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The Avenger by Salatrel

Summary: Armed with honor and a ceremonial blade, an avenging Romulan priestess fulfills a sad duty. This story, set in the years between TOS and TNG, is an explanation of what was happening in the Romulan Star Empire and why the Romulans of TNG and DS9 are so different from the ones in TOS.

 Some of Romulan terms are from the Romulan Role Playing Game, The Way of d'era others are from Dianne Duane or Cannon. This had been originally posted to the VulcanRomulanFic NG as my first attempt at a role playing story line for the IRE (Romulan group) but nothing ever came of that. So I reworked it and this is what came of it.

Disclaimer:  Paramount..yada yada..$$$. Me??Nahhh. $$$ I just want to share  :)
 

As always many thanks to Gayle for reading for me..and for the members of the VulcanRomulanfic NG who read it on our little island hideaway..wink..
 
 
 

Heavy summer rains had left their mark upon the cobble stone streets of the World capital, Val'Danadex. The city shimmered with glittering nighttime lights and black puddles dotted the ground. This might be the final steamy night for the season and for that the priestess was grateful. From their stakeout at the eatery, the entourage observed the comings and goings of the Tal Shiar citadel: arriving senators huddled their shoulders to stave off the inevitable wetness; operatives emerged from the secret enclave only to be greeted by a torrential onslaught.

All evening the holy troupe had waited to carry out their sad duty. For this brutal act, they had traveled across two oceans and a continent. The moment finally arrived in the form of one of their own. He emerged from a flitter that bore the official seal of the Tal Shiar. He had taken no pains to disguise himself and still donned the priestly robes of their order.  But all of that would soon change. At first a smile of satisfaction teased at the Romulan priestess' lips. Then her heart recalled her cruel duty and the smile melted into a frown.

Her heart mourned at how they had all been betrayed.  The holy order in the neighboring Kae'Raktar mountains had been destroyed by this priest's single act of selfishness. The world would have never known of the secret shrine's demise but they had sent out a worldwide plea to all of the temples. Those visual transmissions will haunt her dreams. Their torturous screams were eternally burned into the priestess' heart. Many had fled to other sanctuaries, recounting the tale of treachery and the destruction of their homes by the Tal Shiar and military forces. It may be the first to fall and all of the orders around the world were now in danger. All betrayed by one of their own.

It was easy to forget in these times of slippery truth and self-serving "honors" that many did adhere to the old ways. Ways that transcended the past or present government policies, the military call to expand or to defend the Empire and her people, ways that had nothing to do with discovering the rot in women's and men's hearts. Ways that had more to do with the Way of d'era: honor and less to do with these trivial pursuits of personal glory and temporary fame.

Devotion to such pursuits will only lead to the fall of the Empire and life, as we know it. That maxim had been drilled into the priestess since her childhood. But now was not the time to reflect upon such concerns. Her sole devotion was to the order and her impeding duty. Her quarry had just made his appearance upon the steps of the citadel.

<I see that the easy living has put a few pounds on you. > She thought as she watched him jaunt up the stairs.

"The structure does not look that imposing, Sister. Why do so many fear to cast their shadow across it?" Her companion whispered.

The priestess looked to this young one by her side. Young, that was a humorous thought considering he was her age. "Fear is a powerful ally when properly implemented, Brother Vorik."  His dark questioning eyes held hers. At times, when he posed such innocent questions, it only reminded her how inexperienced this novitiate was and how worldly her own soul had become.  Exposure to the wisdom of the ages could do that to a person. The priestess' gaze drew back to her prey across the street as he arrived at the top landing of the stone staircase.
 

Fierce talons, clutching twin, worlds were emblazoned high upon its edifice. To further accentuate the ferocious blue-green bird of prey, spotlights shone upon the blocky, ancient symbol. It was a symbol that she was very familiar with: The T'liss. Not only was it branded upon her arm but was also emblazoned over the doorway of the troupe's temple-home.

All over the Empire, the Tephren Temples' depiction was revered. The shrine's version of the image dramatically flowed over the stones and timbers of the ancient structure. It had been commissioned by one of the greatest artists the twin worlds had ever known.  Strangely, her name had been stricken from the rolls of Romulan society, but her legend lived on in her greatest artistic achievement. That was the nature of the Temple of Tephren on the continent of Folloss. Hidden treasures, forgotten knowledge, forbidden information and persecuted facts were given sanctuary from the ever-changing Romulan Empire. Praetors may rise and fall; the military may shift allegiance from one admiral to another. History had been rewritten by the victors so many times that the people were unaware of the true past. But at the temple, all of Romulan history had been stored and lovingly guarded. Not for the future nor for the past but as a testament to the Way of D'era: honor.

