Someone To Fight For
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It's deja-vu almost all over again as Gaerwen stirs back to consciousness. The heart monitor beeps slowly and evenly at her bedside, and it's the first thing she hears upon coming to. When her eyes open partially, she sees a familiar Mirialan standing over her, fiddling with a datapad.
"Oh, Master Aurell," Attros Finn smiles warmly and turns his attention to her. "I'm glad to see you're awake!"
Coruscant then. At least this time, to her relief, she knows where she is and there's no need to struggle against the medical procedures currently in place. As her body and mind sluggishly stir back to life again, Gaerwen tries to sit up, but Attros ends up helping her by propping up the pillow.
"We didn't expect you to come to so quickly. You really are a fighter, just like Master Yuon."
Gaerwen manages a weak half-smile that's mostly faked. The wound produced by Master Yuon's absence still seems so fresh despite the several passed months. Attros Finn's intentions are good, but they aren't necessarily the right medicine at this time. It's with resigned indifference that she wearily thanks her good friend for his time and care.
"You need to rest. Your protocol droid delivered the crate to Master Gend. It's currently locked away in quarantine," he frowns, "for good reason, clearly. At least the Dreadmasters will have one less tool in their arsenal."
"Please send Master Gend my regards and my apologies. I meant to deliver it personally."
"He came here earlier this morning. He… he was very shocked by what happened. He's very gracious for your work, your near sacrifice, and he's very happy to see that you're on the path to recovery."
Gaerwen nods, offers another smile again, and she wonders how many more faked ones she has stocked up in her reserves. He hands her a glass of water a few minutes later and she greedily gulps the cool liquid down, however painful it turns out to be as a result of her brutally injured throat and neck.
"Thank you," she says, handing the emptied glass to Attros.
The fellow Jedi isn't blind. They have been good colleagues for the past several months, occasionally keeping in touch whenever possible over HoloNET messages, and Attros Finn knows when Wendy Aurell is putting on a display. He gives her credit for trying to be strong, and he can only imagine the degree of physical trauma that caused this a few days ago. The Twi'lek who brought her here to the Senate medcenter had been particularly distressed and almost overly impatient with him, which alone had been enough to raise alarm signals.
"Attros, would it be possible to perhaps move somewhere more comfortable? I'm… I'm feeling a bit claustrophobic by all of these machines and wires in me."
"Of course, if you're sure, Wendy, there's a room for patients to relax when they're not in their rooms."
Attros Finn removes the inhibiting medical equipment from her and carefully helps her slip on some socks with rubber spots on the soles, then helps her out of the med-bed. Once she's on her feet, she quietly thanks him again and stands on her own, partially hunched over at first. Thankfully her head feels steady, without any residual dizziness, when she stands up straight and starts to slowly follow him out of the room. He guides her to an open area where patients can look outside at the Coruscanti skyline from a large window. To Gaerwen's surprise, it's the middle of the evening on Coruscant and there are no other patients here at this time.
"Thank you Attros," she says again once they stand before the large window; it seems like it's the only few words she can mumble at this time without cracking entirely.
He nods, and as he leaves, he turns on the lights inside of this room for her. When she blinks, she sees her faded reflection in the window. The blatantly ugly bruises stand out immediately, and she closes her eyes, trying desperately to dispel the image—it's hard enough staying composed.
"Can you leave them off, please?" She asks hesitantly.
"Oh…well, of course. Okay. If you need anything, please, don't hesitate to call out. I'll be just down the hall checking on a few other patients."
Gaerwen doesn't reply because she can't find her voice, can't stop herself from releasing the low, traitorous sob. She shudders and finds it necessary to wrap her arms shakily around herself in order to keep herself steady. When she opens her eyes, her reflection stares at her once again, mirroring her every moment: hand covering her mouth, wet cheeks, and uncertainty behind her eyes.
She wishes she hadn't woken up, however selfish that sentiment is—she isn't ready to have the weight of the world and more placed back onto her shoulders. She doesn't want to be afraid, she knows there's no need to be scared now. Yet, nonetheless, Gaerwen tenses upon hearing footsteps enter the room and feeling his Force signature.
Sometimes he forgets just how young Gaerwen is, and as they both run back to House Organa, with her tugging his hand and laughing, he feels as if he's significantly younger too.
It doesn't surprise him how she manages to find the only judge in all of House Organa's plaza by happenstance. It isn't luck, but the timing of their run in is perfect, and it almost makes him believe in some higher power continuing to push them together. Like so many of his experiences with Gaerwen, this too is a first, one that they share. Zenith certainly never believed this day would ever happen—he never fantasized about marrying someone in the middle of a noble family's plaza, in the middle of a marketplace by a judge he doesn't know, with so many strangers looking on at the spontaneous ceremony.
Gaerwen's charmed them all with her wide sunshine smiles, and one of the owners of a nearby flower vendor offers her a colorful bouquet. It only makes her smile reach her blue eyes, and he knows this is the happiest she's been since before the events of Corellia. So much has happened—from grief and stress caused by their duties to the galaxy, from separation caused by his work as opposition leader, and now their new job going after the remaining Children. Yet every day, he wakes up with her strength by his side. It's true, he's a happier man because of her.
