The following vignette is based on pages 166-168 of Dark Journey by Elaine Cunningham.  Again some of the dialogue is not my own, but I have stretched the scene out before and after to fill in some of the missing gaps.  This is by far one of my favorite scenes ever.  I hope you enjoy!


LADY IN RED


After paying the driver more than requisite for his driving skills, Jag jumped out of the hired speeder and trotted up the steps of the Hapan Palace. He was late, and the traditional announcers usually expected at such formal affairs had already departed. Only a pair of guards framed the arched entranceway, one on either side. Jag flashed his invitation and stepped into the bright lights and boisterous sounds of the formal affair.

Jag strode along the enormous hallway and pulled up outside the Grand Dining Hall. He paused. Living among the Chiss had allowed limited opportunity to actually attend these kinds of functions, but his mother had insisted all the Fel children know how to conduct themselves properly. Dancing and etiquette lessons were a mandatory part of the winter break. Still, the sights were foreign and imposing. Servants moved about the room offering refreshments to dignitaries of all types and species regaled in every imaginable dress, bedecked in millions of credits worth of jewelry.

Glancing down at his black dress uniform, Jag performed one last, quick inspection. He grabbed the bottom of the jacket and tugged, then smoothed the spot where his medals usually rested. The missing decorations were the reason he was so late. Jag fought with himself for an hour over whether or not to wear the blasted things. On one hand, they illustrated the achievements of his short, but stellar, career. Colonel at his age was no small feat, especially among the Chiss. On the other hand, they could easily be construed as symbols of arrogance.

Jag had taken the medals off and put them back on three times before deciding against them. He wanted a chance to impress Jaina, not ram his accomplishments down her throat. For once, Jag wanted to be seen simply as a man and not a fighter pilot or a Chiss. So, the medals had stayed on the dresser, a symbol of his sincerity.

After a chance to grow accustomed to the surroundings, Jag eased into the room. He let his eyes scan among the guests, looking for the person who had haunted his every waking hour and made him believe he was losing his touch. His head turned slowly surveying for his intended target. He got a hard lock within seconds.

Standing in the middle of a group of Hapans, one of them the pudgy official Jag had scammed the invitation from, Jaina stood out like a supernova among a universe of stars. She appeared entirely more comfortable than he felt, talking and mingling with the men as if this were an everyday occurrence. For all he knew, it might be, seeing that she was the daughter of Princess Leia Organa Solo.

At first, the gathering of admirers obscured all except her face -- there was no better word for the cluster of men -- but then, Jaina eased her way out of the circle and waved them off. Jag's breath caught in his throat at her beauty. Her hair was simple, a gathering of curled, caf-colored locks pinned atop her head. Her makeup was just as uncomplicated, light coloring around her eyes and some gloss on her lips. The dress, although not extravagant, completed a heavenly picture.

Jaina was tiny, standing just over five feet, with a figure hinting at the curves of womanhood, and the dress showed every single one of them. The material was a scarlet-hued shimmersilk, the perfect compliment for her complexion. The cut was strapless, with a tight bodice that laced up the front, drawing the eye in a line from her slim waist to the firm swell of her breasts. The skirt flared out over her hips then fell away to the ground, gathering in a bustle at the back and trailing away to a short train.

Jaina skirted the group of men she had abandoned and headed away from Jag. He stood motionless, watching her. His feet frozen in place; his heart somewhere up in his throat. As Jaina greeted her fellow Jedi, the Hapan Princess, Jag felt his temperature rise. Suddenly, his collar seemed too tight, and he broke into a cold sweat. He yielded to his body's betrayal, cutting a path to a pair of doors leading onto the veranda.

Once outside, the cool night air did little to quell the heat rising from deep within, like a furnace stoked with too much fuel. Never before had any female inspired such intense emotions and desires. Jag had been attracted to several women, he even found himself once or twice thinking of a couple Chiss females as prospective partners, but never had his thoughts been totally dominated by one person. Jag felt like he was losing his mind.

Jag leaned over the railing, supporting his weight on both palms. He forced deep breaths in through his nose and pushed them out forcefully with his diaphragm, trying to expel the tension that wound up his spine. After a few harrowing minutes, a feeling of control returned, and Jag urged himself to focus.

