Stories, Medals and a Party

 Episode Name:  Stories, Medals and a Party
 
   Written By:  Raijin

         Cast:  Cerene, Churas, Cristobal, Gr'laH, Lace and Martok.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Genesis

     Aired On:  Thu Apr 24 05:07:34 2003

     Stardate:  53164.8

Time: Thu Apr 24 00:50:24 2003

Stardate: 53164.4

The flagship of the Klingon Empire is a spacious vessel, by Klingon standards. The four are met by an honor guard of eight Klingon warriors, each decorated and obviously seasoned. One steps forward when the last of you arrives, and says, "Chancellor Martok awaits you, honored ones." They treat the four like honored guests, and lead them through the halls of the ship. It's a long walk, so the guests have time to talk amongst themselves.

Churas seems to be rather focused, actually, and nods slightly to the guard in question before she follows after him. She walks alongside her father -- on his good side, naturally -- chin tilted up just so much and no more. Save for the sound of her footfalls, she is, at the moment, silent.

Cristobal inclines his head towards the guard as he speaks. He walks silently behind the Klingons.

Silent, silent, silent. Cerene is normally a bit of a chatterer, but given the solemnity of the proceedings--and the events which she's just come from--she's not exactly in the mood for idle conversation, so she too keeps quiet.

Gr'laH stalks along in a brooding and dark sort of silence. He is about two hairs short of a rage and isn't particularly inclined towards chatter himself. He stares forward and moves where his Chancellor asks him to move.

The group trudges down the long, metallic halls, their feet clanging dully on the decks. They turn corners, go down passageways, and pass other Klingons, who respectfully pause as they go by, some even nodding in appreciation. Only the best are posted here, and our heroes are now being deferred to by the very cream of Klingon civilization.

Churas is not insensitive to her father's mood, and does, in truth, glance sidelong at him from time to time, but she seems determined to remain in her good spirits. This is a really big damn deal. Damnit. It's 'determinedly cheerful' a la Klingon. Kind of a strange image, really.

. o O Churas thinks "What has gotten into him? I thought he would be happier than ever."

Cristobal idly wonders if Klingons skip. He doubts it. He continues to walk where the Klingons lead in silence.

Cerene gives a few nods to the Klingons as she passes, but remains silent.

. o O Gr'laH is clearly enraged. The fact that he is /so/ enraged and still continuing to function without seeking out the source of his anger for the purpose of violence is a likely testimony to his self control.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Pride. And Humility. At the same time. Gr'laH's nuts."

Gr'laH does not meet the gaze of a single Klingon, and it is likely fortunate that none choose to impede their progress. He's that sort of angry. But with their progress unhindered and their course clear, Gr'laH remains at a simmer. Best for everyone.

Finally, they are led into the galley of the ship. Tables have been unbolted and taken out. A row of Klingon warriors stands as an honor guard, flanking the walls. And at the head, stands Martok, wearing his cloak of office. At his side stands an elderly Klingon, proudly holding a tray with an array of medals, each the same.

As they enter, Martok grins fiercely. "Welcome!" he roars, speaking Federation standard. "Friends. Honored guests. Allies. Heroes of the Klingon Empire!" At that, the honor guard along the walls bellow their approval, shaking bat'leths into the air. This thunderous noise after such a long march in relative silence is impressive, to say the least.

As the guard honors the group, Martok himself strides down the hallway made by their bodies, opening his arms to Gr'laH. "Gr'laH, you son a targ!" he shouts, still wearing that fierce grin.

. o O Churas thinks "If /that/ doesn't cheer him up, /nothing/ will."

Churas grins widely, her chin tilting up just a bit further at the reception, and she bellows her affirmative response to this greeting; it's a great, hearty laugh of elation and a howl all rolled up in one. She takes a step to the side when Martok starts down toward her father; it's best to give these two a wide berth when they greet one another, apparently, lest bones accidentally be broken. Her eyes move between the Supreme Chancellor and her father, gauging the latter's response carefully, and, it would seem, almost hopefully.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Ok, there's the pride. Humility...just don't grin you..."

Cristobal smiles lightly. He inclines his head to the Chancellor as they enter the room. When he approaches Gr'laH, he cannot quite help from grinning at this particular reunion.

Cerene beams warmly at the reception from the guard, and chuckles as Martok comes barrelling down at Gr'laH.

"Martok!" It is unwise to issue insults in the face of one's Supreme Chancellor but he does so regardless. "I thought you were setting a trend with being half-blind, and exceeded you in losing an arm as well! It is good to hear your voice, my friend, but seeing your face is another matter!" Bellowing a laugh -- his rage forgotten for the moment -- Gr'laH lumbers forward to embrace the, ironically, smaller Klingon in a hug fit to kill a bear. Much back patting ensues. When the embrace is concluded, Gr'laH steps back and screams out a wide-eyed, "Q'pla!" He punctuates it with a firm clap to the shoulder. "My daughter has grown since last you saw her. Look, Martok, upon the hero of our Empire." And with that said, Gr'laH steps to the side and turns to indicate Churas, his pride and joy, his only heir, to the eyes of the Supreme Chancellor of the Empire and the finest warriors it has, in this generation, birthed. "Churas, Daughter of Gr'laH!" He roars that name to the full measure of his lungs' ability.

