The Ears of the Elves
By Asso
Chapter Thirty-seven
The storm approaches.
The Ears of the Elves
Chapter Thirty-seven
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Long was silence.
Long and heavy.
Bated.
Full of expectation. Of unspoken questions. Desirous and yet timorous to explode in bright light.
It was the elven slave girl who broke the silence, who gave voice to the unspoken. Or rather, who tried to do so.
"Sister!"
So she turned to her human companion of slavery. So she broke the last barriers between them.
"Sister! You can't think that our Princess..."
But, actually, she could only try, because her voice - astonished; shocked, almost incredulous; even scolding - had to give way to another voice.
"So be it."
The Princess.
She took command.
"Oh, things start to unravel, finally! And…" Trip chuckled strongly. "…well, about time too! The Princess has decided to stop making the beautiful ornament, I mean to act at last! I was beginning to believe she wasn't you, sweetness of my heart!"
Trip's grin became brazen. "And you, little pestiferous human slave-girl! You, if I am not mistaken about what is going to happen now - and I don't think at all, considering what my sweet wifey said previously - have brought the Princess on the road you wanted."
The grin turned into an amused smirk. "And okay. But now? What will happen to the Princess? And to you too, not to mention to your... yeah... to your sister. Oh, you're smart, nothing to say, but surely not too much inclined to grasp in whole the consequences of your actions."
At this point, Trip laughed wholeheartedly. "Just as I am, if we lend an ear to the…" His eyes fell on T'Pol and she, even without seeing that he was doing it, could clearly perceive and feel the tease that was in them. Sweet, however, as well as his tone. "…current version of the Princess."
T'Pol didn't move even a little in Trip's arms, nor, even less, she deigned to retort the mocking words of her mocking Adun.
Trip smiled to himself. Certainly this constituted her habitual cliché. If she did not quite know what to say, well, in this case she stood silent. But... not even a small elevation of eyebrow? Just as he knew that she was wont to do when she was at a loss for words? Not even this? Was… well... was, this time, the peculiar… position of his hand? Definitely peculiar, in truth.
Chuckling to himself, he played the worried husband role. "Hey, babe. Everything fine?"
Silence.
"Nothing to say?"
Silence.
"Nothing at all?"
Silence.
"Not even a tiny inquiring raising of your eyebrow?"
Silence and silence again.
"Mh, this is not like you, honey. I wonder if you've some difficulty concentrating. Maybe if I take off my hand..."
This time the answer there was. Not in words, though, but equally eloquent. Indeed, definitely more.
T'Pol's thighs tightened like a vise. It would have taken the superior might of the King of the Gods to release Trip's hand and perhaps not even he would have managed to do so.
Trip laughed aloud. "Okay, okay. I've got the message."
Then he laughed again, more softly. "So then, let's go on like this."
T'Pol's thighs loosened the grip. But not too much.
A further laugh from Trip, gentle and soft. "So, let's see. Where were we? Ah yes. At the taking of command by the Princess. Okay, let's continue."
The grasp of T'Pol's thighs became a bit softer while Trip resumed reading, the hint of an amused smirk painted on his mouth.
Both slaves turned their head toward the Princess.
Her gaze hit them almost physically,
It was proud. It was confident.
It was steadfast.
Resolute.
The gaze of a real Princess.
Their Princess.
The tears still glistened in her eyes, but they were not tears. They were resplendent pearls.
And those on her face...
They too were not tears, those which were streaming down her cheeks. They were shimmering jewels, tenuous threads of glittering nacre.
Upright, naked, magnificent, superb.
In the veiled light that now filled the tent, suddenly broken from time to time by bright sabre-cuts of sunlight darting abruptly here and there, in one with the swinging of the curtain closing off the entrance under the gentle blows of wind of the luminous morning.
Her hands quietly intertwined on her flat and smooth naked belly.
So she stood.
Her bare breasts bursting out, proud of their gorgeous nudity.
Her beautiful - perfect - visage surmounted by her blonde hair, royally and sumptuously styled in the way that the two of them had set it, like a sparkling crown of pure gold.
The very fine tips of her delicate pointed ears...
Trip hesitated for a split second.
Pointed ears. Yeah. So those of the Elves were. Like... like those of the Vulcans. And like those of T'Pol. Who was the Princess. Just as he was the Nameless One. A Trip and a T'Pol who had lived a long time ago. Very long. Long, long, long before there were the Humans, at least the Humans of today.
Other times. Remote ages. Very far away in the past.
And other species, too. Not those of now.
Species disappeared, replaced by others, appeared later in time.
As the Humans of now, surely only partially comparable to the Humans of the time of that Trip and that T'Pol.
And as… the Vulcans.
The Vulcans of today.
Those with pointed ears.
Pointed ears, pointed ears, pointed ears…
Traces of vulcan species different from today's had of course been found. As it was for Humans. And it was not that there could be true certainty about their features. Just as for the Humans.
Pointed ears…
That maybe…
That maybe once Vulcans didn't have. Or, perhaps, only in part. Maybe some nascent glimmer. Some innate predisposition. Coming from a past even more distant. That of the epoch of the King. And of the Bannerdas. (*)
Once. In those remote times. The times of those Humans, those of the Nameless One, forgotten, erased forever in the past. And of the Elves.
Remote times. So remote that the memory had been lost.
That it had remained only… only in that fable.
The memory of those ages.
Of what had happened in those ages.
Of what could be the features of the Vulcans of those ages.
Pointed ears.
Like those of the Elves.
Like those of the Princess.
Who was T'Pol.
And who had fallen in love with a Human. Because so it was.
A Human of those times.
And a Human rather… rather peculiar. Different.
A beast.
As... as had became the King. (*)
And a Human who was him. Trip. Just as… just as he had been… the King. (*)
It was an extremely quick thought, so tenuous that it could not even be grasped. Or that, perhaps, he didn't even want to really grasp. And intertwined with other thoughts, they too elusive - and disconcerting, just as that thought - deriving from T'Pol's bizarre and uncertain allusions.
Allusions about something... something that would be born, in those distant times, from...
From what? Or rather... from whom? From the Nameless One and the Princess?
The result, unbelievable and unthinkable, of his redemption? At the hands of her?
The fruit, unimaginable, of the soul in him reborn thanks to her? To her love for him?
It was not hard to imagine. Was it not thanks to T'Pol, to her love for him, even if yet fearful of revealing itself, that in him a soul was reborn? Was it not thanks to her that hatred, rancour, thirst for revenge arising from the death of his sister by the hand of the Xindi had vanished?
And T'Pol, wasn't she the Princess? Just as he was the Nameless One? So couldn't the Princess make vanish in the Nameless One – in that other himself - all his rancour and hatred and thirst for vengeance just as T'Pol had done with him?
And which, what would it have been, the result of all this? The fruit of a love such as to transcend time; a love even more ancient than that of the Princess and of the Nameless One, started in times even more ancient, in the times of the King and of Lil (*); a love such as to be able to arrive until today, to go, even - indeed certainly - very much further forward in time? Until and beyond - yes, beyond - the end of time?