As she stared at this modern monstrosity, the Priestess added, "The Tal Shiar's Citadel, Var'Theldun, is where many believe fear is conjured, amplified and transmitted out into the Empire today."

"That sounds more like terror, Sister." The eldest of the troupe interjected. He was a stocky gentleman, with an unruly shock of white hair that had escaped from its braid.

"Once again, you are right, tr'Vel. Yes, a reign of terror. It has been and I believe it will be once again. But that is not our concern, is it?" With a sure hand, the priestess raised the cowl of her robe. Her cohorts silently donned their hoods and the quartet slipped out into the glittering night.
*****************

The priest eased into the luxurious leather seat. He had been savoring the spoils of his association with the members of the Tal Shiar. Rich foods, fine ales, and finer garments had been his favorite vices of late. Long ago his simple uniform of office had been discarded in favor of these distinguished robes. They had been a gift from his Tal Shiar benefactors. It was not that the former ascetic had sought these spoils for their own sake, rather, they were the happy rewards of his new association.

All that he had learned at the Temple at Tephren now seemed childish and idealistic. Perhaps those old fashion devotions to ritual, simplicity, and absolute neutrality in the affairs of the world outside the priesthood were no longer applicable in this New World order. All of the Empire was affected by the deeds of the ruling class. The Tal Shiar had certainly made use of his knowledge and priestly license. The Empire had not suffered.  Rather she had benefited from his alliance and favors with these operatives. Traitors had been hunted down and destroyed. Treachery was dragged out of its dark hiding corners and brought to bear under the scrutiny of daylight. The greater good had been served and honor had been satisfied, this priest had come to believe.

Believing all of this, the delights of the rich leather seat were more delightfully savored. Such fineries were usually reserved for high rituals, not for casual use or personal indulgence. It had been a while since the priest's thoughts had turned to Tephren, his home. All of the recent events had thrust those memories to the back of his mind. Today he had officiated at a naming ceremony. It had been his first in nearly a year. One of his Tal Shiar associates required his favors and the priest was only too eager to serve. He had been grateful for the text, for the ritual chants he had all been forgotten. As the ceremony had progressed, he began to recall the proceedings. The elements be thanked that his new found friends were very patient and completely ignorant of customs. The seasoned priest had muddled through the naming ceremony, as a novitiate would have.

His reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. This was not his, but rather a lesser operative's office. It had become his custom to remain here until his Tal Shiar associates summoned him He rose from his seat as the grand door opened. He smiled and smoothed down his robes as he anticipated the visitor. But what greeted him was beyond his wildest dreams or most terrifying nightmares.

"Pontix!" A robed figured sternly addressed him by his ceremonial title.

He was stunned into silence as the quartet quickly swooped in then encircled him. His eyes darted to the jeweled breastplates and icy fear flowed through his veins. He knew the ecclesiastic insignia of judgment. But his self-confidence was asserted and he smugly demanded, "Who are you to judge me?"

The hooded figures remained silent. All but one. "You are to answer to charges."

The Pontix scoffed at this ridiculous line of questioning. He had seen his Tal Shiar associates work over real traitors. This somber quartet was absolutely nothing to fear. He crossed his arms as a bemused grin broke across his face. "Charges? For what? Living in the modern world?"

"That, among other matters." The shrouded circle enclosed about their quarry, tightening the circle.  The heavy hoods of the light linen robes obscured their faces, but the priest believed he knew their identities. He appreciated the irony that those closest to his heart came to render judgment on him.

In the warm office light the breastplate jewels glittered gold, green, and blue.

"By your honor, tr'Malach, you must answer truthfully." One voice commanded. The accused knew that voice. It was tr'Vel, a long time friend, nearly forgotten during his yearlong excursion. "To bear a falsehood would not only be cowardly but fruitless. Your actions of the past year are a matter of public record. Not only have you pointed the finger at supposed traitors to the Tal Shiar and the government policies, but also you have validated their new measures with rituals. You have ordained new praetors and operatives without benefit of lawful elections or appointment."

"It had all been for the safety of the Empire." The accused defended.

