Symbols
Posted on Fri Jul 25th, 2025 @ 5:53pm by Lieutenant JG Elen Rell & Captain Niun Standing Bear
4,072 words; about a 20 minute read
Mission:
Prologue
Location: USS Guinevere
Timeline: 2388
Elen walked slowly through the corridor, bare fingers brushing the textured edge of the scarf wrapped under her arm. She didn’t rush. Didn’t fidget. Just moved with the steady rhythm of someone following a path she’d already walked a dozen times in her head before taking the first real step. She could hear the ship around her...the soft thrum of the engines, the occasional echo of boots far off, a hiss of a door opening three sections back. Deck 6 felt like that sometimes. Like the Guinevere was exhaling gently beneath her skin.
The scarf she carried wasn’t flashy, but it had been crafted with care and skill, long enough to loop twice around his neck and still look good. Royal blue and deep purple...rich, layered colours that reminded her of twilight settling over Martian skyglass, or the moment the stars blinked into view when you turned your back on the warp core. Woven in a ripple stitch, meant to mimic motion...soft, fluid, strong. She’d worked it through two shifts and a holodeck walk, and unpicked it once when it didn’t feel quite right. It had needed to be quiet. Had needed to feel like him.
Niun.
The first time she’d met him, she’d thought he moved like poetry. Not the flowery kind, but the kind etched on temple walls. All silence and weight and presence. And honour...so much of it braided through him like a kind of internal structure. Old, grounded, fierce. He’d scared her a little, but not with noise or volume. With stillness. With grace that didn't apologise for its danger. Even the heated exchange about names and legacy had felt natural. It had made her realise a lot about the man.
He spoke with thought. He made space when he entered a room, not by demanding it...by deserving it. And somehow, she knew that he carried sorrow like other people carried breath. Gently. Constantly. Without complaint.
She reached his quarters. Paused. Looked down at the wrapped scarf in her hands. No paper. No tag. Just a bundle wrapped in a bit of indigo cloth that had once lined her knitting basket. It was fraying at the corners, she liked that about it. It was real.
Near the end of the scarf, stitched so small you’d have to want to see it, she’d added the name: Guinevere. Not for attention. Just as a thread between them. A ship. A home. An offering and a reminder, all wrapped into one.
She took a breath. Let it settle. Then lifted her hand and tapped the chime with the back of her knuckles, soft and sure.
The door opened to home, at least how Niun saw it. The walls were draped, to give the feeling of being in a tent, and there were hand-woven rugs on the floor. A a round wooden table, polished to a soft reflective sheen, that spoke of years of care, sat in the center of the common area; its short, heavy legs just high enough so that one could sit cross-legged on one of several embroidered pillows that surrounded it. The center of the table held a stone-ringed fire pit with a metal grate over the top; a pot of tea sat on the outer ring, warmed by the fire but not in direct contact, and there were small cups, meant to be cradled in one's hands, nearby. One was full, tendrils of steam curling up from its amber depths, sitting among the padds clustered at one point on the circle.
One wood side of the wall, a free standing wooden display rack, held a pair of hand-crafted swords and on the opposite side of the room a cluster of paintings had been hung on the wall. The drapery had been fixed so that it gave the appearance of a tent flap where one could look out on a natural vista filled with green trees framing a spectacular sunrise.
Beyond that, in the bedroom, the tent motif continued. Rather than a traditional bed, there was a futon, atop a woven mat, lay on the door with a pair of pillows and an oversized, thin blanket, pushed back, left the way it had fallen when it's occupant had tossed the covers back. The bed was bracketed by low tables that held fat clusters of candles and opposite it, though it could be seen from the entrance, was a chest that held most of what Niun owned.
The effect was warm, inviting, with little evidence of technology. Niun himself, barefoot, his long hair loose and tousled, was dressed in unrelieved black, long, loose pants and a long-sleeved shirt. He smiled as the door opened, stepping back to allow her entrance. "Welcome," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."