A very elusive thought. Extremely fleeting.
Unreal, in its substance.
A disconcerting thought. Like the bewilderment shown by T'Pol at the beginning. Like her reluctance to explain its reasons.
Elusive. Fleeting. Like his elusive, fleeting hesitation.
He... he was certain that T'Pol did not had even noticed.
And then, if one thought of their... position and her peculiar current status…
No. She could not have noticed.
She couldn't.
And nothing was the slight shivering of her body against his.
Nothing.
A nothing made of nothingness.
Just as his thoughts.
As his hesitation.
Very rapidly he resumed reading, concluding the sentence that had caused his hesitation
And the fleeting and elusive whirlwind of disconcerting thoughts in his head.
... just outcropping from among the lush hair.
The statue of perfect and proud beauty who was the Princess quietly watched the two slave girls, who - the human one now on her feet - had approached one another and had joined their hands to seek for mutual support.
Slowly and regally, the Princess' gaze shifted. Her mesmeric green eyes looked down.
They watched the wonderful skirt made of nothing, lying on the ground.
Her hand wavered lightly in the air.
Her chin moved in a slight nod.
"Help me." A command. Imperious but nevertheless sweet.
"Dress me ..." Her red and fleshy lips curled up into a wry smile. "...dress me with that skirt."
"Ah, here we are!"
For some recondite reason, at those words of Trip, T'Pol feel literally vibrate that... that secret and intimate spot between his fingers.
The two slaves snapped in unison.
With no need to say anything to each other, one ran to pick up the skirt from the ground, the other, with awe and reverence, almost reluctantly, stammering a tremulous 'Allow me, my Lady', took the Princess's wrists and made her lift her arms high up above her head.
With the same awe, with the same reverence, and yet, somehow, with obvious joy, the slave girl who had picked up the skirt placed it in front of the Princess' waist.
The slave knelt before her, while the other slave was watching, a little back, now.
With joyful eyes.
The same joy - the same pride - that leaked out clearly in the manners, in the eyes, in the gestures, of the slave girl who was about to make the Princess wear the skirt.
Lightly and cautiously, she put the skirt on the hips of the Princess.
"Turn... turn around, my Lady." Her voice was a murmur.
The Princess executed. Still with her arms raised high above her head.
"T… turn around again, Princess." A feeble murmur again.
The Princess executed again. Her arms still aloft, over her head.
A slight click. The precious buckle was hooked.
The skirt was worn.
The very short, very precious veil of gold and jewels was lying on the hips of the Princess.
A second dazzling skin that didn't at all concealed her smooth, real skin.
That didn't conceal anything.
That would have gone up, would have wavered, vaporous, at the slightest of her movements.
Revealing even more, if possible, every thing.
For a few moments the Princess stood firm, under the spellbound gaze of the two slave girls.
Then, there was a twinkle, in her eyes.
And she began to move.
Her hands, first, as her body continued to stay motionless.
They - her hands - well high above her head, intertwined the one with the other, staying so for some instants; then, they split up from each other; then they stretched out; and finally they started to move, together with her arms, by drawing together with them sinuous figures in the air.
Then, it was the turn of her body.
Slowly, languidly, as her arms and her hands were continuing to trace serpentine drawings above her head, she started to rotate on herself.
One time; two times; three times; four times; and again and again and again.
By moving prettily legs and feet.
Dance moves. So, they appeared. And this, they were. Graceful dance moves. Graceful. And alluring.
And as her nude dancing legs and her bare feet played their bewitching game, the Princess showed what the rest of her body was able to do; how she was capable of adding seduction to seduction.
Forbidden seduction to sensual seduction.
By making swing rhythmically her pelvis and rotating it. In a slow cadence. And provoking.
And by interspersing the rhythmic and sensuous swaying of her hips with sudden and more pronounced oscillations, abrupt snaps of her pelvis, short and strong. And sensual. And provocative.
And by making sway the skirt at every rocking of her curvy hips and making so open out the subtle, precious threads that constituted it, to reveal even more what was revealed already.
And by making go up abruptly the skirt at every sudden snap of her pelvis up to be well above the line of her waist, to show so in the whole and fully what the skirt mendaciously claimed to conceal.
And by letting her bare breasts sway in full view, brazenly and unashamedly, along with the swaying of her body.
And by offering to the view and to the senses the sensual spectacle of an unambiguous luscious, voluptuous, erotic, dance of seductive sexual carnal offer.
She stopped, finally, and remained still and erect in front of the two slaves, still holding up her arms, her florid and well shaped breasts in plain sight, while the skirt settled down, reclining softly on her shapely hips.
She looked with shrewd and impertinent eyes at the two slave girls, mouth open in front of her.
"Well? What do you say? Can I be considered sufficiently desirable?"
"Hell's bells! Now, that's being female!"
"Trip!"
Oh oh! Wrong! Completely! And now? How would he put it with his extremely sweet better half? Anything but... oh sure!... anything but jealous and possessive! Damn! But why had he let slip out from his mouth that appreciation for the Princess?
"Ho... honey! Wh… what's up?"
Damn! What sort of babbling on his part! But, on the other hand, he knew that the storm was gathering on his head!
And instead not! Incredibly not!
"Adun, maybe... maybe better you..."
"Y… yup?"
"... better you to pull out your hand from... from where it is."
"U…Uh?"
"At least... at least for a while."
Trip recovered immediately and exploited ignobly the unforeseen favourable circumstance. Life - and she - had toughened him rather significantly!
"But, sweetheart, I have not moved my fingers! I followed your wishes!" His laugh let itself be heard. "Although, I really have to say, it cost me a great effort. You know, the sensual movements so plainly described of the Princess..."
"Precisely!"
"Precisely? Precisely... what?"
"That sort of sensual dance she performed... I... I felt… I feel… an… an enormous desire to tell you to move your fingers, but..."
"But?"
"The movements of the Princess. Her... yes... her cheeky dancing of offer..."
Trip chuckled to himself, while T'Pol stood perfectly still with her eyes closed, as if she were fearful of moving.
"Yes, honey?"
"I... I do not know if I could be able to content myself merely with your fingers!"
"Oh? You could want something else?"
" Y... yes."
"Ah. And what? And ..." He grinned softly. "... and where, if I may ask?"
T'Pol squirmed in Trip's arms. Suddenly she spread her thighs.
"Please, Adun. Remove your hand!"
Trip laughed. "Damn! I am beginning to think that fickleness is a common prerogative to all women, irrespective of their race. Anyway, okay, vulcan doll."
And, grinning, he complied. Gently. But, fortunately for T'Pol, also rapidly.
T'Pol's thighs closed around his hand, stopping it at the right distance.
She sighed. "I... I still need some time, Adun. I was wrong. I am not able to bear such a love torture, keeping awake my attention on the fable. Especially... especially considering that it carries on like this for a while yet!"
"Ah, so it's so! I mean, the Princess will be able to - how to say - to do even better! Well, I don't have to struggle too much to believe it. You, as first, have made it clear that ..."
