Strap in, friends, I've got some notes for you. (Or you know, skip past them and enjoy!)
This story was written in response to two different challenges over on TF.N, and it centers around an original pairing of mine: Allana Djo Solo & Darth Festus. For those who aren't familiar, Allana is the daughter of Jacen Solo and Tenel Ka Djo from the old EU/Legends canon, while Darth Festus is an original character of mine who first appeared as a secondary antagonist in the AU story Enter the Foreign (still ongoing, see my bio for the link!) I've written a whole bunch of stories in that 'verse by now, but hopefully this fic will be enjoyable even without having read the others.
Basically, things took a right turn early in the Legacy of the Force series, and while Darth Caedus did rise to power, he was eventually defeated, leaving the galaxy ripe for conquest by Darth Krayt's One Sith, who were chilling on Korriban in the interim. (It's an AU, just go with it.) My world ignores most of LotF and all of Fate of the Jedi, but the NJO and Legacy comics are cool, and I draw liberally from those sources for inspiration. (Also, EtF has a time-travelling/universe-hopping Anakin Skywalker in it, but that's not really relevant to the story you're about to read.)
As for Darth Festus, well, he was once a nice, quietly snarky kid who suffered horrific torture at the hands of a Sith scientist and ultimately went through a pretty extreme transformation to become a rather creepy and murderous Sith Lord. Eight years after EtF, he and his twin brother (also a Sith Lord, known as Darth Ferrus) are living the bounty hunter life and occasionally working for assorted crime syndicates. Whatever pays the bills, am I right?
As mentioned, this story takes place in 59 ABY, about eight years after Enter the Foreign. If you're interested in more stories about this pairing, or about the super evil chaos twins of evil, set earlier in the timeline, see my bio. :)
Many thanks to Gabri Jade and Mira-Jade for all of their insightful comments and suggestions, and for being so incredibly supportive as I rambled on endlessly about this story, trying to figure out what it was meant to be.
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In Dreams We Dwell
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Part One: Reflection
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Allana Djo stares in surprise at the handmaiden in her doorway, then down at the swath of gauzy, lilac-colored material draped across the girl's outstretched arms. "It's lovely," the young Jedi Knight says carefully, "but I really don't require any compensation for—"
"Oh, you mistake me, Your Highness!" The handmaiden's sincerity shines through the Force, and Allana bites back the urge to correct her for using that particular form of address. She's already explained to everyone who will listen that she's no longer the Chume'da, nor an heir to the Hapan throne in any way, shape, or form. They just don't really seem to care about her protests here on monarchy-obsessed Kurin. "Her Majesty requests that you stay for the Royal Masquerade tomorrow evening, as thanks for your service to the people of Kurin, and to show our support for and appreciation of the Jedi Order."
Allana folds her hands in front of her. "I am honored, but I'm expected back at the Temple tomorrow."
The handmaiden's grin widens, and Allana thinks she detects a hint of mischief in it. "Her Majesty already took the liberty of contacting Master Skywalker. It's all been arranged."
Oh, really? "Even so," Allana says gently, "I should contact Master Skywalker myself." She glances down again at the fabric in the girl's arms. "So this is…?"
"Oh!" The handmaiden lifts one arm above her head, holding up a hanger. The gauzy material tumbles almost to the floor. "This is your gown! Her Majesty took the liberty of selecting this as well. She assumed you wouldn't have brought any formalwear."
"She assumed correctly," Allana says with a smile as she reaches out a hand toward the dress. She hesitates a moment. "May I?"
"Certainly, Your Highness!"
Allana withholds a sigh. "You really don't need to call me that. I was exiled from Hapes when I was a little girl. 'Allana' is fine, really."
The look of horror on the young handmaiden's face is so exaggerated, Allana nearly laughs. "I wouldn't dare, Your High— I mean, my lady."
I guess it's better than being called "Master Jedi" all the time.
