take away from you, Elly...? You said that they took her away..." Lacan pulled away from her slightly, his hands resting on her shoulders as he searched her eyes for some indication of what she was speaking of. It was clear from his expression that he was confused, with no conception of what she was talking about.

Elly closed her eyes and ducked her head, seeming to shrink in on herself. She said nothing, overcome by yet another fit of shaking. He had to know - she had to tell him. But how? How could she do this to him?

"Aishou," she murmured into her hair, keeping her eyes squeezed tightly shut. "They took... my Aishou." Tears ran from the corners of her eyes like rivers. "My Aishou..."

"Aishou...?" he asked after a moment, his voice obviously puzzled. He had not heard the name before... it certainly was not anyone that he had met when he was living in Nisan. For them to be so close to Elly that their loss would affect her like this... certainly he would have known who they had been. "They were taken by Solaris... no..."

He didn't understand... that much was clear. He didn't understand, and she almost didn't /want/ him to understand. But that would be unfair... worse than telling him in the first place. And this was her fault. All her fault. No good mother would leave her baby in the middle of an invasion. Circumstances didn't matter; if she couldn't take Aishou underground, she should have stayed above with her child. Simple as that.

"It's all my fault... I left her..." Her fingers tangled into her hair, pulling at it as if she wanted to exact retribution on herself, as repayment for making such a mistake. She pulled at her hair, pulling her head down. "I left her... I'm a horrible mother... I left her..."

Lacan reached forward almost automatically and caught her hands by the wrists, keeping her from pulling her hair out by the roots, as it seemed she was poised to do. Her words tumbled over in his mind over and over again, not finding anything logical or expected to anchor on, nothing that he could use to form a reply.

"Aishou... is... your daughter...?" he asked after a long moment, hesitant that he might still be misunderstanding her. At the look of even deeper pain that flashed across her face in response to his query, his eyes widened slightly as he made another guess. "She is... our daughter...?"

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." She rested her forehead on their clasped hands, biting into her lip. It hurt, but it was so much easier to bear than what she felt inside. "My fault... I'm sorry..."

"Elly... its..." He closed his eyes after a moment, holding back any tears that might have threatened to spill out of him at that moment. They had a daughter...? And Solaris had already stolen her away, before he was even able to lay eyes on her... it seemed to incredible to be true. No... after the events of today, nothing seemed to be too farfetched...

Lacan gently unhooked his hands from Elly's, and pulled her against him, listening to her anguished sobs.

"No... we'll get her back. I know we will... no matter now powerful Solaris is, we'll get our daughter back from them... don't cry Elly, it wasn't your fault... please..." He pressed his face into her hair, letting a few tears trail down his face. "It wasn't your fault.... please don't leave me..."

(Summary: Elly and Lacan are finally reunited after a year of separation, only to find that they have yet more pain to share when they find out Aishou is missing.)