Thank you very much to 0afan0 for that review! You're my Lancelot! This chapter is dedicated to you.
And thank you to BewilderedFemale, thyme2read, "Bochra," and JustaCrazy-Man for all of your reviews. They are greatly appreciated!
The next morning, Ba'el entered the compound gate after her morning bath in the stream. Once she changed, she was of course going to go look for Anne. She wanted to learn more about this newcomer. Since most of the young people had chosen to leave with Worf, there were roughly seventy Klingons and Romulans currently at the camp. The majority of the inhabitants were now either small children or middle-aged to elderly adults. It was agreeable that the two newest residents were nearer to her age.
She passed Dhaval as she began to circle the buildings. "Looking for your friend?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"She's over by the tree there," he gestured in the direction. "You are a skilled healer, Ba'el," he smiled. "She looks like she's feeling better today."
"Thank you, Dhaval," she smiled proudly. She was glad that, little by little, he seemed to be coming out of his shell. He still did not appear to be happy, but he was slowly becoming less bitter about his lot.
Anne, on the other hand, was a few months behind him. Ba'el spotted her under the said tree. Though she did indeed show every sign of physical recovery, her facial expression was lost and forlorn. She was whispering something to herself when Ba'el approached.
"Good morning," said Ba'el.
"Oh, Ba'el. Good morning to you."
"What were you whispering just now?" she asked with a curious smile.
"I was trying to remember how a poem went, but I can't seem to recall," she mused. "I used to know the whole thing by heart, but it's been so long."
"I like poetry," said Ba'el, trying to find common ground, "Will you tell me the parts you do remember?"
Anne's face lit up considerably. "Of course," she said with pleasure.
"A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot…"
"I like it," Ba'el commented. "And it would be good to hear the rest sometime when you can remember."
"I'll put it down once I remember, then," Anne replied. "It's long, though, so it may take me a while, if ever."
Ba'el almost told her that there was plenty of time, but then she thought better of it. She did not want to dampen her spirits by reminding her that she would have to stay there for the rest of her life. "Take your time," she said instead.
"Is there anything to read around here?" the girl asked hopefully.
"Why, yes," said Ba'el. She showed Anne the available materials. In all honesty, there was not much. Her mother was not a reader, since Klingons followed more of an oral tradition. Her father had some books stored in the computer, but he never had the time to read. Since she was already well-versed in a great deal of Earth's literature, Anne was grateful for these "new" titles that she had never heard of before.
"Oh, thank you, Ba'el!" she said excitedly.
"You're welcome." Ba'el had never seen anyone get so enthusiastic about reading, so it seemed a bit odd. But her friend was pleased, and for the moment, that was all that mattered.
"Have you read these?" Anne asked.
"Oh, yes," she said proudly, "Many times."
"Then I look forward to discussing it with you when I'm finished!" said Anne as she went back in the direction of the tree.
Anne hungrily poured over the books. There were not many of them, but it was a start. The small collection was amusingly eclectic, and she chuckled as she read the titles. The first was a book of Klingon mythology, and it was written by a Romulan author—well, wasn't that irony at its finest? The second was a guide to farming—that would prove useful. Next came a history of Romulus—Wow! Right from the horse's mouth! Then a cookbook—oh, goodie! Alien cuisine! And finally, some novel about a farmer who fell in love with the sister of his family's enemy—now that was the kind of stuff she was really looking for!
She leaned back against the tree and got comfortable. Before long, she was so lost that she forgot entirely where she was. The next thing she realized was that the sun was directly above her. It was good to be under a tree in the tropical heat. She wondered if it would be prudent to go inside.
"You like reading very much, don't you?" Anne looked up to see the Romulan guard from the infirmary on her first day there. He held his hand over his eyes to block the sun.
"Reading nourishes the soul, as well as the mind," she informed him. "Besides, how else do you think I endure the doldrums of this mundane existence?"
"Well said," he conceded. "I never had time to read before I came here. Perhaps when you are finished, I'll take a turn."
She suddenly felt greedy for taking all of the books at once. "Here," she held up one of the PADDs, "I'm finished with this one. It was informative, but the author is a bit biased in my opinion."
He examined it skeptically. "Klingon mythology. How fascinating," he commented sarcastically. "But, it is better than nothing, I must admit."
"The majority of residents here are Klingons," she reminded him, smiling like a mother giving her child nasty-tasting medicine. "Maybe that will help you understand them better. It has already helped me to see them differently."
"Right. I'll leave you to it, then." He tucked the volume under his arm.