"I can take that," she tells the girl as she reaches for the dress.
"Would you like me to help you with it, my lady? If you require any alterations, I can make sure they're finished before tomorrow evening."
An odd tightness in her chest as she remembers watching her mother stand for a gown fitting: serious and quiet and the most beautiful sight a four-year-old girl could imagine. "Sure. Please, come in."
Allana takes the dress from the young handmaiden, then watches in awe as the girl glides effortlessly about the room, moving furniture to create a wide-open space in front of one of the suite's larger mirrors. Then Allana looks down at the gown in her hands.
She holds it up to get a better look, realizing as she does that it's sleeveless and has only one shoulder. The bodice is made of two different but equally diaphanous materials. In front, it's the same airy, pale purple material as the skirt, ruched at an angle and gathered at the left shoulder in a way that's alluring while also appealing to Allana's own sense of modesty. In back – Force help her – it's almost completely sheer down to the waistband, save for a bit of purple embroidery that resembles curling vines and flower petals, or maybe delicate butterfly wings. The sheer backside extends around the left side of the waist, under the gown's only shoulder, and continues slightly around the front toward the center.
The skirt is full-length and lighter than air, creating a slender silhouette as it widens slightly and gradually toward the hem; and as she plays around with the folds of the dress, she discovers it has a slit along the left side that will probably hit mid-thigh.
Definitely not like the little girl dresses I wore on Hapes, she thinks with a wry grin. She looks over at the handmaiden, who is still busy rearranging the room.
"I'm sorry," Allana says, "I never asked your name?"
The girl glances up from her work with a smile. "It's Maritte, my lady." She gestures toward the center of the circle she's created. "If you would like to change into the dress, I can fit it for you here."
Allana goes to the fresher to change, marveling at how light the gown is and how soft it feels against her skin. Not that her usual clothes are uncomfortable. The reborn Jedi Order doesn't really have a strict dress code, and she often wears the same sorts of tunics and pants that are typical for women on any number of worlds, in addition to the more traditional Jedi robes. But there's definitely a difference in quality, and she'd be lying if she said that wearing this elegant gown didn't make her yearn in some way for the pretty dresses of her youth.
She returns to the main room of the suite, joining Maritte in front of the mirror. "My lady," the girl says with a small gasp, "you look lovely."
Allana examines her reflection, trying to objectively assess her appearance. It's been a while since she's really done so. She still kind of wishes she were a little taller, or that she didn't have quite so many freckles, or that her jawline wasn't so angular and distinct, as she'd heard several Hapan noblewomen describe it; but she's older now, and she's been through enough to know that the superficial details of her appearance aren't all that important. And besides, she does look pretty good in this dress. That helps.
Maritte sets to work pinning the gown, taking what was already a beautiful silhouette and making it look ever better. Allana marvels at the deftness of her fingers as she measures and tucks and pins with both speed and precision. Hardly any time seems to have passed before Maritte stands next to Allana, nodding happily at their reflections in the mirror.
"All finished, my lady!" She turns to Allana, hands outstretched. "I can help you out of it, and then I'll bring it back in the morning to make sure everything fits properly."
Allana allows the girl to help her out of the dress, missing it already as she pulls her own clothes back on. "Thank you for this," she says. "It's been so long since I wore a dress. I appreciate the help."
"Oh, think nothing of it, my lady. It was my pleasure." Maritte slips the gown inside a garment bag and lays it over one arm. "You're going to be the loveliest girl— I mean, lady, at the ball." She bows her head and smiles. "Please let me know if you need anything else."
And with that, the young handmaiden glides out of the room and down the hall, leaving Allana once more alone in the guest suite.
She spends the rest of the day catching up on some reading she'd promised Tahiri she would do, then running through a less rigorous version of her typical exercise routine in the gardens. Having been up since dawn for the treaty negotiation, she's exhausted by the time night falls. She still has one more thing to do before turning in, though.
