Jedi from Rohan: lol, thank you! The plots in this series are definitely close to my heart, so I'm glad they've caught your attention J Alright, then, keep your spoilers! ;) But let me know if any come true :D I always drive other people insane, because I'm always guessing what's going on. Tiran and the Dark Man, eh? Well, I'm all the more interested, then.
It's not that I don't like Vergere, it's just that…she made everything so much more complicated for the Jedi. And I kind of liked the Light vs. Dark. So…yeah. Just seemed like extra philosophizing to bring her into the NJO shrugs
Thanks! :D
Ameri: Hmm…I should start posting my big J/Z series over here. Maybe when I rewrite it.
Thanks! Yeah, I wanted to keep things somewhat original; fortunately, a rather large plot bunny attacked me, and I was able to accommodate this villain ; The Spirits show up in this chapter! Don't worry, they're not going anywhere :)
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Chapter Fourteen: Civil Conversation, and Tumultuous Training
(Three Weeks Later)
There was a rock under his butt, and it was very, very uncomfortable. Tiran shifted, but froze when Jaina glared at him. "I'm meditating!" he assured her defensively.
Her lips quivered with restrained laughter. "Are you really?" she asked innocently.
"Yes," the mechanic retorted defiantly.
"I see…and just how are you managing that?"
Tiran cast his eyes to the ground, hoping a reply would come to him. "By…connecting my, uh, soul and mind?"
Laughter bubbled past her lips, and she knew better than to try to stem
their onslaught. The situation wasn't truly hilarious, but she hadn't
laughed in a lifetime, it seemed, and to see her arrogant,
temperamental apprentice flounder like this was enough of an excuse.
Knowing full well that Tiran was staring at her as if she had taken
leave of her senses, Jaina finally reined herself in. "You've never
meditated before, have you, Lee-droy?"
His face flushed in a
mixture of anger and embarrassment. "My sis… I knew people who
meditated," he replied defiantly. "It can't be that hard."
Jaina had a feeling her next words would be taken as snobbery, but it
might be good for her to pop Tiran's ego. It was her right as a Master,
after all. Besides, if he couldn't take it, he shouldn't dish it out.
"Jedi meditation is galaxies apart from anything your sister would have
tried," she stated. "A normal person calms themselves, then sinks
within; a Jedi reaches out and joins the very stars themselves."
He glared at her rebelliously, eliciting a sigh from the young master.
"You remember how I taught you those breathing exercises?"
He nodded, and she copied the movement, pleased. "Good. I need you to
put those to work; they're your base. If you find your centre, you'll
reach the comfort the Force gives you, and nothing will take it from
you." She paused, then smirked apologetically. "Well, as long as
ysalamiri aren't around."
He went to ask her what "ysalamiri"
were, but she shook her head. "Some other time, oh Impatient One. Now,
steady your breathing." He could feel her gaze on him as his eyes
drifted closed. It was unsettling, and the urge to make a wisecrack
about ummmm-ing priests and twisted legs was almost unbearable.
"Don't even think of it," she snapped, her voice infused with Something
Else – that was, some Mystery or magical power that she hadn't
explained yet. "Match your breathing – in, out, in – to your
heartbeat."
When did the Princess get all priest-y and mystical? Tiran mused somewhat grouchily before obeying her. Exasperated amusement floated just out of his reach, and he started.
"Not bad," Jaina confessed, keeping her voice low and quiet. "Now
spread out with your senses. Try to feel me. You know where I am, and I
am strong, so concentrate, and you should find me."
It was slow
and almost painful (he could just hear the princess saying, "Pain is an
illusion; life is reality"), but eventually he bruised himself against
a fire. It took him a moment to recognize the scalding, sharp-edged
cluster of energy as the woman that sat in front of him. Reflexively,
he (figuratively) stepped back, away from the feeling that Eyes watched
him from every side, seeing everything about and within him. He pushed
down the urge, however, and remembered what Jaina had done to figure
out what was happening when he was "possessed". She had poked him, felt around in his head.
He wanted to see if he could do the same.
Jaina made a small noise, as if in protest, but she clamped down on it. If he makes it past my shields, then it'll serve him right to see,
she reassured herself, a little bitter. But he was still her
apprentice, and she couldn't let him try without a warning. "Trying to
see into another's mind – particularly a healing, potentially chaotic
mind – can be dangerous. Hold back some of yourself."
Tiran ignored her, and Jaina grimaced. In a small way, he was like her: he would learn things the hard way.
She almost pitied him.
Tiran's brow furrowed in concentration, though he wasn't aware of that.
His grasp on (Jaina would demur that it was a companionship with)
the Force – still new to him – was clumsy, but when he focused on
making it into a key to Jaina's mind, it obeyed. Or allowed.