Okay, just think of it as a mission. Let's establish a checklist and order of priorities. First, casually run into your objective without looking like the fair-haired fool you are. Second, indulge in some casual conversation about anything other than pilots and war. Third…

"How's the view?"

Jolted from his thoughts, Jag spun around, whipping his right hand as he went. His hand met with a potted plant, resting on the balcony railing. The pot teetered as Jag tried to catch it, but it slipped past his fingertips. Jag made another desperate lunge before the pot landed with a resounding thud. It dig not break as he feared, but toppled over, spilling the soil and blooming plant out on the veranda.

"Kriff!" He muttered a seldom-used curse his father loved to hurl out when his mother was far from earshot and leaned over to set the pot back on its base.

A rustling of material brought Jag back to his senses. He bolted straight up where his feet were planted, ending face to face with Jaina. She was smiling up at him, a sparkle in her brown eyes. She unconsciously fussed with the laces on her gown, tugging them near her waist, as he stood dumbstruck for several heartbeats. At that moment, Jag decided she was the worst type of beautiful, happier in a flightsuit, totally oblivious to her own femininity and alluring looks – a temptress wrapped in the trappings of an angel.

She glanced down at the newly relocated pot. "Landscape designer, in addition to fighter pilot extraordinaire and ambassador from the Chiss here to rescue us hapless Rebels, is there anything you can't do, Colonel?"

Jag dropped his gaze immediately at the bite of her words, clearly she still saw him as some kind of Imperial throwback. He bent down and fiddled with the plant. It would not stand straight in the pot; too much of the dirt had taken its leave onto the veranda's tiled floor. He frowned and considered his next move. As he was about to scoop the dirt up with his hands, Jaina's voice stopped him.

"Wait, don't get your hands dirty."

Jag looked up; Jaina had knelt down in front of him so they were eye to eye. It was not her brown eyes that his focus was drawn to, however. In her present position, Jag had a perfect line of sight down the top of her dress. He forced his green eyes to look anywhere but at the perfect soft curves. He met her gaze.

"It is all right. They are just a handful. I mean, it is just a handful." Jag prayed the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Can't you control yourself? You are like some poor man with no control over your raging hormones. How can you? Look at how perfect those… Stop it, Jagged! She is a Jedi; they can pluck your ravenous thoughts from your brain without a second thought.

"If you got your hands soiled, you would be late for dinner, and it would all be on account of me startling you."

The corner of Jaina's mouth turned up in a funny sort of grin, and all thought fled Jag's mind. With the slightest of touches, she grasped his hands away from the dirt, where they were frozen, then rose, pulling him up with her. The feel of her fingers sent shivers up his arm and down his spine. Jag practically popped to attention under the strain of the sensation.

At first, he did not realize what she was doing or that she had even released his hand, the feeling had practically been burned into his nerves. Coming to his senses, Jag glanced down. The dirt was spinning in a little vortex, ending back in the pot. He watched almost spellbound, like he was a kid at a magic show. This Force ability was something he was going to have to get used to.

Jaina broke the silence. "See, all better, and no dirt under your nails."

Jag bent over and picked up the pot. He placed it back on the rail before turning to face Jaina. "That was interesting. Can you teach me?"

Jaina beamed a big grin in amusement. "Some other time. That was a little trick Anakin and I used to play on Jacen. We would move the dirt into his room. He would get so mad." A sadness washed over her face as the realization struck that memories where all she had left of either of her brothers. Jaina skirted past Jag and took up the position on the railing he had formerly held, her hands supporting her weight. She held her head high and proud, but avoided his gaze as she peered into the distance.

Seeing her strength mixed with an incredible sense of sorrow renewed Jag's composure. He gathered his wits and stuffed them back in the durasteel box he kept them locked in. "I am sorry about your loss."

Jag wanted to say more, but he knew there was no more he could say. He understood the pain better than most. No amount of words could ease the aching in her heart. That did not stop him from wanting to pull her into his arms and hold her close as she cried her eyes out. He wanted to be the one she leaned on. At that moment, Jag realized there was more than just physical attraction. What he felt ran deep, like the valleys forged by the glaciers of Csilla.

