Alana awoke with a start, a vague sense of panic seizing her. She was alone. She jumped from the bed and practically ran for the bedroom door. Where was he? Was he gone? Had their evening together been only a dream?
She finally found him in his library, intently studying a shelf holding various books, papers, and a few small sculptures and frames holding still images. He turned at her entrance, looking somewhat startled. "Oh," he said, looking a bit regretful. "I woke you. I am sorry."
She held up a hand to stop his apology. "No, you didn't wake me. And even if you had, I wouldn't complain."
He smiled somewhat sadly at the comment and turned back to his shelf.
"What are you doing, anyway?" she asked.
He turned back to her with a wry grin. "Packing," he said, taking a small, abstract sculpture from the shelf and placing it in the large trunk in the corner of the room that had been inspected and authorized by his guards.
She was quiet, so he continued to explain. "It had to be done eventually, and I couldn't sleep." He sighed and flopped down in the chair behind his desk. "They gave me three days. Do they have any idea what it is like to try to pack for the rest of your life? The entire three days could be spent deliberating about what to fill your extra space with--extra food and clothing or another image of your family."
With a gesture of disgust, he tossed the list of authorized items on the desk and, sighing, rested his head in his hands. "I will be living out of that box, quite possibly, for the rest of my life. All I will have to sustain me will be what I decide to take."
Frowning, Alana came around to sit on the edge of the desk facing him. She gently took his hands and, looking into his crimson eyes, spoke softly. "You will have far more at your disposal than what you can put in that box. You have your intelligence, your ingenuity, your instincts. And most of all, you have determination. You're not going to sit back and let yourself rot out there--you will fight each and every day, and someday you'll escape." He sighed and looked away, ashamed at having lapsed and allowed himself to show his despair. It was his duty to be strong, not Alana's.
She gently caressed his cheek, drawing his gaze back to hers. "And when you do escape," she said, practically whispering, "I will be here waiting for you." She leaned forward and kissed him softly.
*****
"Thank the gods he's not a morning person," Alana thought to herself as she quietly removed the recorder and images from her drawer. Her lifemate still slept soundly and more peacefully than usual, and she wanted to take advantage of this time. She quietly gathered the items and tiptoed out the door, easing it closed behind her.
\\
He awoke slowly, reluctantly, not wanting to let go of the images of happiness that had blessed his dreams. He didn't want to face the reality that this was his final day amongst his people--amongst people of any kind. He quickly shook that thought away; he was not going to let bleak thoughts ruin his final day. He rose and stepped to the window looking out at the stunning view of the city square. The sun shone brighter than usual as it had in his dream, however the young girl--his daughter?--from the vision was nowhere to be found. He found himself wondering, for the hundredth time, what she would be like. Would she remind him of his sister as the chimera had? Would she have her mother's eyes? Would she be able to forgive her father? He drove away that nagging thought as the words of the temple student came back to him--Alana would make sure that she knew the truth. What would she become--an artist, a scientist, or perhaps a writer like her mother...?
\\
Alana gathered the images and made a few final adjustments. She glanced at the chronometer on his desk--he would probably be waking soon. She placed the neat pile of images and the tiny recorder in the deep pocket of her skirt and stepped out of the study, once again easing the door closed. If he wasn't awake already, she didn't want to wake him.
\\
Thrawn stepped quietly from the room, looking down the short hallway. Where was Alana? Glancing surreptitiously around the corner, he spotted her in the sitting room, curled up on the sofa, writing something on a sheet of parchment. Good, she was occupied. He quietly stepped into the door on the right, into his study. He had to stand on a block to reach the enormous book which rested atop the shelves. It was an ancient collection of maps that had been passed on and added to for generations. It included detailed maps of their own world, constellations, their seven moons, and of distant worlds that members of his own family had explored. Years ago, some brave souls had begun colonies on some of these worlds in an attempt to escape their Enemies--they were followed. He shuddered; throughout his life the dark fear of another massive attack had loomed in the back of his mind. When he enlisted in the Expansionary Defense that fear had been calmed by the fact that he would, at least, be able to defend his people. Now, he would no longer have that honor.