The warriors bellow their approval for Churas at Gr'laH's annoucement. Martok nods to her, smiling. But he looks from Churas down to Gr'laH, his face clouding as he holds the older Klingon by the arms. "You...are troubled, old friend," he says, his voice dropping to a mere growl. "Whatever these fools have done to anger you, let it go this night. For tonight, we honor your worth as a warrior...and as a father," he adds, looking over to Churas. He releases the old man, and walks over to Churas. "Churas, daughter of Gharas. How you favor your mother, who surely must join our celebration tonight in the halls of Sto'vo'kohr!" His smile for her is just as large as for her father. "Why, when last I saw you, you were shorter than me! And now, you stand tall, a blooded warrior, and a hero, no less." His smile fond her is almost as fond and paternal as Gr'laH's.

. o O Martok thinks "Ah, Gharas...your daughter honors you. A fine warrior."

Lace goes home.

Lace has left.

Churas watches the interaction between Gr'laH and Martok carefully, noting her father's reaction as Martok calls out the ill humor that she herself had let lie. Well, if there's anyone living who can get away with that... And then it is she who's being addressed, and the shift in /how/ she is addressed is not lost on her. Rather, it makes her feral grin widen all the more, pride in and affection for her dead mother shining out even as she crosses the rest of the distance between the older two Klingons and where she had formerly stood. Nodding her head once abruptly, she replies in an exceedingly pleased growl, "Surely she does. I have only done justice to my upbringing in this, Chancellor." After a pause, she turns to gesture toward the other two, noting, "Allow me to introduce the other members of the Task Force: Second Legate Aliana Cerene, and Lieutenant Junior Grade Nathan Cristobal."

Martok nods gravely to Churas and faces the Human and the Betazoid, waiting for them to speak.

Cristobal stands straight, his hands clasped behind his back. He watches the two warriors and their two eyes. When Churas is introduced, he can't quite help himself from smiling as well. He glances at Cerene briefly, before turning back to the Chancellor when he is introduced. He again inclines his head, replying only with, "Honored, Chancellor."

Cerene allows herself a bit of a smile as she is introduces, and inclines her head politely. "Chancellor, I too am honored to meet you. You bring glory to the Empire through your just and honorable rule."

. o O Cristobal thinks "This many Klingons around makes me feel short."

When his ill tempter is brought to light and not argued away, but guided away /for now/, Gr'laH spends a moment stewing. And then he takes his old friend's advice. He puts it out of mind entirely, and his demeanor improves considerably for it. His expression shows contentment and pride, in himself and his work aboard the Station, and in his daughter and the Task Force as well. In Martok. In the assembled Klingons. In just about everything. As his one eye travels about the room, that expression of satisfaction only seems to grow more obvious. Today is a /good/ day to die!

Martok looks down at the pair, and guffaws roughly. "You both honor me, when today is about honoring -you-! So save your kind words...you'll need them later to compliment our bloodwine!" he says, and the assembled guard laughs. "Now, come with me, that we may recount your deeds, and give you the glory you have so earned." With that he turns, and marches back to where the old Klingon still holds the tray with their medals, regarding them solemnly.

. o O Martok thinks "Ha! I wonder if these two will be conscious come dawn? Perhaps the male, though they tell me the telepath spent time on the homeworld. Mmmmm. A pity Sirella frowns on dalliances."

Churas, that feral grin still firmly in place -- and with her father's steadily less brooding expression, she seems to continue to gain in this until she's just about fit to burst -- stalks along behind Martok as bidden, briefly flashing a glance back to the other two members of the Task Force as she starts up the aisle formed by the Warriors on either side of them.

Cristobal follows after Churas, his expression is mainly neutral, though the corners of his mouth are upturned ever so briefly.

Cerene follows as well, a twinkle in her eye and one corner of her lips quirked upward.

Gr'laH steps off to the side to mingle in among the observers of the ceremony. No medals are going on the old boy's chest, and this time is for the young ones to wear their accolades. He looks on with that same look of overwhelming pride, his eye following his daughter towards her just rewards. It's a good feeling, that.

Martok turns once he reaches the head of the line, and watches the group assembled for a long moment, as if weighing them, his grin vanished in his solemn stare. After a long moment, he raises his voice to be heard, stepping even further back, so the assembled guard can see him as well. In the respectful silence, his voice is pitched low, a deep and rasping growl that nevertheless seems to fill the hall. "There are those who question our allegiance to the Federation. They say..." and he sweeps the hall with his single dark eye "...they say the Federation is weak. Without honor. That they lack a backbone. That no warrior's heart can be found beating in any of their breasts." Again, he scowls around the room.

He continues, "And yet, today we honor this Human, and this Betazoid, as well as our Klingon brethren. Today, we honor Sulkat, son of John, who shed his LIFE" and that was a roar "that traitors might be torn like a cancer" and he raises his hands to chest level, clenching them into fists "from the flesh of the Empire. And these are cowards?" he roars. "These are allies unworthy of us? What say you?" he demands of the room. "Are they worthy? Was Sulkat, son of John, worthy? Is Cristobal," he adds, pointing to him, "son of Eduardo, worthy? Is Cerene," shifting that pointing finger to her, "daughter of Naran, worthy?" Again, he demands, "What say you?"

