A Mission Post by Lieutenant Commander Jin Rha-Yaleii
Mission: Coil of Darkness
Location: Vulcan
Timeline: some days prior to the Romulan delegation leaving ch'Rihan
~ The little villa's gardens, shores of Thanar ~
"Oh, and there have been four more letters. I put them in your study." Nveid saved the last bit of his uttaberry kisan from an inquisitive Warya, but the unperturbed sehlat simply proceeded to turn his amber-golden gaze towards the little girl who happily obliged her furry friend by stuffing his face with more muffins. "Thank you, so-kam. Ahdýa, are you anticipating a sudden famine in Eastern Kir?" the latter was directed at the Betazoid who had sidestepped the munching ball of fur to carefully set a plate on the table next to his daughter. A plate laden with what appeared to be at least four different kinds of chocolate, blended together in a piece of cake of sufficient size to feed three adult Vulcans.
"I am guessing my daughter was too busy to remember such inconsequential things as eating while away and I am anticipating she'll not go and remedy that of her own volition. Hence the Betazoid nougat. Oh, and there'll be pizza for dinner. Good old L'Nel brought around some cheese and I had tomatoes delivered."
"Logical." Nveid's deadpan expression might have put a Kolinahru to shame, at least until one looked closer and saw the merriment dancing in dark brown eyes the color of a shaded forest pool.
Satisfied that his daughter was contemplating the chocolate with enough interest to indicate she'd at least tackle it with a good will, Rel Tyrax strode back towards the house to see about the tea.
Stepping through the light, seashell colored curtains he absentmindedly noted the time by the angle of sunlight flooding the little salon scattered with the typical Vulcan low couches and wrought iron tables. Built a good two thousand years ago – give or take a century – by a lady whose mate had hailed from the island-continent of Xir'Tan and had never felt quite at ease out of sight of the sea, the graceful little villa was designed to take full advantage of every light breeze wafting in from Thanar. The spacious, airy layout and pale honey-gold marble floor with pretty light rosewood colored veins at once gave the place a bright, cozy feeling and kept the worst of the heat at bay.
For all that Vulcans claimed to be ruthlessly practical, the Betazoid knew better. Closet aesthetes, the logical lot of them. Though some were certainly worse than others.
Rel bypassed the foyer and the charming little library, turning towards the three stairs leading down into the kitchen. Alright, the practical part was not entirely wrong – after all it was sensible to mold the house to suit the hill it was built on rather than vice-versa, and if the occasional random stairs and varying floor levels gave the whole ensemble an almost playful aura in the bargain, it would be a tad rude to point that out.
Besides, it suited the current residents as if it had in fact been built for them and Rel was not surprised in the least that his little one had chosen the place over the vast family estate. Seeing as T'Leia had only been too … well, satisfied, to have someone move into a residence that had stood empty for far too long on account of roughly ninety percent of Vulcans being perfectly content to live out of sight of the sea, thank you kindly, it was a classic win-win.
Not that Kir folk were as skittish around large bodies of water as many of the more land-locked or desert bred clans, but they still preferred solid ground over stuff that shifted worse than sand dunes and offered naught by ways of a view in the bargain. If you could at least drink it, but no, it was more bitter than salt-weed.
Musing over pointy-eared little quirks, Rel carefully shook and measured the tea leaves while keeping an eye on the water, when another familiar presence approaching the house tickled at his senses.
Of course the lad had beamed in precisely outside the gate, too polite – and too smart – to materialize in a Vulcan lady's territory without a 'by your leave'; but close enough that the pleasant ringing of bronze chimes sounded before Rel made it to the door.
"Sovar. What brings you around?" the Betazoid covertly dusted some muuplo flour off his pants and favored the tall, darkly handsome man striding up the path with a mildly perplexed but nonetheless welcoming smile.
"Rel Tyrax." The Vulcan delivered a flawless bow "I greet you. Forgive my unannounced arrival, however there is somewhat I believe Sakarra would like to-"
"Well come on in then. She's out back with the little ones and supposedly there's enough muffins to feed the Warlord of Khomi's army. Tea's almost done, too."
"I had hoped you might convey the message-"
"Ah, lad. You know she can't stay mad at you for long, so you might as well stop fidgeting like a fogcat with a burr and say hello."
"Vulcans do not … very well. If you are certain I do not-"
"Impose? Correct me if I'm wrong lad, but do not 'ne ki'ne' and 'impose' sort of mutually exclude one another?"
The something flashing across Sovar's face could have very nearly been called an expression.
