Romulan POV Log | Flames | Arrenhe t'Ahaefvthe

Posted on 241511.02 @ 12:02pm by Praetor Arrenhe t'Ahaefvthe

Mission: Reconciliation & Reconstruction [Fleet Plot]
Location: Earth, London
Timeline: Several Days Previous

[Earth, London]

Shiarrael was uttering words between rasping coughs that her parents were probably blanching at from the celestial depths. Anger. An understatement as she surveyed the carnage. Bodies, wreckage, organic matter splattered on anything worth splattering on…including her uniform. Emerald blotches and wads of shredded flesh decorated her once violet colored sash that was now anything but. Fortunately none of that flesh belonged to her- seemingly unscathed save for a light gash on her forehead and frazzled wits. In front of her the mangled bodies of several Rei’Krannsu lie halfway under a metallic beam as several thin streams of emerald blood coursed across the debris strewn steps. “Raha.” She called and was relieved to find her Security Officer somewhat alive slightly downward from her standing over a dust caked figure.

“EnRiov…” Raha coughed and futilely wiped the back of her hand across her dust strewn forehead to no relief “the Galae’EnRiov has been severely injured…”

Urgency suddenly over rid the irritation and Shiarrael surveyed her surroundings “Praetor!” She spun around “where is the Praetor?!”

“Calm yourself Shiarrael.” Arrenhe’s suddenly ivory form was kneeling over a debris covered figure whom Shiarrael recognized as the Federation’s President Sa’Vak while Councillor Enor was next to her “tend to tr’Thrai. I believe there is little to be done for the Federation President.” Her voice was somber, dejected, something Shiarrael hadn’t heard before. The EnRiov nodded and made her way towards Raha.

Heat. Pressure.
The Vulcan was scarce aware of the voices floating at the edge of his consciousness, though he experienced a moment of concern for them. They sounded extraordinarily upset.
There was no need to analyze his physical condition at this point; the sensations having grown beyond what even a trained mind can bear were leaving no doubt as to how little time remained. Perhaps it was just as well he seemed unable to draw sufficient breath for a groan.
Still, some habits die harder than even a Vulcan and Sa’vak devoted precious seconds of his remaining life to the fascinating puzzle of what might have occurred. Logic suggested his current condition to be the result of being subjected to debris following a detonation… roughly 233.8 metres, at 114.4 degrees, therefore the yield…

Pressure. Blazing heat and burning cold.
Not long now.
How highly unfortunate. Through the searing agony that permeated every atom of his being, the Vulcan
-felt-
a wave of grief. A day that had held the frail promise of peace, or even but a beginning to reach for the other, seek but the smallest chance to heal ancient wounds … torn asunder in violence.

Another sensation rose from the depths, fierce and unstoppable as Nevasa’s flames, and this time he might have screamed if not for the lifeblood seeping from his veins and the terrible weight crushing his chest.
For a heartbeat that lasted a lifetime, the face of She who was his wife stood before the Vulcan as sharp and clear as Seleya’s peak at dawn.
Parted from me, and never parted.
He
-felt-
warm, tender fingertips on his temples, the brush of a mind as familiar to him as his own.
Never and always, touching and touched … I await thee.
Clinging to the frail thread of light, he hoped she would forgive him.

It was a sad sight. She was not fond of her cousins- she could never understand their propensity towards logic- to deny the passions that coursed through their veins as it coursed through hers. But in some ways she could feel empathy towards Sa’Vak now. To die when you have reached the pinnacle of power? How many woeful tragedy’s had her people written about this very situation? She frowned and placed a comforting palm over the President’s forehead “Always…violence.” Arrenhe noted wryly and tried to determine the strength of his fading heart “unfortunate that we were not able to speak. I have always had respect for our cousins- but through a filtered lens.” She looked at Jolias “how long until your emergency services arrive Councillor?”

“Always…violence.” Silently, the Vulcan agreed. So close, this voice … so fraught with grief. A presence, familiar yet not, the sparkling sensation of a vibrant, living mind but not ‘hearing’ the other. Not of his kind, then, but a distant cousin, sundered long ago in the fires that tore a race apart.
He would have liked to comfort her.

Shocked by events the Trill seemed dazed as he stared at the President. When the Praetor spoke to him he barely registered her comment before realization hit and he nodded his head causing some dust to cascade downward from his hair. “I’m not sure.”

“how long until your emergency services arrive Councilor?” Not soon enough.
A touch as gentle as the morning breeze over Kwil’inor, the woman’s hand seeking his fading pulse, yet the agony seared through him like a bolt.
And on its heels … sorrow, deep and profound, a wry tenderness, reaching for the dying one, offering the solace of not being alone, at least that I can give you … the other consciousness swam before him, disjointed images, and her emotions flowing freely as he had no more strength to shield from them.

Instincts as old as his race made Sa’vak’s hand lift to warm temples in one last, desperate summoning of will, answering the Other’s reaching.
Confusion. Startled recognition, the impulse to flee, to break free from the sensation of another mind drawing closer, closer, …
‘I am Sa’vak’ he told her, gently, speaking the name in the melody of his native world. The one that carried meaning, and in an instant he knew ‘they’ understood the importance as well.

Wonder. Wry amusement as said meaning registered, and a tentative reaching.
It was enough.
No meld, this, no union of souls and hearts until boundaries blurred and faded, but the gift and burden of a living Katra seeking shelter with the Other. Still, he owed this generous one – Arrenhe, he was chided mildly and acknowledged the name and meaning with a most un-Vulcan silent smile – a moment of … saying hello. Even though a moment was all he had left. With infinite gentleness he let his Self brush against the other, gratitude at this unexpected gift weaving through the mind-link.
Tuluk tu… vokau.
A lifetime, lived again in the space of a single heartbeat.
Remember me, cousin.
Sa’vak’s hand fell limp to the ground.

Like a clap of thunder a mental rush of thought surged through Arrenhe as if she had touched some live wire. Her irises dilated as her teeth suddenly clenched. She could feel the President… but frighteningly she could also taste his final thoughts. Gasping she released her grip on Sa’Vak’s now lifeless body and recoiled backward clawing at her temples to ease the sudden pain that throbbed at her temples.

One of the few remaining Rei’Krannsu rushed to her side. The commotion grew as other’s surrounded her in a panic concern over the Praetor’s health. Did she have an injury no one noticed? “Take the Praetor back to the ship!” The deep bellicose of EnRiov t’Rehu’s voice cut through the panic “she should not remain here any longer. Now!”

“Bring her to furthest Bomber.” Lai spoke after his Leih “it is still operable.” The remaining dust caked Romulan officers and soldiers escorted the writhing Praetor away.

Raha frowned at Shiarrael “this is not good.” A hand pressed against the Galae’EnRiov’s neck “his pulse is weakening- if we can’t get him out of here soon…”

“I know!” Shiarrael snapped and turned towards the working bomber as its thrusters created a cascading wall of dust and debris as it lifted off “but the priority is the Praetor.” She could see the emerald liquid slowly seep its way up his uniform “this is not the time die to Takaram!” Her eyes suddenly became wet and forced her to turn away. The smoke was beginning to clear and as she surveyed the battered landscape it was the first time she had noticed the chorus of moans and cries echoing out from the debris.

A silhouette suddenly materialized next to them. Shiarrael readied for an attack but stopped when she noticed the teal collar and medical kit.

“We’re here to help.” The woman declared. Shiarrael could only wonder if it was too late.

[To be continued]