The BLTS Archive- The Path to Stovoqor
by Vicki L. Reid

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Disclaimer: Paramount owns all things Star Trek. I'm only borrowing
some of their characters for fun--not profit.

Archive at will.

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Slamming a tightly clenched fist into the transparent aluminum
viewport, Lt. Commander Worf growled with frustration and barely
contained rage. Jadzia was gone; her death pointless and without
honor. Now he must win a great battle so she could gain entry into
Stovoqor, the place where the honored dead reside. Almost everyone he
had ever loved were now in Stovoqor--his parents, K'Ehleyr, even Kurn
in a sense, since his brother was lost to him forever. But not Jadzia.
Not without his help.

His fist slammed into the viewport again, a part of him wishing the
transparent aluminum would shatter like glass and blow him out into
the vacuum of space. Worf had no fear of the upcoming battle; his
Klingon heart yearned for a fight to the death. But was it right to
induct Jadzia into Stovoqor? What of her loved ones who had already
died or would follow her in death? She would be alone in Stovoqor
until his own arrival, which could take many years. Would she even
want to be in there?

Sighing deeply, Worf stared out into the endless void, his heart
feeling just as empty and dark. Since Jadzia's death, Worf found
himself reliving every moment of their short time together. With his
first step onto Deep Space Nine, she had made it clear that she wanted
to mate with him or rather she wanted a Klingon mate. He had sometimes
felt that she would have accepted any Klingon not just himself.

Her knowledge of Klingon tradition and lore was amazingly thorough,
and she seemed to have a firm grasp on Klingon ideals--at least in an
abstract sense. But when it came to living with a Klingon and
following these same ideals, it was completely different. Time and
again she would speak publically of private matters as she had when
she blurted out in Quark's Bar that they were trying to conceive a
child. Talking to her had made no difference as she continued to
follow her own path sometimes even seeming to take joy in his
embarrassment and anger. It was almost as if she were two different
people. And he supposed that in a sense she was. Jadzia was a young,
strikingly handsome woman; Dax was a centuries old symbiont.

Which of them had yearned to be Klingon, Worf wondered. Which had
loved him? Jadzia or Dax? Even more importantly which had he loved?
While she lived Worf had chosen not to dwell on this aspect of Jadzia
Dax's uniqueness. And so he had no real understanding of Trill
tradition or philosophy. Instead, he had chosen to simply love Jadzia
Dax to the best of his ability. Not as much as she deserved. Not as
much as . . . "No!" he exclaimed aloud. "Do not go there! Not now. Not
ever again."

Pulling his mind away from that forbidden thought, Worf wondered again
if Jadzia would even want to go to Stovoqor. That Curzon Dax would
welcome entry into the Klingon version of heaven, Worf had no doubt at
all. Curzon was long dead, and all that remained of him was conjoined
with the symbiont, Dax, but his reach into the future had been long.
In fact, most of Jadzia's knowledge of Klingons came through Curzon
who had bonded with three warriors of some esteem--Kor, Kang, and
Koroth. Because of Curzon's blood oath, Jadzia had fought beside the
three with honor as they sought vengeance against the Albino. She had
shown that day that she had the heart of a warrior, but did that mean
she sought Stovoqor rather than the heaven of her people?

As a Klingon, Worf found it difficult to comprehend the subtle nuances
of a Trill joining as Klingons tended to see the world in black and
white. One lived and died with honor. When a warrior's body died, the
soul traveled to Stovoqor to reside with the honored dead. There was
no living receptacle of the dead's memory or soul. Jadzia's memories
resided within such a receptacle now with Curzon, Lela, Tobin, and the
others who were Dax, but did that mean her soul lived on in Dax as
well or was her soul waiting at the gates of Stovoqor for him to prove
her worthy of entry. "Had she eaten the Albino's heart, I would not
now have this problem," Worf grumbled.

Martok had made it clear to Worf that most Klingons expected him to
follow tradition and send his mate off to live with the honored dead.
But he could not follow this path should it not be the one she wished
to follow as well. He had never forced a woman to do anything against
her will, and he was not about to start now. Worf had flouted Klingon
tradition before, and he would do so again, if it were Jadzia's wish.

Jadzia's wish. That was the crux of the problem. What was Jadzia's
wish? Stovoqor or the Trill afterlife? Neither or both? Was it even
possible to be in both? Worf wished he could discuss this problem with
another person. Someone trained in counseling the grief-stricken
survivors of sudden death. But the only person on the station with
such skills was Ezri Dax, who could barely tolerate being on the same
station with him. Although in some ways it would be like speaking with
Jadzia again, Worf feared he would learn nothing of use to his current
dilemma for his mate would likely tell him only what she believed he
wanted to hear not necessarily what she wanted for herself.

Ezri Dax posed yet another problem. Klingon tradition concerning
marriage and death was simple. A man remained married until death
separated him from his mate--or she divorced him. Jadzia's corporal
body had been killed in a fit of pique by Gul Dukat, and the
Cardassian would pay with his very life, but she lived on through Dax.
According to Trill tradition, the new Dax could not reunite with him,
but Klingon tradition seemed to demand it, since a part of Jadzia Dax
could be found now in Ezri. But Worf knew this was the lesser of his
problems since Erzi had no inclination to pursue any sort of
relationship with him, and a way could be found around Klingon
tradition if the need arose. Until then he would focus on the status
of Jadzia's soul.

