Chapter Text
"Once upon a time, many centuries ago, there was a tailor." That's how the story always starts.
The expensive fabric stretches between Garak's fingers, pulled expertly taut; the needle flashes through his fingers, over and under, piercing through. The thread spools away beneath him, and his memory is drawn back with it, back and back and back, to the old Cardassian fairytale that Garak first heard when he was just a boy.
(It's either that, or think about the body that this coat will be draped over. The shape of it — the familiar solid lines of those shoulders, the curves and muscles of those arms. The particular weight and color and texture of that flesh.
Garak really doesn't want to dwell on that. So he turns his mind back, and lets Mila's voice ring out inside his head.)
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Once upon a time, many centuries ago, there was a tailor. This tailor, whose name was Nurak, was a good man and a dutiful citizen of the State, who accepted his station in life and always did his duty. He lived in a tiny town on the edge of a great desert, far away on the furthermost frontier.
Now, nearby to this town in those days there was an enclave of khav'vichkah —
"Mila, what's that?"
Hush, Garak. What have I told you about interrupting when your elders are speaking?
"I'm sorry, naan'e."
The khav'vichkah are a race of magical beings who lived in the deepest deserts of the Northern Continent. They're said to look exactly like People, but their skin is the color of rocks and desert sand, and they have no chufah, and no brow ridges on their heads. Instead, their faces are smooth and round, like desert stones. They are taller than people, and more slender, and they can run lightly on the hot desert sand so fast that People cannot even see them.
"Oooh, I want one. Can I get one for a pet?"
No, silly. The khav'vichkah aren't real. They're just a story. And even if they were real, you couldn't have one for a pet. We don't have room.
"Oh, okay."
Anyways, near this tailor's town, there was an enclave of khav'vichkah hidden away inside a steep, deep canyon. Nurak had heard tales of the beautiful and mysterious khav'vichkah all of his life, ever since he was a child sitting at his mother's knee. So one day, on the 50th anniversary of his birth, he took it into his mind to go and try to see a khavichk for himself. It was a fine hot day and the sun shone bright and red, so Nurak closed up his shop for the first time in many months, packed himself up a little food and some water, and set out into the desert to find the khav'vichkah.
"How did he know where to find them?"
Garak!
"Sorry, naan'e."
Naogh'i, sometimes I wonder if there's hope for you at all. Anyways, he found it by... following landmarks that were mentioned in the village tales, things like that. The point is that eventually he arrived at the mouth of the hidden canyon where the khav'vichkah camp was located. He saw smoke rising from the khav'vichkah cooking fires, and when he listened very carefully he could hear the babbling of their speech.
"Oh, they can speak?"
Yes, the khav'vichkah are almost as smart as People, though they don't know how to write. Some of them even know how to speak Kardasi, as you'd know if you let me continue without interrupting me every 15 seconds.
So Nurak heard the noises of the camp, and he slowly crept closer and closer to the canyon's mouth, trying hard to stay silent and keep to the shadows. He wanted so badly to see a khavichk! He'd heard tales all his life of how lovely they were, khavichka'en and khavichka'in both — for it is said that the khav'vichkah are so lovely that any one of them can enthrall a Person simply by smiling at him. So Nurak thought that this would make a good birth-day present to himself, if he could see a lovely khavichk on this day.
He was so excited, and so intent on his goal, that he failed to pay adequate attention to his surroundings — which is a mistake that you must always remember not to make, Garak. Always stay alert, and double-check before you step! Anyway, Nurak was creeping around and not really watching where he stepped, and suddenly the sand shifted beneath his feet, and he realized that he had trodden directly on a pressure-plate. He heard a crashing and a booming, and then suddenly a giant boulder came rolling down and fell right on top of his head! And Nurak was knocked completely unconscious, and collapsed onto the desert sand.
"It was a trap, wasn't it?"
That's right, it was a trap set by the khav'vichkah, to catch any intruders that might come creeping around their camp. Which is exactly what it did.