She sits at the desk near the bed and flips on the comm unit, tapping in the frequency for the Jedi Temple. The holoimage flickers to life, and her cousin's torso appears above the projector, tinged in blue.
"Hey," Ben Skywalker says nonchalantly. "You all done with the negotiations?"
"Mmhmm." Allana arches an eyebrow at him. "So… when were you going to tell me I'm attending a fancy royal ball?"
Ben shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I figured it wouldn't take long for you to get the message. The queen already had your dress picked out and everything."
Allana leans forward on her elbows, covering her eyes with both hands for a moment as she groans. "I don't understand why these people are so impressed by me. I'm not this person they think I am. I keep telling them I'm not the Chume'da or a royal or anything anymore, but they don't seem to care."
Ben's smile fades, and his eyebrows knit together. "They're impressed by you, Allana, not your birthright. The queen wouldn't have invited you to stay for this dance thing if she wasn't."
Allana pauses a moment, then shoots him a tiny smirk. "Dance thing?"
Ben's narrowed expression turns to an outright glare. "Fancy royal masquerade ball. Happy?"
"Getting there."
Ben's faux indignation shifts to genuine concern. "You don't have to go if you don't want. The reputation of the Order isn't riding on it or anything."
"Isn't it?" She sighs and crosses her arms loosely in front of her. "We've come so far these last few years. I can't jeopardize that. And I don't want to be rude, especially when you already told the queen I could attend."
Ben reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. "Yeah, sorry about that." He takes a deep breath. "You should try to enjoy it though. How often do you get to go to a party?"
Her thoughts drift back to the memory of her mother, to the dress fitting where she sat on a nearby chair, swinging her legs in excitement as handmaidens attended to the Queen Mother. "Not often," she says quietly. "I do want to go. I think."
Ben smiles again. "Don't worry about being the face of the Jedi. Just have fun."
Allana raises one eyebrow. "Maybe find some attractive men to dance with?"
"Nope, I was thinking more like eat all the food and maybe bring some back—"
"Ben."
"Of course you should find someone to dance with, who do you think I am?"
A small tendril of fear grips her in that moment as something new occurs to her. "I've never danced before, not like they do at a real ball. What if—" She doesn't want to finish that thought. It feels silly to even think it.
Static shudders through the holo as Ben shakes his head. "Those fancy nobles are going to be lining up to dance with you, Allana. Just use your Jedi instincts to stay a bit ahead of them, and you'll be fine. Trust me."
She exhales slowly. "Okay. I'd better get going; it's been a long day. See you soon?"
Ben nodded. "See you soon. And seriously, have fun."
"I will."
She switches off the holoproj and leans back in her chair. She's not actually nervous, is she? After fighting a war against the Sith Empire and spending the last eight years dealing with all the fallout from its dissolution, it seems ridiculous that she should be nervous about something as trivial as attending a masquerade ball.
She checks the chrono on the desk, eyes widening a little at how late it is. Sleep it is, then, and maybe in the morning her nerves will be a little quieter.
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She doesn't dream of her childhood often, but when she does, it's always the same dream.
She sees the enclave, the one she lived in while her grandmother was alive, the one where no one ever played with her. So cold and crowded and sad.
She sees gray duracrete walls and dark stone floors, and she hears people whisper whenever she's near. She clutches her favorite stuffed toy, a plush tauntaun, one of the only possessions she was able to keep when her grandparents rescued her. She had to leave almost everything else behind.
And then she sees the boy, and her world slants sideways as he rips away the thing she loves most.
"You're not a baby, are you?" he says with a sneer.
"Give it back," she says, reaching out for her tauntaun.
"Sure looks like a baby toy." He dangles it over her head, looking past her. "What do you think, Roji?"
He tosses the toy across the room to one of his friends. She turns and takes a step toward the second boy, but he's already throwing it to the next member of their gang.
