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 SERIES: TNG
PAIRINGS: Commander Sela...No smut.. just Romulans
RATINGS: NC-17 Graphic violence (Big time Warning!! I do not want to give away surprises, but be prepared for the graphic violence.)
SUMMARY: Set after the failed Romulan attempt to invade Vulcan. Here is a depiction of one Rihanha and her 'reward' for loyalty as she pursues what she considers honor.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns the Trek world, but I like to play with the action figures. No money is being made off this venture. But by the powers I am having a blast!
ARCHIVE PERMISSION: Well I gave this story to Kira for her Neutral Zine, so now we can have a turn with it. I have a web site of my own, so no one needs to archive it. Unless you really really want to, then just ask.
MANY THANKS to Gayle Potts, my most enthusiastic supporter. A wink to our Taskmaster, surprise again, Selek!
 

They were late for the poker game. Data and the Captain's ship had arrived behind schedule. Lucky for the Klingons, Data had been aboard. They suffered some sort of Klingon malfunction, requiring Data's inventiveness to repair. The ship would have exploded right there in space. The War bird was long overdue for its regularly scheduled maintenance. It made no sense to Geordi that any engineer, be they Klingon or Vulcan or Romulan, would overlook regular maintenance on their warp cores. The crippled ship limped to the rendezvous coordinates. In their pride, the Klingons refused supplies and further assistance from the Enterprise. Instead they chose to return to the Empire. Or at least attempt to return. The chief engineer of the Enterprise had glance through the concise but detailed report Data had downloaded to his duty console. Geordi was sure they would make it back to a Klingon starbase. Perhaps the ship would be flooded with radiation from the core. A few would suffer some serious illness. But the core would get them home.

As the two men hurried down the corridor, Geordi turned to his pale-skinned android friend and asked, "So did you see her?"

"To whom are you referring, Geordi?" was Data's quick reply. His long fingers activated the turbolift control and the door slide open upon his command.

Lt. LaForge waited for the doors to close before he continued, "Tasha's daughter, Sela."

Data's brows raised in consideration and he tilted his head as algorithms ran through his positronic brain. He was considering whether this would be a breach of mission protocol. Should he admit that he, the Captain and the Ambassador had 'met' with the 'daughter' of their former friend? The android considered that it would not be a breach to recount his experiences to his friend and fellow officer. "Yes we did see her. Geordi, it was fascinating. She resembled Tasha in so many ways. Her voice, her face, even her movements."

"I know. She threw the Captain for a loop too."

"It was merely a momentary distraction. I can assure you. But her actions were most.."

"Romulan," Geordi offered to his hesitant friend.

The doors opened and the pair stepped out onto Commander Riker's level. His quarters were three turns away.

"We left her in her office having made our escape through a secret back entrance. I wonder what will happen to her now?" A quizzical look passed over the android's face.

"We know so little about their customs and about what motivates them," Geordi continued with the speculations. " Any guess we might make would be far off the mark. For all we know she is being given a hero's feast for her attempt to thwart a revolution."

"Hmmm," was Data's reply. They arrived at the Commander's quarters, their conversation at an end. The two were now ready for an enjoyable night of friendly poker.

**************
The sun was just beginning its rise in the morning sky here on the home planet of the Romulan Empire.

The dim, chilly hall echoed with the purposeful footsteps of the six "invited" and their "Honor Guard". After three weeks of torrential downpours, the air, the very stones of the great halls of the Senate emitted the damp. She, who is the daughter of a Rihanha, trembled in a bone-chilling shiver in this damp early morning air.

Their ceremonially armed honor guards "escorted" them to the great chambers. Many individuals, in fact their entire lives, awaited them in the vast ancient halls of the heart of the Rihannsu Empire.  Flanking on either side of the timbered double doors, were the holographic images of their twin planets: the lush green ch'Havran and the blue and tan ch'Rihan.