T'Pol jerked. Her head snapped upward. Her eyes pierced Trip.
"Adun! Remember that your woman is me!"
Ooops! A damn misstep! And now? "Well, but... but certainly, T'Pol! What a sort of..."
"Only I have the right to make you be excited!"
Damn! That meant talking without mincing words! "But... but... but T'Pol!"
"I alone!"
"But T'Pol! Think about it! We are reading a fable that speaks of you! You're... you're the Princess! Her sensuality is your sensuality!"
"Vulcan females are not sensual!"
Trip couldn't help but snicker. "Ah no?"
"Well, maybe, if it's the case... they may even be."
"Ah here."
T'Pol snorted. "Anyway, whether the Princess is me or not, I'd like that ..."
"That my excitement may be reserved only to you?"
"Yes. Yes! And yes!"
"Okay, okay, okay. Understood. In this case, considering how things are going with the attitudes of the Princess, it's really better that I keep my hand away from any possible source of distraction. For you. And for me."
He smirked. "You know… the object of my attention would be you, of course, but I seem to understand that you would like to be you and you alone, flesh and bone, the direct source of my attention. Without the intermediation of the Princess."
T'Pol nodded. Uncomfortable, but firmly.
"Mh. Okay, as you whish, babe. Sure, it's weird, though." He grinned cheekily. "Let's even gloss over the fact that a vulcan female can be jealous, but being jealous of oneself!
This time the eyebrow rose. And how!
Blackguard of an Adun! But how could he dare use against her the exact words that he, himself, had said when she had...
Mh, yeah. When she had seduced him.
Flirting... oh, ahem, admittedly it was so... flirting with him. And cajoling and fooling him, until... until to bring him to utter those words.
His act of surrender.
Her victory.
Obtained without... without saying to him that she wanted him.
Virtually forcing him to reveal himself.
And, to want to be really honest, it mattered little, in the end, that he had consciously led her to be jealous, to force her to take openly the field. (**)
She did not know, then, what really lay behind… - T'Pol felt mount the blood to her head at the thought; not exactly vulcan, this, but there was nothing to do - … behind the… the unbecoming exchanges of attentions between him and Cole; did not know that those were his subreptitious manoeuvres to bring her to cease to do... to do the cold fish. Yeah! The cold fish!
She did not know anything at that moment. And she was jealous. And she wanted him. And she wanted to make him fall into her trap... into her trap of seduction.
Hers! Not that of Cole!
If there was anyone who could, who had to, who had the right to seduce him, this anyone was definitely her! Certainly not Amanda Cole! That... that hateful human female who had had the courage to try to steal from her what was hers! What belonged to her and only to her! Him! Her Adun!
Yes! Only she had the right to seduce him! To make him her own! By all means! Even... even with the facts! Just as she had done when she had realized that he was… that he was cooked to perfection - Exactly so! Perfect expression! Cooked to perfection! - but that he needed a last, substantial push!
Yeah. Certainly. Sure.
But it was still true that she had not revealed herself to him openly and that she had ensnared him. And it mattered nothing that, ultimately, in reality it had been him the one who had ensnared her. And then, what other means could he ever have? Given the stupid ostentatious aloofness that foolishly and stubbornly she persisted in showing for him?
The fact was... the fact was that, regardless of whatever he had done to bring her to disclose to him her feelings for him, she had deliberately trapped him. And... and... the time when she could have manifested to him what she felt for him... the next morning... she... she... - T'Pol felt regret and shame expand inside her - she had ... she had silenced him with... with those words! Scientific research about human sexuality! The fool that she had been! Fool, imbecile... and naughty! Yes! Even naughty!
And... and, all this aside, the fact remained that... that she had actually been jealous!
Maybe... well... yes... maybe it was really better not to collect his provocation. After all, his was nothing but a small and innocent retaliation. A candid not detrimental revenge. And not... not at all unjustified, to be fair.
And then... well... yes... well... considering her present condition, it was not really the case!
The eyebrow went down. But it was also necessary remedying in some way its meaningful previous raising. And she knew how to do. She had learned. She had learned to be a true female. No. This was incorrect. She had learned – and with the greatest contentment and pleasure - to be the female he liked. And the female she liked to be for him.
Sensual and provoking. Oh yeah. Just so. Not exactly appropriate to a vulcan female? But please! Dissembling, all right! But lying shamelessly, even in your intimate... well, this no!
It was... it was merely a matter of who was the one who pushed you to be sensual and provoking! And with this one – with him. HIM! – such a thing, in their intimacy, had turned out to be for her wholly spontaneous and... and, honestly, sometimes, when it was the case, a little even not just in private. She liked to make him feel proud of her and even surprise him. It was... well, yeah, well... it was very funny.
To such an extent that there was to think about whether one day or another she would not want to get to dance for him as the Princess. After all... well, after all, she and the Princess were the same person, so why shouldn't she be able to do what the... - how had her... yeah... her always facetious Adun said? - ... the previous version of herself did? A little proper study, a little commitment... and the game was done.
And... but sure! Why not? Not now, of course, not now... but, more later in time. Not too much, though. At the right moment, when she would have felt her Pon Farr on the point to submerge her completely, when whichever possible residual inhibition would have inevitably faded away totally... well then, at that moment, she would have done it! She would have danced for him, for her Adun, exactly... exactly as the Princess had done!
And... and even more! Even better! Even more seductively! Even more sensuously!
It would be her gift for him! To reward him for... for the... the daunting task that awaited him! And, if she had learned to know him well - and she had learned! And how! - she was sure he would have enjoyed very much her gift. At least... but yes! Let's face it! ... at least as much as she would have enjoyed to offer such a gift to him!
Sensual and provoking? She would have been much more than that! The Princess… she would have been a mere amateur on this regard! Eh, sure. Just for one thing, she – she, T'Pol! - would have begun to dance completely dressed and then... little by little...
Sensual and provocative? Much, much more! Infinitely more!
Yeah. Sure.
Nevertheless… nevertheless for now, at this time, other was what she had to think of doing. She had to resort to some other of the… feminine arts she had learned she possessed, if she wanted to remedy the eyebrow that had guiltily turned up.
And it was not then so difficult. She had found out she was able to be sensual and provocative, but she had also discovered she was capable of being… flirtatious. Indeed, playfully and ironically flirtatious. Exactly how he liked.
With him, obviously. With him.
And that was precisely the time to be so.
T'Pol's eyes sparkled, as she spoke with the most serious and dignified of tones. "Vulcan females do not feel jealousy. I seem I've already said to you, my Lord."
Trip chortled. "Yes, actually I seem you've already told me. But - you know? - I'm not entirely convinced and, to put it all, frankly it seems to me that you, right now, are manifesting a certain amount of jealousy."
T'Pol took on an air between resigned and bored, while her eyebrow rose again a bit and, to be honest, even the corners of her mouth. "This is not about jealousy."
"Ah no?"
"No. Mine is simply a just and legitimate claim of ownership. "
"Eh?"