"Did they kill Nurak and eat him?"
My goodness, naogh'i. You do have quite the imagination, don't you?
No, in fact, these khavichka'n did not kill Nurak and eat him. When he woke up, he had a terrible headache and he couldn't see out of one eye, but it all balanced out because he also got his wish. For there standing there over him, holding a slender spear that crackled with magic along the tip, was a slender, golden-skinned, beautiful khavichka'i. He was dressed only in a sort of loincloth made of fur, and a necklace of polished bone that he wore around his neck.
This khavichka'i looked at Nurak, and he didn't even have to smile, because Nurak was immediately enthalled. He thought the man was the most beautiful thing that he had ever seen, and he immediately desired to possess him. Nurak knew, suddenly and completely and without any room for doubt, that if he could not keep this khavichka'i with him, his life would no longer be worth living.
He tried to move his hands, and realized that they were tied to a pole behind him. He tried to move his feet, and realized that they were tightly bound. As soon as the khavichka'i saw that Nurak was awake, he shouted out something in the khav'vichkah language, and three khavichka'n ran into the room. All three of these were khavichka'en, who are if anything more beautiful and fair even then the males are, but despite their great beauty, Nurak only had eyes for the khavichka'i, the first one that he had seen.
He felt distracted and enthralled, as if he'd fallen under a spell. He was so taken up in staring at the lovely khavichka'i that he forgot to even test the strength of his bonds, or starting scheming an escape plan. He only watched them speak, with wide eyes and a slack jaw.
"I don't like Nurak. He's kinda dumb."
For the last time, hush! Or I'll stop telling the story, and you can go back to your chores.
Besides, Nurak is supposed to be dumb. It's a fairytale; the whole point is to learn from someone's failure.
Anyways.
The four khavichka'n spoke to one another, in their own language that Nurak could not understand. After a few moments, they seemed to come to some agreement, and they fell silent. Nurak's khavichka'i turned back toward him, and then he spoke.
"What is your name?"
Nurak was startled to hear him speak Kardasi, but his sudden infatuation had made him reckless and foolish, so he readily responded. "My name is Nurak. What's yours?"
The khavichka'i looked at him with curiosity. "My name is Aterareanhui," he said, and the strange babble of his name sounded like music to Nurak's ears. "Why have you come creeping around our encampment, hiding and sneaking like a spy?"
"I'm not a spy," Nurak protested, "and I intended your people no harm. I came only because it's my 50th birthday today, and I wanted to catch a glimpse of a khavichk for myself."
Aterareanhui pointed the spear at him sternly. "Why?"
Nurak looked at him, and found that he was speechless. Eventually, he gathered what few wits he possessed, and said, "Because I had heard that the khav'vichkah were the most beautiful beings in the world, and I wanted to see if it was true for myself."
"Well?" Aterareanhui said, looking at him closely. "And what is your conclusion?"
"As soon as I saw you," Nurak said, "I knew immediately that it was true." As I said, infatuation had loosened his tongue and made him reckless. And who knows, perhaps his head injury had something to do with it as well. "These three khavichka'en are incredibly lovely, but your beauty surpasses them all. You are by far the loveliest thing that I have ever seen."
Aterareanhui stared at him for a long moment, without speaking. Nurak held his breath, uncertain whether he was about to be tortured, or even killed. After awhile, the khavichka'i seemed to come to some conclusion, and he turned back and said something to the three khavichka'en.
They seemed to argue among themselves for a moment; one khavichka'e, who was speaking quite loudly and making violent gestures, eventually turned away and stalked out of the cave. A few moments later, after a calmer exchange of words, the other two followed, leaving Aterareanhui alone with Nurak.
He thrust his spear toward Nurak, who managed to keep himself from flinching. He might have been a fool, but he was still a Person, and at least he had some pride. To Nurak's surprise, no razor-sharp edge came stabbing through his chest; instead, it deftly sliced open the bonds that hobbled Nurak's feet. A few seconds later, his hands were freed as well.
