Author's Notes:
*Star Wars: The Old Republic belongs to Bioware and LucasArts. This goes for the images used in the cover art.
*Special thanks to the Wookieepedia for supplying all sorts of useful information.
*This is the continuation of Jaesa's story as begun in Welcome to My Nightmare and Rainmaker. Reading them isn't necessary, since you know the major plot points.
*This story takes into account the prediction made by Ragate on Korriban as a major point: "The key to your success is a small and sorry creature. But you can shape it in your image if you so desire." Thus, the Sith Warrior's 'shaping' will be more than just the gameplay restrictions requiring the superficial extreme Light Side or extreme Dark Side.
-J-
Stand my ground and never back down
I know what I believe inside
I'm awake and I'm alive!
Awake and Alive, Skillet
On Beginnings
I emerged from the quarters the Twi'lek, Vette, and I shared sometime… after… the events of Hutta, feeling rumbled and a little lost. I wasn't sure about shipboard time, but it turned out I'd woken up around lunch, for Her Lordship and the Captain were still sitting at the table. Her Lordship looked odd, since I'd never seen her in anything but her working gear and war-paint.
Now she wore a loose tunic of lightweight plum-colored silk, belted at the waist with a wide sash—black, like the leggings and ankle boots she wore. Around her throat was a black velvet band, and her red hair was piled up on top her head and held in place with filigree-topped hairpins. She wore only discreetly-applied makeup and dark, unchipped polish on her fingernails. Everything exuded expense, class and taste.
In short she looked so unlike a Sith that I wondered if, perhaps, I was meeting her identical twin.
I knew that was stupid. The energy hanging around her was unmistakable, a big, brooding thing, as if she had an invisible rancor hovering over her shoulder, ready to pounce at her least gesture.
"Good morning, Jaesa," Her Lordship called, waving me into an empty chair at the table. "Or, should I say, good afternoon? Tuvi, Jaesa's lunch, if you please." Her low tone was well-suited to the solicitude, the extension of which made me feel odd, as though I'd been shoved on-stage unexpectedly.
Tuvi turned out to be a droid that immediately swept in, burbling happily about having another palate and nutritional profile to manage. He apologized for the meal, since he did not yet have the basic information needed to draw up a proper menu for me, promising profusely that he would do better in future. His anxiety to please wasn't quite servile… he just seemed a little fussy in being able to perform his functions to a high standard.
Regardless, I wouldn't have known if he hadn't told me. The Jedi tend to eat simply on Tython and they eat whatever presents itself when elsewhere. Unless Lady Gesselle required me to join her at table—which was only when she dined privately—I ate with the rest of the servants of a plain diet.
"My lord. If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you to your charge," the Captain declared, rising to his feet as Tuvi swooped down to whisk away his dishes. He looked exactly as he had yesterday, pressed and perfectly turned out. While Her Lordship seemed more relaxed while in residence on her own ship, the Captain didn't seem to observe the same loosening of presentation.
"Of course. Thank you, Quinn." She looked him in the eye, and in every word recognized him as a person, an individual—and one worth recognizing. It wasn't what I expected of a Sith/non-Sensitive interaction. Sith were supposed to see everyone outside their Order as inferiors, barely sentient, if they bothered noticing them at all.
Only after she dismissed him did the Captain turn to me, incline his head politely, and march off—though I had the feeling that the deference thus displayed was 'what was expected' and that this man was in no way cowed or kept subservient by the Sith lord he served. This was also suggested in her tone and expression when releasing him upon his request; I don't know if she considered him an equal but she certainly gave the impression of holding him in high esteem.
He was handsome too, with dark hair and shrewd blue eyes surmounted over a set of high cheekbones. Lean and fit, it was obvious he followed Her Lordship into combat, or at least was ready to if she should wish it.
Given everything I knew—or thought I knew—about Sith, I was unprepared for Her Lordship's table. I expected something extravagant or excessive, rich and thoroughly indigestible. Instead, I was met with fish, vegetables, and some kind of pasta with a light sauce. A cup of fruit and a glass of something pale—like weak winter sun—finished the meal. All of the food was exquisitely prepared, but contrasted sharply with my imaginings of 'Sith decadence.'