Surrounded by her compatriots, comrades and those who had a hand in her failure, she who is the daughter of a Rihanha, quelled her fears and steeled her ram rod posture as the doors creaked open. Hung from the dark vaulted ceilings were the many banners of the provinces of the Empire.  Their insignias emblazoned upon the grand flags.  Torches burned full and bright against the gray marble columns, while ancient fires blazed in pits all along the perimeter of the hall. Their heat steamed the grand chambers, as their illumination flickered and shadowed the faces of the gathered. The imposing scene, which greeted them, was designed not to welcome but to intimidate. Ever the military troupe, the "invited" marched in unison, with their chins held high, into the center of the arena. Beneath their feet was a gracefully embedded mosaic. It was the T'liss, the great predatory bird, emblem of the Empire. The five stood daring and glaring up at the sea of faces: familiar ones, those who had played and taught them the intrigues, which is the Rihannsu life pursuit.

Her final drama of honor would be held here in this great vaulted theater, before her house, before her rivals, before her mate. She was grateful that it would be he who would perform 'The Final Honor'. She still believed that this was not necessary. She felt no dishonor at begin duped by that Vulcan, just a motivating anger, the need to exact retribution from those who foiled her once again.

The pervading silence was oppressive, heavy like thick swirling clouds descending from the mountains. She was an enigma of her people. This blond Romulan did not conceal her human half.  Rather she wore her humanity as a testament of her Rihannsu blood triumphing over this accident of her birth, this inferior genetic deficiency. Still clad in their severe military gunmetal gray uniforms, the five proud 'invited' stood at attention, awaiting their fate. It was a fate to be doled out by the hand of their respective hfihan, family houses.

Their 'escorts' retreated from their sides, knowing that these most respected members of the hierarchy would not require further 'encouragement' to seek 'The Final Honor'.

She, who is the daughter of a Rihanha, sought out the face of her mate: he who had been given onto her at the appointed time. Of all those whom she came into contact with, his touch, his voice, his very person affected her the most. If there was any punishment she wished to avoid, it was to view his hurt and disappointment during this moment. Last night they had severed their bond: their marriage vows annulled as if they had never taken place. It had been a gracious and generous gesture, by her family's history standards. Her regard for tr'Mavel was so great, that she did not wish for him to follow her in death.  But rather to distance himself from her disgrace, to continue on without her, to live and experience all that they had not shared during their busy political life.

Once again she was grateful that they had not chosen to conceive offspring.  Her mate might have had to sacrifice their lives. To continue with tainted honor would have been a scourge to their life pursuits. Or they would have been given in tribute to the families as payment for the lives her mistakes had cost them. 2000 lives to be exact. Over two hundred families had been deprived of their children in an act of what she, as the commander, believed to be honorable.

But the Senate had their own honor to salvage. After this disgrace in defeat, someone had to feel the Kaleh (dagger). Ael, Aidoon, H'daen, Ekkhae and tr'Aimne stood by her until the conclusion of the mission. Even the proconsul had distanced himself from her defeat, by retracting his support. Reminding her and everyone that he had been the one to apprehend the Federation spies: his mission a success. But she had been the one to lose them and failed in the subterfuge of invasion. Therefore she should bear the brunt of this disgrace. After that terse public statement, the commander had no choice but to accept her family's support in light of this abandonment. And there was only one support they would offer her in this moment: 'The Final Honor'.

 In somber silence, the members of the Senate awaited this spectacle with a mixture of pride and sorrow. One never wished for another Rihanha to fall in disgrace. Though one could not help but admire those who would give their lives, essentially sparing their families their disgrace. It was not merely the failure that constituted their disgrace, but their motivations and tactics were called into question. Face had to be saved. This had been their way for millennia, from the time of the beginning, even before the founding of their new homes here on this twin star system. These customs and sensibilities could be traced back to their motherland, before the time of the great schism and the resulting exodus.

Ael's hfihan was the first to approach. This young Romulan had merely been a personal secretary to the Commander.  But she had been privy to all which had passed in this covert operation. The promise of glory and honor had been too tempting to pass up.  As with all Rihannsu who struck out on their own, Ael knew the chances and took them as an acceptable risk. She had not only secured the Vulcan ships through her many contacts, but had also cleaned up the path of spies and informants in order to keep this operation's secret. She believed that she had been serving the Empire well. This was the essential paradox of honor in the Romulan sensibility. Before more failure and the cries of revenge from families could further taint her honor, this alternative was chosen and embraced. This way Ael was certain her katra would rise to the heights of Vorta Vor. And it was this 'Final Honor' which was her reward.

