The feast was held under the stars in an open courtyard. Four long tables were set up for the Ewlean officials and citizens with another at the head for the Enterprise crew, the ambassador, the head speaker of the Ewlean senate, and the four Trial Masters.

Although there had been a significant amount of ceremony surrounding the beginning of the feast, once the event had begun, Spock found that the Ewlean were easy to engage in conversation with, regardless of their status. He was seated with Ambassador Hchun on his right, Jim on his left, and the Trial Master in charge of the 'cultivation' portion of the trials directly in front of him.

"And how often do these cycles occur?" Jim was asking the Trial Master.

"There is no regular timetable," she answered, and Spock nodded. The largest religion on Ewle—although not the only religion—was centered around cycles that began and ended with certain signs, such as the appearance of a meteor, a death in a certain position of the government, or the birth of a child with a particular birthmark. "However, they do proceed in order. The translations are difficult in your language, but we are currently in the cycle of…" she hesitated, the scales around her eyes seeming to shiver as she searched for the right word, "innovation. It is a time of experimentation and expansion, which is why we have sought entrance to the United Federation of Planets."

From the corner of his eye, Spock saw Jim nod enthusiastically. "Your last cycle was a cycle of reflection, wasn't it?" This time, it was the ambassador who answered, and as he explained the details of the cycle that had just ended, Spock turned the majority of his attention to his captain.

It was good to see him interacting so animatedly with their hosts. There had been something troubling Jim during the tour of the city, causing him to be more withdrawn than he typically was. Several times, Spock had had to force himself not to fall in step with his captain and attempt to ascertain the source of his thoughts. He would never do so telepathically without Jim's permission—his entire being turned cold at the thought—but he couldn't deny that his mind seemed to seek his ashayam's with increasing frequency of late.

And how could he not? He had melded with Jim five times over the course of their mission thus far, and each time it was only the knowledge that they had a duty to perform that had given him the strength to pull away. Even interacting with the surface thoughts of Jim's mind had been transcendent. To submerge himself in his ashayam's being entirely...it was a tempting thought.

Spock blinked once, bringing his attention back to the present. Jim was still talking with the ambassador, a small smile on his face that lifted some of the weight from Spock's chest.

"Earth has an extremely varied climate depending on your location on the planet, but in general it sees more rain that Ewle does. Mister Spock is from Vulcan, though, which has a climate more similar to your own," he said, and Spock nodded, forcing his mind to the topic on hand and not the way Jim's eyes seemed to reflect the stars above them.

"Indeed," he replied, turning to the ambassador. "Much of Vulcan is desert-like, but there are areas similar to the grasslands you have here."

The Trial Master spoke up. "And how did your ancestors handle the intense heat? Did they build underground as we did?"

Spock considered the question for a moment before stepping into an explanation of his people's ancient architecture and the logic behind their choices. From the corner of his eye, he could see a soft smile resting on Jim's face, and soon enough the man joined the conversation, adding his own knowledge of building habits of people in similar climates on Earth.

The feast lasted for two hours and twenty-seven minutes, at which point the head of the Ewlean senate stood, her robe-clad arms spread. "Tonight," she said, although Spock heard the word in Standard through the translator and not in the native tongue she spoke, "we have welcomed four Federation representatives and their companions to our world. They have boldly accepted the task of participating in our sacred trials, despite having far less preparation than most. Four days from now, we hope, we expect, to sit with one of them and pledge all of Ewle to the Federation, that we might both be made stronger in the alliance. Let us grant our new friends Prosperity!"

As one, the Ewleans in the courtyard rose and placed their hands in the positions of a traditional Ewlean bow. The ones on the high table turned toward the away team and bowed deeply. "May safety and success be your shade," they intoned. The away team bowed in return, although to a lesser extent, as the briefing had instructed. The process continued throughout the courtyard, one table at a time until the away team were the only ones standing. They bowed a final time and sat.

A soft murmur filled the space, and from what little Spock could pick up, it seemed the Ewlean had not expected them to be so well-versed in their traditions. A small glimmer of satisfaction rose in his mind, and he allowed it to shimmer there for a few moments before pushing it away. The head of the senate rose again, this time turning to Jim.

"We thank you for your presence, Captain, as we thank your Federation for its offer of friendship," she said, and Spock was struck by the honesty in her tone. He had expected, when the briefing had first been delivered by Admiral Sheen, that the Ewlean would have ulterior motives. The existence of the trials and their persistence despite the lack of preparation on the part of the Enterprise crew had suggested to him a people who were concerned with ritual beyond the extent of logic and who sought an alliance with the Federation out of mere convenience. On this occasion, he was satisfied that he had been incorrect in his judgment.

"Rest now. Ambassador Hchun will retrieve you in the morning, and the Trial of Cultivation will begin."

. . .