I picked up the glass of pale liquid, sipped it, then grimaced. It wasn't bad, but I had the impression it was a kind of wine; Jedi aren't known for drinking.
Water in a glass appeared a moment later, hastily brought by the droid, possibly at Her Lordship's intimation. "It's a weak spirit only," Her Lordship noted, then smiled, a slightly shark-ish look that lit up her orange eyes with humor. "About the only weak spirit with a place on this ship."
"Jedi… don't have much to do with wine," I said uncertainly, not missing that her second remark had nothing to do with alcohol. It was a clever little joke, and I found myself smiling just a little over it. It included me, after all, however I might feel or whatever doubt I had about not being 'weak spirited.'
"What you drink at table is entirely a personal choice. My only concern is whether there is something to which you are allergic," she answered, her tone strangely reassuring for being so dismissive. Apparently my preferences were my preferences, therefore they were of little concern to her. That was, at least, how she made it sound. "If there is something to which you are partial, you should tell Tuvi. He loves special requests."
"Just so, Mistress!" the droid piped up in its oddly high-pitched voice. "I function to serve."
I took another sip of the wine, trying to decide if I liked it or not. Since I couldn't decide any better after a second sip than after the first, I turned my attention into the rest of the meal.
Her Lordship was still picking at her own bowl of soft fruits, so joining her so late didn't feel as awkward as it might have.
"You're very quiet," Her Lordship noted, without a hint of criticism.
I was glad of the open door into conversation the comment provided. "I—there's a lot on my mind… uh, m-my master." It was strange referring to her that way, though I couldn't say why. Maybe it was just because she was so unlike the Jedi and unlike my expectations of a Sith. I wouldn't want to use her given name—it seemed too familiar—but I didn't like the generic Jedi form of address, either.
"Indeed? Is there anything, perhaps, with which I can be of assistance?" She set her spoon aside and gave me her full orange-eyed attention.
"Oh, I…" I stuttered for a moment, soothed only by the calm patience she radiated—and quite possibly up-played for my benefit. "Well… I'm-I'm a little uncertain about… everything. What-what exactly is my role, here? I'm not sure that a Sith novice—apprentice—is exactly the same thing as a Jedi Padawan and…" I trailed off, feeling the worry crease appear between my brows. "I don't want to, you know, get all this wrong." It was a lame way to end a sentence.
She smiled at me. It was not a kind smile—Her Lordship did not strike me as a kind person, per se—but it was reassuring. "I understand. You've been thrown into the middle of things rather abruptly, which is why we will begin your lessons after lunch. In the meantime, what is your expectation of your role? How do you perceive our relationship? So that I may know how to answer you without missing any critical misconceptions you might hold."
I squirmed in my seat, clenching the material of my robes to still the gesture. "I am your apprentice. I obey you in all things, no matter what. My life is yours." It was what I could piece together from my life as a Jedi. They never had anything flattering to say about the Sith Order (though I sometimes thought this was willful blindness, since the Sith had to have some values or studies worth noting—right?).
"That is very close to the traditionalist mindset," Her Lordship responded with a nod. "But the traditionalist mindset is often wasteful. I was brought up differently—privately tutored, as it were. As my apprentice, you are an investment. Whether you rise and excel or die ignominiously is a direct reflection on me. On my training of you. Therefore, your training is something I will always take seriously. That said, you cannot learn if you cannot ask questions."
It made me feel like one of those little meditation trees some of the older Jedi used to grow and prune as a hobby. The ones that, no matter how careful you are or how much you work on it, is never quite done, never quite perfect. But it's a process that can't be rushed either, thus it requires patient dedication. I found myself… comforted by the idea. That my training seemed to be more than just my special gift, that she was looking at me as something, some whole, that required time, care, and effort to cultivate properly. A work in progress.
"So, speak respectfully, particularly when we are in company, and remember that you reflect well or ill upon me. But you may hold your head up and you may bring to me any question, any concern, no matter how trivial. I will do whatever I can to assist you with it. If you feel it necessary, or know it to be so, speak out what you know. I want you to be comfortable, here. If it is easier for you, then think of me a sort of close cousin rather than your master."
