Disclaimer: This story is dark since it deals with the topic of POWs. Please note that Ragnhilh, Ajeya, and Setik also belong to Kerry (Kerjen). Thank you for your wonderful stories and your help! This story was originally posted in a single chapter, I'm posting it now in different ones to make it easier to read.

For those of you who haven't read Kerjen's The Meeting, here you have a summary: Saavik is wrongly imprisoned by a group of rogue Klingons. She is locked in a cell with Romulans. Commander Ragnhilh, the higher ranking officer among them, tries to help her only to get a hateful glare as an answer. Mistaking Saavik for a fellow Romulan and her strong reaction for a personal grudge she can't recall, Ragnhilh tells her, "Whatever feud you might have with me, you got to leave outside this place. We group together here. We'll get you through this. If we can."

That's the end of Kerjen's story and the beginning of mine.

Federation year: 2369

In some dark spot of the Klingon Empire…

Ragnhilh struggled under the other woman's weight as she hung from one manacle. All her body ached even though she hadn't supported her for long; her former strength had left her quickly in the harsh confinement. Other fellow prisoners had tried to hold her, but most of them were even more worn out and fell quickly. Managing to stand was difficult enough for them and exhaustion called them to the pleasing blackness of unconsciousness.

The woman worried her. She hadn't uttered a word since she came. She remained still, her face blank, her eyes void. She seemed dead, and only the steady rising and falling of her chest against her head told her otherwise. Ragnhilh sighed inwardly, wondering where the deprived woman's mind was. Far away probably, in a safe place where Klingon torture could not penetrate. Nowhere maybe - perhaps there was nothing left of her but that vacant look in her eyes.

One of Ragnhilh's crewmembers was speaking, but his words were lost to her. Her intent was fixed on the manacled woman as she cursed the Klingons vehemently, raw fury building inside of her. Anger and hatred drove them forward, that gave them strength to carry on, day after day, torment after torment, thinking of the moment they would break free and fulfill their desired revenge.

"…the traitorous citizens that followed Spock…"

'Spock', that was the key word that got the woman out of her reverie, but Ragnhilh, caught in the middle of one of her curses, only noticed her slight movement and looked up to see her unfocused eyes sweep over her surroundings. She murmured something, but her voice was too low even for Ragnhilh to hear. Then, she lowered her eyes, expressionless but focused now, and as her gaze fixed on her, a shadow crossed her face and her features hardened.

Remembering the open hostility she had showed before, Ragnhilh smiled at her sincerely, hoping that whatever grudge the other woman held against her remained in the past. Right now, they were just prisoners and their only enemies the Klingons from whose camp they should escape.

"I'm Ragnhilh," she offered, although she guessed the other woman already knew, otherwise why react so strongly.

The other woman just stared at her and she felt unsettled, realizing she was being judged. Finally, the woman spoke, her voice weak and hoarse.

"Saavik," she muttered.

Ragnhilh couldn't even think what to say next. In that same moment, the woman fell silent, her vision clouded again and the sparkle of life that had shown in her eyes vanished, as she got lost in the emptiness of her mind.

Silence reigned in the cell. All the captives were looking now at her and Saavik. She was weaker than most of them, scars and burns covered her frail body telling a long story of unbearable pain. Although a stranger, they all respected her for this: because she was still alive, because she continued fighting against the odds, suffering but not despairing, clinging to life, and hope, struggling for survival until the time came... to seek revenge. She was an example they would follow. They were soldiers and soldiers fought until the end; they were Romulans and even trapped in this foul camp, they would show the Klingon beasts the better warriors they were.

Ragnhilh regained strength from this thought and drew herself up, supporting Saavik's body firmly. Her chin raised, she looked every one of them in the eye, ignoring her filthy bruised naked body and trying to appear before them as the proud commander she once was.

"We will get through this and we will make the Klingons pay," she reassured them, stressing the last word. "Now, talk," she ordered again, almost the only command she had been giving since she was imprisoned.

At first, Ragnhilh had tried to count hours and days, but she had lost track long ago, or maybe not that long at all; she couldn't tell. However, she was sure that their captors had been quiet for an unusual amount of time, ever since throwing Saavik in the cell. It was this uncommon release of their torment that she feared the most.

What are they up to?

Saavik was on her own now, still hanging painfully, her free hand gripping the offending chain. She had not said a word, had not even grunted her discomfort, as if her body were just an empty shell and her spirit wandered somewhere else, waiting for the right moment to come back and put up a fight. Ragnhilh had been thinking about her again and, try as she would, she could not place her anywhere; she simply didn't know anyone called Saavik and, therefore, had no idea how she had wronged her. So, was it a family matter, perhaps? If it was, no one in Ragnhilh's family had told her.

She did not know if it was day or night, not that it mattered. The Klingons usually left them in complete darkness for long periods, or, as currently, let the lights on for days. She had discovered how much light could hurt. It was very bright and painful, it stung even when she kept her eyes shut. Or was it just a psychological effect? She didn't care.

She was famished, she was thirsty, she was cold; her body ached, her worst injuries gave her no rest. Her brain refused to cooperate with her any longer, sending her only images of pain and suffering, screaming, begging for the end. She could not fight any more. Exhaustion was overcoming her will. She lowered her gaze; the sickening soil, covered with mud, dirt, blood and secretions, now appealed to her. She was just unable to stand on her feet. A weak inner voice still reminded her not to succumb. But she could not fight, not anymore. Her cellmates' talking seemed a light-year away; her vision blurred and, finally, she fell, her knees touching the floor first, her face later. She welcomed it and her eyes closed as she surrendered to oblivion.