Elen stood still for half a breath longer than she meant to.
She didn’t mean to stare. But she did.
Not rudely...just...like someone unexpectedly walking into a storybook they hadn’t realised they’d already started reading. The warmth of the room hit her first, not temperature, but texture...woven rugs, layered fabrics, soft candle-flicker colours that made the light feel thicker somehow. The table with its wide low circle and central fire, the smell of tea rising in gentle waves, the absence of tech hum or sterile Federation sterility. It was a space held, not filled. Lived in, but not cluttered. Personal, but without ego. Reminded her of her grandfather's room, she she was little. Promises of a different time.
Her eyes caught on the swords. Of course there were swords. Not displayed with aggression, but reverence. The kind you gave things that knew violence but had learned peace.
Then him. Barefoot, black-clad, that curtain of hair undone like the quiet before the first stars show. She hadn't seen him like this, she hadn't imagined him like this...and something about the softness of it hit her deeper than she expected. It was as simple as the lack of boots.
"I..." she started, then blinked, then smiled, a real one, tilted and sheepish and open. "Wow. This is beautiful. I mean...really. It’s like walking into breath. Or a memory you don’t know yet." She stepped in without hurrying, letting her fingers brush the edge of the doorway as she passed, grounding herself.
"Hope I’m not intruding," she added, glancing at the teacups, then the bed just barely visible through the hanging fabric. “But I had something. For you.” She held the bundle gently in both hands now, the scarf wrapped in its faded cloth. Not presented yet. Just... held, like a promise.
"Not at all," Niun said, the rhythm of his voice holding still the cadence of home in its depths, "how about a cup of tea? Closest I could get to what I grew up with, it's a herbal blend. Picked it myself." He gestured toward the table. "Come have a seat and you can tell me about what you brought."
Elen met his eyes for a moment and gave a small, deliberate nod. “Yes. Please.” Her voice was softer now, steadier...not muted, but offered. The kind of answer you gave when someone had made space for it. A single blend. No choices. No fuss. Just...yes or no. She appreciated that.
She stepped inside, taking in the rug, the warmth, the way the room seemed to breathe. Then she folded down onto the floor, legs tucking beneath her with an ease that belied the drop. She’d grown up with Martian gravity, always a bit lighter, a bit more forgiving...but she didn’t brace or wince. She just landed, and looked up at him with a quiet smile.
“Tea first,” she said, fingers curling gently around her knees. “Then... the story. Because this one has one. And I think it wants a warm drink to go with it.”
Niun returned to his spot and sank with a fluid grace to the floor, relaxing into a position he'd known since boyhood, and much less formal than the position he'd held before the I'mai, stoic, immovable, and equally effortless. "The tea is freshly made," Niun said as he poured a generous measure into a hand-made cup, without handles, meant to be cradled between one's hands. He placed it before her on the table and the aroma curled upward, whispering of fields of flowers and citrus trees heavy with fruit, to greet her. He poured himself a cup as well and picked it up with two hands, taking a sip, before setting it down on the table.
"This is done," Niun said, "so that the guest knows that treachery is not intended; this was done when the first outworlders came to our world. The story goes that they were stern-faced, suspicion clearly written upon their features, and the Amrazi who served them sought to put them at ease and so, she drank first from the pot." He smiled fondly as he spoke. "Needless to say, it did not go well for the outworlders. Insults were never taken lightly."
“No kidding,” Elen murmured, leaning in as the scent rose to greet her....wildflowers in sun that she remembered from Academy days, citrus trees heavy with fruit, something older, grounded. She let the steam touch her face, eyes soft, fingers cradling the handleless cup like she already understood the meaning behind it. She mirrored his movement...two hands, one sip, and closed her eyes for just a second. The warmth spread through her, anchoring and bright. A taste like something carried across time. She lowered the cup, but didn’t let go.