"Poor little baby," the third boy says, holding up a hand to his eyes as he pretends to sniff back tears.
She wraps her arms around her middle and feels a sob rising up in her throat. The boy throws her tauntaun toward the first boy, the one with the cold eyes. He raises a hand, suspending it high in the air where she can't reach. She turns back to him, trying not to cry.
"Please," she whispers. "Give it back."
The first boy – the oldest and leader of the group – stops laughing and grows suddenly angry. "You're not gonna cry, are you? This is all your fault."
She looks up into the boy's ice blue eyes, at the accusation there – your fault, your fault, your fault – and she can't hold back the tears anymore.
The tauntaun drops suddenly, not toward her or any of her tormentors, but to a fourth boy, standing off to the side with one arm outstretched. He catches her toy and holds it to his chest as he takes a step toward the leader of the bullies. She immediately notices the strong resemblance between them and remembers hearing someone mention there was a set of twins here.
"That's enough, Veeran," he says in a quiet voice, but one that has an edge of durasteel behind it.
The first boy – Veeran – glares at her for a second before looking over at his twin. They stare at each other, and she can feel something stirring in the Force between them. A silent argument. Then Veeran blows out an angry breath. "Whatever," he says, motioning for his friends to follow him.
After the other boys have left, her rescuer walks toward her. He has the same dark hair and pale blue eyes as his brother, and yet there's nothing cold about him. He kneels down in front of her and holds the tauntaun up for her to take.
"I'm sorry," he says.
She reaches for her toy, and he smiles up at her; and even though she can barely meet his eyes, she feels a warmth from him that almost makes her forget how sad she was a moment ago. She buries her face in the soft plush of her toy, unable to meet his gaze head on. "Thank you," she whispers.
"You're welcome," he says, still smiling as he tilts his head to study her. "I'm Dorian, by the way."
What happened to him? Why won't anyone say?
I'm so sorry, sweetheart. They never made it to the other enclave.
But what happened? Where is he?
Come here, Allana. Come here, and I'll explain.
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The room is still dark when she wakes, and it takes her a moment to recall where she is. She stretches out with her feelings, searching the quiet, swirling eddies of the Force. Things that would normally be all but silent are now impossibly loud to her senses: the drumming of her own heart, the whisper of a breeze sweeping through tree limbs outside, the steady hum of air filtration systems inside the palace guest wing…
She's still on Kurin, she realizes belatedly. She rolls over in bed – the sort of bed designed not just for sleep, but for deep, luxurious, indulgent rest – and checks the faintly glowing chrono on the nightstand. It won't be dawn for several hours still. She wonders what woke her.
Allana lies on her side, staring across the room at a pair of elegant doors which lead to a private patio, and beyond that, a hedge and a garden and a tranquil reflecting pool. Moonlight streams through the antique glass of the doors, giving both the room and the landscape outside an ethereal glow. A dream, she realizes with an inexplicable, aching sadness. That's what woke her.
The dream exists in a shimmery haze just beyond the edge of her consciousness. She lies there for a while, trying to remember what it was about; but every time she concentrates, she can feel it slipping further and further away. Finally, she rises from the bed, grabs her shawl, and crosses the room to the patio doors.
She slips outside, closing the hinged doors behind her as silently as possible. Both moons are out tonight, though clouds have begun to pass in front of them, leaving just enough light for Allana to see her destination beyond the hedge.
There are many reflecting pools within the palace grounds, she's come to learn. Some, like the one that spans nearly the full length of the main promenade, are considered beautiful works of art, adorned with tiles painted in azure blues and bright teals and deep, dark violets. They are monuments to victory, to love, to prosperity and virtue and peace, made prominent for all to enjoy.
