Hadand Algara-Vayir (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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triangularity2015-02-05 11:06 pm
deheldegarthe) wrote in triangularity2015-02-05 11:06 pm
Entry tags:
AUs of our AUs: A timeline diverges, and a would-be queen leaves her kingdom behind.
Hadand knew he was here. She waited in the throne room, dressed in her family's green rather than the royal crimson, a black sash at her waist. Cama stood by in Shield Arm position, having had both the faith in Hadand and Evred and the air of authority necessary to take over the Guard and back Hadand's orders. When Evred finally reached the throne room, his arrival heralded as much by the people's gasps and murmurs as by any formal announcement, she saluted, fist to heart.
Everything blurred together after that. Evred got her alone at first opportunity, taking Hadand by the hands once they were safely shut into the royal nursery where they had grown up together. "You held the kingdom. There's nothing greater anyone could ask."
It struck her suddenly, how tall and straight he'd grown. Only his expressions distinguished him from his late father. There were new lines around his eyes since last she'd seen him. Even at twenty, he was old enough and wise enough that Hadand could easily trust him with a kingdom. She would trust Evred with anything, herself included. He could never care for her romantically, of course, and she stamped out any faint tendrils of attraction before they could take root and grow strong.
"Sponge--" she started, cutting herself off at use of the childhood nickname. "Evred, I know you have far more than your share of worries right now, but could I ask you to take on one more?" At his nod of assent, an unspoken 'of course' implied in the look that accompanied it, she continued. "There are whispers in the palace. Eyes follow me, and people stop speaking when I enter a room. I've no wish to burden you, but things changed after my father went home to Choread Elgaer. I fear it may mean more trouble coming."
He squeezed her hands briefly before releasing them. "Hadand," and he paused here to consider his words, "you know that I trust you completely, and know you too well to believe any testimony against you." The one bit of broken trust between them had been long-since forgiven, though never forgotten. Evred loved her like a sister. He had always trusted and looked up to her, in a way he never had his own sibling.
"That means there is false testimony," Hadand concluded, as he'd known she would. "Lies to further muddy the waters, as if things weren't bad enough. What do they say?"
Evred's mouth twisted. "You were implicated in my brother's assassination." At her look of outrage, he continued, "I doubt they can get you executed for it, but they will almost certainly have you imprisoned in the numbers they are amassing to back their story.
"Hadand, I want you to go. Like Inda." He never mentioned Inda aloud anymore, but Hadand knew her youngest brother was always in Evred's thoughts. The name alone was proof of his seriousness. "I want you out of reach of this, and there will be no honorable return to Iasca Leror. It is all I can do for you. You deserve to be Hadand-Gunvaer, and hailed as Deheldegarthe by the people. You earned that place. You defended the throne with your own two hands, and I had thought to ask..."
He trails off momentarily, before shaking his head. "Go to Lindeth Harbor. Sail on the ship with least ties to home."
Hadand had remained stoic throughout the speech, but that last word, home, broke her facade. Evred could see how lost she felt now, rather than just surmising it. She knew nothing of space travel. When Barend came home to speak of his time aboard ships, it sounded like nonsense to her. And Iasca Leror was, of course, her home. Hadand could recall no time when she had not known that she would be its queen one day. Her life was here. Her family, what little of it remained to her, was here.
Her family.
With Hadand gone, that would leave not a single one of her parents' children alive and within the kingdom. Her mother would be left with the two girls she'd raised to wed the two sons now lost to her, and not even any letters from a daughter in the royal city as consolation.
That was unacceptable. "If I go," she said quietly, "I need a promise from you. As my friend, my family, and my king."
"Anything," he promised, "if it is within my power to do."
Hadand breathed deep before she spoke again, chin jutting out stubbornly. "Bring my brother home. Swear it to me, and swear it to my mother. Write to my mother from time to time. Tell her I escaped safely. Pass along my love, if you can manage it." She reached out, very lightly touching Evred's arm. Her voice was very soft. "Inda's situation was nothing like mine. He refused a whipping after contrived boyhood dishonor, not because he was afraid but because he did not deserve it. Find a way to set it aside. The revelation of your uncle's other treachery should help. Find Inda, and set things right."
He said he would, and so, she left.
As luck would have it, Hadand found the most foreign ship of all, one whose ties were in an entirely different part of the galaxy. Hadand pled her case with Captain Janeway of the Voyager and was allowed aboard. It pained her to leave Iasca Leror and know that there would truly be no return, but at least now there can be no second guessing.
Hadand can never go home.
She tries to settle into her new life aboard ship, the greenest of new recruits but willing to learn. Hadand cautiously works her way into the crew trying to find a place and a purpose after losing the only ones she'd known.
Everything blurred together after that. Evred got her alone at first opportunity, taking Hadand by the hands once they were safely shut into the royal nursery where they had grown up together. "You held the kingdom. There's nothing greater anyone could ask."
It struck her suddenly, how tall and straight he'd grown. Only his expressions distinguished him from his late father. There were new lines around his eyes since last she'd seen him. Even at twenty, he was old enough and wise enough that Hadand could easily trust him with a kingdom. She would trust Evred with anything, herself included. He could never care for her romantically, of course, and she stamped out any faint tendrils of attraction before they could take root and grow strong.
"Sponge--" she started, cutting herself off at use of the childhood nickname. "Evred, I know you have far more than your share of worries right now, but could I ask you to take on one more?" At his nod of assent, an unspoken 'of course' implied in the look that accompanied it, she continued. "There are whispers in the palace. Eyes follow me, and people stop speaking when I enter a room. I've no wish to burden you, but things changed after my father went home to Choread Elgaer. I fear it may mean more trouble coming."
He squeezed her hands briefly before releasing them. "Hadand," and he paused here to consider his words, "you know that I trust you completely, and know you too well to believe any testimony against you." The one bit of broken trust between them had been long-since forgiven, though never forgotten. Evred loved her like a sister. He had always trusted and looked up to her, in a way he never had his own sibling.
"That means there is false testimony," Hadand concluded, as he'd known she would. "Lies to further muddy the waters, as if things weren't bad enough. What do they say?"
Evred's mouth twisted. "You were implicated in my brother's assassination." At her look of outrage, he continued, "I doubt they can get you executed for it, but they will almost certainly have you imprisoned in the numbers they are amassing to back their story.