I felt a reluctant smile playing at my lips, remembering how comfortable both the Captain and Vette seemed to be with Her Lordship—each after their own fashion—once Darth Baras was no longer a presence. For his eyes, Her Lordship barely noticed the Captain and ignored Vette entirely. For his eyes, the Captain and Vette were properly submissive to the Sith—a submissive Imperial stooge and a slave in lock-step.
I didn't need a cousin, but thinking of her as a kind of familialfigure unknotted some of my concerns. It is decidedly not how the Jedi Master/Padawan relationship operates. Then again, I begin to suspect Her Lordship is not the average Sith, either. "I am comfortable. More comfortable with you—with the Dark Side—than I ever was with the Jedi." I can't lie to myself: I threw in the Dark Side thing because I thought it was what she wanted to hear.
From the expression that crossed her face, I suspected she knew it, but she did not chastise me about it. I had examples, powerful examples, of what came when one was dishonest with oneself. As long as I did not persist in believing the lie and give evidence of believing it, she would let me have my way.
"So. What are we doing now?" I asked.
"We're waiting for the agents Darth Baras sent to retrieve Nomen Karr to deliver him to Dromund Kaas. We shall follow in a few days—it gives you time to acclimatize a little to the many changes you're going through. It also gives me time to ascertain how you have been trained, where you require refinement and where your skills are acceptable."
Evaluations before throwing me into a new environment; I wasn't sure whether to feel comforted or not. "I… haven't been trained much," I admitted, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. The Jedi—Nomen Karr, anyway—were so excited about my gift that I felt as though I'd been rushed through a basic orientation before being whisked away. At the time, it didn't bother me too terribly—I was so much older than those who were 'on my level' which made being around them difficult… and left me feeling distracted me from my studies.
Now, though…
"I know, Jaesa," Her Lordship answered, almost gently. "And, believe it or not, that disservice now works in your favor. I have fewer things to un-teach you with regards to practical application. Your mind is still flexible and adaptable. My concerns are your interaction with the Force beyond use of your gift, the philosophy you've been indoctrinated with—" I almost smiled at the disgust in her tone as she spoke the word 'indoctrinated.' "—and whatever martial skills you have acquired."
Or not acquired.
One only needed to look at Her Lordship to see she valued combat capability. Or rather, I saw it last night. The red arc of a lightsaber flashed through my mind; she should have cut right through me, and done it effortlessly. That moment of terror followed by the realization that I was miraculously alive resonated in my mind, leaving me cold but strangely tingly every time I thought about it.
It wasn't the cold of terror, though. More like… awe. I really did feel that, in that moment, she really truly had severed me from my past. Both of them.
Her tunic of today hid the defined, powerful muscles of her belly and the chiseled muscles of her arms. She might have access to Force but clearly she maintained herself as though she didn't.
"To be honest, the Jedi philosophies left me more questions than answers," I responded morosely.
"So much the better. I hope that I will be able to provide you answers and not rhetoric."
I looked up from my fish, which I found myself flaking idly with my fork. "Do the Sith have a-a code? Or something comparable?"
"We do. But it's more like a…" she paused, twirling her fingers thoughtfully before settling on her next words. "A personal affirmation than a code of conduct. Shall I recite it now or would you like your lunch to be lesson-free?"
"I'd like it now, please." I craved information more than I did food, though I took a few hasty bites to show that I was not rejecting the meal. It was particularly good, light and wholesome and made me realize I really was kind of hungry.
Her Lordship inclined her head, then spoke. Her tone rose and fell, giving the words a cadence that tugged at my guts. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion I gain strength; through strength, power; through power, victory. Through victory my chains are broken." She looked up abruptly, her orange eyes catching mine the way a snake's catch and hold a bird's. The sudden contact with those predatory orange eyes combined with the sudden steely bark in her tone made the next words seem to ring in my mind. "The Force shall set me free."
I weighed this against the Jedi Code and found that the Sith Code left far fewer things to question. It was blunt, up-front, and did not have a lot of room for argument or interpretation. It made sense. It wasn't an ideal to strive for; it was a directive, an approach to achieving goals. "The Force shall set me free," I repeated, my skin breaking out into gooseflesh.
I remembered our conversation of last night, while adrenaline pounded in my veins and shock of expecting to be dead but not being so yanked my mind to open stillness.
'What do you want from me?'
'To set you free.'