It isn't a traditional wedding ceremony, not by any stretch of the imagination. There are pieces of grass in her hair, but they only seem to add to her natural beauty. She's so in touch with the Force, so in tune with her surroundings, and that's admirable and fascinating, even if he doesn't entirely understand it. His coat is still singed and bloodied by their earlier confrontation with the Child. Suddenly he's more thankful than ever to have gotten to the Child in time—none of this would have happened if not for their success. Her "impossible wedding" is now a very real, very possible wedding.
The judge, a stockier man with a well-trimmed white beard and a bald head, recites the proper official words. Then, he instructs for them, one at a time, to recite the vows to one another after joining hands. Gaerwen goes first, and she's radiating with excitement; she means every word. She says every word clearly and eloquently: she isn't nervous at all, but her cheeks are as red as zherries.
When it comes time for Zenith to recite the standard vows, he truly knows and understands just how nervous he is—this is beyond public speaking, this is everything to her, everything to him, and he's never been this anxiety ridden before. There have been many situations that have set him on edge, many instances where he was worried about the upcoming fight against Imperials, but this is nothing of the sort. He tries to remember all of her pieces of advice for public speaking: "Speak slowly, evenly—say everything from the heart. That's how you give a speech that people will remember."
"I, Zenith, take you, Gaerwen Aurell, to be my beloved wife, to have and to hold, to honor, to treasure, to be at your side in sorrow and in joy, in the good times, and in the bad, and to love and cherish you always. I promise you this from my heart, for all the days of my life." He stares into her eyes and sees the sky, the stars, the sun and the moon—everything he's ever passed by in life. This is the future he wanted. This is the future he fought for. "Before these witnesses I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live. I take you with all your faults and your strengths as I offer myself to you with my faults and strengths. I will help you when you need help, and I will turn to you when I need help. I choose you as the person with whom I will spend my life."
"By the power vested in me, I name you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
He doesn't need to be told twice. Zenith leans forward, meets her half-way and kisses her. She wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him back with more fervor than ever before. Distantly the gathered crowd of Organa citizens claps and cheers, but he doesn't care about them—he has her, and that's all he ever needs. He gave up the view so he could dance with her.
The light pouring through the window is faint and poor at best, but it's enough for him to see her shadowed frame dressed in a pale blue medical gown. To his temporary relief, the room is empty besides her—he doesn't imagine he could do this with others watching.
At first Zenith's frozen in place, too uncharacteristically anxious to take a step forward and face his reckoning. He would rather take a grenade to the chest than face what's to come. Eventually, his feet move forward, however slow and uneven—it isn't bravery or courage that guides him, but remorse. Finally he comes to stand beside her, though a good several inches away.
Neither one says anything for several minutes, as if they're acclimating to the others' presence. This time, however, he knows it's cowardly to remain silent, but he also knows that he was the transgressor, and he refuses to overstep his bounds. Gaerwen isn't a fragile doll, he knows that very well, and he respects her too much to try anything beyond her wishes.
"You said to me 'Love is blindness.'"
Zenith blinks and looks at her reflection, and he's surprised to see her staring back at him through her mirror image. He frowns when his eyes fall upon the finger-sized bruises on her neck—his chest constricts, his hands tighten into fists, and perhaps if he weren't in her presence, he'd slam his fist against the window and yell out. He failed her; he promised to protect her, always, that first time she came to him in the cargo hold, barely holding together, ready to crumble in his arms. He intended to protect her, but he didn't understand the Seeds of Rage, didn't know what they could do. Thus, instead of protecting her from the unknown, he should have protected her from himself.
"'Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.'"
He presses his head against the solid window and painfully clenches his jaw.
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage."
Zenith turns to look at her directly, no longer content with a mirror image, however similar.
"I forgive you Zenith. I forgave you the moment you—"
"Don't. Don't…say it," he pauses, "please."
"Love is unconditional." She reaches up to rub her eyes, and finally Gaerwen turns to look at him. His heart stops, skips a beat, when she smiles, however weakly. "And I love you."
Zenith often finds himself stunned by her mercy, by her compassion, and by all the things he accused her of as a sign of collaborating with the Sith. How foolish, to think that such virtues could ever be malignant. Gaerwen moves towards him and wraps her arms around his torso, pressing herself tightly against his chest. It's enough of a sign for him to carefully return the gesture, and he holds onto her gently.
"I'm sorry." It needs to be said either way, however much she says she forgives him—it's the first step in forgiving himself. "I should have trusted your judgment."
They warm up one another, having been cold for so long, and when she pulls away, Gaerwen looks into his eyes. He wonders if she can see his demons vividly; it doesn't matter if she does, either way, because it's clear she trusts him regardless—she leans forward and places a kiss lightly at the corner of his mouth, tentative and careful. Perhaps in another setting, at another time, he'll return her gesture by kissing away the blotches on her neck, at least symbolically removing those memories.
Zenith can hear her whispering, though he isn't sure if it's verbally or perhaps through the Force.
Love never fails.