He shook away these dismal thoughts and set his mind to the task at hand. He turned the book to the map of the fifth moon, Ey'lla, he removed the sheets of heavy parchment and canvas that were sandwiched between that page and the previous page of the fourth moon, Da'elin. He carefully removed the top layers of parchment to reveal the painted canvas and it's border of perfectly pressed flowers. Stepping up on the block again, he retrieved the framing materials he had gathered. He carefully slid the piece of wood beneath the canvas and placed the glass on top. He then slid this sandwich of materials into the notches of the wooden frame pieces themselves. Once it was completed and he had made certain that it was secure, he wrapped it in a piece of dyed cloth, tied it with a large ribbon, and placed it on his desk. He would give it to Alana tonight.
\\
Alana carefully folded the sheet of parchment and placed it, along with the recorder, in an elegant, cream colored envelope. She stood, placed the envelope in her pocket, replaced the stylus in the holder on her desk, and went to the galley to prepare some kl'uut'h tea for their breakfast. She was retrieving two chalices from a compartment above the food preparation console when she was startled by the sudden presence of a pair of hands on her shoulders. She jumped and nearly dropped one of the chalices, but smiled when she turned to face the owner of those hands.
"You've gotten a bit too good at sneaking up on people," she remarked with a sly grin.
"It's an ability that comes in handy," he countered with a sly grin of his own.
She poured the two chalices full of the hot, sweet tea and handed one to him. "So, what's on the agenda for today?" she questioned.
He glanced out the skylight above them at the pale, blue-gray sky. "Today, I don't care what I do, as long as I do it with you."
She smiled, and took a sip of her tea. "In that case, we could pay a visit to the museum, all our favorite places--wherever our hearts take us."
"It sounds perfect," he stated somewhat wistfully, brushing a strand of hair away from her face and smiling a bit sadly.
*****
Sounding perfect and actually being perfect are two entirely different things, as the couple soon learned. Thankfully Thrawn had decided to wear the long cloak he had worn on his trip to the temple; the cowl came in handy. At the first derogatory shouts and disrespectful gestures, they had almost called off the entire excursion. But it was his final day on this world, and he was not about to let anonymous animosity keep him from enjoying it. He had spent enough time away from his home performing his duties as a Warrior Leader of the Expansionary Defense and it had been years since he had simply enjoyed the city. Today was his last opportunity to do so. Besides, the guards that followed them at a discreet distance would not allow any harm to befall them.
And so he did his best to hide himself beneath the cowl of his cloak and avoid the more crowded areas. Fortunately, at this time of day, the Kra'sha'mael Art Museum was occupied mostly by students and not very many of them.
Thrawn and Alana strolled aimlessly about, in whatever direction they felt led, stopping frequently to gaze at and discuss a particular painting or sculpture. They soon came to a rather large, abstract sculpture carved from a sort of pearlescent stone that greatly resembled the interior of a ge'ay't shell.
Alana positioned herself on the opposite side of the sculpture, gazing through the gap in the center at her companion. She smiled mischievously. "What do you think it is?" Alana asked, just as she had several years ago when they had met here for the very first time.
"I don't think it is anything," he replied with a grin. "I think it just is."
"Well then, if you insist on being abstract, what do you think it looks like?" she continued the memorized conversation.
He thought for a moment, "Flames, waves, dancers...What does it look like to you?"
Her grin widened, "Lovers." She stepped back to his side, leaning against his shoulder and gazing up a the the creation. "Would you answer any differently now?" she asked.
"Yes, now I would have to agree with your idea of lovers," he told her, deciding to keep his other insight to himself. In truth, it seemed to him that the sculpture could be symbolic of the two conflicting sides of his mind, torn between pride in his actions and guilt. And the gap between the two figures represented the distance that would soon come between himself and his lifemate. He shook these thoughts away, not wanting to ruin this moment with such sadness, and pulled her into a soft kiss.