"Yes." She blinked and the sense of being hooked up to a power cable ceased. It was no Force trick she'd played; it had all been personality and presentation. "Sith believe that recognizing our emotions, allowing them to flow and carry us, is the path to power. To ignore them is not only to put aside a valuable asset, but to hand weapons to an enemy. That which exists outside your range of perception—especially what you willfully keep at bay—is not subject to your will or your control. Repression is a most unwise practice."
"I've seen enough of that to last me a lifetime," I mumbled before taking a sip of my water.
Her Lordship let the sentiment go unremarked upon, and then I realized that what I'd said versus what I was thinking did not translate as I'd expressed it.
"I mean," I added hastily, "I've spent my whole life feeling kept or confined, always having to watch what I say, treating emotion as the enemy. You're right: it's stupid to let things within you happen outside your control." It was a new way of looking at the idea 'Sith are control freaks.' More than that… it made me wonder how inaccurate that assessment really is.
"Ah, I see. Then you are on the right track. Self-awareness is intensely important; therefore, strive for it. It will keep you from insanity or being crippled from within. It is a lesson not everyone appreciates." She proceeded to describe three Sith who exemplified her point: her old mentor Tremel, a Lord Renning on Korriban, and an apprentice at the Sith Academy called Saria.
"I will make it a priority. I won't hold anything back, like I've been doing."
"Be brave, Jaesa," Her Lordship encouraged. "And finish your lunch. Then, we'll discuss your training and get started with it." With that, she picked up her fork again and continued eating her bowl of fruit.
"What will I learn?" I asked, picking at my pasta and—now that I had an abundance of answers and information to chew on—finding that it tasted very good indeed. In fact, with so many things settled I realized I was absolutely starving as opposed to the mildly hungry I'd thought before.
"Lightsaber combat, certainly," Her Lordship mused, hinting that there was a lot to do there, but in a way that suggested my instructors were to blame for my ineptitude. "Force manipulation. Politics of the Sith and the intricacies of Society, since you'll have to move in my circles. So, to that end, there will be some etiquette—though I suspect you have more than a basic grounding, there. An apprentice is a reflection on her master, after all, and I cannot expect you to reflect me well without ensuring you know what you need to know."
I nodded. The list was short, but I still felt overwhelmed.
"A little bit at a time. I promise," Her Lordship added, aware that what she had learned over a lifetime was being heaped on me, more or less, all at once.
It had been a long time since I felt I could put any faith in anyone's promises. It was strange to find myself doing so, now.
On Crewmen
Her Lordship's crew was comprised of two people, in addition to Her Lordship, me and three droids. The three droids were gifts from her family, two for combat practice and Tuvi to serve as a sort of butler and droid-of-all-work. At the very least, Tuvi seemed more than happy with his lot in life. You couldn't poke your nose into the galley without him asking if you wanted a snack, or a drink, or shooing you out since 'anything this close to a meal would spoil your appetite.'
In addition to the droids were Vette, and Captain Quinn.
Vette was a chirrupy creature of pleasant disposition, prone to letting her mouth run. That it ran so freely indicated Her Lordship didn't particularly care what Vette said or how she said it—and the Twi'lek was smart enough to know not to make Her Lordship care—as long as they weren't in company. Apparently snatched from the slave pens of Korriban, she had been gifted to Her Lordship by Darth Baras who had authorized the initial release of Vette into Her Lordship's temporary custody.
Although still a slave on paper, that status was regarded as inoperative by Her Lordship (and somewhat grudgingly by the Captain). Vette neither wore a collar nor was she used as a servant; she was permitted to bear arms; furthermore, provided Her Lordship could contact her and that Vette could appear promptly when called back to the ship, Vette was permitted to move freely when her blasters were not required.
I had the impression that Vette spent a lot of time watching the ship since Captain Quinn joined the crew. The Twi'lek did not complain—why should she, when it was so much safer for her?—but I sometimes thought that she felt a bit displaced by the Captain. Vette had little use for the man, referring to him by a number of monikers, my favorite of which was Captain Starch-and-March.