Aterareanhui gestured for him to stand. "Come with me," he said.
Nurak followed him out of the cave. It was night, now; he must have been unconscious for some time. He couldn't make out too many details of the khav'vichkah encampment, but he saw silhouettes moving about, and smelled meat being roasted over the fires. Somewhere in the darkness, a khavichka'e was singing in a high, clear voice. Her song was so pure and so sad that it brought tears to Nurak's eyes, and made his heart ache in his chest.
Aterareanhui led Nurak around the edge of the camp, to the place where the canyon became narrow. "Follow exactly in my footsteps," he warned Nurak, "for there are many other traps along this passageway, and I don't want to waste any more healing potion on you." You see, among their other magical abilities, the khav'vichkah had the knowledge of how to make a healing drink that could cure any kind of illness or disease. This was why Nurak wasn't any worse off, despite having just been hit in the head by a very large rock.
I'm sorry, what was that, Garak? Did you have something to say?
That's what I thought.
Anyways, the tailor followed carefully in Aterareanhui's footsteps, staring longingly at his backside the entire time. All he could think of was that he didn't want to leave; not if it meant being separated from Aterareanhui. But at the same time, he knew that they would never let him say.
He had to come up with a way to see Aterareanhui again.
When they finally exited the canyon and Aterareanhui led him past the last few traps, Nurak turned and said, "You must let me give you a gift. I want to show my gratitude for healing me, and for letting me go free."
Aterareanhui looked at him curiously. "There's no need," he said.
"Really," said Nurak. "I insist. In fact, honor demands it. If you don't allow me to give you a gift, my name will be forever in disgrace because I have not repaid you. You wouldn't want that, would you?" This was a lie, of course. There is no obligation of debt repayment between People and other beings. But Nurak thought this was a way to see the khavichka'i again.
Finally, Aterareanhui said, "Okay. You may give me a gift, then."
"Excellent!" said Nurak. "Only, I don't have anything appropriate with me right now. Such actions as you have done for me today deserve a fine present indeed." And he pretended to think, although he already knew what he was going to propose. Finally, Nurak said, "I am merely a humble tailor, but I can do this: I will make you a fine shirt, sewn from the lightest, softest, most beautiful fabric that you've ever seen. I will bring it back to you here in one cycle of the moon, if you will allow me to do so."
Aterareanhui shook his head. "Now that we have been discovered here," he said, "the camp will have to move, for that has always been our way. We won't be here any longer, in one cycle of the moon."
"Come to my house, then," Nurak said, for this had been his real plan all along. He'd known that the camp would have to move. "Come and see me in the village, and I will give my present to you then." To Nurak's great glee, Aterareanhui nodded his assent.
"I will do this thing," he said. "In one cycle of the moon, I will come to you at your house." He pointed his spear at Nurak again, in warning. "But if anyone else is there, lurking around your home," he said, "or if your house contains any weapons, I will know, and I will not come. So be alone, and unarmed."
"Oh, I will," Nurak said. "Believe me, I have no need for weapons. And why would I want to share you with anyone else?" For already Nurak had become jealous, and wished to keep Aterareanhui all to himself. "You'll see," he said. "I will not disappoint you with my gift." Aterareanhui nodded, and then he vanished into the night. As soon as he disappeared, Nurak felt a heaviness and a sadness settle in his heart, and he knew that it would forever be so, as long as he was separate from the khavichka'i with whom he had become so deeply infatuated.
So Nurak went home, and that very same night, before he even changed the bandage on his head, he got out his very best fabric and prepared to make the best shirt that he had ever sewed. He decided on a tunic design, thinking that the shape would look lovely on Aterareanhui's slender, graceful form.
For the next couple of weeks, Nurak measured and cut and stitched. He cast all of his other work aside, and poured every waking moment into working on Aterareanhui's tunic. He barely even left his house.