The roars of agreement are even more deafening than those which greeted their entry into the room.

. o O Martok thinks "Let -that- spread far and wide into the Empire! Let the people see the honor and courage of our allies!"

She listens to the speech as it is given: despite Martok's solemn stare, she cannot remove her pleased grin from her face. Once the speech is concluded, however? Don't have to ask /her/ twice. Churas agrees with Martok probably more than she should mention at the moment; her howl of agreement is given at the absolute capacity of her lungs.

Cristobal again clasps his hands behind his back as the Chancellor speaks. He says nothing, though that little smile creeps onto his face again despite his attempts to stifle it.

Cerene puts her hands behind her back as well, and manages an amused sort of smile-scowl that comes very close to a Klingon warrior's grin. Looks like she *did* learn something on Qo'noS.

The roar Gr'laH releases once more exceeds the safety tolerances of his vocal chords. This is a line he has been preaching since he was a wet behind the ears graduate of the IKDF academy. It's something that was beaten into his skull by his father and taught to him more gently by his mother, something he's tried and tested at war and at peace. And while certain elements in the Federation may be worthy of a firm boot in the backside at the absolute least, the same can be said of the Empire. Or else they wouldn't be assembled here, now would they? His voice is lost in the din, of course. But it's there, somewhere, amid the chorus of warrior howls.

At a nod from Martok, the old man holding the medals steps forward. The warriors hush as he approaches Churas. His voice, while quivering with age, is still strong and easily heard, "Honored guests, I am Togh'bal, son of Gor'tagh. I forged these medals with my own hands, in a forge that has cast bat'leths for centuries, a forge that my line has kept stoked since the age of Kahless the Unforgettable." He made eye contact with each as he spoke, but now his gaze turns to Churas.

"Churas, daugher of Gr'laH, daugher of Gharas, we honor an old tradition here tonight. Step forward, and tell us of your deeds...but first, speak for Sulkat, son of John. Tell us why he, and you, deserve the Imperial Star. And, if the warriors assembled approve, claim one for yourself, and one for him. And in claiming his, take upon yourself the solemn oath that his Star shall be seen home, to his closest kin, and that they, too, shall know of his honor, bravery, and sacrifice. Speak well, warrior, that your words open the gates to Sto'vo'kohr for your honored dead."

A brief nod of understanding from Churas before she begins to speak. She turns, then, and looks at her father for a long moment. Then? Cerene. Lastly, Cristobal is the target of her gaze before she faces out toward the hall. Her own bellow is impressive, given strength by her massive physique, and while she has not the eloquence of words of her father, she has, at the very least, inherited his conviction and force while speaking. One hand rests on the hilt of her dk'tagh as she begins.

"I came into Federation space to honor a debt to my father, standing at his side as his guard while he serves the Empire here. It was because of this that I came upon the assassination of the former Ambassador as it was occuring." Churas bares her teeth slightly, shifting her weight. "No rightly claimed duel would be fought in the hallway of a Starfleet station; further, no one would urge a bystander away from such a thing, as the Ambassador did me. What would I have to fear, after all? But no. She did. I rushed in under the assassin's bat'leth, but his blade moved too quickly, severing her head and ending her life. His bat'leth cut into my shoulder, yes, and broke my dk'tagh; I took up then the dead Ambassador's bat'leth, and split her killer from groin to grin." She paces a step this way and a step back, a young lion kept in captivity, as she tells her tale.

"It soon came to light that the killer was not even a /legitimate/ assassin, but one who wore a false face -- cosmetic surgery, the most dishonorable way to hide one's face, to wear the face of another! -- and carried a false emblem. That of the House of Martok himself. As my father said, the whole matter stank to the ends of the Empire with deceit, and treachery, and lies." She gestures to the other two members of the Task Force who stand with her, and notes, "Along with these two and myself, Sulkat, son of John, was assigned to the Task Force. Our first trip took us to H'atoria, where Lieutenant Dana Rivers also fell in service of the Task Force. There was little glory for either the son of John or I in this trip: we discovered the murder of the captain of the Krt'ChuNG -- and, indeed, her entire crew -- and uncovered, with the aid of the daughter of Naran, the house to whose seat we progressed next." The disgust at the House which goes unnamed is quite palpable in her voice.

A broad smile slides across her features shortly thereafter, and she chuckles, a low, gruff sound, as she goes on. "And on Balduk we found the information we were looking for: a meeting of old houses, a covert, hidden Council, set to occur not long after we arrived." A pause there, and her smile turns into a smirk. "It would seem some honorless old dogs need only a barrel of bloodwine and a pair of female ears to spill their secrets to, and they will turn out all the trusts they are given by their allies." Her expression makes no apology for her methods, either. Damn /right/ she's the kind of girl Klingons want to sweet-talk! And what better than talk of war? Ha. "The son of John procured for us at this meeting the recording we delivered to Supreme Chancellor Martok. He retreived the names and faces of those who would skulk in shadows and kill with their faces concealed and their hands unbloodied thereafter." Snort.