Vette was good company and seemed to take it as her personal task to make sure I settled in on the Astral Blight. Underneath the cheerfulness, and I detected it without using my special gift, was a sort of sad weariness. I thought she was glad to be in a place that was fairly stable. It was clear she respected Her Lordship and possessed a true loyalty to the Sith that would require only a little nurturing to become an unbreakable thing. Her sympathy for me for having had to go through so much pain seemed genuine enough, though she hid this as best she could.
She wasn't someone who liked watching others suffer.
I wasn't sure whether it was appropriate to use my gift on Her Lordship's crew, so I made up my mind to refrain from doing so. Her Lordship hadn't commented on it, so I took it as a vote of confidence that I would know when it was or was not appropriate.
Vette and I shared the dormitory, which was large enough for six or eight people. Her things spilled everywhere; the night before found her hastily picking them up and shoving them onto one side of the room so as to leave the other side available to me.
She had an odd collection of things that made me think of magpies and muskrat dens—only without the nasty connotations of the latter. It was clear she liked to tinker, since there were several small eviscerated artifacts. She also like shiny, silky, or plush materials. The bunk she used had several swathes of fabric inexpertly pierced along one side and hung off the privacy curtain's rod.
It should be noted that the privacy curtain itself, a neutral toned heavy material, huddled at the foot of her bed, utterly despised.
The light curtains had been pushed aside when I came in, revealing fat pillows that (it turned out) she would kick out at night only to toss back into place before she broke an ankle tripping over them the next morning. The curtain was a minor precaution, should the Captain appear at break of day (or the equivalent thereof) for some strange reason.
'I'm not Her Lordship. His face is the last thing I want to see first off in the morning.'
Meaning, as I read between the lines, to coldly correct Vette for some prank she'd played. The Twi'lek rubbed him so much the wrong way that I decided she did it out of impishness (rather than malice) and in her own way to let the Captain know he was 'alright' and 'not so bad' and 'not scary at all' in the grand scheme of things. The very, very grand scheme of things.
The Captain did not share the dormitory with us girls, which was something of a relief to me. My closest associates on Alderaan had always been female; while on Tython I bunked with several other girls my age (but further along in their training); while with Master Karr, I had my own room. Thus, a male roommate and a lack of privacy worried me.
I worried needlessly: the Astral Blight, being designed for Sith use, had two private quarters, one for the master and one for the apprentice. Apparently, Her Lordship put the Captain in the apprentice's quarters upon his addition to the crew. I got the impression from Vette that Her Lordship would make Vette and the Captain share quarters, or even an entire barracks, if and only if she wanted the ship or building destroyed.
Having observed what I had about Her Lordship and Captain Quinn, I wasn't surprised to find they didn't share quarters. Had I not observed them both as I had—her with my gift, him with an attention to detail—I might have expected it.
The Captain was a little less stiff aboard ship. He still called her 'my lord,' it's true, but there seemed to be less formality than there was off-ship. Despite the title, it didn't stop him from being exasperated or flustered by her, or from assuming a friendlier tone better suited to using her name rather than her title.
Apparently the Captain was a jack of all trades—medic, pilot, strategist, fighter. His value to any crew was obvious.
When I asked, he indicated he'd been stationed on Balmorra for some time before Darth Baras' machinations brought Her Lordship to that world. His recital of the events of Balmorra—the seizing of it from ipso facto Republic control—was so colorless that I made a mental note to ask Vette about it. It had the skeleton of being a great story, and I was curious about Her Lordship's exploits.
Now, I was not so unskilled that I missed the tension that ran through the Captain at mention of Darth Baras or that he treated the topic of Her Lordship as one avoids a topic he's liable to expound too much upon. There was pride in serving her that there was not, exactly, in serving Darth Baras. I read it that he was obligated to the latter but willingly served the former.
It was also very clear to any Force user with 'ears' that the Captain was miles away from having no… personal interest… in Her Lordship. Quite the contrary… and I think the attraction was strong enough to unnerve him.
This association with Baras made me make a mental note to use my gift on him periodically, should Her Lordship and Baras ever have a falling-out, just to make sure he did not become compromised. I'm sure Her Lordship is quite capable of managing her underlings, but I see it as part of my duty to protect her interests.
Apparently, Her Lordship found the Captain to be more stimulating company than she did Vette. I could see why: the man had a mind like a razor—sharp, dangerous when turned upon a foe… and dangerous to an unwary handler. Interestingly enough, this was similar to the Captain's primary liking for Her Lordship—the physical attraction was very much a secondary thing.