"Thanks." Jaina drew her shoulders back and turned so her back was to the railing. She was not facing him directly, leaving Jag a good view of her profile. The glistening in her eyes was apparent, but no tears fell. "I came looking for you, because I wanted to thank you in person for escorting us back to Hapes. We had all been through enough at that point. A friendly escort eased a lot of fears." She looked him in the eye. "The Jedi are indebted to you."

"There is no need…"

"There is one more thing. I want to apologize for implying you were weak-minded for one and for behaving rudely on the flight deck. I was not myself the other day. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression."

Jag stifled a grin. Somewhere deep inside, Jaina Solo cared about what he thought of her. "No harm done. I have had plenty worse thrown my way. As far as what happened on the flight deck, I was worried. It was not my place to interfere, but Master Durron was upsetting you."

"Well, Kyp has an ability to rub everyone the wrong way. I think he is incapable of caring for anyone but himself. I will see myself married to royalty before I ever call Kyp Durron a friend. Enough about Kyp, it will spoil my appetite, and I am starved as it is. Maybe we should see whether dinner is about to get started."

Jag smiled. Well, most would not call it a smile, but it was the barest hint to some small bit of happiness brewing deep within him. He held out his arm, just like his mother had made him practice over and over. "That sounds like a plan. Shall we?"

Jaina accepted his proffered arm, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow with practiced ease. "You didn't wear all those medals like on Ithor."

Jag started walking; Jaina matched his pace. He forced himself to take slow steps, to enjoy the moment. "No, I decided this was a state dinner, not a military function. I am not trying to impress anyone. Actually, I am not here as a Chiss. I got my invitation because of my father's title on Corellia."

They passed through the doors back into the Grand Dining Hall. Jag immediately noticed eyes drift their way. They were definitely not looking at him, except for cursory glances at the man escorting Jaina Solo, as if to determine his worthiness. At that moment, Jag felt like the luckiest man alive. Amazingly, Jaina's attention was not on the room; it was focused straight at him as she continued to talk.

"Ah. That explains why they sat you at my table. They are trying to keep the Corellians in the back and out of the way. We have a reputation to uphold you know – trouble and mayhem are certain to follow wherever we go."

Jag's smile grew bigger as he peered down into her soft brown eyes. "Then my father must not be a full-blooded Corellian, because I have never known him to cause any trouble."

Jaina was guiding him through a maze of tables. She seemed to know where she was going, so Jag walked willingly beside her. He would have walked off the side of a cliff to stay by her side tonight. She laughed.

"I am not full-blooded Corellian, although my mother questions that from time to time. I tend to stir up plenty of excitement on my own. Besides, from what my dad says, your father had his day. He is the man who stole Wynissa Starflare right out from under the Empire's nose."

Jag chuckled at the thought. "I never looked at it that way."

Jaina stopped, tugging Jag to a halt with a firm squeeze of her arm wrapped in his. They were standing before a table where several dignitaries were already seated. Jag glanced down at Jaina, questioning her intentions with his green eyes. She reached over with her free hand and smoothed the empty spot on his uniform where the medals usually rested.

"Wise decision, not wearing the medals. All the shine hides the real you."

Before Jag could respond, one of the dignitaries from the table approached and interrupted. The man was anxious to meet Jaina Solo. Jag suffered through introductions with the entire table and then escorted Jaina to her seat. He was painfully aware of the distance and the phantom feel of her arm on his as he left her side. It was all he could do to not run back to Jaina and manage the walk to his chair across the table from her.

Dinner went well. There were many curious guests that dominated the conversation, most wanted to talk to Jaina. She handled them all masterfully, but Jag could tell she was no longer enjoying herself. Some expressed mild curiosity about the son of Baron Soontir Fel. Jag followed the flow of the dinner chatter, remaining quiet unless someone directly included him in a discussion. Small talk had never been one of his fortes.

As the dinner was winding down, the talk at the table slowed. Possibly the effects of the wine and good food had soothed the guests into a peaceful mood. Jag did not care what the reasons, he was just grateful for a moment to himself. He glanced across the table; candlelight flickered between him and Jaina, casting a soft glow.