"The three of us fought our way free from the Nausicaan Devil Dogs guarding the place, with the son of John suffering from wounds to his arm. We traveled across the city to a hangar to procure a ship, lead by the son of Vlarok. We were, however, being pursued. It was in this hangar that the son of John sacrificed himself, himself taking down several Klingon warriors with carefully-placed shots, while I, taking multiple shots from a disruptor in the process, managed to dispatch others with my bat'leth while the b'rel we commandeered for the Empire's use was being brought up from its slumber. The son of John took a disruptor hit, and still he battled a female Warrior, refusing to lie still, but attempting to rise up and fight her once his belly had been split. It was not until she detatched his head from his body that he gave up fighting!" Her voice lowers thereafter, and she notes, "We did not leave many behind us breathing enough to tell tales of our departure, if any at all. It is there that the meat of my deeds ends, and the whole of the son of John's does, and others begin. I will not deprive them of their turn at tales, their deeds were as worthy and crucial as my own in rooting out, as the Chancellor has said, this cancer upon our Empire." Breathing out a great gust of air, she stops, then, and nods her head once. Done talking now. Is that it? Another nod. Yep. That's it. Covered all the high points.

The warriors listen attentively throughout the speech, as does Martok, standing behind Togh'bal and watching closely. This is no mere ritual, it seems. If the deeds do not live up to their standards, they are sure to cry foul. But they do not, of course, Churas' eloquence moving them to cry their approval. Togh'bal holds up the tray to her, and after she takes the medals and the warriors grow silent, he turns to Cristobal.

"Cristobal, son of Eduardo, you also must recount your deeds...but first, regale us with the honorable death of Rivers, daughter of David. Tell us how she earned her Star, and take the solemn responsibility of seeing that Star home. Let your words hold open the gates of Sto'vo'kohr for her!"

Cerene simply nods a couple of times as the events are recounted.

Cristobal listens to Churas as she speaks. When she finishes, he roars loudly. Apparently /he/ approves as well. Next, he makes his way up, and he begins to speak.

Upon the roars of approval, Churas's grin, which had faded as she internally assessed the story and made sure she'd covered everything, grows wide again. Her eyes travel to -- in this order -- her father, Martok, and then Cristobal before she turns to collect a medal for herself and one for Sulkat and steps back to cede the stage, as it were, to the son of Eduardo. Her eyes fasten on him, then, waiting for his recounting of events.

Gr'laH roars his approval of his daughter's exploits and of the son of John's sacrifice in battle. And he does it with both arms, such as they are. Each time his daughter favors him with a glance, he cannot keep the smile from his face. This is, clearly, the moment he's been living for if his expression is any indication.

A slight smile creases Martok's face at Gr'laH's roar, and then disappears as he folds his arms across his chest to hear Cristobal's tale.

Cristobal turns to face the assemblage. He speaks in a voice that is not loud, but projects, "Chancellor, I must begin by saying that I am most grateful that Lieutenant Rivers' deeds have not gone unnoticed. Indeed, I had an unintended hand in her joining the task force. Before we left for H'atoria, I disagreed with my superior officer over the handling of the investigation. The argument was foolish, in retrospect, but I was temporarily removed from the mission. Lieutenant Dana Rivers was to be my replacement. When cooler heads prevailed, I rejoined the investigation, and we all arrived on H'atoria."

"While there, it was the Daughter of David and myself who discovered Captain Molar, commander of the Krt'ChuNG, the vessel which had brought the disguised assassin to Station 419. Not unlike Ambassador B'Val, Molar had been attacked in an alleyway, and left for dead by an assassin who attempted to disappear into the night. Before we could continue, we were set upon by four warriors with heads full of bloodwine. We proved more than a match for the drunken P'taqs." He grins slightly, "I brought down one with a bat'leth armed with nothing more than a flashlight strapped to my wrist."

"It was at this point that the daughter of David discovered a sample of the blood of Molar's killer, which allowed us to locate the killer himself. We found him holding the daughter of Naran, an unarmed diplomat, hostage. This dishonorable waste of tissue held an unarmed Betazoid as a shield from the consequences of his actions. They were atop a wall which separated the settlement from a sheer drop of over a half of a kilometer into an unbreathable hell. He threatened to throw the daughter of Naran off of the well."

"The daughter of Gr'laH challenged him on the spot. When he refused to answer the challenge, the daughter of David challenged him, questioning whether he was 'too much a coward to face a woman who's hands are not bound.' This, he could not refuse. As the daughter of David prepared to fight, the daughter of Naran broke free, ripping the sleeve bearing the symbol of House Sta'TORuk off of his arm, and leaped off the wall. Dana Rivers then attacked, forcing him to fight an armed and ready opponent for a change. Neither would survive the battle, as they plunged off of the wall to their deaths."

He pauses, his expression somber. "I believe that one chooses where they go, in the next world. Perhaps the daughter of David chose the path to Sto-Vo-Kor. If she did, there can be no doubt that she has arrived by now. I swear by the blood of my family, and by my honor as a Starfleet Officer, to see that her family knows /all/ that I have told you, and that the medal she has earned will find its way to her family on Earth."

"For myself, the battle was not over. Those of us that remained proceeded to Balduk. The daughter of Gr'laH, the son of John and myself entered the meeting, where a pack of unworthy canine lickspittles lay in wait...and there were some Nausicaan Devil Dogs as well." He pauses in case that gets a laugh.