"Dhaval," she called after him. He turned back. "By the way," she said mindfully, "thank you, for saving my life."
The Romulan nodded. "I was merely following orders," he said, smiling slightly, "but you're welcome, Anne."
Anne yawned for the third time as she pushed the hoop through the spears. Ba'el smiled. "You stayed up all night reading that book about the farmer, didn't you?"
The human nodded. "I couldn't help it. It was such a romantic story," she said dreamily.
That caused Ba'el to think once again about her own broken heart. "Anne," she slowly said, "Have you ever been in love?"
"Unfortunately no," Anne sighed longingly. "I dated my cousin's friend last year for about a month, but we ended up going separate ways when he joined Starfleet." She exhaled again, "And since I'm going to be stuck in this birdcage for the rest of my life, I suppose I never shall. What about you?"
Ba'el blushed. "…yes."
Anne's eyes grew wide, and she accidentally knocked her hoop over. "Really?" she asked capriciously. "Ok, spill! What's his name? How did you meet him? Oh, please tell me!"
"Well…his name is Worf," she began shyly.
"I don't think I've met him yet," said Anne, trying to place him.
"No," she explained, "He's not here. He left over two months ago." Ba'el related to Anne the entire story from the beginning, holding nothing back. It was the first time she had been able to talk to anyone about the matter. Her parents of course, had offered to listen, but they would never fully understand. They both had despised Worf from the start.
"That is astonishing," Anne said afterward, "and so romantic, but sad. Oh, Ba'el, I'm sorry!"
"I will survive," Ba'el responded stoically. "Besides, didn't one of your greatest writers say something to the effect of it being better to have loved, even if it was lost in the end?"
"Shakespeare," she confirmed, "Yes. I never agreed with that. He may have been eloquent, but that doesn't mean everything he said is absolutely correct." Anne's thoughtful words made Ba'el feel a little better. It was a tremendous relief to finally speak what she had constantly been mulling around in her thoughts for so long.
Anne giggled suddenly. "We'll be spinsters together, at least!"
"Yes," Ba'el smiled.
That evening, Anne bathed and dressed for dinner. As she sat brushing her hair, she thought of her new friend. She felt so selfish. There she was, whining that it had not worked out between her and Tommy Montoya, when all the while Ba'el had an acute broken heart. But at least she was not as self-centered as that bigoted Narcissus! Leaving a sweet girl like Ba'el merely because she was half-Romulan? What a jerk!
"Good riddance!" she whispered, repeating what she had told Ba'el earlier. "Better to be alone for the rest of your life than to be with a creep like him!" she had said. Her friend agreed, but Anne could tell that it would take time before she would be able to fully accept her declarations.
She put on the nicest dress that was in the closet. No would care what she wore, she knew. But she had long ago discovered that looking her best kept her spirits up when she felt down. It seemed that dinner was going be the only occasion she would have the chance to do so. Furthermore, dressing for dinner was one of her family's most cherished traditions.
She recalled the summer evenings spent on the verandah at her home. Then she quickly shook those memories out of her head. That line of thinking would lead to tears. Though she knew it was not healthy to hold it all in, she also knew that there was a time and place for everything. Somehow, she did not think that crying in front of a bunch of Klingons and Romulans would earn her any respect. Her emotional release would have to occur in her room, and by herself.
Quickly putting the last pin into her auburn chignon, she took one last look at herself. She really did not look half bad, in fact. She smiled at her reflection with satisfaction and left her room.
Anne arrived at the main building at sunset. All eyes turned to her as she stood in the doorway. A lump formed in her throat. The Klingon woman next to Tokath rose and greeted her. "Hello, Ms. Wentworth," she said. "I am Gi'ral. You are welcome in my house."
"Thank you, ma'am," she answered. Ba'el pointed to the empty seat at her side. Anne smiled and took it.
"You look lovely," her friend said, "but why did you dress up?"
"Oh," Anne fidgeted self-consciously with a curl, "It's just something I was taught growing up. My parents always insisted upon propriety."
"That is an honorable custom," remarked an old Klingon sitting at the table next to Tokath and Gi'ral.
"Thank you, sir," she returned. She was not normally a shy person, but all of these non-humans staring at her made her less sure of herself. Tokath had dinner served and everyone began to eat.
Anne made herself hold her head up as she discreetly scanned the room. The tables were lined up against the perimeter, with the chair backs to the walls. As a result, everyone could see everyone else easily. It felt as though she was at King Arthur's round table. The thought made her smile.