"Being I a vulcan female - and you constantly affirm you want me to remain the vulcan female I am - I can not share with other women, whether in the flesh or painted in a book, whether they are me or other from me, what is mine. The man who is mine. Who belongs to me. To me only.
T'Pol's eyes glowed. "You."
Trip, for a long moment, stood silent.
Hard to find something to say. Very difficult.
Then he shook himself. He smiled. "Okay. Got this message, too. "
And then he laughed. "Ah, these vulcan females! Very difficult to handle. Definitely. But how wonderful!"
"These?"
Trip chuckled merrily. "This one. You."
T'Pol relaxed. She lowered her head and lay back on Trip again. "Very well."
"Okay." Trip chuckled again, archly. "Let's stay so, then. Indeed, maybe we could even think to avoid further distractions on my part. Or even yours. Let me pull out my hand from between your thighs. Indeed, look. Let's clothe ourselves. Let's sit still and quiet and ..."
"Adun! Do not exaggerate!"
"I beg your pardon?"
"There may be a happy medium. A logical happy medium."
"Oh. And what?"
T'Pol rubbed against Trip. Her thighs moved in such a way to make sure that his hand flowed on her skin, against her flesh, at safe distance from the powerful gravitational attraction of her... black hole, but still well-positioned to exert enough influence on her.
"This."
"Ah. I see."
"Do we want to move forward, now, my Lord?"
"Okay, vulcan doll. Let's move on."
He resumed reading.
A naughty thought peeped in his mind, as his mouth opened to speak.
Until next time, sweetness of my heart, until next time. Apparently your Pon Farr is working hard.
It took quite a while before one of the two slaves managed to stammer something. And, strange as it may seem, it was the human one. Just she. Just the one who, between the two slave girls, had brought the Princess on that perilous route.
And just she burst out with a rush of broken words full of wonder and disbelief.
"You... you... you... you... you... you have... you have intention to... to... to... to strut your stuff on... in... in... in this way out... out there? In front... in front... in front... in front of all, my Lady?"
"Mh. Strut your stuff on. Interesting way of expressing yourself. And you have grasped its meaning, babe?"
"I have got wind of what it meant."
"Ah."
The Princess smiled craftily.
She lowered her arms and... "Well, why not?"
Her voice was as sly and mischievous as her expression. "If I have to challenge him, then may I do it in full! Don't you believe that he'd love immensely that I perform in this way in front of him? And for him alone?"
"Oh that's… that's… that's sure!"
"So then, be it for the others what he would like it to be only for him!"
The two slaves stood silent for not a few seconds, their eyes wide open and in the purest amazement.
Then, the human slave girl, she again, broke out. Uncontainable.
"Of course! Certainly! That's the way! Make him die, my Lady! Make him die by anger and helplessness and by... and by..."
The other slave, the elven one, uttered the final word.
"Jealousy."
"Ah! But so... so, it is said openly! I mean... even the elven slave says it. Sure. Challenge. Uncovered challenge against the Nameless One. To assert the Princess' indomitable will, to make him understand clearly that never he will be able to dominate her like he thinks he can do. Dangerous. Extremely dangerous, evidently. Without knowing where it will end. But, in addition to that... also... well yes... also the intention, open and clear and now patently stated, to make him jealous!"
Trip looked down at T'Pol. And now he saw that she had raised her head towards him and her deep eyes and lustrous were watching him from below.
"But, sweetheart ..."
T'Pol preceded him. "I know, I know, Adun. I know what you want to say to me."
"Well..."
"Possible that you have not grasped the reasons - the real reasons, the reasons of her heart - of the why of the Princess' challenge towards the Nameless One? This, you want to tell me. "
"Well, frankly ..."
"Possible that you - you T'Pol - have not realized that this challenge is also at the bottom a pretext, the way to force - or to try to force - the Nameless One to recede, to uncover himself, as I - I Charles Tucker the Third - have done with you - you T'Pol - when I - I Charles Tucker the Third - have made you - you T'Pol - savour the bitter bite of jealousy? Is not this, what you would want to tell me, Adun?"
"Oh, Hon, please! I did not know what to do. I... I had to find a way ..."
"And you've found it, T'hai'la. Thank to Surak, you have found it. And... it worked."
Trip lowered his face and kissed slightly T'Pol's forehead, who leaned her head back on his chest.
"And... will it work also with the Nameless One?"
An unmistakable smile blossomed on T'Pol's lips.
"Judging from what I have already made you understand about the developments of the uneasy relationship between the Princess and the Nameless One, I think you can prefigure some kind of response, Adun."
"Ah, yes. But there is a not small difference between him and you, sweetness of my heart. I mean, you, at most, could have just remained to wallow in your jealousy. He instead... well... he..."
"He's a little more dangerous than me?"
"Well, maybe he does not know the vulcan nerve pinch technique, but..."
"Curious, Adun? You want to know how it will happen that it will be demonstrated what I told you, namely that you were not wrong about that issue, the one about… 'the heart that deceives the mind that does not want to recognize the truth'… can be translated into reality?"
"Well..."
"Are you curious to know how it can be true what I had not grasped when I read on my own the fable and you brought me to understand?"
"Well... all things considered..."
"Are you curious to know how it can happen that the Nameless One, in seeing that what is his is shown – indeed shows itself - so blatantly to the others against his will, doesn't make rags of the Princess and of those, the two slave girls, who he understands well that brought her and allowed her to do so? "
"T'Pol! Of course I'm curious! I..."
Something... a giggle. Yes. Exactly a giggle. And it was the voice of T'Pol. "So then, my Lord, read on. You can't want me to infringe the suspense. I know you love it so much."
It was not easy for Trip to hold up his mandible before it could collapse down miserably, but, somehow, he succeeded.
For God's sake! Other times he had already had such a thought and this conviction was getting rooted in him more and more.
He had created a monster!
Then, once the mandible regained its most appropriate position, it - the mandible - found itself being below a mouth that was smiling broadly.
For the devil! Sure! A monster! But how beautiful and wonderful - and how smart and intelligent - was this monster!
His amazing monster!
He laughed with his mouth and heart. "God forbid, babe, God forbid! Ruining the suspense is a crime that knows no appropriate punishment!"
His hand gripped the flesh of T'Pol's thigh, who closed her eyes, relishing the gesture. The hand was no longer there where it had been, but nevertheless it could still act, of course not precisely equally, but, anyway...
"Let's go ahead!", she heard him say. "Let's go ahead!" And then his cheerful cackle. "It will never be that I - just I - spoil the suspense!"
The word boomed in the soul and mind of the Princess.
Reverberated inside her.
Rolled down in the recesses of her heart.
And she recognized the truth that that word was carrying with it.
Jealousy.
Of course. Sure. And why not?
But this was part of her challenge. Just so. A part. And was just a small part.
Making him die by... yes, just as the human slave girl had said... by anger and helplessness and...
And even by jealousy. Why not? WHY NOT?
What better way, despite the impotence in which she was now, of saying loudly, indeed with facts, that she, in spite of everything, was free? That she did not belong to him? That she was not a thing of which he could do everything he wanted with impunity?