"When the Devil Dogs threatened, the three of us fought the beasts, and escaped from the structure, discovering the Son of Vlarok waiting there, who took us to a structure where we might obtain passage away from Balduk. At this point, we were set upon by pursuers from Sta'TORuk. We fought. One warrior, choosing to ensure that the downed son of John would not survive, rather than coming after a more mobile enemy, decapitated him with her bat'leth. Having seen not one but two fellow officers die in our quest, I changed the setting on my phaser, and ensured that she who took the Son of John's last breath would follow the example of he who took the daughter of David's."

After a pause, he says, "Though they have not been mentioned yet, two more names must be remembered. Captain Gomk'Qa, son of Romak't, commanding the IKS Dol'Qoch and Lieutenant Commander Martin Rush, commanding the USS Scimitar...I do not know his father's name. Their skill in battle allowed their two ships to destroy nine. They gave their lives, and their ships, in order to ensure that we were able to see that the information we had obtained reached the Chancellor in time. The battle records of the two ships in tandem is a wonder to behold. Truly, none who have seen such can question the power and rightness of the Alliance between our two peoples." He inclines his head once more, and steps back, his tale told.

Once more, the roars of approval are heard from the Klingons, even more loudly as Cristobal honors the dead Klingons. Togh'bal holds up the tray for Cristobal to take the medals, and then turns to Cerene, as the shouts die down. "Cerene, daughter of Naran, come forward and tell us of your deeds, that all may hear how you earned your Star."

As Cristobal finishes and Cerene steps forward to speak, Martok says, in a low growl, "Lt.Cmdr.Rush's father is named Charles. He is remembered, as we remember the son of Romak't." The assembled Klingons watch their Chancellor gravely, a few nodding at how fiercely their leader holds to rituals of death. "And when all deeds have been recounted, their names shall be saluted in song, as we drink!" And that brings a few smiles.

Churas's roar joins in with the rest, and she cannot help but look upon Cristobal with pride and, yes, affection as he speaks and approval is granted of his words. Her eyes slide sidelong to her father, and she moves to stand beside him upon once again observing his expression of pride. 's'right. This is my Dad, right here. And I'm standing here. Next to him. My dad. Have I mentioned he's, like, my hero? And I am a hero? And he's all, like, HERO SQUARED now 'cause of this? Yeah. Just thought I might. In case anyone wondered. (Her expression speaks volumes, it does.)

Cristobal takes two of the medals from the tray and walks back towards his prior position. He flashes a short smile aimed squarely at Churas, before nodding to Cerene as he passes her, and then to Gr'laH. Medals in hand, he stops, and turns, preparing to listen to Cerene. At this point, he remembers to breathe.

Cerene takes her own few steps forward, speaking softly at first, her voice gaining strength as she speaks in Klingon. "I must admit, my tale is a good deal less exciting than those of my colleagues. My contribution during the fight as we escaped was minimal, as I'm even better with mok'bara or a bat'leth than I am with a phaser. And I contributed little in the battle against Molar's killer, as I only managed to graze him lightly as I tore myself away. I am a warrior of words, at heart, and there were times on this trip I wished I had trained more during my time on Qo'noS, learned a bit more, been better prepared for the combat we saw."

"I am a pacifist, as many Klingon ambassadors learned during my time on your homeworld. It puzzled many of them, how a little Betazoid girl, an intern in the Diplomatic Corps who wasn't even willing to kill, would study the warrior arts with them. But as much as I would never be able to take another being's life, the Klingon code resonated with strength and power in my heart. Your ideals of honor in battle and glory in death were ideals that I admired a great deal when I first arrived on Qo'noS, and admired even more by the time I left. The Klingon way of life will always burn in my heart, that I know."

"Still, I am somewhat at odds when my own story is compared to those of the others here with me now. But I share it with pride, for minor as it may be, it saved all of our lives, and redeemed another."

"After the battle in which Sulkat gave his life, we departed in the ship we found and did our best to escape, but we were followed, and the enemy ship easily caught up to our own. Captain Gomk'Qa hailed us, and told the Klingons on board to reclaim their honor, to return and join them in the battle against you, Chancellor. He said the members of the Federation would be treated as guests, and would be sent home safely."

"But his words didn't ring true with me. And as Londas, son of Vlarok, and Churas, daughter of Gr'laH, declared their defiance, he seemed ready to end us. But I could not remain silent. I stood, and addressed him." She takes a deep breath. "He was angered at first. As I continued to speak, though, I tried to convey all the things I had learned about your people on Qo'noS... tried to express the way and the heart of Kah'less as clearly as my meager words would allow. I did my best, and even now, I know I did not do him or your people justice. But it was enough to change his mind, and Gomk'Qa was redeemed. He gave his life in order to ensure our safe return, and I am merely glad to know I had some part in setting him back on the path to Sto'vo'kohr. He honored us with his death, and I can only hope I have done him justice with my words now."

As the Klingons once again voice their approval, and the last Star is offered to Cerene, Martok steps forward. He waits for the roars of his men to die down, and says, his voice so low and friendly as to be almost conversational, "As is our custom, one other may speak for these warriors, to confirm their valor. To add to their tale." He turns to Gr'laH, his voice rising to the commanding tone heard on the bridge of this very ship.