“I don’t know anything about your people,” she said quietly, not as an apology, just honesty. “But I want to. Not just because I’m curious....because it matters.” Her eyes meet his. There was no performance in it, just a thread of light she hoped he’d follow. Then, gently, a flicker of a smile. “But even if I hadn’t heard the story...even if we were just two people and not who we are...I’d still trust you.” She paused, considered. Her fingers shifted around the cup. “There’s nothing in your presence that says ‘betrayal.’ It says...stillness. Honour. Maybe a little sorrow. But it says I’m safe.”
"Always with me," Niun said quietly. "I swore an oath as a ... protector ... and while I can serve that world no longer, the oath remains. You will not come to harm at my hands nor would I allow others to harm you. It is the way." He took another sip of tea and then set the cup on the table before him, considering her. "I will tell you what I can or rather, I will answer your questions. To just ... tell ... would be a task for many days."
Elen set the cup down with care, fingers brushing the rim once before lifting away. Her eyes found his again, steady now, thoughtful, as she let the weight of his words settle between them. And then she nodded. Not just in understanding, but in quiet acceptance.
“I do feel safe,” she said softly. No embellishment. Just the truth, spoken plainly. She reached for the cloth bundle she’d carried in and offered it across the low table, both hands cradling it in offering. “This is for you, Niun,” she said, deliberate, clear, making sure to use his name. Not title. Not role. Just him.
Because this wasn’t for the First Officer. Or the warrior.
It was for the man who had just made her tea and offered her protection without condition. Who had wandered into Engineering and listened to her argue about names and meanings. Who had asked to be shown the heart of the ship.
Niun accepted the package, surprise written plainly on his features. Other than his weapons, a few items of clothing, and the Je'tai, tiny honors gifted by the I'mai that were worn threaded into the thin braids he wore on the right side of his head, he owned nothing. Starfleet provided what he needed. He smiled, setting it down carefully, and just looked at the beauty of it. He wasn't sure what it was exactly. Soft and crinkly. Fragile and beautiful at the same time. Finally, he looked up at her, "what ... is it?"
“Outside?” Elen smiled, fingers brushing the edge of the cloth. “It used to line an old knitting basket. Bit frayed now, but...still useful. You can keep it, always good to have something soft around. Makes things feel less...sterile.”
She hesitated, then reached forward...slow, respectful...and undid the knot she’d tied. The fabric unfolded with a quiet rustle, revealing the scarf within: rich royal blue threaded with deep violet, the colours shifting like dusk seen from orbit. Cable-knit in a pattern that let the purple ripple through the blue, it looked elegant but sturdy, thin enough for daily wear, warm enough for cold stations.
“It’s a scarf,” she said, softer now. “For your neck. It’s merino, so breathable, soft, stronger than it looks. It self-cleans, unless you spill something dramatic on it. And even then...just a rinse and it’ll be fine.” She gave a small smile, almost shy. “I made it for you. Thought maybe...you’d like something that was yours.”
Niun pulled the scarf from its wrapping, letting the fabric ripple through his fingers, and smiled delightedly. "Thank you, Elen," he breathed. "This is a magnificent gift. A product of your workings, yes?"
"Yes," she said, nodding quickly, hands wrapping around the cup again....a quiet attempt to stop herself vibrating clean off the floor. "Tactical knitwear for cold-looking warriors." She smiled at him, bright but not flippant. “I thought the colours would suit you. You needed something elegant....less grounding, more expressive. Something that compliments you.”
Then, after a beat she added, “But if you ever do want something grounding, I make excellent hats. And fingerless gloves. I have references.”
Niun wrapped it around his throat once and let the ends rest above his heart. "Hats and gloves," he murmured, his fingers caressing the ends of the soft weave, "matter little to me. But a blanket ... that would be welcome. Should you ever find the time and have the interest."
Blankets were a commitment. Big project energy. Elen loved making them, sure...she had one nearly finished for Magnus, but blankets didn’t travel. Too big to carry in a kit bag. Too wide for curling up with in Engineering. A blanket lived with you. Became part of the space you called yours.