A hazardous but worthy retaliation.
Venturous. Extremely dangerous. Oh yes, that was sure.
Would he kill her? Would reduce her to shreds?
So then? Wasn't this infinitely better than the life that now expected her?
This, in truth, was her hope.
That he, blinded by fury, would put and end to her existence, sparing her a life of suffer and humiliation.
Sure. That was her purpose.
And what other, otherwise?
What other purpose could she ever have?
What other!?
And her mind refused to go further.
It didn't want to admit that what more than anything mattered for her heart was that he could feel that feeling.
Jealousy.
Only that.
The rest - the assertion of her free will against him - was nothing, in reality. It mattered less than nothing compared to the intention, the longing to make him jealous.
Because… because maybe… in feeling so… he… he could have taken the decision to… to…
But the Princess' mind refused once more to admit the truth. It didn't want to acknowledge why her heart wanted her to challenge him. And so, in that way. By offering to others what was his. And so brazenly. So shamelessly. Even... even by thinking of dancing before the world just as... just as she had there, in front of the two slave girls. Inside the protective closed space of the tent.
Her mind didn't want to admit, not yet, that it - and not just unconsciously - was allowing itself to be misled by the heart.
Didn't want to admit, not yet, the absurd, concealed hope of that heart.
The real reason why it pushed her to be willing to take such a big risk.
Even to dance in front of the world in the way she…
In the way she would have wanted to dance in front of him.
And only for him.
"But... but Honey! Clearer than that! How have you done not to realize..."
T'Pol could not help but snort. "I'm not as experienced as you're, my Lord, in things regarding jealousy and about how to use such a sentiment for one's own purposes and ..."
Suddenly she realized how unjustly offensive her words could be for Trip.
She quickly adjusted the tone of her voice, by making it very, very sweet, and just as quickly hurried to complete her sentence certainly not in the way it originally was going to be said.
"... And I beg you to remember that the Princess is me; we, she and I, have the same limits."
At those words Trip dropped the PADD to allow his arm to shake to himself strongly T'Pol.
"It is not about limits, sweetheart. It's about having the courage and the ability to embrace the different, to overcome the boundaries of the obvious. And the Princess will have this courage and this ability. Just like you did."
T'Pol sighed with happiness.
The day when some idiot among the members of her race had had the idiotic effrontery to ask her how the hell she could have made up her mind to fall into the arms of a Human, she would have no difficulty finding the right answer.
Do you realize what sort of a wonder of a Human you're talking about?
Worthier answer, there couldn't have been.
She sighed again. And to Trip well clear rang the contentment that transpired in that sigh.
And then, just then, with the sense of timing that was his own and with the innate ability he possessed of understanding when it was time to dampen the impact of emotions inside her, he let out a chuckle, mild and peaceable. "Certainly, it is really true."
T'Pol was alarmed a little, but not too much. That chuckle did not bear any trace of his usual sarcasm.
"What, Adun?"
"You and the Princess really are the same person, equal in every way, not just ..." He laughed softly again. "... in the beauty."
Well! It was true. It was not worthy of a true vulcan female to feel the ears get hot of pleasure. But what could T'Pol ever do? It was priceless to feel your ears and your heart get warm by the compliments of your Adun.
Ignoring the heat of her ears, T'Pol managed to ask with a small voice, a dreamy breath of voice. "In what else are the Princess and I equal, T'hai'la?"
She knew he was going to pour on her one of his usual cheeky and... and damn truthful quips, but it was stronger than her. She… - damn Adun! - she loved to be lovingly teased by him! Because... because there was always Ashaya in the quips he made on her. Even in those that at first glance could sound nothing but acrid. She had just to see to it that she were able to grasp them with her heart, instead of trying to do it with her mind. Not too much vulcan? Sure. But she had learned the hard way that being too much vulcan demanded a price to big to pay. A price that couldn't be paid!
And her instinct - strange for a Vulcan, but she had by now learned to the perfection that instinct existed. And how! - did not deceive her.
"We have already said it, but now, in reading these lines... damnit, T'Pol! It's impossible you're not the Princess! Only someone who's you, can be so stubborn!"
T'Pol, despite everything, despite her previous thoughts, could not help but flare up.
Her head snapped upward. Her eyes burned his. "Husband..."
But the flame in her eyes died in the warm smile of his.
"But think, my babe! The Princess now understood, she knows. Even more, she has fallen into the deepest despair at the thought of having denied to the Nameless One what she now would like desperately to be able to give him again. And, yet, she refuses to admit that her challenge - her dangerous, risky challenge - is nothing else than an attempt, equally desperate than her heart, to retrieve in some way - absurd, desperate, in fact - what she has lost."
He grinned, with sweet malice. "Would you deny this, my sweetheart? Would you deny to find yourself in such a way of doing?"
T'Pol could not. And how would she have been able to do it? Okay to be... be stubborn, but... but there were limits. Even for her. For her stubbornness.
So she could do nothing else but stay silent to watch - a little peeved, but, above all, undeniably contrite - his mischievous smile. Mischievous, sure. And yet... yet strangely warm, with a warmth that warmed the soul.
And at that moment, just then, he - her unpredictable and brainy Adun - said... something.
He said openly what was hidden inside his smile and inside his quip.
And she understood why that smile of him was warming her soul so much. And realized that that phrase, the one that she would have found herself to say to the foolish member of her own breed who had dared ask her how it was possible that she had ended up into the arms of a Human... that phrase was not correct. It was not complete. Other words should have been added to it.
Her heart swelled in hearing his words. The deep, true meaning of his smile and of his quip.
"But on the day when the Princess will be capable - and she will be capable, as you're leading me to understand - of surrendering entirely to her heart, of following it, just as you've been capable of doing, my love, then... that day... there will be no longer darkness for the Nameless one. I'm sure. There will only be an endless happiness. Perhaps... "A shadow crossed his face."... perhaps destined to be smashed, to be torn apart in the relentless claw of an adverse fate, the same fate that made him the cruel and lonely and unhappy beast he is. Maybe it will be the happiness of a single, fleeting moment, but ..." The shadow quickly vanished and Trip's face lit up. "... but that moment will last forever for him. That happiness will be with him forever and everywhere. Wherever he..." A shadow, again, grim and sad, on his face. "... wherever he will be."
Then, as fast as it had reappeared, the shadow faded away. "Yes. That happiness will be there always. And will be immense. It will be ..." His face grew beaming. "...it will be the same that you have given me, when you decided to surrender... completely... to your heart."
And that heart, that of T'Pol, started to thump wildly, on hearing those words.
She lowered herself again, all reclined on him, trying to fight the lump she felt in her throat.
This time he, her Adun, her K'diwa, her T'hai'la, her beloved, had failed. He had by no means been able to dampen the storm of her emotions. He himself... he had let himself be carried away by the strength of his own emotions.
But... yes! It was the right thing! There are times when it must not be done! Times when you must not suppress your emotions! Because it is not destructive emotions. It is emotions that make you fly without having wings!
The emotions that only he - he only and he alone! - was able to give her!