"Fleet Captain Gr'laH, son of Gol'aH son of Chu'dk, honored warrior and diplomat. Come forward, soldier of the Empire, and tell us that these warriors are not empty braggarts! That their words are worthy of our ears! Speak, old friend, and tell us the truth of their blood!" He steps aside even as Togh'bal does, giving the old Klingon the floor.

Gr'laH paces out of the gallery and strides up to the front of the room to stand beside Martok, clapping him on the shoulder before turning to address the hall. When Gr'laH is asked to speak, one can be certain of verbosity and passion. Even half dead, he is very, very alive. And so his single eye moves about the assembly, over the faces of the honored warriors, and then upwards towards the ceiling as he raises his arms in a cry to begin what words he would speak.

"Hear me, Warriors of the Empire! Sons of Kahless! My blooded brethren! Hear me, Gharas! Hear me Father! Hear me Mother! Hear me Brother! Hear me Sister! I am Gr'laH son of Go'laH! The Purgator of Bak'TUR! The Plague of Cardassia! Fleet Captain of the Wing of Ghogh whose warriors are /all/ known now only in song! Hear me my fallen comrades! Hear me speak of /these/ Warriors before me! Hear me speak of Glory and of Honor and of Dedication which would shatter the bones of the weak, and strengthen the blades of /any/ who shall hear it!"

Gr'laH lowers his arms and strides forward, punching his daughter fiercely in her chest. "CHURAS! Warrior of the Empire! Whose dedication to her line and her blood exceeds the dedication shown to the Empire this day! She who splits men in /two/! She whose blade is slick with the blood of the treacherous! She who kills with her Father's blade, which came from my mother, and hers before her! She for whom men sing, before whom the unfit weep, by whom the unjust fall, and with whom we are /well/ pleased! She is /strong/! She is my /daughter/! She is her. Own. WARRIOR!"

Gr'laH waits for the shouts to recede before moving towards Cristobal, whom he takes by the hair for to roar into his face before laughing roughly and with affection.

"NATHAN! Warrior of the Federation! Who has stood tall before me in my anger, who has stepped between me and those I would wish to see dead, who has battled me as well with words as he does my daughter with his fists. He who has killed for us! He who has bled for us! He who breathes! For us! He who fights with the finest weapon known to any warrior, his mind! He who fights /by/ the only armor any Warrior need wear, the convictions of his heart! He who has insulted me and by me has been insulted! He whom I have secretly praised and publically decried! He who I have contested and fought and hated, whom I now would gladly die beside! Let any who doubt the Alliance, let any who doubt the warriors of the Federation, let any who have mocked me for my faith in our celestial neighbors /step forward now/ and defy me! Let them look upon /this/ man and speak their lies, for /together/ we shall cut them down and leave ashes in our wake! For he is his. Own. WARRIOR!"

Gr'laH then proceeds to Cerene, eyeing the Betazoid for a moment before cracking a smile of somewhat affection and patting her more lightly on the arm.

"Aliana." His voice does not reach the bellow it had for the two previous. But there is a reason for it. "This woman reminds me of my mother. For my mother was a Klingon, and a Warrior, but she was a teacher. She strengthened our hearts and our minds. And as I have watched you treat in chambers, so have I heard of your strength in the field. This woman supported me, even today, against the unjust accusations of the Nausicaan Ambassador! Who, impatient for the resolution of her own Task Force, insulted me in chambers, insulted the integrity of the Empire, and insulted /YOU/, my brethren, for -- as he has said -- cowering before the Might of House Kang. And if any among you are from that house, let you step forward now, and if you find my further words an insult, let her witness how little I shall cower!"

Gr'laH steps back a few paces and raises his voice, "Let /any/ who question the Supreme Chancellor of this Empire step forward! Let /any/ who would fly where he orders them not make their presence known! Let any who wish war with Nausicaa while we still wear the wounds of the Dominion War, while we aim our sights at the Ferengi Alliance and the Rynkan Confederacy -- and indeed -- Teiria for the deaths of the innocents of Bak'TUR, let /THEM/ step forward to be counted! Now! Here!" Gr'laH pounds his fist onto the shoulder of Martok.

"Any battle won which costs an Empire is not a victory! And any battle lost which saves it is no defeat! Sons of Kahless, we must /listen/ now! The Nausicaans are dogs! The Nausicaan are honorless! The Nausicaans are tools of the Romulans! But the Nausicaans are /not/ our Enemy! They are /beneath/ us! And when the time comes for war, a generation hence, we will be four times as strong as we are this day for having shown just half the wisdom necessary to see the folley of this continued agression! /PRESERVE/ what you /sERVE/! Wage war from the heart, with your mind, using strength! But /with/ the /heart/. FIRST!"

"This week the Summit of Nations begins! It is /our time/ to win that time that will make our future great! We have suffered these many years, my brothers, and as I have lost an arm and an eye, our fleets have lost their arms, and their eyes! And as I am a broken Warrior, so too is our strength lessened, shattered, depleted! But. AS. I. STILL. LIVE... /ABIDE BY THE WILL OF MARTOK/! And you shall know..."

And with that, Gr'laH looms backwards and bellows at the top of his lungs and in Klingon, "SUCCESS!"