Worf had been wrestling with this question since Jadzia's death, but
was no closer to finding a solution. With each passing hour, his rage
and frustration grew. He had not always loved Jadzia as he should
while she lived, he would not dishonor her further after her death.
*If only I knew what Jadzia would have wanted,* he asked himself yet
again.

As if in answer to his question, the commlink on his computer terminal
chimed loudly. Irritated at the interruption, he slapped his hand
against the link and growled, "What?"

The image on the viewscreen smiled back at him, one finely arched
eyebrow raised. "Hello, to you, too, Worf."

His heart stopped, and then began jumping wildly like a kraktor beast
in heat. Sinking into the chair in front of the terminal, Worf
whispered, "Deanna." After a momentary pause, he added, "I am sorry,
Counselor. I have been . . . tense the last few days."

The compassion she felt for him was clear and washed over his soul,
easing his heartache for just a few moments. He drew strength from
her, thirsting for surcease from his guilt and grief much as a parched
man thirsts for water. "What can I do to help?" she asked simply.

"Nothing," Worf answered. "Not unless you have Gul Dukat in the
Enterprise's brig and are holding him for me. Or can somehow turn back
time."

Ebony eyes, filled with caring sympathy, gazed into his. "I can't
provide either of those things, Worf," she said gently, "but I can
listen, if you need to talk."

Worf shrugged. "What is there to say? My mate is dead. Murdered by a
Cardassian. When I find Dukat, he will die--slowly and painfully."

"What about you?" Deanna persisted. "I can sense a deep inner turmoil
in you, Worf. Will killing Dukat ease your pain?"

Finding it impossible to look at her, he allowed his eyes to drop.
"Probably not," he admitted. Raising his eyes again, he added, "But
Jadzia must be avenged if she is to reside in Stovoqor."

Deanna stared at him for several seconds, seeming to look into his
very soul. Worf only hoped she did not uncover his innermost secret
for its revelation would serve no purpose now. When she continued to
remain silent, he said, "You look well, Deanna. I take it life with
Commander Riker suits you."

"Well enough," she replied, "but I'm here to talk about you, Worf, not
me. You look terrible. Have you been sleeping?"

"Not much," he admitted. He wanted to tell her of his problem but did
not wish to burden her.

"I'm your friend, Worf," she told him. "You know you can tell me
anything." When he said nothing, she added, "You trusted me once with
your son's upbringing. Nothing has really changed since then."

For only a few seconds or an eternity of time, Worf stared at Deanna
Troi. He let a myriad of emotions wash over him as he lost himself in
her dark eyes. Regret for lost opportunities was uppermost in his
mind, along with jealousy for her obvious happiness with Will Riker.
Shaking himself mentally, Worf forced himself to think again of
Jadzia. This was her time not Deanna's. Guilt, grief, and remorse
threatened to overwhelm him, and he began shaking.

"Worf!" Deanna exclaimed. "Please, tell me what is troubling you. I
can help you, if you'll let me."

"I cannot," he managed to say.

"You must, Worf," she urged. "Or you'll drive yourself mad with grief.
Talk to me."

"Jadzia," he began only to have his throat tighten and the words choke
off unsaid.

"What about Jadzia?" Deanna asked. "Are you afraid she won't be
admitted to Stovoqor unless she's avenged?"

Figuratively throwing back his shoulders, Worf stated, "She cannot
enter Stovoqor without my help. I must win a great battle on her
behalf."

"Why?" Deanna asked, mystified by this unfamiliar Klingon tradition.

"She has not eaten the heart of an enemy," he stated. "And so I must
wage war on her behalf."

Deanna smiled. "I know you have no fear of battle, Worf. You're the
bravest and most fool-hardy man I've ever known. So what is the
problem?"

Staring steadily into Deanna's eyes for a moment, Worf drew comfort
from her compassion yet again. And the strength to ask for help. "Does
Jadzia want to  enter Stovoqor?" he asked. "I would not force her into
anything she does not wish. But how do I know what her wishes are?
What if she does not want to be separated from her own loved ones,
Deanna? She will be alone there until my passing. What if she is
lonely? What if . . ."

His words trailed off as Deanna's fingers pressed the viewscreen as if
to touch his lips. "You are the most honorable man I have ever know,
Worf. Jadzia knows this as well. You have nothing to be ashamed of
where Jadzia is concerned. I'm certain she knew what was in your
heart."

Although the words were meant to comfort him, Worf felt a dagger in
his heart. "If she had known the truth, Jadzia would not have agreed
to marry me. If she had not wed me, I would not be forced to make this
choice. How can I force her to go to Stovoqor when I do not know if
this is her wish?"

"You can't force her to enter Stovoqor, Worf," Deanna assured him. "No
matter how many battles you wage for her, if she doesn't wish to
enter, Jadzia won't go. My guess is that she has already found her way
to her own segment of the Afterlife."

Worf was silent for a moment. "The solution cannot be so simple," he
stated firmly.

Deanna smiled at him. "Why not, Worf?" she asked. "You may fight your
battle and assuage your Klingon vengeance, gaining entry for Jadzia
into Stovoqor--should she want it."

"Thank you, Deanna," he said simply. With a rueful expression, he
added, "I seem to always choose the difficult path."

"That's because you wanted only what was best for Jadzia. Because you
loved her."

Stiffening almost imperceptibly, Worf said softly, "Not enough. Never
enough." For a moment, before she terminated the link, Worf gazed once
more into her eyes, etching her face into his memory. When she was
gone and he was staring at the Federation symbol, he whispered, "Not
nearly as much as I love you, tIqqoch."

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The End