Yes. The sentence that she should have said to that potential, stupid member of her own breed was absolutely not complete.
She should have added...
And do you realize that I - I! Precisely I! I, T'Pol! - I got the crazy good fortune of having him? Of... of being his? That for me, to embrace me, to make me fall between them, his arms exist! For this they are made! And to fall between them am made I!
With a huge effort, T'Pol managed to find the strength to speak.
"Let's go..." Damn! How sounded choked, her voice! "Let's go forward, T'hai'la, please."
Trip took up back the PADD and obeyed, smiling happy to the world and to himself.
The Princess did not delay further.
She did not allow her mind to go deeper.
She did not allow her heart to speak clearly; did not allow the hope that harboured in it to show itself in full light.
T'Pol managed to ignore the sly, triumphant smile that she sensed perfectly well that hovered on Trip's lips while he read.
The Princess' face turned serious and severe.
And serious and severe was her voice.
"It's about time. Let's go."
And, by decision, she's headed for the exit.
But she stopped. She was forced to stop.
By the sharp tug she felt at her neck.
The chain.
The chain had reached its maximum extension.
The chain whose existence she had forgotten.
But that existed.
And that was reining back her.
She turned abruptly and looked at the two slave girls, who had remained behind, with wonder, almost. And with consternation.
But she had no need to do anything else. Not even to ask.
The small, devilish, human slave girl...
"Devilish. Oh my gosh! This is certainly my own work. Surely it is me the one who wrote it!
"Trip!"
"Oh... ahem... sure, sure. Let's not to get distracted. The suspense, the suspense, for devil's beard!"
The small, devilish, human slave girl was watching intensely her companion.
And this one was watching her, with the same intensity. And there was uncertainty on her face. And indecision. And fear.
Incredible was the sweetness with which the human slave girl addressed her companion. Her sister.
"Our Princess will not abandon us, sister." Sister. She too used that word. "She won't go away, won't run away, once free. And will defend us. She will know how to protect us from the wrath of our Lord and Master. She ..." Her gaze shifted, full of meaning, on the Princess, who was watching and listening with keen and puzzled attention. "... she has the means to do so."
For a moment the elven slave girl stood still and silent. Almost it seemed that she was about to wring her hands.
Then she shook herself. She nodded, as on her face was painted an intense and determined expression.
Her right hand ran to the bracelet that encircled her left wrist and, with a decisive gesture, the hand unhooked the bracelet.
Then, with that in hand, she walked resolutely toward the Princess.
She stopped in front of her.
Her gaze lingered for a moment on the visage of the Princess, who was staring at her, her eyes full of questions.
Then the girl's face turned upwards, towards the chain, and, while her left hand grabbed the chain so as to lower it in the same time that the Princess - instinctively understanding even without understanding for real - stepped ahead to slacken the chain and facilitate the slave girl's action, her other hand, the right one, the one that was holding the bracelet, went, it too, to the chain. To a precise point in the chain. To a precise ring, that she identified counting with her eyes the rings from the first at the bottom, as it appeared clear to the Princess.
It was a ring that was more or less about one meter or perhaps something more away from the one that connected the chain to the collar that imprisoned the Princess' neck.
The bracelet was positioned so as to adhere to that ring. Something... a sort of small wedge... snapped in the bracelet.
The Princess could see it clearly.
The small wedge slipped inside the ring.
It expanded, filled completely the ring.
It twirled on itself, against the metallic circle of the ring.
There was an imperceptible noise, some sort of a slight snap. And the chain, the long tract of it that, starting from that ring, climbed up aloft, toward the top of the pole to which it was stuck, fluttered free.
It floated in the air and fell to the ground with its end cut off. Away.
It piled up in messy spirals on the floor.
The Princess looked at the spirals of the chain that lay wrapped on themselves, unmoving, on the ground.
Her gaze raced upward to see the chain section which, starting from those spirals, lost itself in the upper, ending at the big ring fixed on the top of the pole.
Then, her eyes went down on the elven slave.
She was looking at her, still holding up the chain - or, rather, the extreme of that part of it that had remained attached to the Princess collar - through her bracelet, with its previously hidden wedge still inside that ring, earlier only one among many, now the last of the short length of chain that had stayed stuck to the iron collar that imprisoned the Princess' neck.
The slave girl was staring at her, intently, with eyes that betrayed plenty of emotions.
Fear, hope, trust, expectation.
Was staring at her just as hard as she - the Princess - was gazing her.
And her gaze - the gaze of Princess - also betrayed, it too, a myriad of emotions.
Confusion, astonishment, disbelief, incomprehension and, above all...
The voice of the human slave rose, soft and calm, to answer the question that the eyes of the Princess expressed far more than how any of her words could have done.
"My companion is the custodian. She is entrusted with the heavy responsibility of guarding and maintaining safe and intact all the slave girls who are here."
The voice was silent a moment, then it rose again.
"It may please our masters, the men to whom we belong by will of our Lord, to keep us in chains. We are slaves. Or, and this is what actually happens in most cases, it may be necessary that one of us has to be chained. When she is rebellious or unruly or... dangerous. As... as in your case, Princess. Or…" The maiden looked intently at the Princess. "…even simply because it is necessary to make her aware, tangibly, of her state. Of her destiny. Just as it's for you, my Lady."
Another pause. Long and tense.
"But never any slave girl must run risks or dangers, simply because it's denied to her the chance to escape them due to a slavery chain. Our Lord and Master wants what belongs to him to be preserved from any damage. Only... only he can rage, if he wants to do so, over what is his. And everything is his, here. Even the slave girls he gave his men or, and even more so, those... the one... he wants for himself."
The Princess visibly winced at these words, but said nothing. The human slave girl had not yet finished.
"My companion is the one who has the task, important and heavy, to ensure that nothing harmful can happen to the female slaves. For this she has the key to any chain that can be used, your chain included, as you could see. If, by some circumstance, it becomes necessary to free a slave from any chain that can prevent her from saving herself, she and only she can do it. She and she alone has the key and knows how to do it. As she did with you. Even if..." The dark, deep eyes of the human girl stared with acute intensity at the Princess. "... even if no danger loomed over you, Princess."
A whirlwind of thoughts began suddenly to swirl in the Princess' mind, but she had way not even to try to decipher them, to attempt to put a bit of order in them.
The other slave, the elven one, moved. She moved her hand.
There was another soft snap. The eyes of the Princess ran to the ring of the chain still trapped around the wedge of the bracelet.
The wedge pulled back. It freed the ring. The tract of chain that was still fixed to the neck of the Princess fell down abruptly.
It dangled, swinging in front of her, hanging from her neck.
The elf-maiden, with smooth and precise movements readjusted to her wrist the bracelet, without looking at the Princess. Then, still without watching her, she leaned a little and reached out to grab the dangling end of the chain.
Then she looked up.
Two beautiful, deep eyes that anchored in those of the Princess.
Without speaking, without ceasing to stare at the Princess with that dumb and deep look, she straightened up and pulled up the chain, for then putting it in the hand of the Princess, who took it without even thinking about what she was doing.