The pool Allana finds herself kneeling next to in the middle of the night is not one of these vivid testaments to culture and creativity. Lying parallel to the marble colonnade that connects the guest wing to the main palace, it is narrower than most others she's seen here; and the tiles lining the bottom are purest white, without a trace of color. Though this particular reflecting pool lacks the grandeur of its counterparts, Allana finds herself drawn to it, and she thinks it no less beautiful for its simplicity. She's been told this pool is a monument, too, in its own way. A memorial built for the dead.
Which dead? she'd asked the senior handmaiden who led her past the pool, showing her to her quarters when she'd first arrived. The woman had looked back at her, flashing a gentle but knowing smile as she raised a hand to her own heart.
Whichever dead you bring with you, was her reply.
Allana gazes at the pool's dark, still surface. Her dead. She has plenty of them, though not nearly as many as some, and it's not like she was old enough at the time to appreciate just how much she'd lost. It still hurts, even so. Some days she can get by without thinking of them at all, but on the days that she does remember…
It's always a little thing, at first. Davin's lopsided grin, or Roan's serious brown eyes, or the way Tahiri looks at her sometimes like she's seeing someone else. Or the slightly reckless head tilt Ben adopts when he goes up against impossible odds.
She recites the names in her head, grasping at the memory of their faces. Her aunts, her uncle, her grandparents…
Her mother.
Her father.
Once upon a time, she might have cried at the thought of him. Force knows she's shed enough tears for him in her life. Now she simply stares at the inky darkness of the reflecting pool, pulled down by the weight of all those losses.
Something settles heavy around her heart as she gazes at that perfectly serene surface. It's the same feeling she had upon waking from the dream, unable to remember what about it made her so sad. And under the intermittent moonlight, she recalls an old Alderaani lullaby her grandmother used to sing to her, remembers how she would gently stroke her forehead until the sadness ebbed and sleep took her. Faded relic of a bygone era, of a world that simply vanished from existence one day, before anyone could say goodbye. Never to be seen again.
Why does she still feel like something is missing? Like she's a child who misplaced her favorite toy and can't for the life of her remember where it's gone—
Oh. Her favorite toy… she remembers the dream now. She's dreamt it before, many times, though it's been a while. And it's not even so much a dream as it is a memory. The tauntaun and the bullies and the boy who came to her rescue.
What happened to him?
Where is he?
For a long time, it had hurt to think about him. It hurt to remember how she'd watched him from a distance in the days after, too shy to go up and talk to him even though he was usually sitting all by himself. And then one day he was just gone, and when she'd realized she would never see him again, that he might be dead for all she knew, well, that had hurt in a way her seven-year-old heart couldn't fathom, even after all the other losses. It was too much, and she tried to forget.
Now, though? Now, the part that hurts the most is recalling the way he looked at her in the dream, with his gentle smile and his kind eyes.
No, that's not true – what hurts the most is waking up from that dream and thinking of all the times she's encountered him since then, feeling the darkness tangled up inside him, always narrowly avoiding death at his hands, some small part of her still searching for the boy she knew.
She lets out a long breath, reaching up to pull the shawl tighter around her shoulders. It's getting chilly, and she should probably try to get some more rest before tomorrow. Even though this masquerade ball is supposed to be a fun diversion, she's still representing the entire Jedi Order. She can't forget that, no matter what Ben says.
As she rises from the edge of the reflecting pool, she feels a flicker of something at the edge of her perception, as if something or someone is watching her. She looks beyond the pool at the colonnade, bathed half in moonlight and half in shadow, and she stretches out with her senses, breath catching, wondering…
But there is no one there.
.
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There's hardly a night that goes by that he doesn't find himself trapped inside his own head, reliving the worst of his nightmares over and over. He's gotten used to it, just like he got used to the things that caused those nightmares in the first place; and if the things he sees in his sleep are horrific and monstrous, well, it's really only fitting, isn't it?
Sometimes he just dreams, though. Never anything pleasant or peaceful – he's pretty sure he lost the capacity for those kinds of thoughts a long time ago. But there's a certain sanity to his dreams that makes them more bearable, even though they're sad; and he finds himself missing them – craving them, even – when they end.