*****
They strolled down the garden path which connected to the museum, stopping occasionally to admire the tiny, lighted sculptures lining the path. This museum was the only place where they could be found, and they were only kept here as a record of artistic history. They had been introduced by the K'rell'n traders who first contacted their people, but the attempted introduction of outside influences was considered a great insult. Trade had ceased not long after it had begun and these sculptures were the only remaining symbol of the brief relations.
Zylene loathed them. It astonished her that any faction of her people could still allow their existence. But Rann'eal'teristi, current head of the Council was far too complacent to do anything about it. Of course, these sculptures were not the only sign of his acquiescence; there was also his recent "punishment" of the radical, Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo. This man had ignored their most sacred codes--twice--and had only been exiled. Rann'eal'teristi and the rest of the Council were naive to think that simple exile would keep his radical ideas from spreading. If others who thought like him saw that the punishment would be so minor, then more would rise in his place. However, if Rann'eal'teristi had given him the maximum sentence he deserved, this possible rebellion would have been killed before it began. And so, to counteract the dangerous naivete of the Council, Zylene had decided to take matters into her own hands, and deliver the death sentence he deserved herself.
As they passed by she pretended to work diligently on her drawing of the courtyard. She watched out of the corner of her eye as they took a seat at a bench in the central area of the courtyard. Perfect--she would be able to take a leisurely stroll around the path that circled that area and take her shot from behind...Or perhaps she would do this more directly. She would like to see the look on his face...
She gave them a few minutes to get settled and when it appeared that they would be staying there for a while, she packed away her sketch book and materials and checked that her customized charric was fully charged and within easy reach. She stood and situated the bag that held all of these materials on her shoulder, once again checking the position of her weapon. She allowed herself a small smile as she started off at a leisurely stroll along the path.
*****
"'Wherein the deep night sky, the stars lie in its embrace. The courtyard still in its sleep and peace comes over your face...'" Alana quoted the beginning of the poem and looked over at her lover, giving a mischievous smile and silently challenging him to finish it. This was a game they had played often before he had begun taking distant assignments with the Expansionary Defense, back when they would spend entire days visiting museums and challenging one another to such intellectual games. He had always enjoyed a good challenge.
"'Come to me' it sings, 'Hear the pulse of the land...'" he paused to think and sighed. "You know literature has never been my forte. Who painted Visions ?"
It was Alana's turn to sigh, "And you know art has never been mine."
The two laughed, the sound echoing strangely off the walls of the courtyard. She rested her head against his shoulder as they lapsed into a pensive silence.
What in the worlds was she going to do without him. Like him, she had lost all of her immediate family and if current feelings remained, she would have no friends to turn to. She would have to raise their child alone.
What in the worlds was he going to do without her. He had been utterly alone for a good portion of his life, but that had ended when he met Alana. It was not a feeling he was eager to rediscover. And what of Alana? He could hardly bare the thought of leaving her to the same fate. She would not only be alone, but would be alone in raising their child--no, not alone. Daas'ten'talon had promised to watch over them. That only eased his heart to a small degree.
He placed his arm around her, holding her close. How was he ever going to let her go tomorrow? He was about to disturb the peaceful moment and suggest that they move on before the mood became to solemn, but he was interrupted by a young woman carrying a large supply bag. He had seen her earlier sketching in another area of the courtyard and found himself wishing for a moment that he could see what she had been drawing.
"Pardon me, Sir, but would you happen to know the hour?" she asked politely.
He took his chronometer from his pocket and glanced at the position of the workings. "It is precisely the midday hour," he informed her.
"Good," she remarked, a malicious smile spreading across her pretty face, "I'm exactly on time."
