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Disclaimer: All things Star Trek belong to Paramount. T'Lar belongs to herself.

A/N: Okay, this one takes a long explanation - I play in a real-time online Star Trek RPG (Role-playing game). For more infos check out Anyway, T'Lar is one of my characters in that game, the current one and probably the most dear to me. The following snippets will be episodes from her life. Most of them will be fairly short, and not all of them will have direct references to canon ST characters. Also, the episodes are in no particular order. Take it as a stream of consciousness thingee, if you like. :)

Questions, comments, suggestions and e-mail bombs welcome at [email protected]

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Being closely related to famous people was a difficult legacy to live up to.

The girl contemplated the saying, head cocked to one side, eyebrows raised in mild surprise. It was certainly true, she decided after a moment. And in her case, there was little chance of people forgetting or simply ignoring her relations, since she even bore the name of her famous great-aunt.

T'Lar, daughter of T'Sal, daughter of Sa'el, daughter of T'Shira stood up from her desk that was bathed in the crimson rays of the early evening and walked down the roughly hewn stone corridor that led to the more formal parts of the big house. There, halfway between the offices and the ceremonial meditation hall was what she had come to call a gallery - a number of holograms of her ancestors and other members of the large family.

T'Shira's portrait was on the southern wall. Standing in front of it as she had done so many times before, T'Lar looked closely at the three-dimensional image.

The matriarch was surrounded by her children. Sa'el, T'Lar grandmother, stood to her mother's right, her delicate features composed and serene. To her left was her sister, T'Lar's namesake; famous already by the time the holo-image had been taken. Her priestess' robes were so tidy, her face so tranquil that she looked more like an image of herself or a mannequin, not a real person.

On T'Shira's left was a heavy-set man with sharp eyes and dark olive skin. His image was appearing in the mass media more and more frequently these days, and he still looked almost the same, except for his greying hair. Sutok, T'Shira's only son, the current head of the House Sunir (that was not only one of the former ruling clans, but also related to the House Sekir of which the famous Sarek was head), and the head of V'Shar, the Vulcan Bureau of Internal Security.

T'Lar's heavy sigh was decidedly un-Vulcan.

So many famous relatives, so many expectations, so much pressure. And there she was, a girl of sixteen standard Vulcan years, and not at all sure she would be able to live up to even a small amount of them.

She turned in the direction of the home offices. There was work to be completed. She still harboured the illogical hope that no one had seen her wanderings during the time assigned for her lessons. But there was little chance of that; the huge house was always full of people.

Pausing in her heavy musings, T'Lar stopped, her sensitive ears picking up sounds of an unfamiliar voice. Her eyebrows rose almost unconsciously, the only outward sign of her over-active curiosity.

No stranger would enter a Vulcan house, and there was little enough chance of security personnel intruding since the villa was also the official residence of Sutok himself. So a friend, then. And it must be a close friend indeed, to be welcomed into the house.

While curiosity is logical, excess curiosity is a fault.

Her father's cool reprimand a very distinct memory, T'Lar focussed her mind on the assigned tasks and once again turned towards the office.

And bumped into someone with such a force that both staggered and barely stayed upright.

T'Lar looked up, mortification colouring her cheeks a bright green and almost winced, flushing even more. Great. Just great. It wasn't only a family member who was witness to her transgressions, oh no.

"My most humble apologies, kevet-dutar," she stammered.

Ambassador Sarek looked down on the girl, one eyebrow arching up in his otherwise very calm face. "You are the daughter of Stenn and T'Sal?"

T'Lar bowed, worry and embarrassment keeping her silent.

"Do you have a name, then, daughter of T'Sal?" Was it her imagination, or was Sarek indeed amused?

But she didn't have a chance to reply. Two men had entered the corridor from the main offices, and although T'Lar kept her head bowed, mostly out of shame, she knew who the men were. The day couldn't get any worse.

"T'Lar." Sutok's voice cut the thin air like a lirpa. "Why are you not in the assigned room?" She couldn't see her father's face, but Stenn's stiff posture made her cringe inwardly. Great, now she had shamed both her father and her great-uncle.

"The child is no V'Shar operative, Sutok," somebody said calmly, and it took her a second full of amazement to realise it had been Sarek. "Her transgression was minor."

Sutok and Sarek must be close friends, T'Lar pondered, still looking down at the stone floor. No stranger would ever interrupt family affairs.

"T'Lar, attend." That was her father's cold voice. Automatically she stepped closer, spine straightening, staring at something above Stenn's left ear. This sounded like trouble.

"Explain your actions, ko-kan." Serious trouble, if her father was calling her 'girl'.

"I was working on a writing assignment on legacies and heritage, Osu." Sir, not father. Paying back in kind. "It seemed logical to consult our family history for a personal perspective. I was on the way back to the office after having studied the holograms of my ancestors and family members."

It felt like all three adults had relaxed upon hearing that she had indeed not committed a major transgression, if any. Sutok's voice was first to break the silence.

"The aru-yem will start in forty-three point seven minutes. You will have completed your assignment by that time. Be in the formal shi'yem in forty minutes."

"Ha, Osu." If given an order the safest way to reply was 'yes, sir', T'Lar knew from long experience. Not that she was looking forward to a stiff dinner in the formal dining room, but there was no way her face, posture, or actions would show that.

Stenn sidestepped her, and she heard his and Sutok's steps disappear around a corner. But that meant that Sarek was still standing there. Before she could decide what to do about the venerable guest, he spoke.

"T'Lar, then. Named after Sutok's sister, I presume?"

She turned to face him, still faintly embarrassed. "Yes, kevet-dutar."

"There is no need to address me by my title, kan." There is no need to call me child, either, she thought. "How old are you, T'Lar?"

The personal question startled her, but she recovered quickly. "Sixteen standard years, Osu."

"You are finishing secondary school this year, I presume?"

"Ha, Osu."

"Any decisions as to your further education?"

She paused, considering. "Rai, Osu."

"I see." It certainly looked like a smile in Sarek's eyes. T'Lar wondered briefly whether she was the reason for the ambassador's amusement.

"Which of T'Vehnu's writings is your favourite?"

What was this, an exam? "I think the poetry in 'Stimal heh T'Vri' has the most interesting imagery, Osu."

There was no answer but that barely perceptible smile. Then, "Thank you, T'Lar. Please don't let me distract you from your studies."

She bowed quickly and walked to the door of the designated office, still wondering what that all had been about.