"Are so deluded Pontix, that you truly believe in "Their Cause?" One shrouded figure demanded. He was uncertain of her identify but she seemed vaguely familiar.  "You really consider these men and women to be the best and the brightest that Romulus has to offer?  Self-righteous, mercilessly ruthless, Philistines, lacking the basic appreciation of culture preferring personal fame, seeking fortunes to acquire quick status, voracious consumers of our natural resources.  We have seen it all before, Pontix. If you recall your history lessons, these saviors too shall pass. It is the cycle of life, Pontix."

"You have been working as an independent for so long," tr'Vel's voice betrayed a hint of sadness at the fall of his dear friend, "we believe you have forgotten what temple-life is like. Our stringent principles and convictions had once fueled your soul so very long ago, tr'Malach."

 "Those of the Temple Network do not appreciate your efforts." The stern voice of the leader accused. "The ends do not justify the means according to the shrine of Tephren's edicts. What you have done will be constituted as the greatest  sin: active participation rather than disinterested observation."

"If that is the charge then I proudly agree to it. But I did what I did for the Empire. This is a new age. Can't you all see that? Those like Kirk and the filthy Klingons have forced us back to our borders, pinning us in. Our race is threatened! We must aid the Empire in her cause to fortify the borders and keep THEM out! Unlike so many of you who hide in your dark secret shrines, practicing long forgotten rituals, playing god with the minds of the children,   *I* am doing what I can with the virtues and knowledge ordained to me for the survival of the Empire and the way of D'era."

"They took them all."

"Who?" Before he had gotten the word out he knew whom she was referring to. Again the ice flowed into his veins, fearing that the ramifications of his action may have stretched father than he had expected them. "Selok," he whispered his daughter's name."

"Among others. Your involvement is of more consequences than you could have imagined." The young voice was unmistakably that of his former apprentice, Vorik. "The ramifications of the children's capture will be felt for generations."

"It was not our place to hoard the telepathic talents of the half breeds. Their abilities should serve the Empire."

"So YOU say. But what of their trainers, teachers, protectors?" The unknown female asked

She who was their leader took up the challenge. "You are also being charged with the deaths of over one thousand brothers and sisters at the Monastery of Wagi."

"What?" he asked incredulously.

"And for compromising the Temple Network."

"No! I only told them where.."

"YOU revealed secrets that lead to the desecration and destruction of that Monastery."

"It was never my intention," he desperately pleaded.

"Of course it was not. That is why we take vows, Brother. To always remain neutral, to serve the Romulan soul but never succumb to the turning tides of the world. That is how *we* survive."

Suddenly the jeweled robes grew deathly heavy on his thin shoulders. The musky leather seat became putridly nauseating. He wondered how his revealing the location of the shrine led to its destruction and why? Terror grabbed a hold of him as the realization hit him. He had been the one betrayed and used for evil purposes. "Do they know?"

"They have learned enough secrets.  Those who escaped told of the brutal tortures the others endured. Their lips remained silent but the treasures of the temple told the story. The Tal Shiar will make use of them, of that you may be certain"

"No.." the visibly shaken man sank to the floor. Stunned at the revelation that he was the instrument of death, grief and remorse seeped into his bones. <Sister, you have lain a heavy burden at my feet, > he ruefully thought.
"They never told me"

"Of course they wouldn't," she scornfully replied. "Secrets and deceptions are their vocation. The Tal Shiar is a necessary evil in the Empire, Pontix. But what you have forgotten is,"

"Balance," he whispered, interrupting her furious accusation. "I had forgotten that balance among the institutions, the elements and our hearts must be maintained.

"At all costs, Pontix."

"Yes," he whispered his lips barely moving.  "At all costs."

"Now that you have answered the charges what is to be thy sentence?"

"Sentence?"

"Balance, my brother.  You can no longer be trusted to wear those robes. Nor are you entitled to our protection. Your violations have cut deeply, even into your own heart. Your sentence: thee chooses death or revocation?"
.
The priest was stunned by her pronouncement. He wanted to cry out: those can't be my only choices

The lead judge noted his hesitation and countered with "As you know Pontix, to select revocation would be to relinquish your sole worth: the robes of office. No longer will the shine support you. Your priestly license would be revoked and you would be a private citizen, without family, without a patron, without a vocation. I know that you have no family outside the order, tr'Malach." Her eerily calm voice did nothing to comfort the priest.

The accused considered her deadly words. All of it was true. He was no fool and knew that it was the priestly privileges that the Tal Shiar friends had use for.  Without that jurisprudence, he would be useless and sloughed off like a br'fems dried skin.

