Time seemed to lose all meaning as the Ambassador nearly forgot the link he and Sakarra shared as he explored the memory. Sights, smells, colors – all of it came back as if he were actually again standing within the grand halls of the Lamont family estate. He showed her the hallway and grand staircase that was lined with paintings and images of previous Lamonts. There was the kitchen, the study, the massive family library, the wine cellar where he had played as a child, the attic, his own bedroom, the many large fireplaces…he felt as if he had somehow come home and was eager to show it off to friends.
Giddy as a child, Lamont ushered Sakarra out into the large green gardens filled with all manner of flowers, trees, fountains, and landscaping. There was the tree he had climbed so often and fallen from breaking his arm. And over there…he had stolen his first kiss there at the side of the fountain with a young girl he was particularly fond of in his youth. The roses were the perfect shade of crimson in the warm air and gentle sunlight and filled the breeze with a delightful perfume that had no equal.
It was difficult not to get carried away by Lamont's enthusiasm, just as it was not easy not to lose herself in the onslaught of sensory perceptions. His memories were so vivid, so intensely bound with emotions, all Sakarra could do was follow and let the images manifest, wash over and through her, and … appreciate them. So strangely familiar and yet wholly different.
She stood spellbound in the great hall, so like and entirely unlike her own home, with the staircase and the marble floors. But there was no honey golden stone here, no austere elegance. Instead, warm yellow sunlight cast intricate patterns on dark wood, polished and gleaming – so much wood, it seemed extravagant and yet …. fitting. Smell of beeswax and an abundance of flowers, exotic to the Vulcan's eyes but Ian passed the vases without a second glance.
Fireplaces, and more wood, shelves limned with books. She could have lingered there as well, but he was drawn onward, scarcely aware of the woman trailing behind him struggling to absorb it all.
And somewhere deep within, a realization stirred. This was what he had lost.
The feelings he held for this place were as clear as a mountain spring, woven into the pattern of the memory. And with mounting horror Sakarra recognized them.
Home.
Such a simple word, such a universe of meaning. He led her through the kitchen, beaming like a boy offering sweet honeycake to a dear friend – and when the scent tickled her nose, she remembered … knew … it was what he had done, right here, more than once.
Home.
It made her heart ache, both with the joy of sharing this memory and the knowledge that this, all she saw, was gone. No more Lamonts to wander the great library, sit by the fireplace, run their hands over the ancient wood of the wine barrels slumbering in the darkness, speaking of towering trees and sun warmed vines.
She had known the price of what she had done, to be named outcast and banished, not allowed to ever return to the place that was an anchor in her own heart. And although it hurt, fiercely as if a burning blade was run through her side, at least she knew it was still there, as it had been for millennia.
Vast and tranquil, abuzz with life, a jewel crowning the hills of Kir, it would endure and her kin would wander the ancient halls for as long as it stood.
To lose that knowledge, along with the comfort of feeling Nevasa's heat on her upturned face while all around Favinit bloomed and scented the air … it was more than she thought she would be able to bear.
Before the breath caught in her throat and the terrible emotion could surface, he led her into the gardens, green and luscious to the Vulcan's eyes. She wanted to drop to her knees and run her hands through the soft, thick grass, lose herself in the splendor of a drop of water sparkling on a rose petal. Water, so much water.
She could hear the music of a fountain, an unseen gardener splashing more of the life giving liquid onto fragrant blossoms. Overhead, the dome of an azure sky was dotted with specks of frail white clouds, and birds wheeled over majestic trees.
With a conscious effort, Sakarra let the maddening grief disperse until only a shadow of melancholy lingered, easily hidden behind walls of silent resolve. But she finally understood, not only in her mind but her heart, the loss that had made Ian who he was – and that had blinded him for so long. Even unshed tears blur the vision, sometimes more than the ones spilled freely.
They stopped next to the roses and with no small amount of relief, the young Vulcan noticed he was unaware of her moment of turmoil, smiling in the joy of the relived memory and the sharing.