Jag studied Jaina as she tugged the laces on her gown. At that moment, she looked as innocent as a child fussing with her dress-up clothes. Briaun, his sister, had the same habit. His mother was constantly reminding her to sit still. Jag knew Jaina was far from innocent, though. He wondered what horrible things she had seen on her Jedi mission. He had heard talk among the pilots that the Jedi had suffered terrible losses at the hands of the Yuuzhan Vong. She was a dichotomy - the vision of a lovely young woman, soft and supple, housing a scrappy fighter and powerful warrior.

She glanced up as if she knew he was watching and offered a rueful smile. "I'd be happier in a flightsuit."

"No doubt, but you look lovely all the same."

Jaina blushed, and Jag's heart about stopped pumping. He scolded himself. How could he have made it through the whole evening and not complimented her? He would have thrown praises her way in an endless wave to see that effect again. The blush on her cheeks only served to accentuate the beauty of her face. As quickly as the color had risen from the praise, she turned away to watch the first dance.

Jag tried to keep his eyes on Tenel Ka and Prince Isolder as they maneuvered across the floor in an elaborate dance, but his eyes kept coming back to the curve of her neck where it met her shoulder. Her skin was smooth and creamy. He wondered what it would be like to kiss her from the back of her ear all the way down to the tip of her shoulder. Fearful she would hear the thoughts screaming from the depths of his soul, he forced his gaze back to the royal pair.

Jag did something impulsive then, in an attempt to lure Jaina to face him once more. "I wonder what might happen to a man who stepped on her toes?"

The effect of his musing was decidedly good. Jaina shot a startled look at him. "Their heads are mounted on the trophy room wall." She feigned a serious air with her face.

Jag was so pleased with the result of his impetuousness, he grinned from ear to ear. To his surprise Jaina glanced away. Jag wondered if he had been too bold when she nodded toward the growing crowd on the dance floor. "They've created a diversion. We could probably sneak out and look around for those trophies."

Jag felt panic swell in his chest. Quickly, he called upon his steely nerves, honed in hundreds of battles, to take over. Think of this as just another engagement. Fly by the seat of your pants; trust your instincts. They have not failed you in a dogfight yet. How hard can this be? She is a girl; you are a boy. Nature is on your side. His brief pep talk seemed to do the trick. Jag rose from his chair and executed a formal bow.

"May I have the honor of shared evasive maneuvers?" Wow, that was smooth. See, it is really not that hard. I am sure she does not bite. Not that I would mind if she did.

Chuckling, she took his offered hand. They merged into the swirling crowd, working their way toward the doors. One time, Jag had to pull her aside to avoid a collision with a dancing couple. His hand fit perfectly around her waist as their bodies brushed together. Jaina paused a moment, as if the closeness was as enjoyable for her as it was for him. Reluctantly, he drew away to dodge another incoming pair.

After several near misses, the couple emerged in the hall, hand in hand, grinning like mischievous children. Jag could never have imagined the thrill of doing something as spur of the moment as this. Laughing and holding hands with a beautiful young woman were all so new, so different, but he was not ashamed to say he was having fun.

Jag wondered what it was specifically about Jaina that brought such new emotions boiling to the surface. One look at her smile and sparkling eyes answered his question. Still holding his hand, she spun across the hall, her dress swirling around, until she ended facing him. Jag's breath caught for a moment.

He was about try another one of those effective compliments when a paneled door slid open, and a slender, red-clad figure stepped from the banquet chamber into the hall. The magic was instantly lost. Jaina's smile disappeared behind a formal mask as Jag released her hand. Both drew themselves up to the measure of comportment befitting one talking to woman of considerable import.

Ta'a Chume spoke. "Jaina, I'd hoped to have the opportunity to speak with you."

Jag greeted the former queen with a crisp, proper bow and excused himself. He nodded to Jaina, and then disappeared through the open door into the swirling crowd. Jag wandered aimlessly, shot down from his euphoria with such speed he was still reeling from the effects. He felt like he had been dealt one of those gut shots his brother used to knock him down with as children. Not wanting to suffer his heartache in company, Jag headed for the entrance to the Grand Dining Hall.