As she continued the examination, her eye fell on Dhaval, who was sitting directly across from her. He happened to glance up at the same time, and smiled warmly when he saw she was looking at him. She quickly turned away. She was grateful to him for saving her from that man-eating snake thing, but it was all extremely awkward. Then she realized that he, too, was a recent arrival, and that he was probably just trying to set her mind at ease. She lifted her head, politely made eye contact, and smiled back at him.
She then turned to Ba'el. "So what is this we're we eating tonight?" she asked, trying to divert her attention away from her own insecurity. By the time they were halfway through the meal, Anne noticed that she was becoming more and more confident. Everyone was open and friendly to her, and she felt her heart lighten.
Soon she was laughing along with Ba'el and everyone else. The elderly Klingon who had spoken to her at the beginning of the evening (L'Kor was his name, she had found out) was telling a humorous story from his youth. He had stolen a blood pie, and was describing how he prevented his mother from finding out. He was a natural storyteller, and everyone enjoyed his tale immensely.
"So tell us, Ms. Wentworth," said Tokath after L'Kor had finished. "What are some other Earth customs for after dinner entertainment?"
"Hmmm, let me think…" she considered for a moment, pushing down the stab of grief that threatened to manifest itself. "In my home, we took turns reciting poems and reading stories."
"Klingons have a similar tradition," said Ba'el. "Will you recite something for us, Anne?" she asked excitedly.
"Well…"
"Yes, please do," one of the Klingons encouraged. "I have never heard any human poetry before."
"Alright," Anne took a deep breath. Unfortunately, because she was so apprehensive, all that would come to her mind was a silly sea shanty she learned in second grade. But she took solace in the fact that there was no way any of them would know it was from a ridiculous children's film. So she began. "Long ago, in a dark tavern by the sea, a mysterious drunken sailor related this account to the young boy who was serving him the rum:
'I was Flint's first mate that voyage. We were three days east of Tortola, in the Caribbean. Flint knew an island. That's where they buried the treasure. Gold and blood were his trademarks. He'd leave both behind him that day. As the men hauled the chests across the beach toward the interior of the island, they sang this song:
'Shiver my timbers,
Shiver my soul,
Yo, ho, heave ho!
There are men whose hearts are as black as coal,
Yo, ho, heave ho!
They sailed their ship
Across the ocean blue,
A bloodthirsty captain
And his cutthroat crew.
It's a dark a tale as was ever told
Of the lust for treasure and the love of gold.'"
To Anne's astonishment, everyone seemed to be getting caught up into the spirit of the verses, especially the Klingons. They slammed their cups on the tables, urging her to continue the recitation.
"'Shiver my timbers,
Shiver my spine,
Yo, ho, heave ho!
These seekers were strong
As the wind and brine,
Yo, ho heave ho!
And those buccaneers drowned their sins in rum,
The Devil himself would have to call them scum!
Every man on board would have killed his mate
For a bag of pennies or a piece of eight.
Shiver my timbers,
Shiver my bones,
Yo, ho, heave ho!
There are secrets known
Only to Davy Jones,
Yo, ho, heave ho!
When the mainsail's set
And the anchor's weigh'd
There's no turning back
From any quest that's made
And when greed and tyranny
Sail the sea
You can bet your boots
There'll be treachery!'"
At this line, everyone chuckled and exchanged amused glances. The Romulans in particular seemed to relate to the idea. Anne's fanciful mind wondered if this was anything like a life aboard a Romulan ship. She decided that she would someday (in the very distant future) ask Dhaval, and then pushed on.
"'Shiver my timbers,
Shiver my sails
Dead men tell no tales!'
'Fifteen men went ashore that day,' the old seadog continued, 'and only Flint his own self returned. But then Flinty died before he could get back to that cursed island and dig up the treasure. No one knows, to this day, who has old Flint's map. Now isn't that a story worth the hearing?'"
"A worthy tale!" Gi'ral applauded.
Tokath laughed, "Yes, I quite enjoyed that, Ms. Wentworth. You must do this again soon."
The others around the room uttered their approval. Perhaps Carraya IV was not such a wasteland after all.
"Ok, but on one condition," she grinned mischievously, "Ba'el goes next time." The girl shot an "I'll get you back for this" glare at her, while everyone roared in agreement. Anne laughed. It served Ba'el right for 'volunteering' her to perform like that, even if she ended up enjoying it.
(I don't own Muppet Treasure Island, just to be on the safe side.)