Jaina's fists tightened as she felt him push her shielding aside, but
she had consciously gentled the walls, and so she forced herself to
abide the intrusion. She had had three masters in her life, and all had
allowed her to do what Tiran tried now.
She whispered an apology to them, if only for her conscious' sake. She hadn't realized how unnerving and demeaning it was.
Tiran only wanted to peek in – he had no real goal, which was just as
well, since he would have been unable to accomplish it. When he entered
her thoughts, however, he was blasted. Chaos danced before him; unshed
tears froze him, and unspeakable anger burned him. Blood – pain, and
guilt too deep to bear – drenched him until he wanted to cry out.
He knew this mind. He knew this state of being.
But he had not realized its savagery…its desolation.
He was going to apologize, but abruptly Jaina threw him out of her
head, and he opened his eyes to see her strained face. She had too much
royalty in her blood to accept his condolences.
And she was too much of a fighter to admit their similarities when she was vulnerable.
"Enough games," she said, her voice clipped. "The Force isn't your
playmate; it will use you, as well. So reach out, as far as you can,
and meet your real master."
He was blocked from her
mind as if his intrusion had never been, and Tiran was too bewildered
by shaming realization to speak. He stretched out, rebelliousness
momentarily disappearing into the hope that she would understand his
sympathy in his obedience.
Before the universe propelled him
to unknown heights, he wondered how he would be able to live with this,
and if, perhaps, he had gotten into more than he had expected.
In their corner of the universe-that-was-beyond, the Spirits sighed.
"At last," the First Said, "he begins to understand."
"For how long?" the Fifth retorted. If she had been Dead/alive, her grey eyes might have flashed.
The Fourth withdrew, and then blinked sleepily. "For as long as he needs to. He begins; it is enough, for now."
"But she does not," the Sixth Said – despairingly, and even a little condescendingly, it seemed to the others.
The Ninth and the Third Spoke at the same time. "She will."
The Ninth laughed, and added, "And the Shield…"
But the others did not Understand. Even the Third appeared confused.
The Ninth only continued to watch, amusement shining from her face,
untainted, in a way it never had in life/Death. She, above all, knew
how the most unlikely love and friendship could surpass everything.
She knew – as the others did not – that there was far more at work than
their simple minds could understand. This was not merely preparation
for the Prophecy. The Strings had been her confidant through many years
before her death; she was used to Seeing what was not yet there.
Jaina glared at Garik's blue face. The morning holo talks were becoming a tradition; she had the feeling it was because he was (condescendingly) checking in to make sure she hadn't put her hand in the cookie jar. Or killed Tiran.
Infuriating, to be treated like a child after having fought a war; Garik was the only one who could get away with it, and only just.
"I'm fine," she groused, rubbing some sleep from her eyes. He had called earlier than usual, and she was a mess: she was still in her sleep pants, her hair was mussed, her complexion was pasty and her eyes drooped. She had spent too long out of the cockpit; she was becoming lazy. Once, she was able to sneak just two hours of sleep, head out and shoot down some skips, then go out for a sim with friends, all without batting an eye.
"You look like bantha dung," Garik stated bluntly.
Her jaw dropped. "You call me up at eight in the morning and expect me to look like a prima donna?? If you were any closer, I'd deck you."
"I'm sure you would," he agreed smoothly.
He was being condescending again, she fumed. "Garik Klamath," she said with bite, "have I ever, in all the time you've known me, been a morning person?"
Garik coughed, and she knew he was covering a smile. "Well, now that you mention it…no – you haven't. You're an absolute ogre in the morning. I assume this has a point? Or are you using illogical thought process again?"
She gave him the Evil Eye.
"I assure you, I called for a reason," he placated her.
"Fine." She attacked her hair with a brush. "What is it?"
He raised an eyebrow, and she pouted. He gave her a look, and she sighed. "Please?" she said grudgingly.
"Of course, Solo," he said easily. "I was recently sent to witness the annual elections on a planet named Cryta 3; it's a smaller planet a few parasecs beyond Borleias. It depends mainly on agriculture, although their history is exquisitely stored as well. It's quiet, and the people there are friendly toward the Jedi."
A rare thing indeed, she admitted, a little sullenly. But she was starting to wake up, at least. "What about it?"
"Since you've apparently decided to go back on your spectacularly ill-timed promise not to take an apprentice – " He gave her an irritated (or at least harried) look, "you may want to consider accommodations outside of the army base, especially considering you wouldn't have a home within a year."
She hadn't thought of that. Kriff it, Garik; why couldn't you be the Jedi? I'd feel a little better about our survival if you were. "I assume you found a place?"
He gave a faint smile. "Would I be telling you about this if I hadn't? It's fairly remote, but there is a small community that isn't too far away. The area is particularly vibrant with life – you'd like it. Parts reminded me of Yavin 4, though more tamed."