The slave girl continued to stare at the Princess. Then, finally... "You..." How soft, how low, how feeble was her voice! "... are free, my Lady."
Trip stopped reading. But not because he had anything to say.
It was that word, that term, all it carried with it.
It was the way the slave girl was described uttering it.
It was a matter of a moment, just a moment.
A moment in which he felt T'Pol's breath get faster.
Then the moment passed.
He continued reading.
FREE!
And the whirlwind of thoughts began again to swirl furiously in the mind and soul of the Princess.
She was free!
She... she could go away! She could escape!
But... but to go where? To do what?
Naked. And helpless. Unarmed. With no one beside her.
She would have been defenceless and helpless prey for anyone she could meet. And in this case, a practically inevitable case, there would have been no doubt about her fate. Killed. Or, much more likely, condemned to all sorts of disgusting bed games and corporal and mental abuses.
Or, and this was what far more probably would happen, she would have been nabbed in no time at all by her previous captors. And in this case, a case that, rather than inevitable, was to be defined as certain... in this case there would have been even less doubts about her fate. Killed. Once again. Or, in such an eventuality, much more probably condemned to be tortured and tormented without rest in every thinkable and unthinkable way.
Oh sure. She would have fought. Perhaps she would also have been able to demonstrate how true it was what he - he! - had sardonically said to mockingly explain the reason for her chain. Not without casualties of the enemy camp her catch would have been!
But the end would still have been inevitable for her.
And maybe... No. For certain!... it would have been better that way. Better to go away, forever, there, in the place from where there was no return, rather than living the life she now - especially now! After what she had done - would have been her fate! Indeed, she would have had to seek death, should have avoided capture at any cost!
Sure. Sure! SURE!
All true.
ALL TRUE!
But... it was not this.
It was not this!
There was… there was Atana!
Atana. Could she leave Atana there? Atana. Her handmaiden and friend. Atana. Who had not hesitated to go towards death for her. Atana. That she knew she was still alive, there. And prisoner and slave. There.
But it was not that either.
Not even that!
If she had fled... and, certainly, neither of the two slaves could nor even less wanted to hold her... what would become of them?
They had entrusted themselves to her. They were willing to face the wrath of their cruel and merciless Lord and Master for her!
They thought, they believed, they were certain that she would have been able to protect them.
That she... she had the means to do it!
Yes! So had said the human slave. And the elven slave had believed her. She, too, was convinced!
She had the means to do it!
Yeah. Maybe it could have been. So it would have been.
If she had not rejected him.
And then, in this case, there would have been no chain to break.
But she had rejected him.
She had refused to admit what her heart had imposed to her body to do.
She had stolen from him the last hope of not being the lonely beast without a soul that the grim nature - and the Humans and the Elves - had condemned him to be.
And had stolen from herself the Prince - much as different he might be from any Prince she was looking for - that she had been seeking.
That she wanted.
But... but the two slave girls were convinced she had... the means to protect them.
They were convinced of this because...
The cloak.
His cloak.
The black cloak with which, although at that moment, the moment it had happened, she could certainly not know, he had wrapped her.
To protect her.
Could it be true that, in spite of everything, she had the means... yet?
Could it be true that she still had them?
But then... had this any importance?
Escaping. Fleeing. Atana. The two slaves.
But yes. But yes! BUT YES!
Sure sure sure!
But it was not this.
IT WAS NOT THIS!
What it was...
The Princess' brain whirled dizzily. It whirled, it whirled, it whirled...
But it stopped at last. And light and clarity finally dispelled murkiness. And any more or less unconscious attempt not to want to realize.
What it was… was that she did not want to run away!
She wanted to stay there!
She wanted to... she had to...
She had to challenge him!
She had to show him... had to show him...
She had to make him feel... anger.
And helplessness.
And... jealousy!
She had to make him feel that she was not his tamed and subdued slave girl and even less his personal sex doll, his sex slave.
She had to make him feel anger and helplessness. and...
JEALOUSY!
JEALOUSY!
JEALOUSY! JEALOUSY!
JEALOUSY!
Was this the best way to proclaim her end?
Yes. Probably yes. Presumably yes. Almost certainly yes!
Alright then! So be it! So be it that everything ended so!
But at least... at least she would be avenged, somehow! She would have revenged herself of everything! Even... even of the fact that... he had enslaved her in all ways, even... even by taking hold of her heart!
There was nothing else that her insane act, her crazy challenge, the jealousy she wanted to arouse in him could bring along, in spite of anything the two slave girls could think in this regard.
There was nothing else.
Nothing else!
It wasn't... it wasn't possible that the result of her mad defiance could be that his cloak could protect her yet!
"Hon!"
T'Pol shifted. She lifted her head. She looked at Trip sideways, with uncertain eyes. "Yes. You are right. It's so, Adun. "
There was no need for him to explain to her what was behind that 'Hon!'
Her head fell back on Trip chest. She closed her eyes. "The princess understood. Her heart won. Her mind is clear now. Confused, but clear; at least sufficiently. It was... it was me the one who did not understand."
Trip smiled, as his hand clutched once again T'Pol's thigh. "Well, it seems that in the end the winner is you."
T'Pol was silent. She knew what he wanted to say.
"In this fierce competition between stubbornnesses, apparently it's yours the one that prevails." He laughed. "But I think it's only a matter of different circumstances."
T'Pol raised her eyebrow. Trip chuckled. He couldn't see her visage, but it was as if he could.
"Babe, you, it seems to me, didn't want or could not understand what the Princess has finally realized, although she hasn't yet admitted in all clarity it with herself, although she still hides partially this into the confused and tortuous meanderings of her mind; that is that not only she wants to remain with the Nameless One, because - simply because - she wants to be with him, because her heart gave him not only her body but also her soul. She also realized, although confusedly, that her challenge has other purposes than those to claim that she is not his thing, since she is really his, now. By now, she knows that perfectly. So, why the challenge? Why she wants to follow the human maiden's suggestion?"
The eyebrow went down. It went next to the other for wrinkling along with it in the tension of the attention. T'Pol did not want to miss a single word of her T'hai'la.
"Her challenge, Hon, is a risky game that she wants to play in order to arouse the Nameless One's jealousy and to try, as well, to make so that he may think to go back from his decision. She wants to push him to do what in her soul it seemed to her he was saying to her, namely that he would have wanted to make her his Princess, the restorer of his soul. But he is the Nameless One. The Princess knows who he is. What he is. Wild is his heart, or what remained to him in place of the heart. And so wild must be the way in which that semblance of heart may be compelled to beat yet, to go back, to forgive her, to return to be able to believe that there can be a bit of love for him too; that she - the Princess - can and wants to give him the love that may make him something different. No longer a beast. But a man. A man, Hon."
T'Pol was silent, all focused on the words of her Adun. Trip knew how to speak, and very well, if he wanted. And when he did it, she was lost in the net of his words exactly as she was lost in the warmth of his arms.