No, revocation was not desirable. That left the other alternative. He looked to the shrouded tranquil figure that had offered him this fate. Infinitely patient, nothing in her bearing indicated any tension. In fact she was a picture of eternal composure, which was far from what the priest was experiencing. Shaky fingers swept through his dark mop. Anxiety grabbed a stranglehold on him as a cold emptiness spread through his guts.

He had never imagined that it would ever come to this. Now past principles were coming to bear down upon him.

No, it was not time for regret, not time for second-guessing his motivations. He had done what he had done for honor, for D'era.  No judges, no Tal Shiar, no god would tell him otherwise. Fate would be faced with eyes wide opened. Perhaps that is what it all meant; the price one pays as an instrument of honor. And with that realization, a gentle peace washed over the pontix's being, extinguishing the fear and leaving a strange calm in its wake.

Still the shrouded figure awaited his choice. How long had it been? A moment? An hour?  It felt like an eternity this turning of his fortunes. But now he had to announce his choice to this judge, to these peers. Upon bent knee and with bowed head, he whispered his doom or could this be his salvation?   "Death is the only choice, judge."

"Indeed it is," she sternly replied.

Rather then see, the pontix heard her preparations for his swift execution. In all of Romulan society there was only one death for a traitor. Clenching his eyes shut and clutching the carpeting beneath his hands; the priest steeled himself for the lethal blow. His body was a study in tension as he held his breath in anticipation. A gentle hand upon his head guided him closer to the floor. Sobs threatened to escape from his throat as the compassionate gesture inspired sadness and fear rose once again. But a strangely soothing stroke to his hair calmed him once again.

Her whispering robe was flung onto the floor and he dared to peer through hooded lids. He spied her snow-white undershift flowing about her slender form as she moved into position. From her side a blade of both deadly beauty and hideous legend emerged from her scabbard: the delicate "shing" of the blade her eternal song. A traditional cutlass, this Vrelnec bore the inscription of each of her historical wielders. Generations of green blood tinged the steel, revealing her secret only to the next victim. As if she were gauging the blade's weight, the executioner swung the blade about her form. With each spirited swing the wielder gained momentum for the deadly but sympathetic blow. The whooshes of the swinging blade drown out the pontix's heavy final desperate breaths.

 The Vrelnec struck home, claiming another victory for her priestly order.  The task was over in an instant as the pontix's body slumped to the floor and his head rolled before the feet of the avenging priestess. His green lifeblood seeped into the light rug, spreading toward the other witnesses of this justice.  Still dripping with her reward, the cutlass was gingerly slipped back into her scabbard. The priestess released a long held breath and with it all the tension she had coiled inside of her wiry frame. She found her robe placed upon her and Vorik's strong hands gave her shoulders a gentle reinforcing squeeze.

"It is done, Sister. It was a just sacrifice." The novitiate attempted to reassure her. Always his support was unfailing and the priestess drew strength from his nearness.

"The day is always dark when one of our own has fallen. We must leave this place. I am sickened by all of this decadence."

With a grand flourish the priestess turned on her heel and strode towards the door. In her hurried wake the shrouded figures followed. The doors were flung open, the ruckus echoed through the halls. But the holy order flowed as shadows in these brightly-lit corridors. Few noticed them and none halted their exit. They departed the citadel leaving the fruits of their labor in the office of some nameless Major. The priestess wished to never be in the capital city at this season again. Her robes were damp not only from the incessant humidity but also her undershift clung to her skin as the sprayed blood of her quarry began to congeal.

Her feeble utterance was low but profound and tinged with disgust. "Now we can return home, to our sanctuary. If it still stands that is."  She hopelessly added.

Vorik knew that she had been affected by this duty and was aware of her fears for the future. He shared her concerns as well. Much healing would be required upon returning to their shrine. He took her hand in his, "I look forward to a refreshing stroll by the spring."

A smile was not forthcoming. Instead a dull ache swelled in her throat as her sadness threatened to emerge. A great loss this Pontix had been. She took it as a personal failure for she had been at his side during his acceptance to this stewardship in the capital city. By failing these life tests he had proved himself unworthy of the robes of office and should have been relieved of them. But the great sorrow was that is had been her hand that delivered the blow. Now the last of her blood kin was gone and the priestess who had been judge, would take time to mourn the assassination of her younger brother, in private, at home, in their temple by the D'Gansar river.

The end