Spock sat cross-legged on the floor between his and Jim's beds, settling into a light meditation as the others prepared for sleep. The noise of the three men moving around the room and in the bathroom beyond did not bother him as it might once have—he had grown used to many things serving aboard a starship—and he was able to clear his mind and focus on strengthening his mental shields.

His meditation prior to the feast had allowed him to sort and analyze the influx of information and sensations that had come with their arrival on Ewle, which meant that it was much easier for him to achieve a deeper level of meditation now. Carefully, he turned his thoughts away from the superficial and to the substantial, to the feelings and impressions that would have the greatest impact on his rest and performance in the following days.

As had been the case since The Realization—and for some time previously, although he had not noticed it—Jim occupied a significant portion of these thoughts. He was concerned for Jim. Now that he knew why his ashayam was so averse to the drug, he illogically wished to protect him from this duty. He confronted that desire, accepted it, allowed it to fill his mind. It was logical for one to protect those they cherished, and Spock would strive to do so whenever possible. This, however, was not something he could hide Jim from, nor would Jim wish him to. He took hold of that thought, pushing life into it until it overshadowed his earlier desire. His need to protect and shelter remained, but he would not allow it to interfere with his duty to his captain and to Starfleet.

Beyond his worry for Jim lay no small amount of wonder. Ewle was a fascinating world, one he would make an effort to study at the conclusion of their mission here. The culture on the planet was diverse, but there was a unity present in the mindset of the people that was rare to see among worlds. Would the trials reflect that?

The thought brought him to the core of what he needed to resolve before he would be able to rest properly—the trials. Since the first briefing with Admiral Sheen, he had meditated extensively on them, but he was self-aware enough to know that the frustration he felt at the lack of information would not vanish until the trials were complete. It was simply too large of an issue for him to dismiss so easily. However, he was able to subdue that frustration, to counter it with the information that he did know and a mental review of the performance records of his fellow crewmates. He did not enjoy making guesses or bets, but he would be hard-pressed to find a situation in which the crew of the Enterprise had not prevailed. Coupled with the nature of the Ewlean that he had witnessed thus far, he was able to put his frustration to rest for a time, and when he opened his eyes he felt centered and calm.

. . .

Movement from the corner of his eye drew Jim's attention up from the dim light of his PADD. He watched as Spock stood from his meditation in a fluid movement, picked up the folded sleep robe on his bed, and crossed silently to the bathroom. The door opened, a crack of light filling the room, and then closed just as quickly.

The room was silent. Across from him, Bones was hunched over a PADD of his own, likely containing medical reports from the ship since they had left. In the other corner, Jim could just make out Sulu's form on his bed, blanket already in a tangle around him. Good, he would need his rest for tomorrow.

Spock returned a few minutes later, now dressed in a dark-colored sleeping robe that Jim had only rarely seen him in. They exchanged a nod in the almost-darkness, and then the Vulcan settled into his bed, pulling the covers up and turning on his side.

Jim turned his gaze back to his PADD. He knew he should try and sleep soon—Bones had harped about it on the way back to their quarters, the hypocrite—but the weariness in his body wasn't matched by his mind. Besides, he needed to get caught up on the state of his ship. With that thought in mind, he closed the report he had just finished reading and moved to open another. His finger was over the button when he heard,

"You've been gone for less than a day, Jim. Nothing's gone so wrong that it needs your attention right now." Bones was sitting up in his bed, the PADD in his lap illuminating the faint scowl on his face.

Jim grinned, the expression tired. "Let me guess, there was a major surgery that needs your attention since we left," he teased quietly.

The scowl deepened, but Jim knew there was no real anger behind the expression. The two of them had always been like this, and Bones knew himself enough to know his own bad habits. "Yeah, well I'm not a trial representative, am I?"

Unfortunately, Bones had a point. As much as Jim's brain was still running at what felt like at least warp five, he needed sleep. The trial tomorrow was supposed to be Sulu's, but until they got the details that could easily change, and either way he was the captain—he needed to be alert tomorrow.

He powered his PADD off, the screen fading and leaving the room even darker than before. "Your turn." Maybe the words were a little juvenile, but they made Bones roll his eyes and turn his own PADD off with a quiet grumble. "Good night, Bones."

"Go to sleep, Jim."

He smiled into the darkness and shook his head before leaning over to drop his PADD onto his bag with a quiet thud. Then, he collapsed back against his pillows and closed his eyes, silently hoping he would be able to drift off to sleep without too much trouble.

. . .

A heavy stench floated over Jim like a malevolent cloud, filling his lungs with putrid air and making him cough and retch. He forced his eyes open and then instantly shut them, not wanting to see the walls of the room he was in.

Breathe. In. Out. In again.

Something grabbed his arm and his eyes flew open, a scream dying halfway up his throat. Whatever it was that had a hold on him seemed to swim in and out of his vision, it's skeletal limbs leading to a shadowy body and a face with features that seemed to shift every time he tried to focus on it.