Flanked by a small entourage, the hru'hfirh (head of her house) stood before her. The ancient's face was a deeply lined mask.  Her robes of  ancient tanned skins, were embedded with hand embroidered symbols of their history. The attendants arranged the accruements of the final honor: delicately and with the slow sure-handiness of ritual ceremony. Ael's eyes held the elder's gaze, never letting her stoic expression slip into despair. Though she felt a slight ripple of fear, she quelled it, not wishing to give in to her weakness or her survival instincts.

The sorrowful dirge echoed though the stone halls, heightening Ael's anticipation. It was chanted as the attendants arranged the white sheet upon the cold marble floor of the senate.  Crisp, green velvet, trimmed towels were laid out in a semicircle. Upon a diminutive gilded stool was placed the instrument of her honor: the house's ceremonial Kaleh. It was an ancient razor. A sharp bone blade with a green bloodstone hilt. It had been passed down through the generations, brought from the motherland. The elder began to strip the youngest member of the 'invited' in preparations for their family's customary practice. Ael had witnessed her uncle's 'participation' in this custom. She fondly recalled the pride in the ceremony, but also the sorrow that played in her heart for him, for all her family.

The insignia of her military life were stripped from her uniform first. Held with disdain, one of the attendants tossed it into the near by fire pit. The flames sputtered, then blazed. The metals of her life- long achievements would not be salvaged or recycled.  Instead they would remain in this stone pit as a sacrificial offering to mnhei'sahe: the ruling passion.  Her uniform was also stripped from her, torn, ripped for her lean frame, then shredded. It too was tossed into the pit. From her tunic, to her pants, to her undergarment, she was left bare before the audience, proud in her vulnerable nudity. Two attendants firmly gripped her upper arms. Her bare feet padded against the cold stones as they led her to the perimeter of her square. With a gently thud, she was thrust to her knees in the center of her place of 'final honor'.

The young woman involuntary shivered, whether it was from shock, fear or the chill from being stripped. Her comrades watched in pride as she reverentially lifted the Kaleh from its place. Her family took the honorary double steps back from her and they waited, their eyes fixed upon the blade in her hands.

Now alone and the fact of her circumstance bore down upon her heart and mind. She was surprised that her hands shook. But with a deep cleansing breath, a subtle but overwhelming sense of inner peace welled within her. The ritual gestures became calm and sure as she nodded her acknowledgment to the Senate, her parents, then a solemn bow to her hru'fir (mate). All eyes were upon her. She held her breath and it seemed as if all did as well. Ael knew that the elder would act as her second if she found that she could not carry out this 'final honor' on her own.

But there was no need for the elder's services. Before she could lose her nerve in the anticipation, the young woman sucked in her breath, her hand swiftly reversed the blade, then plunged it into her guts. She let out a shriek of pain as she rent the razor up inside her body, finally tearing her at heart. Dark green life fluids seeped from the thin slit, slow rivulets trailed down her thighs, soaking the white sheet beneath her body.  Her face contorted in excruciating pain then went white once she hit her heart. In a life-less tumble, she fell upon her face; her eyes wide open in death.

The Senate sat in still silence, witnessing this spectacle before them. A green thick river spread out over the sheet. Finally breaching the edge of the sheet, filing in the cracks of the stone floor. The members of the deceased's house waited a full 5 minutes before handling her body. Fearful that she had not passed on quite yet and that her essence would be transmitted to another by the simple act of touch.

With the stifled cough of a far member of the senate, the captive audience was brought back to reality. The elder raised her robes, careful not to soil the satin hem with the blood. She crouched down and reached in to retrieve the blade from the dead woman's hands. Using the body's short dark hair, she wiped the blade clean, then left the scene for the attendants to clean up. Wordlessly they scurried around the sheets folding the length over the lifeless body, wrapping it up, taking care not to lay their bare touch upon the dishonored husk. Another sheet, this time dark green, was wrapped around the blood-soaked body.  Leather braided cords were wound thrice around the body, securing the wraps in place. She, who had been Ael, was placed upon a levitating platform, then silently removed from the great senate hall, never to be mentioned again.
 