"Will we be able to send messages?"
Master Bash puts a hand on his shoulder. "It might be possible, but we have to be careful." The Twi'lek Jedi Knight tries to smile, but he can sense the man's hesitance. "I know it's hard leaving your friends, Dorian."
He looks up at Master Bash. "I don't have any friends." Not even Veeran. Not really.
"Maybe this will be a fresh start for both of you."
He looks down at the deck of the starship and nods. He doesn't want to argue the point. Veeran already causes enough problems, and he doesn't want to be a problem, too. He just thought maybe, if he were to write her a message sometime, it might make her happy. And maybe she would write to him, too…
The starship jolts, sending them tumbling to the deck, and an alarm blares from the comm unit. Master Bash looks up to the ceiling, then turns to them all, eyes wide.
"Hide!"
He runs, grabbing Veeran by the arm as the other kids rush to find hiding places. He needs someplace big enough for the two of them, somewhere no one will look…
He wakes on a hard surface, and his first instinct is to check for the straps holding him down. He lifts his head, staring down at his arms and legs. No straps. Fully clothed. He lays his head back against the ground – okay, so he's outside, that's weird – and exhales slowly.
Something still isn't right.
He sits up, realizing as he does that it's still night, and that he's currently resting under the shade of a long, stone pavilion. He looks around, noting the seemingly endless row of columns on either side of him, holding up the roof of the structure. Not a pavilion, exactly. What's the word? Colonnade, he thinks. Yeah, that's what it is.
There definitely aren't any buildings like this on Denon, at least not where he lives.
He stands, reaching out in the Force, wondering how he got here, wherever he is. He hears a faint rustling sound beyond the edge of the building, and he takes a few steps toward one of the columns, peering out from behind it at a long, narrow reflecting pool and the lone figure approaching it.
This can't be right, he thinks as he realizes who he's looking at. It can't be.
He watches from the shadows of the colonnade, holding his breath as she kneels at the edge of the reflecting pool. Its surface is smooth as glass and serves as a mirror for the dark clouds gathering overhead. He glances up at those clouds, their edges shimmering silver from the moonlight behind them. It's just enough light to make out her expression: contemplative, a little forlorn, maybe. He wonders why that is. He wants so badly to ask her.
For the first time since he left behind his old identity, he desperately wishes he could be that person, that he could know what it's like to be everything he'd once wanted to be. That he could walk out there and speak to her without scaring her away. But that's their game, isn't it? He chases her, and she runs, and he never catches her because there's only one way for this to end. And he's not ready for that yet. He's not sure he ever will be.
What would it be like, he wonders, to be worthy of her? Even if he wasn't all twisted and jagged and broken, even if he wasn't a murderer and a liar, would she give him a second glance? Would she even consider him when all he's ever been is nothing?
She gazes out across the still waters, and he watches her, transfixed. Gods and heavens and stars above, she is so, so beautiful. Does she even realize it? She's so beautiful, it actually hurts, the kind of pain he can't just disconnect from like he does with everything else. He doesn't want it to go away, either; he actually likes how bad it hurts, and isn't that sick? Force, he's pretty sure she'd be horrified if she knew how he really feels about her, if she knew how she's occupied his thoughts every day for nearly eight years, if she knew how much he wants.
She pulls her shawl up around her shoulders and leans her head to one side, away from him; and he imagines trailing soft kisses along her smooth neck, threading his fingers through her long, copper hair, hearing her whisper his name—
—what name is that, weak little wannabe Jedi brat, who do you think you are—
—she's not yours, she never will be, don't you know that by now—
He freezes in place as she stands and looks up toward him.
Dorian…
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…Darth Festus wakes suddenly, heart racing at the whisper still lingering in his thoughts.