Surrounded by beauty, Sakarra exhaled.
This at least, none could take from either of them. And it had been a human who had so aptly observed that it was better to have loved and lost than never to have known the feeling at all.
Ian stood in the idyllic scenery of his home content and utterly at peace. He took in a breath of air as the memory seemed more alive and vibrant since the last he had recalled it. Ian walked over to Sakarra with a smile.
"What do you think Sakarra? This was and still is home for me. Not bad eh?"
The thumb of his physical hands rubbed against hers unconsciously as he waited for her reply. He had never shared this with anyone else as words could not do his home and all that it was justice. He suddenly realized in some small way the reverence Vulcans placed on touch and of being touched. These bonds that could be shared were magnificent gifts that were deep, intimate, and beyond description. One simply had to experience such a thing and then putting it to words seemed almost futile as the end result was some pitiful explanation which paled in splendor to the actual grandeur and richness of sharing one's own self with that of another.
'Not bad … yes.'
It was a marvelously insufficient choice of words, but then again, what words were there for something such as this. And once more, Sakarra gained the distinct impression he knew, without having to ask, without her having to explain.
The woman standing on rich, green grass lifted her face to the fair haired one standing before her, feeling the cool breeze like the breath of gigantic forests and for a full second, the smile shining in her eyes reached her lips. Gratitude rolled of her like heat off the desert sands, the profound joy of having been allowed to see, to share, to know, to remember. He had picked priceless jewel from the depths of his being, and offered it not only without hesitation, but with all the delight of one able to offer a unique gift.
Ian's formless words had only just faded on the breeze when the sun disappeared behind dark, brooding clouds. Suddenly the entire garden was cast into shadow. Ian suddenly heard shouting and looked up into the third story window where a light was on. He could plainly see his father and several men arguing in a heated discussion.
"No", he whispered. The clouds grew darker until the sun was gone. Several men left the house and his father emerged seemingly broken and fragile. He left Sakarra suddenly and ran to his father who stood at the doorway leaning against its frame.
"The time has come Ian for us to leave. We will be moving to the city. The long epic has reached its climax. There is nothing left for us here."
"I..I don't understand", Ian said. Suddenly the garden was filled with moving trucks and staff clearing out the valuables from the estate as Ian could seemingly do nothing but watch. He wanted to stop them. He was desperate to stop them. He HAD to stop them.
He was about to dash after the men to make them stop, but not before he felt the lightest of contact on his shoulder. Turning he saw Sakarra. Suddenly he realized he had allowed himself to be caught up in past memories. She was no doubt being the ever polite and respectful guide. He was aware that his pain would also be hers. No trite comment or witty remark would spare him or shield her this time. He was freely sharing. Her previous words suddenly became so clear.
She didn't need to see this. This was his burden to bear not hers. His past need not weigh upon her. Turning he looked at her with a pained smile and fought to reign in the emotions within. Suddenly the images around them faded behind a wall which itself faded after a moment. The sting of his past faded along with the memory leaving them both back in a nebulous calm. There was only her and him together and alone.
Unsure whether her own lingering grief had caused this, or whether it had just been the inevitable conclusion of his own mind, the ever present knowledge that was like a dark void within, Sakarra had watched, struggling to overcome the rising horror. His, her own, it did not matter, it was one and the same.
It was just as well this was no meld, for that might have drawn her with him in the undertow, leave her shaking and drained, choking on an ocean of tears. There was distance still, with merely the connection forged by touch, and with the discipline instilled since early childhood, the young Vulcan reminded herself of what was needful now.
As gently as she could she pulled Ian out of the maelstrom, letting it sink back into the depths where it would remain. Hardly surprised, she noticed him put the things he had just learned into practice, consciously or not shielding the memory, cutting off the flowing thread which had poured images and feelings into the other's mind.
"I am sorry that you had to experience that Sakarra. It was not a happy chapter in my life losing our family estate. I hope it did not cause you undue distress."
[To be continued …]
Ambassador Ian Lamont
And
Lt. Commander Sakarra Tyrax