"Hadand, I want you to go. Like Inda." He never mentioned Inda aloud anymore, but Hadand knew her youngest brother was always in Evred's thoughts. The name alone was proof of his seriousness. "I want you out of reach of this, and there will be no honorable return to Iasca Leror. It is all I can do for you. You deserve to be Hadand-Gunvaer, and hailed as Deheldegarthe by the people. You earned that place. You defended the throne with your own two hands, and I had thought to ask..."
He trails off momentarily, before shaking his head. "Go to Lindeth Harbor. Sail on the ship with least ties to home."
Hadand had remained stoic throughout the speech, but that last word, home, broke her facade. Evred could see how lost she felt now, rather than just surmising it. She knew nothing of space travel. When Barend came home to speak of his time aboard ships, it sounded like nonsense to her. And Iasca Leror was, of course, her home. Hadand could recall no time when she had not known that she would be its queen one day. Her life was here. Her family, what little of it remained to her, was here.
Her family.
With Hadand gone, that would leave not a single one of her parents' children alive and within the kingdom. Her mother would be left with the two girls she'd raised to wed the two sons now lost to her, and not even any letters from a daughter in the royal city as consolation.
That was unacceptable. "If I go," she said quietly, "I need a promise from you. As my friend, my family, and my king."
"Anything," he promised, "if it is within my power to do."
Hadand breathed deep before she spoke again, chin jutting out stubbornly. "Bring my brother home. Swear it to me, and swear it to my mother. Write to my mother from time to time. Tell her I escaped safely. Pass along my love, if you can manage it." She reached out, very lightly touching Evred's arm. Her voice was very soft. "Inda's situation was nothing like mine. He refused a whipping after contrived boyhood dishonor, not because he was afraid but because he did not deserve it. Find a way to set it aside. The revelation of your uncle's other treachery should help. Find Inda, and set things right."
He said he would, and so, she left.
As luck would have it, Hadand found the most foreign ship of all, one whose ties were in an entirely different part of the galaxy. Hadand pled her case with Captain Janeway of the Voyager and was allowed aboard. It pained her to leave Iasca Leror and know that there would truly be no return, but at least now there can be no second guessing.
Hadand can never go home.
She tries to settle into her new life aboard ship, the greenest of new recruits but willing to learn. Hadand cautiously works her way into the crew trying to find a place and a purpose after losing the only ones she'd known.
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The promise of a partner for knife practice makes Hadand feel so much more at home. She has taught before, but always for the other person's sake. Chakotay's offer is a gift to her rather than the reverse. Hadand resolves to fully appreciate it.
And her closest friendships at home were marked by silence, by knowing one another well enough to read between all the words penned or spoken. Tdor was like that. She and Hadand could speak with a glance, with a sentence related to a different topic entirely. Evred too, usually. Hadand knew him better than he knew himself sometimes. On the Voyager, there is no one Hadand knows so well that she can hear all the things they leave out of conversation, nor who knows her well enough to pick up on her own subtleties. She has had to become more blunt here. Hadand is grateful for the chance to learn more about Chakotay, who has made such efforts to welcome her. "I would appreciate learning about your people," she tells him, her sincerity obvious.
Watching the Mok'bara sequence again, Hadand repeats the movements herself, once at her previous pace to correct any small errors, and once more at something closer to full speed.
She looks forward to programing a piece of the palace. "All this metal... I miss the stones of our castles." To be surrounded by stone walls again would be a blessing, even if the stones are no more real than the weapon gripped in Hadand's hands right now. It feels real enough. Perhaps the walls will as well. "I will write some notes and maybe make sketches if those would help." For the throne room, with its greater amount of detail, those seem like they may be necessary.
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Someday Chakotay and Hadand will likely get to the point where words will no longer be necessary. It took Chakotay and Kathryn years to get to that point, but they managed it. Now the command team simply speaks with looks a good deal of the time. With as much as he is coming to know Hadand, he can see himself learning to read her the way he reads Kathryn and perhaps she will read him the way Kathryn does. Most of the crew knows each other well enough to say some things without speaking; most still require words. There are a handful of people who know each other on a deeper level -- Tom & B'Elanna, Tom & Harry, Chakotay and Kathryn, Tuvok and Kathryn (though Tuvok rarely avoids using words, as far as Chakotay has seen). Perhaps Hadand will find somewhere to fit into that. Neelix didn't and neither did Seven, but Neelix relies more on words than most people on Voyager and Seven...
Seven is Borg. Chakotay makes a note to warn Hadand about Seven today. She shouldn't be left unaware of Seven's presence or mannerisms.
Shaking off thoughts of their resident Borg, Chakotay watches her for a minute longer. Stones and castles. That can be arranged. "That would help," he answers. "For now, I think I might be able to fix that. It won't be the same, but it might help. Computer, create an ancient stone Scottish castle."
Instead of asking for clarification, which was what he had expected, the computer plops them into the courtyard of an ancient castle. It likely isn't anything like what she's used to, but maybe it's similar enough and has enough stone to help her acclimate better.
"This is from one Earth's ancient castles," he explains, glancing around at the walls, the fog rolling in from the ocean that isn't far away, and the birds flying overhead. Again, he doesn't speak of Earth as his personal home. It isn't. It's close, but it isn't exactly home to him anymore. "I thought it might help to have a transition state."
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Chakotay has done enough for her that thanks would go stale in her mouth if she kept repeating them over and over. Her response should be evidence enough of Hadand's appreciation. "It does help. I used to drill in courtyards like this, though of course the castle itself was different."
Her gaze stays on Chakotay only long enough to answer him. As soon as Hadand finishes speaking, her eyes dart in all directions, eagerly taking in the sky, the birds, the castle itself, the scent of the air. It's not Iasca Leror. It isn't the royal palace of the Montrei-Vayir, where she grew up among the family into which she was to marry, nor Tenthen Castle where she was born. The world is different, the creatures and air and animals, not just the castle itself. Even so, Hadand is comfortable here.
She realizes only now, as tension slides away, just how starved she's been for something familiar. A weapon in her hands even if it isn't her knives, open sky above, and stone walls all around. Hadand's shoulders relax. Her feet shift to something that feels more natural and less forced, somewhere between the new Mok'bara stance and a familiar Odni one. She will learn Mok'bara properly, but right now Hadand just wants to feel at home, or to approach as near as she can come to that feeling.
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"This castle is from one of the old kingdoms of Earth, one that eventually became a country before the world government was formed," he speaks, watching her settle into the new environment. Eventually, he steps forward so he can gaze through a hole in the stones, out across the castle grounds. Past the fog, the ocean rolls, invisible to the naked eye for now. "That country was called Scotland. Anytime you have holodeck time scheduled, you can come back here and request this setting."
Perhaps someday he'll show her some of the programs already saved to the computer. For now, though, this is enough. He doesn't need to overwhelm her so soon.
"We can go take a walk sometime, if you'd like. I'm not familiar with this particular setting at all."
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She joins Chakotay at the opening in the wall, surveying the lands around them. "I would enjoy that." She considers for a second, then adds, her voice joking, "Unless ancient Scotland happened to have riding beasts as well as stone castles, in which case I'd rather go riding."
Hadand knows that even if such creatures exist, she will need to learn to ride all over again. A new nonverbal language, new gaits and how to shift her own body to compensate for them. But she thinks the lessons will go quickly, the skills coming as naturally as ever they have. Hadand's balance while mounted has been near-perfect for years.
Sniffing at the salt-scented air, Hadand asks, "Are we near the sea?" She knows, academically, that oceans smell of salt on her world too, but she has never had much reason to visit them. The royal city was entirely landlocked, and Tenthen Castle far enough from the coast that she was unwilling to spend any portion of her brief, precious visits home while growing up riding out to it.
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"I wouldn't know," he answers, his lips forming a smile, one that seems to widen with her joy while simultaneously keeping its gentle warmth. "But we can find out, if you'd like." He makes a note to make another simulation later, one with actual horses.
For now, though, he turns and heads towards an archway through the stone wall on the other side of the courtyard. "I think we might be. This simulation is as unfamiliar to me as it is to you. I don't often use the holodeck. I like reading instead." However, anthropology is one of his favorite interests, so he will be more than happy to explore this with her. Smiling at her as he ducks through the archway, he tosses a casual, "Computer, delete Klingon warrior," over his shoulder. If there are any people here, at least they won't have to worry about a Klingon in the background.
"So you like riding, you're accustomed to training with weapons, and you like the stone castle of your home. Is there anything else I should know about you?" he asks as they walk the path around the edge of the castle to get outside. He does want to know as much about her as he can find out and he'd like for her to know as much about him as he does her. If she asks him questions in turn, he will be happy to answer them.
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"What kinds of books?" Hadand asks curiously. "I read a lot at home, but mostly things that were useful. It was studying rather than reading for pleasure." She falls into step beside Chakotay, glances around at their surroundings, and then drops her gaze to the bat'leth still in her hands. She sighs, not wanting to give up the comfort of even a hologram of a weapon. "Computer, delete bat'leth."
Hadand considers for a moment, and speaks slowly when she answers. "You've given me enough that it feels, oh, almost ungrateful to ask for more." Because she does appreciate the lengths to which Chakotay has gone to make her feel at home aboard the Voyager. "I'd thought to ask if you'd mind joining me for dinner tonight. Privately, preferably. I reconciled our calendars as well as I'm able, and it's Restday. We share bread," and usually wine, but there is no one of Marlovan blood here and she won't ask it of anyone among the Voyager's crew, not yet, "and sing, usually songs about our ancestors. Marlovan history is sung, not written, and time is traditionally measured not in years but in great deeds."
This is the first Restday she intends to celebrate since coming aboard the ship. Hadand knows it will be a little lonely, having no drums, no dancing, no voices to join hers in song. She can bear that. Having no one with whom to break bread, though, would be insupportable. She has a feeling that it would taste like sawdust in her mouth, that each swallow would be a battle.
Hadand has never sung alone before, and she isn't quite ready to do that in the mess hall among all the ship's crew. Not quite alone, with a friend, seems the right balance at least for this week.
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It's one reason why he's been so interested in learning about her and her people, why the idea of sharing her customs fascinates him as well as it makes him feel honored that she would ask. He knows well what it's like to feel incomplete without performing certain traditions and rituals; he has several of those himself, scattered throughout the year. "I would be honored to join you," he says seriously, his gaze showing how deeply he feels towards this idea. "I'm afraid I won't know your songs, but... perhaps I can tell you a little of my people in return, give you some of our legends and stories."
Of course, she could teach him anything she would want. At this point, he's coming to realize he would do quite a lot for her, and has already. Hadand is someone very special to him, special in a way that few people have ever been to him. If she asked, he would hang a new moon for her, so to be taught any number of songs to sing with her on this Restday would be fine with him. He would perform the duty to the best of his ability.
"We could use either my quarters or yours, whichever you would feel most comfortable in," he continues as they finally pass through another archway and head out of the castle to an open field. The ocean isn't far away. "I enjoy learning more about your people and I wouldn't mind sharing the traditions of mine with you. I wouldn't consider this request ungrateful." Quite the opposite, actually. To him, it seems like a request she wouldn't make of him if she didn't trust him and that makes his heart warm further.
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Hadand likes the idea of a bit of her staying on Iasca Leror, part of Marlovan tradition. "You're welcome, of course, to ask about anything I sing afterward." Hadand was raised so steeped in history and tradition that hearing her sing and asking questions may be one of the best ways to get to know her motivations, everything that shaped her.
"I can sing alone, though I would hesitate to do so in front of the entire crew in the mess hall. Either quarters are fine." Hadand is comfortable enough with Chakotay that she doesn't mind being in his space rather than her own. And neither room will ever be an open plain or a Marlovan castle. Either way, it's enough to ask, having someone to share the meal. "I'll miss the drums and the dancing and the voices of my people, but I know all our songs as well as I know my own name. I just couldn't face the idea of eating Restday bread alone. I'd like to hear about your people."
Of course she would. She still knows nowhere near enough about Chakotay, whose presence has been such an important part of her comfort aboard the Voyager. She genuinely likes Chakotay. He doesn't feel like another Marlovan, but he has never felt jarringly foreign either. Hadand is at ease in his presence in a way she wasn't even among most of her own people aside from close friends. There are no political tensions here to mar things. She may not have figured out the trick of wordless communication with him yet, but her conversations with Chakotay are easier and more open than any she's managed since she last saw Joret or Evred. It's all she can do to keep a broad smile off her face at the sight of him when he approaches.
While the holodeck and this castle are the closest Hadand has come to feeling at home in terms of setting, Chakotay is the closest she's come in terms of company. He has been for awhile now, Hadand realizes. "I've never really heard any legends or stories that aren't Marlovan, except for the ones that started out as Iascan, before our peoples merged." That's part of why she plans on singing Hymn to the Beginning tonight. It explains the start of Marlovan rule on Iasca Leror. It was a conquering, but it was also an interchange of blood and traditions until they eventually wound up, for the most part, one people.
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Besides, it keeps them out of other trouble.
"Maybe your quarters would be a better idea. I can bring a few things over for talk afterwards." Best not to give the Gossip Squadron any more fuel than they will already have, even if taking dinner in each other's quarters will certainly do just that.
As for the talk of his people, his smile fades in intensity but not in warmth. Talking of his tribe will not be difficult, but his past will bring up the problem of the Maquis, a discussion no one has yet brought up with Hadand to his knowledge. He isn't even certain if she has noticed the difference in rank insignia on some of them. Most of the ship's crew wears the normal rank pip insignia, the symbol of true Starfleet officers, but some of them -- most notably B'Elanna and Chakotay -- sport provisional rank bars because of their status as Maquis. Starfleet still considers them to be the enemy and they know it will be a long, hard road if they ever reach The Alpha Quadrant again. Chakotay isn't entirely looking forward to that explanation, but it is essential if Hadand is to ever understand him and the combined crew of Voyager.
"Ancestors are very important to my people as well," he begins, also not looking forward to explaining how he betrayed his father and people to join Starfleet. Even though he has attempted to make peace with that through the Maquis and contacting the Sky People, and also through his acceptance of his tribe and their way of life, it often feels too little too late. "Our culture is steeped in tradition, our stories and lives built around nature, the understanding and respect of everything that is offered to us. Most of our legends revolve around ancestors and nature, our tales involving animal behavior to explain how our universe works."
Sometimes, of course, they just make up the stories on the spot. That is also part of how he and his tribe have always functioned. Many times has he offered Kathryn stories like these and he hopes to do the same for Hadand some day. There is also the topic of spirit guides. He is long overdue for a talk with his guide about everything going on in his life, his new friend included.
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She was a little concerned, before she asked, that inviting him to her quarters would make him uncomfortable, but oh, to break bread with someone she trusts again would be wonderful. And Hadand needs to sing the traditional songs of her people. She didn't even get to stay long enough to sing farewell to Kialen, Aunt Ndara, Captain Sindan, or the king. Aldren too, because however much she disliked him and didn't regret his death, she never wanted him murdered either. Hadand doesn't know if she could have managed any words for the royal shield arm though. She can't find it in her to disagree with his death.
"My quarters, then. I never use replicator rations, so I have more than enough for our meal. There's no need to spend any of yours." Hadand may be royalty, but even royalty eats simply on Iasca Leror. Chakotay is quietly observant enough that she knows he will have noticed that she eats what is offered her, and does it far more stoically than most of the Voyager's crew. This could become a Restday tradition, if he's willing. Hadand would gladly use her rations for a single meal from home each week, or even just the loaves of bread.
She smiles at the description of his people, gaze on him as intent as when she was learning the Mok'bara sequence. Hadand clearly wants to remember and understand everything he tells her. Its importance is written on her face. They sound both very like and vastly different from her own people. Ancestors and tradition are the cornerstones of her own culture, but the focus on nature is very different. "We're riders, but other than that animals have never figured heavily into our traditions, aside from as symbols of each of the noble families. My family's banner is... explaining specific creatures is difficult when we are not from the same planet." She looks up at the seabirds wheeling and calling overhead. "Night-flying birds of prey, if there are any equivalents where you come from."
"I think Marlovans were probably much more in tune with nature, though never as much as your people, before we moved into Iascan castles. Marlovans began as plains nomads, which is why we all still learn to ride." For a given definition of 'began'. The root words from which 'Marlovan' springs reference an earlier beginning. "We've never had the same appreciation for nature, but I loved our plains. It's easy to see how your people could have developed that sort of reverence for nature."
That kind of deep appreciation, in Marlovan society, is usually reserved for honor. It is confined to human actions rather than the forces at work in the world. Hadand looks forward to learning more about the beliefs and traditions that have shaped Chakotay every bit as much as she does learning about his personal history.
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Chakotay may or may not feel a wave of petty glee at that thought.
He raises his eyebrows at her admission. "Either you are more accustomed to leola root than we are or you are a very kind and brave soul," he tells her with a hint of teasing. If it's the former, then he is quite impressed. Must be something that's easier if you grow up with it. The only person on board who likes it is Neelix but he's the one who introduced them to it. Maybe Naomi Wildman, but she was born on Voyager, so she has more or less grown up with it. No one else aboard can stand the taste for long. They bear Neelix's leola root stew because they have to in order to conserve Voyager's power supply.
"Owls. Sometime I'll have to show you." He has to show her a lot, he's beginning to realize. Birds, other animals, plenty of things this crew takes for granted. That's all right, though; he will welcome the chance to learn from her and teach her anything he can. That's part of why he's been spending so much time with her. The other part is because she is a very interesting person. Getting to know her has been an adventure.
"It wasn't developed," he corrects quietly, deciding just to go for it. This will answer a lot of unasked questions about him and will set the stage for his place in Voyager's history. "My people have always lived like that, even before we migrated to the colony we're on now. Back when we still lived on Earth, my people were persecuted, hunted down, forced to move. Still, we kept our way of life. Even when we decided to leave Earth, long before I was born, my people kept their traditions and beliefs. Everything we do dates back centuries. It is a part of who we are, a part... I have only recently come to understand and accept."
It's a huge admission. Chakotay doesn't share his past with just anyone, as he knows doing so will bring up unpleasant questions, explanations that have no easy answer. For Hadand, though, he will give this so she might better understand him.
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Hadand nods. The list of things he plans to show her keeps growing. Rather selfishly, she finds she likes the notion of that. The promise of more time spent with Chakotay. Animals similar to the ones from home would be welcome sights, if not quite as immediately heartening as today's castle. Hadand can hear the ocean now, a dull soft roar reminiscent of a river but more interrupted and rhythmic.
Her brow furrowed, Hadand thinks for a moment about what it must have cost the Iascans, to make the decisions they did in the face of a Marlovan invasion. She knows the historical portrayals, of course, all the songs of honor and glory, and she knows that things were never so simple. Hadand is a Marlovan who grew up in Iascan castles, speaking both languages. She is the product of both cultures, but neither of them decided to merge unprompted. The Marlovans had force on their side, and the Iascans had enough forethought to preserve what they could of their way of life without excessive loss of life. She stays silent a moment.
Hadand doesn't like the comparison she has now drawn in her head between her own people and those who forced Chakotay's ancestors from their lands. But she respects him too much to keep the comparison to herself, to hide it. Hadand is sick to death of secrets. "I never considered," she admits softly, "just what the reality would have been, had the Iascans not been willing to compromise their way of life at least a little. They were clever. They knew that their best chance for survival was to allow the invaders to come. They intermarried with the Marlovans. We moved into their castles, adopted their language." Both the Iascans and the Marlovans were changed by the decision, shaped for all the generations to come.
"I am a Marlovan princess." The distinction is an important one, both in terms of knowing how Hadand sees herself and in knowing why the story of her own people bothers her when laid alongside his. "Everything I did, everything I learned, as a fighter and defender of my home was Marlovan tradition. My whole role and purpose within the country was Marlovan, and when I sing tonight, that's the language I'll be singing in. But I grew up in an Iascan castle, speaking both languages." Hadand is, in fact, speaking Iascan right now, though the translators take that nuance out of her speech while simultaneously allowing her to convey her meaning at all. "Everything I read and wrote was in Iascan, except for imported texts from Sartor. Your people... they clung more tenaciously to their identity. They suffered for it, losing homes and lives rather than traditions and beliefs." Both losses are significant. Chakotay's people and the Iascans chose differently, but both sacrificed something in the choosing. They were offered no other option.
She doesn't reach out for Chakotay, not wanting to cross a boundary between them that has yet to be breached. But Hadand watches him with sympathy in her eyes. "I want to hear about your traditions, however newly you come to them." She can hear in his voice that they're important to Chakotay now. Hadand would never wish to hold him to guilt over straying from the path of his ancestors.
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"On the great plains of Earth, there once existed a group of animals called cheetahs," he begins slowly, turning to face her once they've stopped along the shore of the ocean they could hear. The water crashes against the rocky edges, spraying any who dare go closer. Somehow it seems fitting for this. "They were predators, yes, but not particularly strong. They only took what prey they needed to survive and would not wander beyond their lands. Content with their lives and happy to worship and live as their ancestors did, the cheetahs existed peacefully for many, many years. One day, a pride of lions arrived. These lions were large and very strong. They had larger teeth and a roar that echoed across the entire plains. When they killed, they did so for sport more than food and they quickly scared away all of the cheetahs' food supply. But more than that, they promised peace to the the cheetahs, a peace that was never to come. Over and over the lions betrayed the cheetahs. Again and again the lions forced the cheetahs from their ancestral lands, claiming that territory for their own. Those who resisted were killed. The last time this happened, the cheetahs decided to stand and fight against the lions. Their losses have been numerous, but they are unwilling to sacrifice their connection to this land."
There's more he could say, but it's delving into a personal discussion, one he'll have to start from the very beginning. And not with a story. Explaining about the Cardassians and the Maquis will take a lot more time. Instead, he focuses on the similarities and differences between her people and his.
"Somehow, I don't think your ancestors did to the Iascans what the conquerors did to my people," he finishes quietly. "Your people allowed the Iascans to mix. The two cultures rose as one. That option was never given to my people, whether we would have accepted or not." And who knew if they really would have accepted? It's hard to say, even now. This latest conflict would be met with a resounding no, though. The Cardassians would never have opted for a blending of cultures and none of the people involved would have accepted it, not after what the Cardassians had done. Not after the Bajoran Occupation.
He turns a little more to face her, his head tilted so she can see the marking on his face. "My people wear this tattoo as a symbol of our tribe, our connection to the Sky Spirits, who are genetically bonded with us. It's an outward sign of my people." It's something he treasures now that he doesn't have his father's wisdom and guidance in life. To Chakotay, the tattoo makes him feel as though he can uphold his father's values and perhaps earn back the love and respect he had so carelessly thrown away. It also means that there are no other members of his tribe aboard Voyager. In that sense, he is alone.
"There's a lot about Voyager that you don't yet know, a lot that I should tell you if you are to understand us. More than that, though... I want to tell you, if you'd care to listen." He wants her to know because he has come to care about her in a very personal way. The difficulty is figuring out how and getting her to understand why he did what he did, what the Maquis stood for, and how bad their lives would have been under Cardassian rule. He doesn't know how she'll take it and that has him a little nervous. It was easier with Kathryn; at least they always knew the other's stance in this conflict.
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When Chakotay replies with a story rather than an immediately obvious answer, she holds her breath and listens carefully. Hadand looks for the meaning in it, waiting with far less patience than she appears to have. It's true that there are differences in the situations, but those do not negate the parallels Hadand has already pointed out. The betrayals and conflict in her own people's history have never been Marlovan against Iascan but among the Marlovans themselves. The Montredavan-An family comes to mind, rulers until they were deposed by the Montrei-Vayirs. That Chakotay's story focuses on differences rather than similarities fills Hadand with relief in spite of the rush of sympathy for his people. She underestimated Chakotay.
Or perhaps not so much Chakotay as the bond between them. Their friendship is still new. Hadand admits now that she has been viewing it as a far more fragile thing than it truly is. She fears for it because it is so new and because she values it so highly. There is strength there. He clearly reciprocates the regard in which she holds him. It didn't break at this first test, and she would be doing both Chakotay and herself a disservice to believe it will at the next.
"I don't think it was ever intended to be an option," Hadand muses. "I think a large part of it it happened gradually, managed so carefully that the Marlovans didn't realize how much of Iascan culture they were allowing themselves to adopt. I think the Iascans tricked the ones who would have protested." She smiles at that. Hadand can appreciate secret movements for the good of a people, even if those movements were against her own ancestors. After all, some Iascans number among her ancestors as well. That's what they accomplished with their efforts. Never Iascan rulers, but rulers with Iascan words on their lips and at least a few drops of Iascan blood running through their veins.
Hadand has wondered about the tattoo, and knowing it identifies his people leads her to the obvious conclusion. He is the only one of his people aboard the Voyager, just as Hadand is. It suddenly seems like a much greater honor to learn about the traditions of his people, knowing that those traditions are Chakotay's alone among the crew. "Would you tell me about the Sky Spirits later?" she asks.
If she'd care to listen has never been in question for even a second. "Of course. I want to hear it." The way he very clearly expresses a desire to tell her rather than simply a willingness is an important distinction, and it warms Hadand. "About the ship, the crew, or your history and traditions." Chakotay's specifically, as well as those of his people as a whole. "I'll listen to anything you want to share."
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"I'll tell you all about the Sky Spirits another time," he agrees, the smile slowly sliding off his face as he watches her reaction. "As for the other tale... it won't be nearly as pleasant." That's about all the warning he can really give. Shifting his weight a little, he reaches up to the collar of his uniform and unpins the bar signifying his rank. He turns it around and then offers it to Hadand so she can examine it while he speaks.
"I'm sure you've noticed by now the differences between some of the crew's rank insignia, especially mine and Captain Janeway's," he begins, his eyes on the symbol of his rank in Starfleet. "Starfleet ranks are usually shown with the pip system used by the captain and most of the crew. They are Starfleet officers. Those like me wear a provisional rank insignia. We aren't part of Starfleet and even though we are all acting as one cohesive unit, obeying our captain and Starfleet protocols and directives, we will not forget and the Federation will not forget who we were before this."
No one would forget. There was far too much animosity and downright hatred between the two for either to ever forget. Perhaps forgiveness would come now that most of the Maquis have been killed and the ones left are either in prison or lost in the Delta Quadrant. Likely not. Likely they will still face whatever punishment Starfleet would like to bring down upon them for their stubborn refusal to agree to the treaty and leave their planets to Cardassian rule.
"A few years ago, the Federation negotiated a treaty with the Cardassians that redefined the borders between Cardassian space and Federation space. It also created a demilitarized zone between the two sections. The problems arose when certain Federation planets suddenly found themselves in Cardassian space. The Cardassians wanted them to leave and refused to take no for an answer. The Federation was forced to abandon these people who would not leave. Many of them came together to form an organization called the Maquis, as an attempt to combat the Cardassians and keep their planets safe. Cardassians are not known for their compassion. Prisoners are often treated to the worst conditions imaginable." Torture and executions. Torture by Cardassians isn't usually just physical torture, either. Cardassians are known for being terrible prison guards, as any Bajoran of the last few generations would know.
"During one encounter, my ship and crew escaped into a region of space known as the Badlands. Captain Janeway and Voyager were sent to track us down and bring us back to be held accountable for our actions by Starfleet. Instead, both of us were pulled into the Delta Quadrant. Through a long series of events, my ship was lost. Captain Janeway and I decided to merge the two crews as one. Her First Officer had been killed, so she appointed me to take his place. We both thought that having the two leaders as the top-ranking officers would do more towards helping the crews merge and accept one another than promoting another Starfleet officer. The Maquis crew members were either given the ranks they had once held in Starfleet or what would be the equivalent." He knows that opens up a variety of questions like how many of them had been Starfleet officers, whether or not Chakotay himself once was, and what had made him join the Maquis if he had been Starfleet. At this point, he is prepared to answer those as well.
"The Cardassians considered us a military threat. The Federation called us terrorists. Those of us aboard Voyager aren't expecting a warm welcome home." He certainly isn't and the small, sad sort of smile he adopts fully says as much.
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She doesn't. She's glad to know, grateful for the sudden burst of understanding of Chakotay's past as well as the undercurrents she's known she's been failing to read among the crew members, but Hadand doesn't blame him. "It sounds like yet another broken promise, another instance of your people being forced from their homes." Meeting Chakotay's eyes with a steady gaze, Hadand declares softly, "I would have fought." Hadand has never been one to give ground gracefully.
"Did you attack non-military targets? Settlements, places where people lived and raised families? Those are the kind of pirates I've spent my life hating." It's true that Hadand has been raised to harbor no mercy toward pirates. There's very good reason for it, something she'll tell him someday without hesitation. Maybe even this day. But the boundaries have blurred recently. And she trusts Chakotay in a way that Hadand has rarely given trust outside of those close enough to be family.
Not to mention that Hadand's brother might just as well be one of the Maquis in terms of his standing within this part of space. Her dear, affectionate, open little brother. She has no idea how he's grown up, but Hadand can trace his actions and find in them a sense of honor. More than that, a sense that he's never forgotten his home and those who love him, even in exile.
"I can no more hate you for your actions than I could hate my brother for his." She'll explain that, too. Today for sure, not at some point in a distant or nebulous future. It's the only real secret she has left, though there are still a few things no one aboard knows about Hadand's life. Chakotay and the Voyager's crew have more than earned the telling. "I just wonder at your trying so hard to get home, when you expect the worst to greet you once you get back. I don't want to see you executed or imprisoned should we make it there."
There are plenty more questions, like who among the crew, particularly Chakotay, was once a Starfleet officer, or what the state of things was in his part of space before he was brought to the Delta Quadrant. Why he joined the Maquis doesn't seem like a thing that needs questioning, and no questions at all seem important enough to ask now. Not when he just laid so much out in the open, and not when she could offer acceptance instead.
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He hesitates at her question, mostly because he can't say for all of them. Some of the Maquis were mercenaries, some were displaced people like him, and some just wanted the glory and fun of a good fight. For his part, the answer is clear. "I never did. No one who served under me would stoop that low. There were some people who joined the Maquis as mercenaries or just for the fight, but the main goal, the idea of the Maquis, was always to protest Cardassian rule. We weren't far enough into Cardassian space to have much of an impact on their civilians, certainly nowhere near Cardassia Prime, and our fight wasn't with the Federation unless the Federation brought the fight to us. Like Voyager would have." He can't blame her for hating pirates like that and if his admission about the Maquis tarnishes their friendship, he won't hold it against her.
The rest of her words give him pause and for a moment his gaze grows distant as he considers the inquiry. It's a legitimate concern, something they have all thought about more than once. The answer comes easily, firmly. "I think that, when we do make it back to Earth, Kathryn will stand up for us. Perhaps not against what we did before, but for what we've done since." He uses the captain's first name to make a point, a point that shows the relationship between the two of them. No one else on board dares use her first name, but she had once given him permission and since she never retracted it, he has taken full advantage of it. Doing so now shows their strong bond and emphasizes the strength between the crew of Voyager. They are friends. They are family.
"Earth is only home to the Starfleet officers," he continues, deciding in a split second to speak of something no one speaks of. Chakotay had faced it when he had forced B'Elanna out of her spiral of depression after they heard the news, but since then no one has spoken of it. The war seems so far removed from them, or they are so far removed from the war, that dwelling on it doesn't seem to be helping. Dwelling on their losses never helped. "The rest of us consider our homes elsewhere, especially now. We heard last year, in a brief communique with friends and family in the Alpha Quadrant, that, aside from the small handful who were in Federation prisons at the time of the attack, the Maquis on Voyager are the only ones left. You're right. We don't know what will come, what Starfleet will do when we get back, but we still want to try. Because it's home. And we want to see this war end."
Somehow he thinks she, of all people, might understand.
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She looks down at the ground for a moment, taking her steady gaze off Chakotay for the first time since his confession began. "He never recovered," Hadand admits, even more quietly. The sounds of the gulls overhead nearly mask the sound of her words, but they should be just barely audible over distant bird cries. "Even by the time I was born, and then grown, he was still so distant that only family loyalty made him more than a stranger."
Hadand has family loyalty in spades. So does her father, when he can be roused to the present. He barely knows her, though. He rode to the royal city seeking justice after finding out who paid off those pirates. When her father found most of the royal family dead and his daughter giving orders in the throne room, his staying to back her up was the most time and visible devotion she's ever had from him. Even then, he left before Evred returned home, pronouncing himself satisfied where justice was concerned. Cama Tya-Vayir waited with her after that, acting as shield arm and backing up Hadand's orders if anyone questioned them.
She understands the underlying message in his use of the captain's name, smiling as 'Kathryn' crosses Chakotay's lips. Hadand knows all about that. She called Aldren by name to his face sometimes, but when talking about him, it was always 'the Sierlaef.' He was the only one who grew up in the royal nursery during her generation that Hadand ever referred to by title. And Anderle was never anything but 'the Sierandael' or 'the Harskialdna,' even though his wife was Aunt Ndara. The use of names as opposed to titles or ranks means something, and may in fact have been the first very simple code she learned as a child. Use of Captain Janeway's first name is a reassurance within the reassurance, and she takes it as such.
"Of course you want to," she agrees with heartfelt sincerity evident in her voice, lips tightening in sympathy as her mouth closes on the last word. But if that end means loss of yet another home, yet another planet...
After this talk with Chakotay, Hadand no longer feels like the only person aboard who's lost her home. If anything, she sympathizes more with the Maquis than with the Starfleet officers, in spite of all the military training and command structure she's had in her life up until this point. At least those from Starfleet have the expectation that home awaits, if they can just get there. Hadand can do nothing to regain her world for herself, nor to help preserve it from Venn attack. She isn't sure she'd risk everything the Maquis have put on the line, not for worlds that she's never even seen, but if there is any way she can help, she wants to.
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"I'm sorry," he murmurs softly to her, reaching over to place a steadying and comforting hand on her shoulder. His gaze remains steadfast, though sympathetic. He's known plenty of people who lost family and friends to the Cardassians. And now, a sizable portion of the crew has lost many people they might call family, brothers and sisters in arms against a common enemy. They're the only ones left.
"Things are different now," he continues, letting her dictate whether or not his hand remains on her shoulder. "We won't know how different until we get back. Communication with Starfleet is very rare. We were lucky to get anything at all."
Five years passed before they received any communication at all and that had been completely accidental. It had also set a new enemy upon them, one they've only recently been able to dislodge. Someday he'll have to tell her about the Hirogen, though they seem to be fairly distant now, distant even from her planet. With luck, if they go after anyone in this section of space, they'll hit the Venn, a prime target for their hunting games.
The Hirogen and the Venn. Now that is a terrifying thought.
Chakotay lets the moment rest, maybe a little too long. What interrupts them isn't the idea to go somewhere else or head down the beach. It's the Doctor's voice calling over the comm system.
"Sickbay to Commander Chakotay."
Knowing exactly what this is about, Chakotay gives a mock wince in Hadand's direction before he taps his combadge to answer. "Go ahead, Doctor."
"Neelix tells me you took our guest off his hands earlier." The accusatory tone is easy to hear, as is the pout practically dripping from the Doctor's words. "I checked the duty logs, so there's no use trying to deny that you're off duty. I would appreciate it if you would bring her by sickbay so I don't have to come charging around like a bloodhound."
"Understood, Doctor. Chakotay out."
As the comm line closes, Chakotay gives Hadand an apologetic look, even through his amused smile. "I think our secret is out," he teases, though that quickly fades to sincerity. "The Doctor's been after me ever since you came aboard. He wants to get your medical records on file. I just didn't want to overwhelm you."
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He's older than her, though not of her parents' generation. Chakotay is still young enough, and strong as well as compassionate. He's shared so much with her, and Hadand has been more open with him than with anyone, here or at home. She's actually spoken secrets that, while known, were held almost entirely in silence among her closest friends and family. Though Hadand rarely gives her full trust, Chakotay has it. It's the sudden desire for more than trust and companionship that unnerves her. She wants more than the contact they have right now, wanting to hear him breathing, to touch him.
But Hadand doesn't know if he wants her. She has no idea of the customs of his people, nor of shipboard protocols. And what exists now between them, their friendship, is too valuable to risk in hasty action. Hadand will set aside her feelings to be examined later.
Despite that, she can't deny him the same comfort he's offered her. At the reiteration of the fact that his own world may be as lost to him as hers, Hadand reaches out to grip Chakotay's other arm. She squeezes his upper arm lightly in wordless comfort.
Hadand won't be the one to break contact, and the moment stretches as long on her end as it does on Chakotay's.
The interruption, which preserves her sense of caution, is met with some relief. Hadand smiles and ducks her head. She is grateful for the excuse not to meet Chakotay's eyes for a moment, fighting a chuckle at the petulance evident in the doctor's tone. "You could have asked sooner," she chides Chakotay gently, amusement still audible in the form of a barely suppressed laugh. "I'm not so easily overwhelmed. We'll go now and appease the doctor."
She still needs to tell Chakotay about Inda today, but that can wait. He's already promised her his evening.
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In fact, he's pretty sure he saw Ensign Vorik walk by as they entered.
All that isn't much of a concern when faced with the sight of this young woman. She is young, yes, younger than Kathryn. But she isn't so young that it might be taboo. He's pretty sure most people would understand. Having her hand on his arm in return seems to stretch the moments. It's as though time stands still during one of his vision quests, a point where he has to stop and take his time. Right now, they have all the time in the world.
Until the interruption.
Chakotay ducks his head as he finally pulls back a little to put space between them and let their hands fall back to their sides. Admittedly, he's a little flustered, but at the same time, he's enjoying their talk. Getting to know her has been one of the highlights of his life on Voyager.
"You say that now," he responds, his grin warm and open. "Computer, end program." The landscape disappears and the castle with it, leaving the dry and empty holodeck for them to step out of. Once they're in the corridor -- and that is definitely Naomi Wildman who just waved and called out, "Hi, Commander!" as she walked by in the opposite direction -- he turns to head for the turbo life and sickbay. Inside, he gives the command for the right deck and lets the doors slide shut before continuing.
"The Doctor takes a little getting used to. Not as much as Neelix, but he's... a character." The Doctor is great, but his sense of humor and chiding might be a little interesting for her to get used to. There's also the part where he's a hologram. Chakotay hasn't told her that and he doesn't plan on it. He'll let her find that out on her own.
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"I'll still say it later," she insists with a merry grin, taking refuge in comfortable banter. "You underestimate me."
The ease with which they recover from the moment between them and its interruption is reassuring, another reminder that their friendship is too strong to be upset by anything else that might change. Regardless of whether anything more happens between them, Hadand can hope to keep that.
When they enter the corridor to a cheery greeting from a young girl Hadand hasn't yet seen more than occasional glimpses of, she turns to Chakotay and asks, "Who was that? I've seen her a few times now, but it surprised me to find a child aboard." Hadand likes children, as her smile would imply. She hasn't gotten to spend much time around anyone Naomi's age since she was young herself, visiting home and seeing her four-years-younger brother. Hadand rarely interacted with the Academy boys, who didn't come for training until age ten anyway. And the girls she did work with were even older, fifteen before they entered the Queen's training.
"Warning taken. Are medical examinations standard for all crew members?" Hadand asks curiously once the pair are in the lift and on their way to sick bay. They aren't, in Marlovan culture. People seek medical attention as needed rather than having baseline records to keep track of health problems. "I'm healthy enough, but I suppose it would make sense to note differences in physiology before I'm injured and already in need of treatment. I assume I'm the first Marlovan he'll have treated." Well, mostly Marlovan. All Marlovans have taken on Iascan traits by now.
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"That was Naomi Wildman, Captain's Assistant," he answers, glancing in the little girl's direction as the turbo lift doors slide shut. Once they're shut into the lift, he adds on, "She was born on Voayger about four years ago and she already wants to help out. Most likely she was running an errand for the Captain. It's never anything big, always something like taking PADDs around or running me the duty roster. She does it happily. If we're out here long enough, Kathryn might have to worry about her job security."
It's a complete joke, even if it's common knowledge that Naomi would be happy in the captain's seat someday.
"They are. Everyone's expected to report to sickbay once a month for a physical, a check-up, to be sure we're doing all right." Chakotay glances at her for a second, nodding. "The Doctor would much rather have everyone's physiology and records on file for that exact reason. Life here isn't easy and it's better to know what to expect than be surprised." She is the first Marlovan he'll have seen, but that goes without saying.
When the turbo lift finally spits them out on the right deck, they turn and start down the hall to find the Doctor making his way down. Chakotay spies the ever present mobile emitter on his arm, a very small piece of equipment that allows him to move outside of sickbay. It isn't something that any of the other crew members wears, but Chakotay decides to let Hadand be observant enough to note that.
For his part, the Doctor looks thoroughly exasperated. "I'm glad to see you took my warning seriously," he says with the air of someone who has just had a great grievance done against him. Chakotay has to work to hide a grin. "I wasn't looking forward to going to find you. I'm a doctor, not a bloodhound."
"Sorry, Doctor. She's all yours," Chakotay says, looking back to Hadand. "See you at 1800 hours." With that, he'll leave the Doctor to his patient.
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When he answers her question about Naomi, one aspect of it comes as a surprise. "Four years?" Hadand asks. "I was under the impression that most of those aboard had fairly similar lifespans and aging processes to my people's, though of course there would be a few exceptions. She looked older." At four, Hadand spoke multiple languages and was learning to read and write, teaching Evred all her lessons at the same time though he was only two. Honor and expectations were always serious, for keeps, even for the very youngest Academy boys. She would never think anyone incapable just because of age. In fact, it speaks well of Naomi that she wants to be useful even if it hasn't been required of her.
Shaking her head, she remarks dryly in regard to the medical exams, "Monthly seems excessive to me. It's been years since I was clumsy enough to miss a block during drill." She touches her arm, running a thumb down the long deep scar hidden by a sleeve. It carved its way through muscle and set back her training for months. "The other girls jeered at both of us for a week. That was the last time I saw a medic. I hardly expect my health records to change significantly in the course of a single month."
Hadand will comply, of course. She's had a lifetime of orders and protocol, of military precision. Aboard Voyager, the consequences for disobeying orders seem to be less stringent, but Hadand would never test that without very real reason. Especially not given how she likes and respects the commanding officers.
She notes the device on the doctor's wrist, but Hadand can no more identify its purpose than she can fly. For all she knows, it's a medical device, not a holographic emitter. She simply doesn't have the technical expertise.
"I apologize for making you wait, doctor," Hadand says, unable to keep a little humor from brimming over into her voice. She could probably succeed, if she tried harder, but Hadand has been relishing the freedom from secrets and diplomacy too much to slip back into her usual masks. "You're welcome to contact me directly next time you need to see me. That might be more... expedient, as you can ensure that I actually receive your messages."
Shooting a quick teasing look at Chakotay as she leaves the blame squarely upon his shoulders for her lateness, Hadand lets him speak. She nods her agreement to the time he names. "I'll see you then, Chakotay."
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