She nodded slowly, head tilted, her eyes soft as her fingers traced the rim of her cup again. “What colour?” she asked, voice lowered like a secret. “What’s your favourite colour, Niun?”
It wasn’t idle curiosity. Not for her. For Elen, colour was a kind of map; a story, a temperature. These little things people told her: that’s how she understood them. Not from ranks or histories. But from how they took their tea. From which shades lived in their thoughts.
And the way he’d touched the scarf, gently, deliberately...the way he’d worn it like it belonged, it made her want to make him a blanket. A proper one. Heavy enough to anchor. Soft enough to feel like warmth, like presence. Like being held when no one else was there.
"I was raised to wear black," Niun said. "The color of my caste and honestly, I've never thought about it, one way or the other. I don't like the uniforms ... too ... busy ... but the purple in this? It ... pleases me."
“You look good in black, don’t get me wrong...but black’s a nightmare to knit with.” Elen wrinkled her nose, curls falling into her eyes. She blew them out with a soft huff, then nodded, fingers already twitching as if they could reach for yarn through the air. “Purple. Purple I can do. A warm one, not cold...something rich, soft, the kind that picks up the gold in your hair and the warmth in your skin.”
She was already cataloguing the yarn in her mind...the skein tucked under her bed, not royal purple but something duskier, heavier. She’d meant it for something else once, but it would suit him. She could even weight the weave a little, make it grounding.
“I find our uniforms boring,” she added, with a wry look down at her own. “Hence...” A gesture; to the crocheted cuffs, the charm at her belt set with a red Martian stone. Little marks of identity in a sea of standard issue. “Elective styling choices.” A beat passed and then her smile tugged smaller, just at the corner. “I know it’s probably a bit much. All of me usually is. But you’ve never seemed to mind.”
"I do not," Niun said. "You are ... I don't know the translation. Among my people there are three castes. Me, the warriors, are Azhadi ... the star that shines brightest but dies quickest. To live to the age of thirty is a rare achievement among the Azhadi. And then, there are the Amrazi. They are .. healers and artisans ... and their light is more ... subtle. The warmth of a fire under a starlit sky, the welcoming smile after a difficult day, laughter and food and peace. You have a bit of that, Amrazi, in you. I don't see you as 'much' -- rather I see you as uniquely you. And while many in command would balk at your choices, I don't. I like them."
Elen blinked at him, startled. Something about the quiet certainty in his voice hit deeper than she expected. She shifted where she sat, gently set her cup down so she didn’t spill the tea, and drew one leg in to hug against her chest. Chin to knee, arms loosely looped, she looked at him...properly looked.
And smiled. Not her usual grin. Something softer. Touched.
“That’s… actually one of the kindest things anyone’s ever said to me,” she said, the words quiet, shaped around a breathless laugh that wobbled more than she meant it to. “And yeah… I’ve had my brushes with command.” Her mouth quirked. “Not here, not badly. But I’m not exactly what the recruitment posters had in mind when they thought ‘Starfleet engineer.’ I think I talked about emotional feedback loops in engine rooms during my final interview. Got me a very polite stare.”
She tilted her head, studying his expression for a moment longer...then her brow furrowed, and she sat up straighter.
“Wait. Did you say thirty is a rare achievement?” Her eyes widened. “Niun! That’s… I’ve passed the best-before date for your caste by a lot. Should I be worried? Am I about to spontaneously combust in a blaze of overachievement?”
"Not at all," Niun said, giving the comment the gravity it warranted, "you are ... Amrazi. Protected. On my world, you would live a long time. Cherished at the heart of the tribe." His expression turned thoughtful as he continued, tinged with old grief, "it's me. We are the outward turned face. The living weapon. The mysteries are forbidden to us and we don't live long. To be old ... that would be a great shame."
