Ethan Lazarevich

Dedra Meero, on the other hand, Does Not Do feelings. She looks at Syril like he crawled out of a shower drain when he starts rambling about justice and beauty. You can count the number of times her face does anything vaguely resembling a smile on one hand. She’s framed as an ISB Swiss Army knife, at least in the first season; she interrogates, she solves problems, she points out the flaws in others’ plans, she writes up reports. Dedra’s wearing a perfectly pressed uniform and presenting her findings to Yularen. Syril’s in his jammies snarking at his mom, and yelling about Andor.

The point, though, isn’t to emphasize how different they are; it’s to highlight how much Dedra never tried to change him. In Season 2, he’s still obsessed with his clothing. He’s still collecting his trinkets. When Eedy calls him delicate, Dedra’s reflex isn’t to agree - it’s to verbally dismember Eedy and make her choke down that disparagement for dessert. If she’d wanted to, Dedra could’ve used that year time-jump to turn Syril into the Perfect Imperial Officer, and Syril would’ve done what she asked because was both desperate for acceptance and madly in love. Instead, Dedra fell for him. As he was. Action figures, awkwardness, and all. She had no intention of “toughening him up,” and she nearly murdered Eedy for suggesting it.

I’m rambling now, but there’s something so endearing about the ISB’s Rising Star, renowned for her cold logic and frigid detachment, falling in love with and ultimately protecting the warmth and softness in Syril. They’re two beautiful fascist sunflowers growing side by side, but in another sense, Syril’s a sunflower and Dedra’s an electrified fence between him and the rest of the world. She loves that sunflower, despite never turning to face the sun, herself. That’s what makes me want to cry.

So. In conclusion: