Koon-ut-kalifee
Shival Flats

T'Pol stood impassively, a step before her father and the rest of N'Mut's entourage. And, with them, she waited.

Waited for S'Guya to come and claim her.

Ahead across the flat, white sands, the sitting stone lay. The place where she had meditated so many times before. In peace, in innocence, on matters that seemed both beautiful and less than trivial now. Beyond it and to one side, the gong that would signal the end of her.

So she stepped forward. And then stepped again. Until she found herself moving forward, toward the sitting stone.

The murmuring of those behind her beyond her concerns, though she knew that she was supposed to wait. But that didn't matter. After all, what would be done about it? All that mattered was the rising desperation she wrestled. And the hope that she could find peace again before the last.

And so she sat on the stone and rested there, her grief rising still, until she sought her peace. Gazing up at the stellar flares of Alam'ak, until the universe passed away.

All was rendered irrelevant. Ceasing to exist. Sands blown away on the wind.

Forever and forever, in white nothingness.

Until the time had come and she returned to existence, for S'Guya had come to claim her there.

She breathed in, accepting. And, at peace again at last, gazed without fear on the man who had come. The striker in his hand still singing from the first ringing of the gong. His madness fully upon him, leaving only enough reason left in him to have accomplished that small thing.

And he rang the gong a second time. Signaling for her to approach, though she already, technically, had.

Beyond him and around them both, his clan gathered. As well as her father and many family members of her own. And Satik, the son of S'Haile, who had come to oversee the ceremony in his father's name. Among other things.

She rose then, calmly and gracefully. Still contemplating matters, in her peace, before the call was issued to begin the challenge. Before the third and final strike could be struck.

She considered that nothing she had suffered had come upon her alone. Indeed, there was no woman in many centuries who had not suffered the same. And many of those, perhaps all, prior to what civilization Vulcan had managed to fitfully grasp so far…they had suffered far, far worse. Perhaps unimaginably so.

She considered that S'Guya was not a bad man. Perhaps even good, for all she knew. And perhaps he would make a good mate, in time. Once she had adjusted to the change that had come upon her. And to the life it had consigned her to.

And she considered that Satik offered perhaps no true rescue or salvation. Indeed, in time, she would come to be his as well. And not only in the physical but in totality, just as with S'Guya. If she called him today, and he won her. If he survived somehow, being unaware the lirpa S'Guya would be given had been poisoned.

And she considered at last, that if she did challenge, and both men died as a result, that she would be free…

…for only a time. Until another man laid some claim to her. Or until her own spark ignited and grew, driving her to desperately offer that claim herself. And to who knows what man then.

And even if these men died, and she never bound herself to any man at all, the flame itself would rule her. And so she would proceed through life alone, with only that flame her companion. Waiting for it to rend her when her time came. Again and again. Until it burned out in the end, and she with it, still alone.

In truth, then, she would never be free. There remained only shadows of freedom before her that she might grasp at vainly. In the end, it was meaningless.

Indeed, all was meaningless and all was vain.

All was sand.

And yet here, in this place, at this time, it occurred to her that she had been presented as a prize. To men who could or would strive to claim her. But as a prize, which she truly was, she knew…it remained then what manner of prize she was to be.

One to be fought for and seized, to be used like a tool. Like meat, good for nothing more than to satisfy a passing hunger.

Or a standard. One to which these men must approve themselves, striving to show themselves worthy.

A prize taken. Or a prize bestowed.

She realized the wisdom of S'Haile's edict then. From this day forth any man who would claim a woman, even one promised them, would know that woman must approve him. Or else he would face this challenge. Just as any man who might desire to claim a woman knew that he must be approved to have any hope of being called her champion. To have even the chance to fight for that claim.

The logic was clear. For every thing that had developed throughout the history of the Vulcan people toward civilization, all of it had proceeded first from women to be established then by men. And all entirely because women required it, and so men were moved to establish it.

And so her actions here today would bear forth civilization. Because it was required. And so then these men and all that would come after, they would establish it.

It remained then for her to choose. To be taken or to be bestowed.

And so she understood at last what it was to be T'Pol.

"Kali-farr!"

The call went out, and S'Guya stepped forward to ring the gong for the final time.

And indeed, all was sand.

So she stepped forward to become T'Pol, placing her hand calmly before the gong to stop the final blow.

And issue her challenge.

"Kali-fi!"

Because she was worthy. And she would remain worthy. And so then, they must be worthy as well.

T'Pol stood calmly, impassive and unmoved. Embracing beauty and peace as the men on the white sands before her began to strive.

S'Guya in his madness, needing only to be approved and take his claim. Satik because he knew nothing else but duty. But none of that mattered. That they moved to be accepted was the matter.

And it mattered less who won her here today. Neither of them understood what they did. And to whomever she was bestowed, she would remain T'Pol.

She was the flame of the candle. The thing toward which to strive. That which was desired. Both the sitting stone and the flare of Alam'ak.

Whoever won her here today, that one she would bless. And through him, all her people and all the generations beyond. And she would entrust that one with herself and her beauty.

So when Satik cut S'Guya's chest with the blade of his lirpa, it was yet undecided. As when S'Guya struck Satik in return, tainting the wound with his mother's poison, it was not yet determined.

Nor when Satik pierced S'Guya's heart and his body fell to the sand, to become the sand, was the matter set to rest. For Satik stumbled already from the poison, and fell to his knees.

Because he had not yet won her. For that, he was required to live. It remained then to see if he could do so.

So she approached him, even as the crowd swooned. And as he lay in the sand, gasping, she came to stand over him.

And he grinned ruefully up at her then.

"Ah, girl." He said. "I think the little bastard may have…*gasp*…poisoned me…"

And he laughed a little. Because he was sand. And of that he was well aware.

"T'Pol." She reminded him, gently. "And I know a girl who is well skilled in the tending of poisoned wounds, Satik."

"Run and fetch her, would you?" He said, his humor still upon him.

"And what reward would you offer her?" T'Pol asked.

Satik gazed up at her then, even as the poison flowed through his veins. And knew very well what was asked of him.

"Whatever she might require, lady." He said. And he was sincere in that, she saw.

"And would you fight to secure that for her, Satik? As you have fought here? And as you have in every fight that your duty required of you before today?"

"I will do my duty, lady." He said, even as his breath faltered and grew faint.

She gazed down upon him then, and having determined him worthy, granted her approval.

"I trust that you will do so." She said.

And she knelt beside him, to pull him up, and rest him on her arm and on her breast. Touching her fingers to his face, she found contact.

"But she is far away." She said. "And so you must make do with me."

She opened herself to him then, a conduit to guide his energy to his healing. And so his humor moved through him and through her, delighting her katra and replacing the spark in her womb with another.