The five remaining members of the "invited" took in a deep breath. The fact of their short futures began to sink into them. The remaining 'final honors' took place quickly and with less ceremony.

H'Daens' father merely screamed at him.

"What are you doing still wearing that uniform. You are a disgrace!"

This one had the misfortune of being incapacitated by the Vulcan spy. Bad luck had been his only sin.

The young man was savagely stripped.  This was his family's way of distancing their honor and name from his downfall. Shivering from the cold and the attack, this Centurion's only crime had been to follow his commander's orders. His blood was not a necessity. But his family did not see it this way.  All they saw was his failure being blasted through the communications networks. He had soiled the good name of his family, a family who was too young and too eager to remain flawless in the body politic.  He was offered a phaser and instructed to shoot himself.

Like so many others in these fast paced times, H'daen's family was one who had recently come to power and had no long held practices of this sort. H'daen's was a family of new ideas and recently acquired prestige.  The pursuit of personal power was their chief call to duty. The practices of ancient rites held very little interest to them. Rather than relying on long held tests or rights, these new families merely utilized that which was most effective. And in this day and age, a phaser to the head was common place.

To his credit, the man's fierce expression was the last look any one would ever witness on his living face. It was the face he died with, one of anger and hatred. His father looked with pride as his only son shot himself in the head.

Ekkhea's family held more compassion for their members. She was offered a poison to imbibe. Painless and mercifully quick, she quivered in her death throes as her Mother held her in her arms. This was the custom of her house. The closet living female was the instrument of your 'final honor'. It was the face of 'she' you first saw when you came into this world. Then it should be 'her' face that bids you good journey.

Her crime: assistant to the assistant and a far too loyal one at that. If she had denied knowledge in these affairs or had even distanced herself from Ael, her life and honor would have been spared. But despite her youth, Ekkhae had strong principles. Her guiding one was to never ever leave an associate to bear the burden alone. No one would have even questioned her denial of her compatriot's actions. But her answer during questing was a terse and profound phrase. When asked: "You are not accused. Why do you stand here today?" Ekkhea's answer: "I stand with my friends." For that she would give her life. Like Ael, she also believed a greater reward awaited her in Vorta Vor.

Aidoon was more fortune than all the others were. He would be allowed to die in combat.  His family entreated his accusers to be the one to take his life. This was an honor that any would envy. The families who had lost their children in the destruction of the invasion force had called the challenge. A champion had been appointed.

Like H'daen, he had been overtaken in the Commanders' office, but by the Federation Captain. To be bested by a human had been humiliating to the young Rihanha and he was eager to answer for his weakness. In his mind and in theirs, he was directly responsible for the failure of this mission. The spies had been able to transmit a message, ending the mission and thereby causing the deaths of those two thousand soldiers of the Empire.  It was to the families of the sacrificed invasion force whom he owed his life to. An equal exchange by ancient standards.

This would be Aidoon's fate: a ritual combat to the death. The combat was swift, as the champion was a professional. Aidoon had been the one to request that ah'woons by used in the combat. He never had a chance as the champion wrenched the life from his body. The massive hands choked him to death within two minute of the combat.

Aidoon's body was lifted from the senate floor and placed upon the levitator. As with all the bodies, his was taken to a crematorium. His ashes would be scattered to the winds.

Tr'Aimne grew fearful as her family approached her. She was the eldest of the "invited" and had known more losses then all of them combined. It had been her hope that by performing to the best of her abilities as the Commander's tactical officer, she could win back former status. It was as if the elements conspired against her all of her life.  Fire was the element she sought to honor and stoked it with each glorious deed she successfully achieved. But her successes were few and far between. In the end, it was the overwhelming winds, the token element of the present politic that had snuffed out her last chance. She knew best of all the reasons for all the secrecy in this mission. Their government had not sanctioned it.  But they were not above turning a blind eye or stepping in to reap the rewards if the mission turned out to be a successful one.  The stakes were high, as were the rewards. They gambled and lost and now was the time to pay the marker. An internal culling of the herd as promised to the Federation.