That he of all people should have allowed himself to be fooled by the patient gaze and the quiet smile, the placid demeanor. When he of all people should know the Betazoid standing before him, with those night black eyes that seemed so soft and tranquil yet saw, and saw, and saw … had been T'Sora's mate. And as such wasn't going to be fooled by a mere Vulcan stripling of scarce 50, V'Shar trained or no.
"Indeed, S'haile. I do regret the unfortunate timing, however."
Rel chuckled. "There's never an unfortunate time for a friend to show up. Old Betazoid wisdom. And you may leave the S'haile at the coat hanger and be thanked for it, makes me feel as if I were older than I already am."
Sovar caught himself looking for such a device for one point two seconds before he realized it had been a metaphor.
"As you will, S'hai… Rel Tyrax."
"Rel will do, lad. Now go on with you, I've ch'aal brewing and it's coming along nicely. I'll be out in a bit."
Sovar went on with himself as requested, but not before offering another two breaths worth of exquisitely courteous bow. He more felt than saw the iron-grey haired Betazoid's amused headshake.
The shaded coolness of the foyer enveloped him and for a moment Sovar paused like someone who'd just plunged into a pool and found it colder than expected. A soft, almost dreamy silence seemed to permeate the little villa in the early afternoon heat, as if the ancient stone itself were dozing in the sun, lulled by the quiet murmur of waves. Scents of oiled wood and gespar wax were barely detectable under the rather delightful smell of baked goods wafting upwards from the kitchen, and from beyond the arched doorway where a curved staircase led to the upper levels, muted voices reached his ears. And then a flurry of notes, a wild and playful melody struck on the chords of a ka'athyra, warm, resonant and as effortless as a shavokh taking wing. He knew whose hands were making the lyre sing like this, and so Sovar wasn't at all surprised when the tune settled into a plaintive, teasing air and her voice rose in counterpoint.
He followed the achingly pure soprano soaring above the haunting melody woven by the ka'athyra's strings and came upon the very image of idyllic domesticity. A sunlit garden, redolent with the scents of favinit and warm grass, a small pergola overgrown with vines throwing patterns of light and shadow on the small family seated beneath. The mother, a sable-haired beauty with the fine, elegant features of the Kir Highlands, sitting straight backed on a low couch while her fingers deftly danced across the lyre. The son, leaning against that couch with an indolent grace that belied his yet young years, a faraway look in his soft brown eyes; shiny black hair caught at the nape of his neck with a bit of blood-green thread. The sehlat, sprawled on his side, brown-golden fur shimmering in Nevasa's glare, dozing peacefully with a belly full of pastries. And the daughter. Little Salaran, bearing the same stamp of a long vanquished clan as her mother in the wild profusion of curls spilling down her back, sitting cross-legged in the grass next to the sehlat, a half eaten muffin forgotten in her hand as she seemed absorbed by the song.
An old song this was; old already when the world of their birth was still tearing itself apart in the flames of unrestrained passions. Telling of love, found and lost in fire and blood, of desperate chances and cities burning beneath uncaring stars, of a warrior whose name echoed through the millennia and a wild child of golden hills died too soon.
Salaran's favorite song.
Even as Sovar experienced a by now familiar pain in his side, a millstone's weight stirring in the deep and cracking for the thousandth time, he wondered once more whether this story truly was somewhat to be told in a four year old child's presence. A child born of passions and fire and blood.
And yet. It made no sense, none at all, but somewhere in his very bones he knew it was … logical. That the way to take away the shadow's power was to face it, to speak its name and give it a place in your life even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.
Like a man who has grasped at the frail thread of a much larger truth, Sovar stood in the arched doorway and looked at the tranquil face of she who shone so brightly, lived so deeply, that even the darkest shadows seemed pale specks moving within the one cast by her.
He was so lost in his thoughts, he scarce noticed the soft cadences of the ka'athyra falling silent and the wry, affectionate gaze resting on him. A gaze like a touch, lingering on his furrowed brows and seeking his eyes, gentle, questioning. A heavy ring of iron somewhere deep inside loosened when Sovar realized she was indeed no longer … mad at him.
~to be continued...~
Subcommander Sakarra
V'Ket
Sovar
V'Shar
&
Nveid, Salaran, Rel Tyrax
-------
Ahdýa – (Betazoid) - daddy
Ne ki'ne – (anc) – shield partner, most trusted friend and skilled warrior. Generally a lifelong bond and basis for many ancient Vulcan legends. Somewhat fallen out of favor in modern times, but still considered a logical term to be used by the few Vulcans serving in the V'Ket or similar capacities.
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