He and Alana both gave her looks of confusion. Apparently Alana's concern caught the woman's eye. "Oh, didn't you know? Your lifemate is to be executed for his crimes," she announced removing a small, modified charric, complete with all the extras an assassin would need, from her bag of art supplies. He refused to flinch as she jammed the weapon into the side of his head, memories of the hideous alien warrior floating back to him. Did it hurt as badly to have the internal workings of one's cranium shot through with a high-powered energy burst as it did to have one's throat slit with a crude alien weapon?
He heard Alana scream, but refused to look at her. He needed to think clearly and seeing her in the depths of despair would greatly impair that ability. He wanted to tell her how futile it was to scream. No one ever heard the screaming, they just dismissed it as a trick of the mind or the wind, they just ignored it and tried to vanquish it from their dreams.
He shook away all these thoughts; it was imperative that he think clearly and develop some sort of plan. If those cursed guards hadn't taken his weapons from him, this would not be a problem. But wishing would get him nowhere. He needed to think. He closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could, ignoring his lifemate's sobs of despair and the cold pressure of the weapon against his skull. As it was, he barely heard the madwoman as she comforted his lifemate.
"Shh...Why do cry for him?" she admonished. "Where do find tears for this murderer?"
"He is not a murderer!" Alana shouted. "He is my lifemate. I love him."
"How can you love someone who has no love for his own people? He is a disgrace to us all. He has brought shame to our ancestors, ignored the values and morals that they worked so hard to instill in our people," she spat out the words, each one practically dripping with disgust. She then turned to him, leaning close and speaking in a vicious whisper, "Even in exile you present a threat to our people. You want to bring about change. I cannot allow that to happen. The old ways must be preserved. The only way to ensure that this happens is to rid our people of beings like you and Rann'eal'teristi and all others who threaten our preservation."
He spoke calmly, "On the contrary, I ignored the morals of our ancestors in order to ensure the preservation of our people."
For a moment she was frozen by shock at the lunacy of his lie. It was during her split second of hesitation that the guards that had quietly accompanied the couple chose to act. Emerging from their hiding places--some in hidden passages in the walls of the courtyard, some in civilian garb hidden conspicuously, enjoying the scenery in other areas--they drew their own weapons.
"Drop your weapon!" the commander of the group shouted.
For the first time her eyes and her weapons left him as she turned to address this new situation. Her weapon swept around the circle along with her gaze...
"No, you can't kill all 5 of them before one of them kills you," Mitth'raw'nuruodo quietly informed her. It would have been six, but one of them had left to escort Alana to safety.
She whirled back to him, charric pointed directly in his face. "Shut up," she bit out.
"He's right. If you fight us, you will not survive," the commander continued.
This time she only half turned, weapon still aimed at her target. "Perhaps," she agreed. "But I will take him with me."
They both acted in the same moment. He stood, one arm grasping her about the neck, the other grasping the hand with the weapon and twisting it behind her, trying to cause her enough pain that she would drop the weapon. At the same time he peripherally noted that some of the guards' weapons had changed their aim slightly. Of course, they thought he was dangerous. He had shamed his own people, why would he not murder them.
In this moment, both his trust and hope for his people and his grip on her weapon faltered and she managed to fire a shot point blank into his abdomen. Against his will, he released her entirely and fell to the ground, clutching at the wound. The searing pain, which radiated from the wound setting every nerve in his body on fire, seemed to dim all of his other senses--he heard a distant, agonized scream and wondered for a second if Alana had witnessed this before he realized that it was his own voice he was hearing. He watched through cloudy vision as his assassin stood over him in triumph weapon pointed down at him, ready to fire the shot that would kill him. As he fought off unconsciousness, he saw one of the guards fire at the woman who had made the fatal error of leaving an enemy at her back. It was strange he thought as he lost his tenuous grasp on consciousness, how vengeance and hatred effected one's intelligence.
A/N: The verse quoted by Alana was taken from the song "Courtyard Lullaby" by Loreena McKennit.
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