As it was, they usually spent the hours between the end of supper and bedtime playing games. From what I could tell, they usually played dejarik, though they sometimes tapped the droid, Tuvi, for a game of Gambit. As Gambit was a game intended for more than two people, I was immediately encouraged to come and learn so the lessons the game instilled could be considered practical training. Her Lordship mentioned it was a favorite game of her father—Dahdee, she called him—and some of his friends.
It was her second-dearest ambition to wipe the floor with him during a game.
Her first ambition was to wipe the practice floor with him, as he required her to maintain her childhood training schedule if she was under his roof.
I didn't talk much during these games, although Her Lordship and the Captain did converse a little—usually light topics, just so they didn't have to play in silence. Sometimes politics. Sometimes the arts. Occasionally he would ask about something related to Force-users or some rudiment of the training a Sith received. She was judicious and careful when answering these questions—though whether to preserve secrets or because it was difficult to explain to a non-Sensitive, I couldn't tell. Maybe a little of both.
Depending on how and whether she answered, I was occasionally called in to offer the Jedi angle. It was comforting to know that, although asked to supply that viewpoint, I was never treated as a Jedi or a defector. I might as well have been an infiltrator into the Jedi Order, such was the impression I was given.
The Captain had a great many questions about that. Reading between the lines, he'd had a run-in with a Jedi (I could guess who) that had incapacitated him in some way, leaving him desirous of not repeating the experience.
I didn't miss the slightly guilty way Her Lordship glanced at the Captain's ribs before seeming to study the shape of his skull. I wondered what it was about, but suspected it would be unwise to ask.
On Personal History
I didn't learn much about my master for several days after joining her crew. In fact, I learned about her crew—and much about them—before I learned about her. This was not due to her having no time for me, but because she assumed if I needed something, however trivial, I would come to her and ask.
I won't lie: I felt kind of stupid for having waited so long. The stupidity felt less embarrassing when Vette sympathetically admitted that she had had a similar experience—though she didn't say in what context—and that Her Lordship simply liked to be asked, even if she could predict what would be asked before it was.
As it turned out, her full name was Hellanix Balanchine-Renault, but she went by Hella unless formality was needed (or preferred). Her story about her name was that her mother had been seized by foolishness and her father had been too tired one evening to argue with her about the naming of their as-yet unborn daughter.
Her Lordship was a shade taller than average for a woman, but powerfully built which gave a deceptive impression of thickness. Unlike many Force-users who allow themselves to fall into physical mediocrity or even frailty by relying solely on the Force, Her Lordship maintained that it was unwise to put all one's eggs in one's basket and risk vulnerability if one's ability to utilize the Force was ever impinged. There are ways to do that.
The way she smiled when she said it made me think this was the reason she presented to the galaxy at large, but that the truth was far more complicated.
Red hair and orange eyes gave her a fierce look to begin with, a look she played up while in her working clothes by using thick makeup—almost greasepaint—to accentuate the eyes, the hollows of her cheeks, and her mouth. She admitted to me that the habit of painting the upper lip and only a thick line down the lower was a Dromund Kaas fashion statement and not a practicality at all.
It sounded to me that she liked the touch of refinement while rampaging her way through the galaxy.
Take off her makeup and one would discover her jaw was a little on the heavy side and that her lower lip naturally pouted, which made it easy for her to look sullen. Her skin had already acquired that pale alabaster look the Dark Side eventually confers upon those who follow it, though not that pasty white better suited to a Rattataki than to a human. The flesh showed a bit papery at the corners of her eyes, but that was all—she attributed all this to not wasting energy trying to hide what she was as well as a distinctly pragmatic view of violence, bloodshed, and the things Jedi refer to as 'Dark Side actions.'
She was methodical and calculating, my new master. For her, the things Jedi cliché as 'characteristic to Sith' were merely levers and pry bars, not motivations. Not to say I didn't think she enjoyed her work; she struck me as amenable to getting bloody in pursuit of her goals… she was simply less 'unstable' than I'd been led to believe a powerful Sith could be—and she was definitely powerful.