"A great risk. A huge risk. It may be her life. Her real life, T'Pol. But it may also be her death. Or something worst than death. And her mind by now knows. It has ceased to let itself be fooled by the heart. But, you tell me, you had not understood all that, in your first reading or, even, in your subsequent lonely readings. Okay. But - I repeat to you - it is simply a matter of different circumstances."
T'Pol, this time, spoke, her voice doubtful and inquisitive. "What do you mean, T'hai'la?"
"T'Pol, think of the emotional drive to which the Princess is subjected. The world, all that was left to her of her world, collapsed on her. She finds herself being a slave, from the Princess she was. Dethroned and wandering, all right; in constant danger, all right. But still the Great Princess of the elven people. A living legend. She was aware of that. Now, instead, she is alone. And slave. And, as if that were not enough, she has fallen in love for the one who made her a slave. And, as if that were not enough, the one to whom her heart has fallen prey is... a cruel and murderous beast. Soulless and heartless. With the face of a beast. And with the ways of a beast. Much as dissembled inside human ways. And as if this were not enough, her heart has understood that she has the power to give him a soul again, to make him different from the beast that he is. But... yeah... she rejected him. Yes. As if all this were not already well more than enough, she has rejected him after giving herself to him, after she was about to restore in him the soul that he so desperately wants. And that she knows she can restore in him. That she wants to restore in him."
T'Pol felt Trip's words descend deep down inside her.
"T'Pol... in these circumstances, one… or he understands or he dies! But not just by a physical death. By a far worse death! She, the Princess, in the end could not but understand, even if a little bit of reluctance to admit the whole truth in her is still there. The road, however, is now open and she can not help but travel it all the way. And this is what she desires. But one thing is being her, in those places, in those moments, in those circumstances. Another thing is being you - you, T'Pol. You! - here, in these circumstances, the present circumstances, aware of having what the Princess has not yet and she desperately wants to have. Your personal Nameless One. Me."
Trip stood silent again, while T'Pol drank his words.
Then he spoke again.
"I do not think I can be accused to sin of immodesty if I say that your world of rational logic has been restored - even if ..." He chuckled. "...luckily for me, not exactly as it was before - thanks to me, to my love for you."
T'Pol clung tightly to Trip. And, almost she cried out. "No! You do not commit any sin of immodesty, my Adun! If I am able to be me again, indeed something much better than what I was, it is thanks to you!"
Trip deposited a light kiss on T'Pol's soft hair. "All right. I am glad of that, obviously. But, if things are so, tell me Hon… how is it possible for a 'restored' vulcan female to grasp the acrobatic subtleties of the tricks of love? Only if you had been in the place of that other yourself who is the Princess and in those specific circumstances, you would have been able to grasp what she finally understood. To do that, my love, you ... "And Trip smiled proudly."... you needed me."
And T'Pol sighed. And not by regret.
Yes. It was true. She needed him to be able to understand what her Vulcan mind had difficulty to grasp. But he was there. He was always there. To make her understand. He had led her to be back a Vulcan, after... after what she had done, after she had sold her ratiocination, her vaunted vulcan logic, to the Trellium D, to try stupidly to be a different woman from the one he wanted with the purpose... but how could one orientate in this damn labyrinth that was love?... with the purpose to be the woman he wanted! But he had been there. He had allowed her to go back to be the woman she had been in all respects. IN ALL AND FOR ALL! Except one thing. One only. But unparalleled in its importance!
And this thing was the new knowledge that she now had of the limits of her logic, of her being a Vulcan.
And the knowledge that this was not a problem.
Because…
Because he was there!
BECAUSE HE WAS THERE!
T'Pol huddled in Trips' arms as if they were a...
As if they were a protective cloak!
A cloak!
A CLOAK!
A CLOAK!
"Do we want... do we want to go ahead, my Lord? Do you remember?... the pathos ... the suspense..."
Trip laughed softly. "Sure. Of course. Let's continue, vulcan doll. "
The Princess shook herself. She imposed on her mind to quit swirling.
Imposed on her heart to quit beating wildly.
She straightened head and shoulders and her entire person.
Her gaze became sure and determined.
It wrapped, warm, for a long moment, the two slave girls, mute and motionless anxiously waiting.
Then the Princess nodded majestically and majestically, finally, she moved on.
She ascertained herself that the remaining of chain were still upon her forearm, holding it in the way in which the elven maiden had positioned it, as if it were a regal garment.
Then, majestically, she turned and, majestically, began to step forward.
Towards the exit.
She stopped just an inch in front of it.
She turned around.
She looked at the two slave girls.
A long, intense stare.
She spoke.
"What is the name of the two friends and handmaidens to whom I owe ..." The shadow of a pale smile creased the perfect arc of her lips. "...my freedom?"
The two slave girls looked at one another, as if looking for strength in one another.
Then, the human slave took a step forward.
"My name is Belle, My Lady."
"Belle." The princess smiled warmly. "It suits you, Belle."
The girl blushed visibly, as her eyes twinkled.
The Princess turned to the elven slave girl.
"And yours?"
The slave nearly jumped.
"M... mine is... is Ta'har'en, my Lady."
"High elven language. Do you know, my handmaiden?"
"Hi... high elven language?"
"Yes. Your origins must be lofty."
"Lo ..."
"And, in high elven language, your name means 'Splendour'."
"Spl ..."
The Princess smiled warmly again. "I would say that also to you your name fits perfectly."
If the face of the human girl had turned red, this was nothing compared to the purple with which blazed the ears of the elf-maiden.
The Princess smiled again, with even more warmth.
Then she turned serious.
"Good." Her voice grew solemn. And, perhaps, a little bit uncertain. "Belle. Ta'har'en. Would you like to follow me in my stepping out of here? I really think your presence can be of big help to me."
There was a moment of hesitation on the part of the two girls and, certainly, not due to any uncertainty on their part about what they would have done.
Then they spoke in unison, as - in unison - they rushed forward towards their Princess.
"Yes"
"Sure!"
"Certainly!"
"We..."
"... will be..."
"...all time..."
"...at ..."
"...your..."
"... side ..."
"... o our ..."
"...Lady!"
The Princess laughed and, with a wave of her hand, she stopped them before they ruined against her.
"Very well. So then..." The smile disappeared. "... so then, follow me."
She turned slowly and faced the curtain veiling the exit of the tent.
She stood still for a moment.
Then, firmly, she covered the last step that separated her from the curtain.
Her hand shot out.
Grabbed the curtain. Lifted it.
The bright light of the radiant morning poured out over her.
She stood still for a moment yet, wrapped in that light, squinting at its vividness.
Then... she stepped inside the exit gateway.
With her chain still on her forearm in the manner of a royal stole, she took a small step forward.
Then another.
Then another yet.
She felt that the two girls were behind her, to hold the curtain that she had dropped.
She stepped forward one more time.
Another small and hesitant step.
Then another.
And she was out of the tent.
In the full light.
End of Chapter Thirty-seven
TBC
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THE STORM!
(*)Here I refer to events of my story "In the Hall of the Mountain King"
(**) And here you should take a glance at another of my stories: "Shore Leave"