He pulled against the creature's grip, but it's bony hand tightened, digging into the flesh of his arm. It hissed something at him and a strange burning sensation began to spread across his skin out from where the fingers touched him. He looked down and saw that his flesh was rotting before his eyes, pulling away from his bones.

He pulled harder, panic pushing adrenaline through his veins and this time the creature's grip broke. Without thinking, Jim started running, out of the dilapidated room and down a hallway and creaking stairs and out the door. He didn't stop until he was three streets away, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.

The stench followed him.

The sky here was clear and the sun shone brightly, illuminating the sidewalks but not seeming to reach through the thin flannel Jim wore to warm his skin. He leaned against a building and risked another glance down at his arm. It was small and skinny but not rotting.

He leaned his head against the brick wall and sighed. Then, his stomach growled. He ignored it and it growled louder. Then, before he could do anything else, an aching pain started in his stomach and quickly spread until his entire body was one long groan of agony. He tried to push off the wall and collapsed instead, his body suddenly too weak to move. His head connected to the concrete, and the world went dark.

. . .

Spock woke slowly. He pushed himself onto his forearms and blinked as he waited for his internal chronometer to reassert itself. 03:32. He did not need to be awake for another hour and forty-three minutes. Why, then, had he woken?

His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness, and he swept his gaze over the room cautiously. Across from him, Sulu was asleep on his bed, one leg hanging off the mattress. His eyes turned to Doctor MccCoy, and he was surprised to see the man sitting up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes for a moment before freezing, gaze locked on something across from him.

Jim was floating between stars, pain flaring so brightly in his body he thought maybe he was one of them. Was a life of solitary agony the destiny of every star?

Urgency suddenly filling him, Spock turned to where his captain lay. Jim was curled up on the bed, knees tucked tightly to his chest and covers thrown to the floor. That in and of itself was not unusual, but the keening sound coming from him was. In an instant, Spock had moved from his bed to kneel at Jim's side without commanding his limbs to do so. His hand hovered a centimeter from Jim's skin before he snatched it away, eyes wide.

He would not meld with Jim without his consent. He could not.

He was sitting in a cramped loft, too-skinny knees pressed against his too-skinny chest, not daring to breathe as booted feet passed below him.

The sound of Doctor McCoy's steps grounded him, and he focused on their fall as the man crossed the room. Jim flinched as if he had been hit, and then curled tighter in on himself. "He's having a nightmare," the doctor explained, voice rough from sleep. "I can try and wake him, but I doubt he'll be able to go back to sleep if I do."

It took Spock three point seven two seconds longer than usual to register the words in his mind.

"I could calm him with a mind meld, but I will not do so without his consent," he whispered, eyes not leaving the pale, sweat-slicked face of his ashayam. "In his current state, his thoughts and emotions would overwhelm my shields."

From the corner of his eye he saw Doctor McCoy nod. "Figured as much. Anything else you could do with that mumbo-jumbo of yours? Jim hasn't slept well in days—he needs whatever rest he can get." Across the room, Sulu turned over in his sleep.

He was shuffling along in a line of people, hunger gnawing at him and fogging his brain. The woman in front of him turned, her face a void.

Spock frowned, uncaring of the emotionalism in the expression. "I will attempt a low-grade connection. It will not be enough for me to redirect his mind, but it may allow me to send...suggestions across without opening myself to his thoughts."

He could feel the hesitation from the doctor. Then, Jim let out a low groan of pain that seemed to resonate in Spock's mind like a sour chord and he acted on instinct, his hand going to Jim's as he closed his eyes and focused on peace, on the sound of the Enterprise's engines, on the way his mother's garden smelled in the spring, on chess games and quiet laughter. In his sleep, Jim's hand tightened on his, and Spock choked back a gasp and redoubled his efforts until the grip relaxed and Jim's breathing began to even out.

He was...safe. Warm. Loved.

Slowly, he extracted his hand and turned to look up at the doctor, grateful for the darkness that shadowed his expression from the man.

"I don't know what you did, Spock, but I think it worked. Go on back to sleep; I'll keep an eye on Jim."

The thought of leaving Jim sent daggers into his side. "Vulcans require less rest than humans, and I have meditated twice in the past twenty-four hours, in addition to the sleep I received. Rest, doctor. If there is any change, I will wake you." If he had been more human, he might have admitted to the pride that flickered in his chest at how level his voice was.

The doctor held his gaze for a long moment before nodding slowly. "Alright, Spock."

The man shuffled back to his bed, but Spock hardly noticed, his entire attention focused on the even breaths of his ashayam. He settled into a cross-legged position and regulated his own breathing, falling into a sort of waking trance, his eyes never leaving Jim's face.

An hour and forty minutes later, the man began to stir, and Spock quickly stood and turned to his own bed, preparing his clothing for the day. He heard Jim yawn and stretch behind him and call a greeting to Sulu, who was also slowly rising, and the tension that Spock had carried through his night vigil faded.