Despite her best efforts, tr'Aimne could neither halt the trembling in her hands nor the whimpers in her voice as she was handed back her honor blade. The other still living member of the invited watched. Her eyes blazed in respect for her poor friend, as she faltered in her attempt. Finally with her eyes pleading, she looked to her friend, silently begging her to take this act from her. She, who is the daughter of a Rihanha, left her place in the circle, her steps sure and purposeful.

Silently, reverentially, she took the trembling dagger out of her friend's hands. She tenderly brushed off the tears from the older woman's face, offering her a last moment of loving contact.  Their fingers entwined about the hilt of the dagger, poised over her belly. Once the woman was finally calm, the blade was thrust into her belly. The length sheathed within her warm body, buried to its hilt.

As the dying women clung to the other, a soft offering was whispered into her ear, "Good-bye my friend. May your quick death bring you the honor you never found in life."

The victim's glittering eyes smiled and she whispered thank you.  With a twist of the dagger, death was inflicted upon the frightened female. She let out a final cry releasing her life, and then her lifeless body slumped against her friend's. The Romulan gently laid the body upon the floor, her hands releasing the dagger from her grip. She looked to her blood soaked hands and clenched them tightly, savoring the wet slickness of the life fluids of tr'Aimne. She wiped the blood upon her own tunic.  It was a gesture of respect and solidarity.

Now it was her turn. She had no idea what to expect from her family. To her knowledge, this practice had had not been exacted in this generation. The house's honor remaining untainted that long and that true.  In the silence of the hall, her boots clicked upon the stone floor as she made her way back to her appointed place upon the t'Liss. The mosaic was now soaked with green blood. Fluids seeped into the cracks, staining the grout a deep green. The image of the bird soaked in the honor and life of its sacrifices.
 

She who is the daughter of a Rihanha watched her family approach. Her beloved tr'Mavel remained in his seat. Of course, it suddenly occurred to her. <He is no longer my mate!> and her heart momentarily wept at the thought of having to lend her death to another. Her eyes met his then the view of the crone filled her sight.

She had only seen this distant aunt once in childhood, their lives never really intersecting until now.

As the attendants arranged her death accruements, the crone took a moment to inspect her.

"You were your father's jewel, his blood stone." The voice croaked in a whisper for her ears only. The blond Romulan drove her gaze into the crone's. Her chin was savagely gripped, as the iron fingers of the aunt pulled her down to look closely into her eyes. These eyes were fire, flickering in the dim light of the senate chambers. The final member of the invited forced herself to blink twice to be certain that she was staring into the eyes of an old woman and not the eyes of a vengeful thrai (great predator). A ripple of fear passed through her, fear she had never known until this moment. A moment which seemed to be drawing itself out into an eternity.

"You have her eyes, " the crone dared to insult, bating her to challenge. But all the young woman could do was lower her gaze, concede her defeat and her life to this one before her: the superior Romulan.

With the utmost care, the young woman felt her uniform tunic being undone. Each button lovingly slipped through their eyelet as if it were reverential garment and not a cloak of shame. Her eyes brimmed with tears at the tenderness that was being shown to her.

Never before had she displayed such tenderness or care to another. She who is the daughter of a Rihanha stood helpless as a babe as this one undressed her. Never had she been so considerate as to caution another before she was about to hurt them.  This one gently warned her and begged forgiveness for touching her most prized tokens of office. The symbols of her tal'shiar office were removed one by one, handed to one of the attendants then gently let go into the firepits. The crone's hands were warm on her skin as her pants then undergarment were removed. Her clothing was folded then reluctantly tossed into the fires.

Now nude, her body shivered in the damp chill of the senate chamber. Loving hands were placed on her shoulders as she was gently urged to kneel. She was not certain if it was the tenderness or the uncertainly. But despite her best efforts, tears began to well up in her eyes and she had to choke back her sobs. So gracious was the aunt in her efforts that the young woman was beyond gratitude in the care she was receiving. She was astounded.