Cerene's words earn a howl of approval and a raised fist in a sort of rough salute to her words and the follow-up from Martok. The female Warrior holds to her feet when her father punches her in the chest, though she moves back a step or two before coming back and clapping him on his good shoulder as he praises her, her grin feral and wide. Prepared for it or not, her father still packs a hell of a punch. Through his words for her, she grins widely, a combination of predator's leer and smile that's so common to her race. During his words for -- and grappling of -- Cristobal, she looks fit to burst with pride and elation -- even if, frankly, she looks just a little shocked by his open praise in this company -- as the only thing better than praise for just her comes from her father. Praise for her /and/ her love, in quick succession. And his words for Cerene bring a sort of fond and respectful, if more subdued, expression to her face. Then, of course, there are rallying cries, and the only appropriate response to that is the cry her father began: "Q'PLA!"

Cristobal roars in approval, calling out "Ali!" loudly when she finishes. He claps his hands as well. When Gr'laH steps forward, he listens. When Gr'laH speaks of Churas, he smiles. When Gr'laH speaks of him...he blinks. His eyes widen, and inhales in surprise. For all that he has been told the old Klingon likes him, their conversations are never what you would call jovial. To hear this...in this setting...When Gr'laH finishes his speech, he raises a fist and yells as loudly his lungs will allow.

Cerene smiles warmly during the exchange between Gr'laH and his daughter, and allows herself a grin at the words Gr'laH uses when he speaks of Cristobal. But when he gets to her, she blinks a couple of times, and at his words, she too is quite surprised, and grins a bit sheepishly. As the large man finishes, she too finds herself caught up with the rest of them, and lets loose a yell of her own.

Martok stands beside Gr'laH, grinning with ferocity as he grasps the older Klingon around the shoulders, and hugs him fiercely. The assembled warriors roar their approval, and even old Togh'bal joins in. One young warrior, already wearing the medal of the Order of the Bat'leth, steps out of formation, turns his fellow warriors and cries out, "Our lives for Martok! For our allies! Long live the Empire!"

The cry is taken up by the warrior, and Martok raises the arm not holding Gr'laH, fist clenched, and roars back, "Long live the Empire!" As his cry is echoed, he nods to the warrior closest to the door, who in turn waves at someone out in the hallway. Barrels of bloodwine are rolled in from one hallway, and from the other, the tables that were formerly bolted to the floor are returned, bearing heaps of Klingon delicacies. As the warriors continue to bellow, Martok leans down to Gr'laH, and says in his ear, "Aye, long live the Empire, but feed my guts, first. Ha!" He claps his old friend on the back, once more.

. o O Churas thinks "I... can't... believe he actually /said/ all that. I never expected... And the... oh... Wow. My Father is... the greatest."

Gr'laH joins in with the cries of the warriors, chanting in succession the cries of the young warrior who began it all. When Martok leans into Gr'laH's ear to offer the more hushed words, Gr'laH bellows out a laugh and shakes his friend fiercely with his single arm. "Better words than I have spoken, Martok! I shall drink with you! I will tell you of Bak'TUR, and you of my wife's death, and we shall be young again, you and I!" Gr'laH then leads Martok towards the head table, chatting amicably with his Supreme Chancellor / drinking buddy.

Churas, too, joins in the cries of the other Warriors, eyes ablaze, bellowing her loyalty and exultation along with them. When her father leads the Supreme Chancellor toward the head table, she turns to her companions and grins toward them, her face replete with savage enjoyment at the events unfolding around them. She claps Cristobal on the shoulder roughly, looking at him for a long moment with an expression that speaks volumes, then offers Cerene another broad grin -- breaking Legates is /bad/ -- and heads up to the head table, taking a seat next to her father, there to drink and feast and sing in the greatest company the galaxy could offer her.

Cristobal joins in the cries of "Long live the Empire!" as well. After all their hard work, it'd be a shame to see otherwise. Eyeing the Klingon cuisine which he has not yet learned to appreciate, he runs over his plan for such a situation. 1) Small bite of food. 2) Large swig of bloodwine. 3) Repeat as necessary. Cristobal grins widely, and faces Churas, clapping her forceully on her shoulders with both hands in response to her gesture. He shares the look with her for a moment, then patting Cerene on the shoulder and gripping her hand, shaking quickly. After a moment's hesitation, he follows after Churas. After all, meeting the Supreme Chancellor in such a setting is a rare opportunity, and the acquaintance will likely prove highly beneficial to him -- and to Churas -- in the time to come.

Cerene grins as Churas and Cristobal give her a grin and a handshake respectfully, and then chuckles, before she claps the both of them on the shoulder as much as her frame will allow. It may not be much, but it's more than they were probably expecting. "Alright, it's been too damn long since I've had some good Klingon food. Let's eat!"

Gr'laH drops into his chair between Martok and his daughter. One is getting the stump, and the other is getting the arm. Martok? He gets the stump. And the blind spot. Which will make for a good deal of head turning, given Martok's opposing blind spot, but such it is. (Be glad nobody had to make a seating plan for this reception!) When the food arrives, he digs in heartily and quaffs his bloodwine as though it were on a premium. (Note: Quaffing is a lot like drinking, only most of it dribbles down your chin.)