For shipboard life, she kept her cosmetics to a minimum—arguing that putting them on every day despite no one but the crew seeing her was a matter of discipline, the same kind of discipline that accompanied getting dressed, or bushing her hair and teeth. It was the same kind of discipline as putting on her leathers and 'war paint' (though she never used that term)—discipline cuts a path into all ventures; the mindset is everything. She also avoided the 'overly Sith look' when aboard ship, preferring a simple style of dress that, in its very simplicity, screamed great expense.
She was not shy about the fact that she was an aristocrat on Dromund Kaas, though she reiterated in small ways that I was not to hang about as a handmaiden but to pay attention and learn from her examples. I was grateful for this: guess what my first impulse would be?
The Balanchine side of the family was her mother Magdalena's, an old family of nobility who had moved in the Empire's highest social circles for time immemorial. Unfortunately, as Her Lordship said, lifestyles have price tags and her mother was the poor descendent left holding the about-to-fall-due bill.
Enter Sith Lord Augustine Renault. I wasn't completely sure, but Her Lordship made him sound like an accountant, if the Sith had such things, and in controlling money he controlled others. Or rather, he insulated himself from some of the worst a Sith such as himself could expect. In fact, Lord Augustine's real claim to fame was his skill as a swordsman—though not necessarily a master combatant; he seemed to have a reputation that discouraged testing his ability. It was from him that Her Lordship learned her craft.
She painted him as a monster and hated him in the way any small creature hates the larger creature that wounds it but never kills it. His had been a school of hard lessons, but Her Lordship was quick to point out that she would not be having this—or any other—conversation if it had been otherwise. She'd have been killed long ago. As it was, she'd made great use of his teachings on Korriban and come through the place rather quickly.
So the Balanchine family was reinvigorated by Lord Augustine's money and Lord Augustine joined the high society under the auspices of his wife's name. Her Lordship, then, carried both names and all the baggage both of them bore. As her parents' only child, she was set to inherit everything, but was so glad to be away from Dromund Kaas high society that the idea of speeding up the day her inheritance came into her hands was not even a nascent one.
She also had a godfather, a Moff by name of Timothy Thorne. When she spoke of him, her tone held fewer barbs and, although I couldn't be sure, I suspected she was fonder of him than she was of her own parents. He may well have been the only prominent adult figure in her life to give her a reason for fondness.
Her Lordship had not been threatened with marriage or anything else: her mother taught her to be a socialite; her father trained her to be Sith; and between the two of them—so Her Lordship said—they'd created quite the monster. I had the impression Her Lordship was still just testing her teeth and claws in the larger galaxy and was eager to employ them. This accorded well, since I was only just finding my own.
It was clear that she both loved and hated her family, which I began to suspect was a common Sith trait. Whoever said there was a fine line between love and hate was more right than he or she knew.
I found I shared the curious paradigm. I remember loving my parents. I remember my mother had a kind smile, and my father had gentle hands. I came to them later in life, and was their little joy. I loved them, truly. I was even glad, to a degree, to do as they wished as an obedient daughter should.
I was betrothed at sixteen to a minor noble—a cousin of Lady Gesselle's. The match was partly secured by her good word, because—she said—she was fond of me and it was the best she could think of to do. I'd met the young man several times and although he was probably 'a good man' as Lady Gesselle said, it was only the thought that my rise would bring my parents with me that kept me from rejecting the notion completely. They were getting old, after all.
Sixteen is so far from eighteen, when I could be married.
Seventeen… less so. And as my seventeenth year dawned, I began getting nervous, worried knots in my stomach.
I saw more of my intended and, while there was nothing objectionable, I started to feel caged. Even though I spent time with him I didn't really feel I knew him. He didn't make good conversation; in fact, I began to feel I was nothing more than a pair of ears to hear his tales of personal triumph and a mouth with which to praise him for them. It wasn't hard to imagine myself ending up another relic in his manor, one more pretty piece in his collection. The only difference was that I lived and breathed. I tried to convince myself, at the time, that I was probably doing him an injustice or two.
I didn't talk about my fears or the growing unwillingness to go through with the scheme. I was a good daughter, or so I told myself.