Light from Denon's moon filters through the single window opposite his bed, bathing the sparse interior of his room with its cold white glow. He lies still, gripping the bedsheet between his fingers, trying to determine if this is reality or another dream. Maybe if he closes his eyes, he can go back, see her one more time…
It fades away so fast, it might as well be a warm breath exhaled in the frigid night air. Nothing more than vapor. He sits up slowly, staring at the pale shafts of moonlight that stretch to the end of the bed. There are shadows within that light, probably cast by the never-ending stream of speeder traffic, or maybe the occasional cloud drifting across the sky. He can't remember it now, but he wants to go back to that place, wherever it was. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He can't… he can't…
A muffled sigh as he drags his hands over his face. Pull yourself together, idiot, he tells himself. It was just a stupid dream.
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Allana rises early the next morning, partly because the sun is shining directly in her face, eliminating any chance for cool, restful sleep, but mostly because she hadn't really slept well after waking in the middle of the night anyway.
She starts the day with another round of exercises in the garden, trying to work away the lingering sadness from her dream the night before. It's probably not the best place for a workout, though, because the gardens overlook the reflecting pool, and that just makes her sad all over again.
She wonders why that particular dream returned after all this time. It's been months and months, maybe more than a year. Did her mood trigger it? She'd been thinking about her mother a lot yesterday, missing her, especially when she tried on the dress. The memory of that long-ago gown fitting on Hapes had returned with surprising clarity.
The occasion was a grand ball in the Fountain Palace on Hapes, one of the few such events that her mother begrudgingly hosted. Allana was excited because her mother said she could go, too, at least for a little while. She got to wear a pretty blue dress, and she was given a matching silk ribbon to tie around her stuffed tauntaun's neck. The toy that her father had given her, before she knew who he really was.
She remembers the other reason that ball was so special. It was the only time she ever saw her parents dance together, and it was the last time she saw either of them truly happy.
His presence must have fueled speculation about her paternity, but Allana was still too young at the time to realize the connection. She only recalls how excited she was when Colonel Jacen Solo, the famous Jedi Knight, walked through those massive ballroom doors; and how dashing she thought he was as he offered her mother his hand and led her to the center of the room. She remembers thinking their dance was so graceful and romantic and perfect in every way. Even with how badly things went later on, even with how deeply he ended up hurting her, she still remembers that moment with the longing of a child, wishing her parents could have been together with her always.
Her only other memory of that night is of being sent off to bed with her nanny droid. She was so annoyed at missing out on the fun, until she realized Jacen Solo had stolen away from the ball to tuck her in, making sure she had her precious tauntaun wrapped tight in her arms before placing one warm kiss on her forehead.
For a long time, when she'd thought him dead, that toy was her only link to him, the only proof that he'd once loved her. The only proof that he hadn't totally given himself over to the darkness.
Allana finishes her exercises, lying down on the damp grass to catch her breath. It would be so easy to let all of that pain and grief fill her up like smoke, choking out the light. But wallowing in all of her sad memories isn't going to get her anywhere, and it certainly isn't going to get her through the masquerade tonight. Her growling stomach reminds her that she hasn't even eaten yet, and she decides to listen to it instead of chasing after dreams and shadows.
Maritte arrives at Allana's door just as she's finishing breakfast. The handmaiden is carrying a garment bag in one arm and a box in the other.
"Good morning, my lady!" The girl is as chipper as she was the day before, and as soon as Allana invites her in, she sets to work rearranging the room.
"You really don't have to go through the trouble," Allana says as she finishes a sweet roll and discreetly licks crumbs from her fingers.
"It's no trouble at all, my lady. Here—" She reaches for the garment bag and pulls out the dress, laying it across the bed. "—don't you want to see how your gown fits?"
Allana walks over to the bed and runs her fingers along the skirt, lifting the pale purple material to once again feel its soft airiness. "I suppose I should."
She senses hesitance from the young handmaiden. "My lady, I don't wish to pry," Maritte begins, more somber than before, "but you seem a bit different today."