And with that, the party begins. Goblets are handed out, and the bloodwine flows freely. The food is the best Klingon cuisine has to offer, and everyone who can stomach such fare eats heartily. Cristobal and Cerene are treated like Klingons, and Cerene is challenged to more than one round of mok'bara, flipping warriors to the ground, who laugh and come back for more. Cristobal hardly has a moment near Churas, as the warriors pull him away to brag of their own victories, and share in tales of his. Churas herself is treated like a hero, and Martok eventually drags her away with some of the older warriors to recount the tales of Gharas' brave death, which does doesn't fail to bring a solemn roar of triumph from the lips of those gathered. And Martok never lets Gr'laH out of his sight...and by the evening's end, when both are roaring drunk, a proper head-butting match starts, to the amusement of all.

No one is allowed to flee until dawn, and no one is allowed to leave sober. At the last, Martok offers his farewell to each with a bone-crushing hug. To Churas, he says, "You are fine warrior, Churas. Perhaps one day you will come home to serve at my side." He leans in and whispers something to her, and then grins fiercely, and whacks her on the shoulder. To Cristobal, he says, "You remind me of old, lost friends, Cristobal. Come to the homeworld, some time, and you and I may speak of Benjamin Sisko, who surely would have been a friend to you, had you but known him." When he reaches Cerene, he just smiles, and says, "Read my mind, telepath. My words are for you, and you alone." He waits, and when she finishes, just grins even wider. He turns to Gr'laH, and his expression grows solemn. "I do not know what troubled you this night, old friend, but whatever it is, I trust in nothing more than that you will face it with honor. Qapla!" And with that, the Chancellor of the Klingon Empire strides off to bed, drunk as can be, and steady as a sack of grain.

<PROVE> Gr'laH has the merit of Excellent Hearing at 2.

. o O Martok thinks "I would never have thought to take a Betazoid for a concubine, Aliana Cerene. Consider yourself lucky that my lady wife would not approve!"

Churas drinks and eats and whoops it up and cheers and generally makes an utter Klingon out of herself. She doesn't just experience this night. She /soaks in it,/ drinks it up, eats it. She fills every pore of her skin with it, breathes it in and bellows it back out in songs of glory and honor and death. This night is, without a doubt, the greatest night of her life to date, and by the account of it, the words whispered to her by Martok just make it that much greater. She laughs and shakes her head, glances at her father, and then shakes her head slightly as she addresses the Supreme Chancellor. "I hide nothing, surely, if the two of you can see it between you." Either she's very drunk, or very brave, or both, to be making one-eye jokes to these two. "I doubt even the blind could miss it." She returns the clap on her shoulder in kind, grins widely, and laughs drunkenly, stepping away to allow him to address Cristobal, and, too, so that she can throw her arms around her father, and crush the hell out of him in a rather singular public display of affection. Then it's time to stagger home, with Dad and Cristobal and Ali, The Klingon Mascot.

Cristobal feasts (in small portions at a time) drinks (in large portions. Really large. Even for a fairly large human, he really should be on the floor by now. He nearly yells himself hoarse cheering the headbutting, practically /beams/ at the comparison to the late (or so they all believe) Starfleet Captain. "Thank you Shanseller," he says roughly, the pronunciation of the polysyllabic word just a tad bit off. Really, given his nibble-chug-nibble-chug eating strategy, it's a wonder he doesn't think /he's/ the Chancellor.

Cerene savors the night just like a Klingon, and no doubt this is a night she will never forget. Even in light of all of the bloodwine she's consumed--which, incidentally, she managed to hold her own in, given her size. As Martok bids them farewell, and his thought creeps into her mind, she smiles warmly, and fires one right back at him before clapping him firmly on the shoulder. "Goodnight, Chancellor. Qapla!" She, too, turns with the rest of them, and heads off towards the station with them.

. o O Cerene thinks "Consider *yourself* lucky that my own warrior companion would not approve either, Chancellor Martok. You might find yourself rather hard-pressed to keep up with a Betazoid in bed! *chuckle*"

Time: Thu Apr 24 04:59:32 2003

Stardate: 53164.8

Gr'laH exists, for the moment, in the moment. Yesterday is done. Tomorrow may yet come. But for one night, Gr'laH has everything he's ever needed and ever wanted again. For one night, his wife walks the hall of Martok's ship. Ducking in and out of the crowds, playing cat and mouse with the old grumbler. He's here, in the way he tells her story, in the way he embraces his daughter, in the way he laughs at her old jokes and revels -- really revels -- in the tale of her demise. As though she were right there to laugh along with him. All of those many sacrifices; a fleet of vessels and the crews that manned them, an arm and an eye, a wife, two brothers and a sister, a father and a mother are justified by standing among the living and speaking of the dead. Surrounded by people of honor, and courage, and strength. Warriors who laugh as quickly as they leer, who sing as sure as they slaughter, who act only when their conscience permits, and for what causes their hearts dictate. For just one night, Gr'laH remembers being young, full of life, brimming with hope for the future, strong and healthy and fearing nothing.

For just one night, Gr'laH gets to be a Klingon again.

And at the end of it all, he's left snoring in his chair with a rather content look on his face. And rather than wake him and stagger home, maybe? Maybe they should let him sleep and be with his wife. He spent the whole night chasing her, after all.