Once outside the crowded room and in the relative solitude of the long hall, Jag contemplated his next move. After a moment of indecision, he chose to stay; the hope that Jaina would return to the party after her audience with Ta'a Chume swayed his decision. Jag had just decided to step outside and clear his head, when a voice startled him.

"Colonel Fel!" Turning his head in the direction of his name, none other than Kyp Durron was approaching like a storm cloud on the horizon. Jag could practically feel the threatening air descending on the party. Before Jag could wonder how the Jedi had gotten past the guards, especially dressed only in a simple tunic and pants, Kyp was at his side.

"I see you took my advice. Have you had the chance to ask Jaina why she doesn't like me?"

"No."

"So you haven't seen her?"

Jag bristled, under the barrage of questions. "I have, but I don't think it would be proper to ask a lady such a thing…"

Kyp snorted. "A lady? Jaina Solo is far from a lady. She is more like a tusk-cat wrapped in a pretty package. She looks great -- like she is soft and nice to touch, but she has a wicked set of claws and fangs. I am sure you are blind to that fact, seeing as you are completely besotted by her."

Jag's face turned to a formidable frown, and his eyes turned to green ice. "I am not besotted with Jaina Solo. I find her to be an intriguing young woman with a shared interest in piloting."

Kyp laughed. "Whatever, but keep up those pretenses, and you will never get to see the inside of the cockpit of that fighter." Jag became rigid, his chest expanding and his shoulders stiffened. Before he could fire back a response, Kyp continued. "Listen, I would love to explain to you the how's and why's of romancing a spitfire like Jaina…"

Jag was determined to say his peace. "Master Durron, I think you judge my intentions unfairly…"

"Do you deny you are attracted to her? I mean you would have to be part blue-blooded Chiss to deny Jaina is about as desirable as they come. If I were ten years younger, I would be first in line…"

Jag snapped. "She despises you; you don't have a chance with Jaina."

Wrinkles around Kyp's eyes were the only hint to the humor he found in the situation. "Oh, so I did come up. There's still hope for me yet."

Jag slammed the door on his jealous leanings as he realized the Jedi Master was goading him. His voice was cold as a Csilla glacier as he responded. "She hardly gave you half a thought."

Kyp frowned, his mood turned suddenly somber. Jag imagined he even saw a hint of regret. "Well, she is not going to like me any more after tonight. I've come to take her to Anakin's funeral. Do you know where she is?"

Even Jag could not stay mad at the Jedi, realizing his grizzly task. "She was meeting with the former queen, Ta'a Chume. You can find her through the doors directly across from the banquet hall's entrance."

"Thanks. I suppose you could have left me to myself to find her after the way I acted. You're a better man than I. At least I can stop worrying how to go about this and get it over with."

"Where is the funeral?" Jag knew the joy of the night was over, but he also knew he had to be close to Jaina, to show his support, even if it was standing in the shadows at the funeral.

"At the top of Mount Ikinak outside the city. You can't miss it."

Jag tipped his head respectively. "I will inform Prince Isolder and the others. I am sure they would want to attend as well." Kyp offered a small smile as a token of his gratitude then started for the banquet hall when Jag stopped him with a question. "Master Durron, why is it Jaina is not with her family at a time like this? Why does she hide in this Palace?"

A wry smile formed on Kyp's lips. "She's too much like her father, fiercely independent to a fault. I am afraid Jaina will have to learn the hard way about holding everyone at bay when the bottom falls out, just like Han did, just like I did. Hopefully she'll find her way out before it consumes her."

"You really care about Jaina, don't you?"

Kyp chuckled. "I hate to admit it, but yes I do. I owe Han Solo a lot. Maybe saving his daughter from this dark turn is a step in the path to my own redemption." Kyp paused then met Jag's gaze. "Just maybe, when all is said and done, there will be some of that Jaina Solo left you are trying desperately not to fall in love with." Before Jag could respond, Kyp Durron spun on his heel in a flurry of robes and was lost in the sea of guests.