"Sacrifice", Star Trek Discovery fanfic
Apr. 20th, 2019 06:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
4thofelevenA quick drabble while I mull over the end of season 2:
On Boreth, Klingons come from across the Empire to hear the stories.
Of the Captain who gave up all hope of an honourable death to preserve the future. Who saw himself left helpless, immobile, unable to ever again lift a blade or fight a battle, and still accepted that fate because it was what was needed.
Of the Warrior who sacrificed all that he had to win a victory. Who gave up his face, his name, his very identity, because that was the price that had to be paid. Who gave up his son, his family line, his future, and chose to work forever in the shadows to ensure his comrade's sacrifices were not in vain.
Of the Crew who left behind their family and house to serve the greater good, whose heroic deeds and grand battles may never be spoken or sung ever again, because that was the price that time demanded of them.
That, the monks on Boreth say, is the price that may be asked of you. There is no glory in the path of the Guardians of Time; no statue in the Hall of Heroes will ever be built for you. Your name may be forgotten so warriors may take the glory that is rightfully yours.
They come, they hear the stories, and few remain. They return to their lives as warriors, unwilling to pay the price Time demands for those who protect it. In time, they forget the ancient monks stories, remembering only the grand warriors of song and story.
But on Boreth, Tenavik remains, and teaches the stories to the few who do remain; those who have earned the right to remain on Boreth, and learn the names of those sacrificed in Time's service.
On Boreth, Klingons come from across the Empire to hear the stories.
Of the Captain who gave up all hope of an honourable death to preserve the future. Who saw himself left helpless, immobile, unable to ever again lift a blade or fight a battle, and still accepted that fate because it was what was needed.
Of the Warrior who sacrificed all that he had to win a victory. Who gave up his face, his name, his very identity, because that was the price that had to be paid. Who gave up his son, his family line, his future, and chose to work forever in the shadows to ensure his comrade's sacrifices were not in vain.
Of the Crew who left behind their family and house to serve the greater good, whose heroic deeds and grand battles may never be spoken or sung ever again, because that was the price that time demanded of them.
That, the monks on Boreth say, is the price that may be asked of you. There is no glory in the path of the Guardians of Time; no statue in the Hall of Heroes will ever be built for you. Your name may be forgotten so warriors may take the glory that is rightfully yours.
They come, they hear the stories, and few remain. They return to their lives as warriors, unwilling to pay the price Time demands for those who protect it. In time, they forget the ancient monks stories, remembering only the grand warriors of song and story.
But on Boreth, Tenavik remains, and teaches the stories to the few who do remain; those who have earned the right to remain on Boreth, and learn the names of those sacrificed in Time's service.