"It's a farming community, not a tropical paradise," she started.
"Not this area," he replied. "No one's touched it – at least, not so you can tell. The better part of it, however, is you could plant your own food; I have a feeling government funding might be slightly lacking in the future, despite some of my negotiations."
Another thing she hadn't thought of. What was she getting herself into?
"The land is fairly inexpensive," he continued. "A river runs on the property and into a nearby lake. The current isn't too fast, and the water is quite warm."
The idea of Garik testing the water in a suit caused Jaina's eyes to gleam. "I don't suppose this place has a building?"
He smiled. "I was saving that for last, but very well. It's large, with room to grow or add to, if you need the expansion. I believe it may have been a small hotel once, before the owner realized that no one visited the planet, other than eccentric relatives of the natives. There are rooms that, when cleaned out, would be ideal for indoor sparring. There's a large amount of bedrooms sprinkled throughout. It's not opulent, by any means, but…"
She grinned. "Have I ever – "
"Suggested you enjoyed opulence?" he finished. The diplomat raised an eyebrow. "No. I said it merely so you wouldn't pout upon seeing it, should you be in one of your 'Princess' moods."
Becoming aware of a buzzing, and the smell of smoke, Jaina held up one finger. "One minute, 'kay?" Without waiting for his reply, she jogged to the kitchen and rescued her breakfast, which looked charred (she was used to it) even though she had originally planned on only re-heating it (again). Racing back, she narrowly avoided tripping over her returned laundry. Maybe it's time to do a quarters clean up…? She dismissed the idea almost as soon as it entered her head.
Jaina plopped back onto the couch and curled her feet under her. "Back," she said with a grin. "And without a fire, this time."
"Have a nice trip?" Garik asked dryly, eying her sliding, syrup covered waffles. "By the way, your whipped cream is dripping."
Jaina stopped the white stream with her index finger and sucked the sweet liquid off. "Yum. Thanks. And it's whipped milk – water and powder mixed by yours truly," she added airily. "Anyway, I take it you want me to come see this place of yours?"
"Your place, you mean," he corrected, and Jaina thought he looked remarkably like a cat with cream. "I already convinced the Senate to purchase it."
Her eyes widened. "Really?" she said, drawing the word out. "How'd you manage that?"
Garik's face contorted in remembered pain, and his hand drifted to his temple for a moment. "With a lot of headaches. Also, I told them it would keep you out of their way, but within sight."
She grumbled. "You make me sound like an irresponsible, unwanted child."
"Poor baby," he replied unsympathetically.
She crammed an extra big piece of waffle into her mouth, just to annoy him. But he had been nice enough to find her a house, so she swallowed before speaking again. "How'd you get the Senate to part with their beloved credits?"
"My father – " she noticed that he treaded carefully on that word, "was killed somewhat recently, as you know, and the Senate had yet to give the final, "family condolences" payment. He had already set up a…trust fund, if you will, for the Jedi Order. I guess he finally decided to use his spades of money to do something worthwhile."
She hesitated, but decided not to touch the subject of the Klamath Divorce and Other Family Problems. Shifting awkwardly only resulted in almost landing her leftover waffle in her lap, so she stared at the ground, hoping for inspiration.
"How's that apprentice of yours?"
Relieved, Jaina snorted. "Oh. Tiran. Well, he's stubborn and – you know – pig-headed, but otherwise it's all right." She laughed. "You should've been there when I showed him the Jedi robes… Honestly…"{Flashback}
Jaina was only too conscious that she was holding a now-dead Jedi's extra robe. "This one should fit you," she said, practically shoving it into Tiran's arms.
He stared at it before slowly shaking it out. His mouth smoothed into a firm, irritated line, and he tried to give it back to her. "Not in this galaxy."
She pushed his arms back. "This is the traditional Jedi garb; you will wear it."
"It's a dress!" he protested scathingly, holding it away from him when she wouldn't accept it.
She put her hands on her hips, frustrated beyond belief. "Why do you always have to argue with everything?" she demanded. "It is not a dress, it's a robe!"
"In some languages, the two mean the same thing," he retorted. "I'm not wearing it, and you can't make me."
"Please," she muttered. "Is this about your male ego, or something? You think it'll hurt your image? A robe can't hurt it any more than it your…well, you-ness; besides, girls like mystique. If you stand in the right light, you almost look like, er…" When no dashing, rebellious Jedi that even remotely fit Tiran's description came to mind, Jaina sighed and Force-glued the robe to his chest. "Look, you don't have to wear it all the time – just on missions, or when you're representing the Jedi Order."
He tugged at the cloak, but it wouldn't move. "That a promise?" he grunted, eying her sceptically.
She rolled her eyes. "You don't see me in my Jedi robe, do you?"