It was why I threw myself on the opportunity to leave Alderaan when my Force sensitivity was recognized. As I look back… I wonder why no one saw it. Then again, in the Empire families hope their children will be Force Sensitive and, maybe someday, Sith. In the Republic… well. Some families are more than happy to let the Jedi have their children. Others… well. Being born Force Sensitive in the Republic isn't remotely the same.
The Jedi plan didn't go over well, either. The world of Tython was pretty, picturesque, not drastically different from Alderaan, though the culture certainly was. Being lectured on controlling my emotions by a five-year-old with a sanctimonious expression? That… was not a good day.
The problem was that I was seventeen; most Padawans are much younger, about the same age as Her Lordship was when her father started training her. I was 'too old' by so many standards. I heard it behind my back so often that I wanted to scream. Which, of course, brought down lectures and cautions about the Dark Side. It wasn't as bad hearing it from people my own age as it was from children half of it… but it was bad enough.
I heard it so often I began to wonder whether the Dark Side wasn't the Tython version of Alderaan's 'Man in the Basement.'
They were right, the Jedi Masters, that it was harder for someone like me to learn the basic skills taught by the Order. I won't lie: I think Nomen Karr was supposed to be teaching me more of these basics and not trying to exploit my special gift so much. Her Lordship was quick to point out, with the critical eye of someone intending to fix what she saw, that my lightsaber work was passable but I was still resisting reliance on anything but my special gift.
Never put all one's eggs in one basket.
It hadn't taken too long to realize that Karr was more interested in my power than in me. At first, though, I was glad to be off Tython, was so eager to please. This attitude was already crumbling when Her Lordship finally entered my life (albeit not as a physical presence at the time).
I was afraid of her for a long time. But I also grew to admire her—that admiration came too quickly for my own comfort. She was bold, strong, unstoppable. She assailed the logic Karr tried to feed me over, and over again, proved without effort that he wasn't taking my wellbeing seriously since he didn't take the safety of those she could strike at seriously.
It was a hard time for me: I hated her for hurting the people I cared about. But the Jedi kept harping about hate being the road to the Dark Side. I asked Karr, in a fit of pique one day, what I was supposed to feel since we 'don't like' the Sith but we don't actually 'hate' them.
In brief, he fed me the Jedi Code, patted me on the head and sent me to the kiddie table while the grown-ups talked.
I hated her for killing Master Yonlach, a wise if set-in-his-ways old man.
Strangely enough, I hated her less after the deaths of my parents. Killing Master Yonlach, a Jedi, was a protracted affair. From what I could tell—and of what she promised with no lie in her—my parents died quickly and cleanly. I could understand Sith-Jedi altercations being messy affairs, so I was grateful that she was quick and efficient with collateral damage.
And really, if it hadn't been for her master directing her she would never have bothered to get involved with my affairs. So hating her would be like hating someone's lightsaber: the tool that did the deed. I have since decided that I hate her master—a fat old Darth, probably ugly to boot, called Baras—which is fortunate since she isn't too fond of him, either.
I look forward to having a role in establishing Her Lordship in his place. No doubt she will fill the post far better.
When I ventured to express the opinion that this whole Sith thing about masters burning through apprentices like an alcoholic does a free bar, she laughed and agreed. "It is as I once said to my master, upon discovering that Master Yonlach had been permitted to escape so many years ago: 'And now I have to clean up the Dark Council's mess.' To which he responded that 'the Council often lacks foresight.' It is a wasteful system, but as in nature the strongest, the most cunning, the most able survive. Remember this fact of nature."
That was when she described how her father got out of regular Sith politics. His choice would be frowned upon, of course, but he lives the high life in relative safety (relative for a Sith) with a beautiful wife (whom he doesn't absolutely detest), bearing a title both within the Sith and within high society, with a daughter who is a rising star among the Sith, in a big house in the countryside of Dromund Kaas. There were worse retirements, and even the Sith who frowned on him knew it, even if they mightn't admit to knowing.
According to Her Lordship, anything outside the Kaas City city limits is 'the countryside' and it's a statement of wealth and power to maintain a home out there since the jungle's primary purpose in existence is to devour all of civilization and everyone along with it.
I'm not sure if she's joking or not. It doesn't matter: eventually, I'll be able to see for myself what Dromund Kaas is like, since that's where her home and her master are both located.