With every single stitch that he sewed, Nurak spoke. He told the tunic all about his desire for Aterareanhui, and of the way he wanted the khavichka'i to stay by his side always, and of intense sadness he felt at being parted from his love. He poured his heart into the fabric, and he watered the threads well with his tears. And though he was now working with only one good eye, Nurak applied every single bit of skill and effort and concentration that he had gained over the years, and it more than made up for his lack of perfect vision.
He worked and worked, and the tunic grew lovelier and lovelier every day. The fabric was light and soft and smooth; the cut was perfect, and every stitch fell neatly and precisely into line. The days seemed to fly by as Nurak worked, hardly taking a moment to eat or even sleep. Finally, exactly one day before the end of the moon-cycle, the tunic was done. Aterareanhui's gift was finished.
Nurak hung it carefully on his sewing mannequin, and made his entire home and workshop clean and ready. As the sun rose on the day that Aterareanhui was supposed to come, Nurak paced back and forth, unable to sleep or eat. He did nothing else all day but worry and fret, and fear that the khavichka'i wouldn't show.
Finally, the sun went down. Just as the moon rose up over the Eastern hills, Nurak heard a quiet tapping at the door. He ran over and threw it open, and Aterareanhui slipped into his house, movingly as quickly and as silent as the breeze.
Nurak thought that Aterareanhui's presence immediately made his humble home feel warmer, brighter, and basically better in every possible way. Any lingering doubts about his course of action fled, and Nurak became firmly resolved to carry out his plan.
He went over to his mannequin, and took down the lovely tunic. As he did so, Nurak pricked his finger with a pin that he had hidden in his other hand, and one single drop of his heart's-blood fell onto the front of the tunic, right over the heart. The droplet of blood formed a perfect circle and blended in perfectly, like it was part of the pattern of the cloth.
This was the one thing that the tunic had been missing, but now it was perfect. Now its power was complete.
Nurak lifted it from the dress form, and handed it to Aterareanhui. Without any shame, Aterareanhui removed his loincloth, and Nurak watched it fall onto the ground. Then Aterareanhui put on the tunic.
As soon as the cloth settled around Aterareanhui's shoulders, the drop of blood over his heart began to glow. The khavichka'i looked down at the fabric, feeling it move around him, and then he looked up at Nurak. And then, without another word, he fell into Nurak's arms and declared his undying love and devotion.
Oh, I see that look on your face, don't think I don't! It's a fairytale, okay? You have to suspend your disbelief. You see, through all of the tears and all of the words that he had spoken while he was sewing, Nurak had woven a powerful love spell into the cloth. And when he gave the tunic a drop of his heart's-blood, that spell had been sealed and activated. When Aterareanhui put the tunic on, Nurak's love spell clouded his memory and enthralled his mind, and he had no desire left in his heart other than to be Nurak's servant and stay by his side forever.
Aterareanhui fell down at Nurak's feet, and kissed them, and he said, "What is your wish for me now, chethk'i? Only tell me, and I will do anything that you say."
Nurak was overjoyed, and he said, "I wish for you to stay here with me, and live in my house, and promise me that you will never leave." And he went over to the door and turned the lock, so that nobody could come in or go out. Aterareanhui bowed his head and agreed to stay, for as long as Nurak would have him. And Nurak pulled him up and kissed him, and that was that.
For quite awhile, they lived that way. Aterareanhui stayed in Nurak's home, never asking to go out, and he never removed the magic tunic — for the khav'vichkah do not become dirty, and do not need to bathe in the way that People do. If any of the villagers noticed Aterareanhui's presence, they did not say anything about him to Nurak. Nor did they ask how the tailor had lost the vision in one eye; though they did start calling him Nurak Duri'vok, after the one-eyed lizards that lived around those parts.
Things went on this way for about three years, and Nurak was perfectly content to have them continue on forever. But of course, such a situation could not last.