Tiran continued to pull on his cloak while watching her. "I didn't hear you promise."
"Oh, for Force's sake! I promise, okay?" She spun on her heel and went to re-"organize" the boxes she had pulled aside when looking for the robe.
A few minutes later, Tiran appeared, the cloak still hopelessly attached to his T-shirt. "Uh…Solo…help?"
{End of flashback}
"Sounds like you got what you deserved," Garik remarked.
"And what's that?" Jaina demanded.
"An apprentice who will drive you insane for all the grey hair you gave to your own masters."
"Hey!" she protested. "I never tinkered with the hot/cold shower controls."
Garik snickered. "Perhaps not, but I've heard enough stories about you rearranging the Falcon's wiring. Besides, you forget that Tiran will have to live with your despairing domestic skills. I assume your bed's still unmade?"
She glared at him. "I'm nineteen years old, Diplomat Klamath, and you are not my mother."
His lips curved mockingly. "Certainly brings the galaxy into perspective, doesn't it?"
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Jaina wasn't quite sure what to make of an apprentice that didn't want to spar; she had always been under the impression that it was one of the best parts of being a Jedi. Or, at least, the most attractive to apprentices. Tiran, however, took one look at the stun rod, swept his eyes over her, then put his foot down.
"Why not?" she complained. "Is this one of your rebellious moments? Because you're missing out."
He stared at the hydrospanner he was fidgeting with, then mumbled something.
"I didn't catch that," she replied.
"I'm not going to fight a girl," he said more loudly.
She stared at him, slack-jawed. On impulse, she ignited the stun-beam and brought it down two centimetres away from his left thigh before stepping back. He jumped and looked up at her. "What was that for?"
"For being an idiot," she retorted, tossing the other beam to him.
He caught it with minimum fumbling before placing it on the table next to him.
Jaina gritted her teeth. "You know, Lee-droy, you have really horrible timing… Put the gentleman thing off for a few more years, would you?"
"I thought Jedi weren't supposed to be bloodthirsty," Tiran mocked, his face becoming ruddy with embarrassment.
"They aren't, but surviving is generally a good thing." Sarcasm was used liberally.
"You know," Tiran remarked, "I bet this is why Mr. Possessive is able to do what he can; some fool – sorry, Jedi – trained him so he could 'protect himself' and he took it overboard."
Jaina filed the idea away in order to hit it off Garik later, but didn't allow herself to be distracted. "Quit stalling."
He glared at the stun-beam in her hands.
The Sword of the Jedi rolled her eyes. "Fine. If it makes you feel any better, we'll leave the one-on-one sparring until later. Today I'll just shoot at you – " She looked rather gleeful about the idea, "and you can deflect the bolts."
He glanced up at her, and she noticed that his gaze lingered over her shoulder. She turned to see what had caught his interest, and blinked when she recognized the holo as one of her and her father in front of the Falcon. The memory was like a slap in the face. Sith, I do not need to have another pity-party/lost-forever moment, she thought angrily.
Tiran noticed the change. "Hey, Princess, you okay?"
She took a deep breath and purposely turned her back on the holo. The image was still burned onto her brain. "I'm fine," she retorted. "And if I wasn't, why would you care?"
"You said it yourself – I've been where you are."
If she hadn't glared at him first, he would have thought she didn't hear him, because she offered, "I'll make you a deal. I know you can't fly but want to – and I'm a pilot more than I'll ever be a Jedi. If you agree to train without a fuss – even when sparring with a girl – I'll teach you to fly."
He considered her proposal and then sighed. Flying lessons had been one of the many things Molair had promised to teach him; he wasn't sure he wanted to be taught by anyone else. But…well, with the Princess as his master, he'd probably have to learn anyway – if not to co-pilot, then to pilot himself around for missions. "It's a deal," he yielded.
She nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I'll reserve the simulator for tomorrow, if I can. Until then, pick up that stun-rod and follow me."
Jaina could be really annoying, Tiran decided. "I saw you break," he called after her, trying to get a rise out of the fiery woman. "Back there – with the holo."
Her stride hitched for a moment before continuing on, outwardly confident. "No – you saw me crack, for not even a second. You'll never see me break."
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As one, the Spirits sighed. It had taken great
effort for them to place that holo-image on the Sword's mantle;
affecting the living/Dying's physical world was difficult.
"We have to be patient," the Third Said, although he appeared irritated.
The Second crossed her arms over her chest. "It can be difficult for
one to let go of their independence," the Second admitted, although she
was also frustrated.
"And I used to believe that Solo pride was a good thing," the First moaned.
They all shot him an odd look.
The First had used the speech style of the living/Dying.
urgh...this new QuickEdit thing is driving me insane. Sorry if any of the set up comes out weird; I'm adapting to this all :
-TJF