She looked at him for a long moment. Brow furrowed. Her breath came in a little deeper, slower...a quiet brace against the swirl of feeling building under her skin. Her fingers moved against her knee, absent and rhythmic, tracing circles into the fabric. A grounding ritual. Motion to keep from drowning.
And then, the words came: not rushed, but like a seal breaking. A slow release of something held too long. “You’re more than the role you were cast in,” she said softly, not quite looking at him. “You don’t have to stay bound to it. Not here. Not anymore.”
Her eyes flicked to his, uncertain but steady. “We’ve all been shaped by something...war, loss, survival. But that’s not the same as being trapped by it. Not here.” A shaky pause. A deeply taken breath. “Here, we’ve got choices. They’re not always easy. Not always clear. But they’re real.”
She hesitated. Then leaned in, just a little...enough that the space between them felt shared, not crossed. “You can grow old here, Niun. And be old. And beautiful for it.” Her voice dropped, almost reverent now. “Still a sword, still a shield...but more than that. Yourself. Alive.”
Niun didn't answer, his dark eyes drowning in grief and loss, the words of the I'mai ringing in his mind, blotting out everything for a moment. You are no longer needed ... leave this world ... leave ... For a moment, he was kneeling before her, the mother of the tribe, ready to give everything at her order and then, pain beyond counting, beyond measure swept through him, found residence within him. But only for a moment and then his control, iron and unbending, infused into the core of his being, reasserted itself and he was just Niun again. Alone on an alien ship but somewhere in the depths of the gaze he turned on her, a tiny flicker of hope kindled.
She felt it. Not in words, not in movement...but in the sudden stillness. The way something behind his eyes seemed to fold inward, heavy and too large to carry alone. Maybe not many would have noticed it...or maybe some would. It did not matter because Elen did notice it. She had always noticed the shift in energies around her. The way someone’s light dimmed, just a fraction, like a candle pulled into a too-deep breath. And then...
Control. Absolute and iron-willed.
Her hands stilled. She didn’t speak. Not yet. Just...watched him. Gave him that moment, because it felt like the kind of silence you didn’t interrupt, as if armour had once again been equipped. A knight's armour.
And then, softly, she breathed his name. “Niun.”
She didn’t reach out. Didn’t cross the space with a touch, even if her instinct screamed to. Instead, she shifted a little closer...not into his space, just toward it. A signal. An offer. The emotional equivalent of a blanket laid nearby, not wrapped around. Her voice was quiet, but warm. “If you ever need it...I give really good hugs,” she said gently, a wry smile threading into the softness of it. “Like, professional grade. Certified by three grumpy officers and a baby targ, and only one out of the four bit me. Extra points for guessing which. No pressure, just...putting it out there.”
She didn’t say more. Didn’t make it about healing or fixing. Just let the offer float there, simple and, ironically, unmistakably human in its naiveté.
"Little Amrazi," he whispered as he moved closer, and reached for her. It was the way. Live in the moment. Reach for the peace and comfort the Amrazi gave so freely. His arms encircled her as he felt hers wrap around him, anchoring him to the moment and to this place. He closed his eyes, resting against the top of her head, and just ... relaxed.
Elen stilled. For a moment, she just stilled, feeling the strong arms around her. Her mind emptied. Just narrowed down to this moment. She closed her eyes, her own arms having moved on instinct, on their own account. One hand going to rest on his upper arm, gently grasping. The other moved around him, feeling the strength of his torso. Her hand rested on his back, her cheek against his chest. She could feel his breathing. Hear his heartbeat.
A small smile came to her. Not victory. Not sadness. Just the moment, for all it was, all it was worth. "You're safe," she whispered. She didn't say anything else. No empty promises...just that in this moment, in this second, with her? He was safe.
She wouldn't betray him or the moment.
Captain Niun Standing Bear
Executive Officer
USS Guinevere
and
Lt. jg Elen Rell
Acting Assistant Chief Engineer
USS Guinevere
RSS Feed