One day, three years later, Nurak went shopping at the market. As he was standing there picking out fruits and meats, he overheard two other men from the village talking. "...biggest jevonite deposit discovered in three decades," the one man said, "and the best part is that it's not 300 leagues from here."
The other man tlikked in excitement. "Just imagine," he said, "how much power and influence that will bring here, if we are the closest village."
"Exactly." The first man leaned in closer, and lowered his voice so that Nurak had to strain to hear. "There's just one problem. They've got to get rid of those damned khav'vichkah, first."
Nurak dropped a yomi fruit, and had to scramble to pick it up. He looked up, hoping that he hadn't attracted the two men's attention.
"Why? What have the brownlings done?"
"They've been attacking the survey site ever since it was set up. They build traps that catch and injure workers, things like that." The man waved his hand. "Mere annoyances, really. But apparently the deposit is located on some sort of sacred site, or some kind of nonsense like that, so the Government has decided to just wipe them all out and be done with it. Otherwise, they're only going to keep on causing problems."
Upon hearing this, Nurak's heart was wracked with fear and anguish, for he was a sentimental man. He set down his shopping-basket and left the store all in a rush, and ran the whole way home. Even though Aterareanhui would be safe inside his home, Nurak still thought that the khav'vichkah were beautiful and fine, and his heart pained him at the idea of their entire tribe being wiped out.
When he got to his little house, he paced back and forth in front of the door for quite some time, trying to figure out what he should say. Eventually, he toughened up his scales and went inside, where Aterareanhui was sitting and looking out the window. They embraced, and kissed, and then Nurak told him about what he had heard.
When he heard about the threat to his people, Aterareanhui's golden skin became pale, and he shook. He paced back and forth, hitting his fist against his palm. "Tell me where the camp is," Nurak said, trying to calm him. "Tell me how to find your people, and I will run and warn them."
Aterareanhui shook his head. "I cannot tell you how to find them, for I don't know where they are," he said. "They might have moved camp several times by now."
Nurak hung his head in despair. "It's hopeless, then," he said. "There's nothing we can do."
Aterareanhui hesitated, biting at his lip. Finally, he said, "That's not true. I could find them."
"No." Nurak's reply was immediate. "No way. They'll be out looking for khavichka'n. They'll find you, and they'll kill you."
"I can elude them. I am fast, and I'm one of the best trackers among my people. And we khav'vichkah have ways of passing by unseen." Aterareanhui looked down at Nurak beseechingly. "Please, chethk'i," he said. "Please, let me go and do this thing. Let me find my people, and let me warn them. I cannot stand by and let them be destroyed."
Nurak's head spun and his hands shook, and his heart leapt up within him, for he did not want to lose his love. Finally, though, he nodded and told him, "Okay. Go."
Aterareanhui reached underneath their bed and took out the box containing the few things that he'd brought with him. His spear, his strange black-blue knife (which, Nurak now realized, was carved from jevonite), his white bone necklace, and his fur loincloth. He took up the spear and slipped the knife into his pocket, and he tied the white bone necklace back around his neck, but he did not remove his tunic. Nurak watched, and his vision grew dark with grief, for he knew that Aterareanhui would probably not be coming back.
Aterareanhui walked over to the door, and raised his hand to lift the latch. It stopped short, as if it had hit a wall. He frowned and tried again to open the door, but he couldn't. His body refused to move.
Nurak understood in a flash exactly what the problem was. Despite his words, the love spell was still listening to Nurak's heart's desire, and his heart's desire was that his lover should not leave. He wasn't able to change the way he felt; there was only one possible solution.
Taking up his favorite pair of sewing scissors, he strode over to Aterareanhui and, without a word, began to cut the tunic. He cut through one side and then the other, and then he pulled the magic tunic off of Aterareanhui's body, and let it fall onto the floor.