"Different?"
The girl gives her a look that she might almost describe as sisterly, if she knew what it was like to have a sister. "Sadder," Maritte says gently.
She pauses, thinking again of her late-night trip to the reflecting pool and of all the people she's lost. "I guess I didn't sleep that well," she says.
Maritte smiles again, simultaneously sympathetic and enthusiastic. "Well, I guarantee once you put this dress on, you'll start feeling much better."
Allana nods and picks up the dress, changing into it quickly. When she's finished, she steps in front of the mirror and looks up, startled. "Oh, wow," she says under her breath.
Next to her, Maritte shines in the Force like a happy little star. "I told you," the girl says with a knowing smile.
For a moment, Allana can't find her words. The gown had looked beautiful yesterday, but now that it's been tailored to perfectly fit her shape…
She realizes that she's grinning like an idiot, and she shakes her head at her reflection. Don't let it go to your head, she tells herself. This is just for one day. Even so, she can't help thinking where she might be right now, if things had worked out differently for the galaxy. If her father hadn't fallen… if he hadn't destroyed so many lives…
She pushes those thoughts aside, forcing herself to stay in this moment. She sways in place, letting the gauzy skirt swish against her legs. As if it was always meant to be.
Maritte laughs, looking very proud of her work. Then, "Oh! I almost forgot!" She produces a slender object from the box on the bed and hands it to Allana.
It's a small, half-mask in the same lilac shade as the gown, with tiny, sparkling amethysts at the outside corner of each eye. Allana holds the mask up to her face, noting how perfectly it curves over her nose and cheekbones, as if it was made specifically for her. The Queen of Kurin is certainly thorough, she thinks.
"How were you planning to wear your hair?" Maritte asks.
She hasn't even thought that far yet. She's still in awe over the dress. "I don't know, maybe wear it down?"
"May I make a suggestion?" Maritte steps behind Allana and gathers her long braid up, coiling it against the back of her head. "You will definitely want your hair up, with the dancing you're going to be doing, and—" She motions toward Allana's neck. "—it would be a shame to obscure this gown's unique neckline."
Allana feels her cheeks warm slightly, realizing how little she knows about this world that she was once a part of. A few days ago, that wouldn't have bothered her at all, but now… "Would you— I mean, are you able—"
"To help you get ready tonight?" Maritte's face lights up. "It would be my honor, my lady; and I would have offered regardless."
Allana gazes at her reflection, feeling a spark of genuine excitement race through her as she takes it all in. She holds the mask to her face again and angles her chin up, feeling an uncharacteristic swell of pride. She might not be the Chume'da anymore, but she's still the daughter of Tenel Ka Djo, a fierce queen and Jedi Knight. She can handle a masquerade ball and some dancing and anything else that comes her way.
.
.
He wakes to the sound of his twin brother banging violently on his door.
"Hey!" Darth Ferrus yells. "I'm coming in if you don't open up!"
The door slides open almost immediately – apparently the locks in this place are fragging useless – and he feels his brother enter the room. So much for sleeping in.
"Get up, we've got a job."
Festus cracks one eye open and groans as sunlight stabs at him. "Go away," he mutters, reaching up to cover his face with one arm.
A slight pause before his brother says, "You really wanna make me do this the hard way?"
He lifts his head up and glares at Ferrus. "What is it?"
"I told you, we've got a job." His twin tosses a duffel bag at him; Festus catches it at the last second. "Come on," Ferrus says, "get packed so we can get going."
Festus looks around his room, raising an eyebrow as he wonders just what the hell his brother expects him to pack in this giant duffle bag. Then he realizes there's already something in it. He opens the bag and frowns. "The hell is this? You bought me clothes?"
"Yep. Need you to look presentable."
"For what?"
Ferrus grins over his shoulder as he exits the room. "We've got a party to crash."
.
to be concluded...