Warm water was poured over her head as an ancient dirge was chanted. The aunt before her, muttered in a language unfamiliar to her. The cadence, the music of the language nearly lulled her into a stupor. She felt her head being shaved. Each stroke of the blade rasped across her skull as layer after layer, her golden hair was shorn. The kneeling penitent woman opened her eyes and all around her knees were the remnants of her golden hair. Again the warm water was poured over her head, cleansing the soap from her head and body.

An attendant on either side of her brought her to stand once more. Her aunt, gently cradling the blade in her wrinkled hands, greeted her sight. The golden blade glittered in the torch light of the chambers. It was slightly encrusted with the blood of the sacrificed. This was their way. The instrument was never completely wiped clean. The blood must linger to greet its next charge.

The slender blade was slowly brought to bear upon the now bald woman's throat. Its coolness brushed against her warm skin and she found herself tense and breathing heavily in anticipation. She closed her eyes readying herself for the deadly swipe. She felt the sting of the slice and expected a deeper cut to ensue, but then the progress of the dagger halted.

The confused women opened her eyes. She watched the aunt replace the ceremonial blade back into it golden velvet lined case. The blade was tinged green with her fresh blood. The young woman put her hand to her throat to test the wound.  It was slight and barely bleeding.  She opened her mouth to ask the meaning of this. But her Aunt's stoic silence and ferocious eyes silenced her.

She who was the daughter of a Rihanha watched as the wrinkled hands closed the ornate case. Those warm hands took her by the shoulders and gave her flesh a gentle squeeze.  With a maternal ease, they glided up her neck finally cupping her face. The crone gave her a smile, then released her hold. She twirled around on her heel and in voice for all to hear she announced, " She who was Sela, is now dead!"

An astounded Sela opened her mouth to speak but the attendants hushed her and cloaked her in a heavy dark robe. With a grip stronger than her years would believe, the aunt grabbed her by the arm and began to lead her out of the Senate hall before any could object to this practice. As the two women stalked out of the room and down the hall, their hearts were racing in excitement and fear. Sela felt as if she had cheated death and wanted to inquire as the validity of this arrangement. As if anticipating her question, the aunt spoke in a hushed tone as they quickly strode down the stone hall.

"You are required for my purposes. I can assure you, this is a valid form of the 'final honor'. It is a tradition in our family for a fellow "resurrected" to perform the 'final honor' and bring into the fold the newly "dishonored."

As if the ritual had invigorated her, the aunt looked less like a crone and more like the former commander that Sela remembered her to be. As she flipped her dulling auburn hair over her shoulder, the aunt brought the confused woman closer to her face.

"My name was lost long ago when I was given the 'final honor'". A trembling Sela felt the other woman's breath on her ear as she whispered her name.

Sela's eyes widened in amazement as she recognized the name. The tales had been told that this one had disappeared never to be heard of again. It had been an entanglement with a human and Vulcan from the Federation that had been her undoing. This same Vulcan had been the cause of Sela's downfall as well.

"We are as shadows here in the Empire, ghosts of ch'Havran. In this cloak of anonymity we can exact the long over due retribution my honor cries out for. Anyway, anyhow, take down that Vulcan, Spock!"

She, who was formerly Sela, shared the vindictive grin with her relative and fellow ghost. Her hands intertwined with her aunt's and together they exited the halls of the Senate with a renewed sense of hope.

Ch'Havran's rising sun warmed the air, dispelling the week old fog, revealing the pathways and statues of this most revered garden.  The early morning light brightened the aunt's highlights in her auburn hair. The elder whispered the Rihannsu code of honor as they felt the outer Senate doors close behind them. "Revenge is not the fuel for the Romulan heart. It is mnhei'sahe, the ruling passion, that is the driving force behind all of a Rihanha's deeds and thoughts."

She, who was known as Sela, closed her eyes at this reminder of the basic code of conduct. She halted at the first path and gripped her aunt's upper arm. The sun's orange rays warmed her now bare scalp as the world around them both began to emerge from the dissipating fogs. The younger woman took in a breath and lowered her voice to a deadly whisper. Her utterance was as profound as a vow one declared in the many trials of Rihannsu life. It was an effect she had learned from her father.  "For all our honors, now is the time to repay the 'favor' to the Vulcan."