Archive of Our Own

“Ambassador Soval, Commander Shran is here to see you. He’s refusing to relinquish a weapon at the security checkpoint,” Soval’s assistant said.
“Is it a ceremonial ushaan blade?” Soval enquired calmly.
The assistant nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Soval rose and said, “please inform the security detail that I will be down momentarily. Commander Shran is to be allowed through with the blade, and escorted to the small meeting room without restraint.”
“Of course, sir,” the assistant said, departing.

“Ambassador Soval,” Shran said when Soval joined him. “I must applaud your security team for their thoroughness.”
Arching a brow, Soval said, “a guest refusing to surrender a weapon is an issue for which any security detail must be trained. If you had informed me of your arrival from orbit I could have alerted them in advance.”
Chuckling, Shran said, “where’s the fun in that? I enjoy testing the limits of other’s capabilities.”
“Am I being tested at present?” Soval asked.
“I’m already well aware of your capabilities,” Shran said. “You’ve demonstrated them repeatedly in the years we’ve known each other, most recently when you located a man many had given up all hope of ever seeing again.”
Soval inclined his head slightly and asked, “has your uncle made a full recovery, now that Andorian physicians have had the opportunity to treat his remaining injuries?”
Shran’s antennae twitched slightly as he frowned. “He’ll have some permanent scarring, but otherwise yes, his overall well-being is greatly improved. He asked me to thank you again for returning him to us. My entire clan are appreciative of your efforts, though many would not openly say as much.”
“Old habits die hard, as the Human aphorism would have it,” Soval said. “They find it difficult to trust a Vulcan, no matter their actions.”
“Time and positive experiences will change that,” Shran said gruffly. “But at present, yes.”

Opening a small storage crate, Shran removed an ornately carved wooden stand, then the ushaan-tor - its engraved metallic blade gleaming in the light - and set it carefully in place.
Soval’s brows rose slightly as he asked, “is the stand made from-”
“Wood of a tree found only on the Vulcan homeworld, the name of which I cannot pronounce?” Shran finished, then nodded. “It’s customary to craft the stand from a material associated with the recipient of such a blade. Bone is a more common choice, but I didn’t think you’d appreciate the slaughter of a sehlat for this purpose.”
“Indeed I would not,” Soval said, looking more closely at both the weapon and its stand. “What is the handle made from?”
Antennae twitching, Shran asked, “are you at all familiar with the deer species of Earth?”
With a small nod, Soval said, “I am.”
“Then you would know that some grow impressively large antlers, which are periodically shed without harming the creature. The handle is carved stag, from such a set of antlers. I ensured that it was obtained from a reputable source - a wildlife habitat known for its particularly high ethical standards. It represents Humanity’s role in forging the more cordial relationship between our peoples, and between you and I specifically.”
“And the blade itself?” Soval enquired.
Taking the ushaan-tor from its stand and laying it flat across his palm, Shran said, “Andorian steel, fortified with both cobalt and titanium. Sharpened properly, this would be a deadly weapon. For display purposes the edge has been properly blunted - it would likely slice a finger, but do no worse damage than that.”
Tracing a finger over the engravings, Soval asked, “what significance is there to be found in these?”
“The Andorian translation of your name is here at the centre,” Shran said, pointing to a row of text along the side nearest the handle. “With my name at one end, and that of my uncle at the other - representing your role in reuniting us. The design beneath is a common motif for such blades, gifted in thanks for acts of service rendered beyond expectation.”

Lifting the ushaan-tor carefully from Shran’s hand, Soval looked at it closely for a long moment, then gently set it on the wooden stand. “What would be considered an appropriate location for this to be displayed?”
Frowning slightly, Shran asked, “what do you mean?”
“Would it be customary to display such a gift in my office, or my private residence? If my office, would the desk be considered suitable, or would a dedicated shelf on the wall be more appropriate? You’ve put significant thought into the detail of this blade, Shran. I wish to display it following Andorian custom, if possible.”
“You have a bookcase in your office, with a gap on the second highest shelf,” Shran said. “Unless you acquired more books since my last visit, the blade should fit there quite comfortably.”
Arching a brow, Soval said, “I hadn’t realised you paid quite so much attention to my bookcase.”
Chuckling, Shran said, “you have books representing every culture you’ve engaged in diplomatic relations with. That shelf has several Andorian volumes on the left, and a particularly large Tellarite tome on the right. It seems fitting to me that a gift representing bringing people together should sit with other representations of your efforts towards peaceful unity.”
“That seems a most fitting location to me also, with that justification,” Soval said. “I shall be certain to place it there when I return upstairs.”
“Thank you again,” Shran said quietly, his antennae moving restlessly. “I’m not sure you realise just how deeply I appreciate the effort you went to in finding my uncle. My Zhavey had thought she would never see her brother again. My family owes you a great deal more than a blade, no matter how finely crafted.”
Arching a brow, Soval said, “could you recommend an instructor of Andorian sign language? It may be useful to learn some basic words and phrases, in the event that I encounter another of your people who is deaf.”
Shran smiled. “Do you have time for a lesson now?”