As soon as the tunic was removed, the spell was lifted. Aterareanhui stared at Nurak with a look of horror and shock; slowly his face transformed into an expression of intense loathing. "What have you done to me?" he spat at Nurak. "What have you made me do?" The khavichka'i turned and ran naked out the door. As soon as his feet touched the desert sand, he disappeared from view, and Nurak sank to his knees and wept.
...
...
"...Why are you stopping, naan'e? That isn't the end of the story, is it? We haven't even seen Nurak be punished yet!"
No, it's not the end. But there is not that much more to tell.
Aterareanhui made it back to his people and warned them, and they were able to evade capture for awhile. They kept up a campaign of guerilla warfare against the miners, because they were so foolishly attached to this particular piece of land; they ended up killing several miners and blowing up at least one transport vessel, but the State inevitably triumphed in the end.
Near the end of the campaign, Aterareanhui was captured and interrogated. During his interrogation, he revealed that it was Nurak who had warned him about the Government's plans to wipe out the khav'vichkah. By his foolish actions, therefore, Nurak was directly responsible for the loss of some quite expensive equipment, as well as several miners' lives.
Aterareanhui was executed, along with the rest of the khav'vichkah. Nurak was arrested as well, and convicted of high treason. His other eye was put out, and he was left to make his way as a blind and starving beggar, on the street. The mining project went ahead, and the very next year it produced more jevonite that had been found in the entire decade previous. The mine brought much wealth and influence to the village, and much glory to the State.
Now, say the last line along with me:
"And everything was orderly and in its proper place. The end."
Well, Garak? What do you think was the moral of that story?
"I think the moral was that Nurak is dumb, and nobody should ever want to be like him."
Fsk. Always content with the surface of things, you are. This is a flaw, Garak. You must always be looking deeper.
The moral of this story is that love is very dangerous indeed, and if you let it control you, you're bound to come to a bad end. When you're older, you will come to understand this; we can't control the way we feel, but we can always control our actions. Nurak's flaw was that he was continually self-indulgent; from the moment he met Aterareanhui, he thought of nothing but his own desires. He completely forgot about his duty to his village, to the State, and eventually he even allowed his emotions to turn him into a traitor.
Someday you, too, may fall prey to love, but you must never allow it to control your mind or drive your actions. Do you understand?
"Love sounds horrible, naan'e."
Oh, it can be horrible, naogh'i. It can be quite a terrible thing indeed, believe me.
"You look sad. Have you ever been in love?"
...Oh, never you mind that. Just remember, Garak, that as long as you remain vigilant and exercise your self-control, you shall be safe, and keep your mind unclouded by treacherous infatuations. Promise me that you will remember that, always.
"I promise."
Good, good. I only hope that you can keep it, if you ever happen to meet your own khavichka'i.
"I thought you said that they weren't real."
Oh, never mind. You'd better get back to your chores, naogh'i. You must have all of them finished before Tain comes home.
Run along now, there you go.
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Mila's words ring out in Garak's mind, as clearly as if he'd heard them yesterday. He is distracted, and the needle slips; it turns in his hand, and digs deep into the tip of Garak's finger. He curses, and watches in horror as a drop of blood falls right onto the cloth.
He stares at it for a moment, watching it hover and bead up on the surface of the jacket. It looks dark, almost black, on the surface of the fabric, and for a second Garak expects it to sink in and seal a magic spell inside.
But of course, that's foolish. This damned station must be driving him quite mad. This is real life, not some child's fairytale, and besides, this fabric is designed to repel liquid. It won't let itself be stained.
Garak shakes his head and carefully, with the edge of his sleeve, brushes the blood off. It splats onto the floor and disappears, quickly consumed by the tiny microbes embedded in the wax.
Magic isn't real, and the khav'vichkah never existed, and Garak needs to stop working and get some rest. Besides, there is no spell in the universe that would make Julian want him, even if that was something that Garak was allowed to think about.
Which it is most emphatically not.
And the suit is just a particularly nice suit that he is sewing for his friend, and that is all.
It's just a suit.