A/N First of all—I was really excited to see a review...

Kez! Thank you very much, I'm glad you're enjoying it. The comments are much appreciated.

Some background. This post, as you'll see, I feel like its one of my best written "Posts" just b/c of the way things turn out between Kel and Tristan. The letter from Elbereth is also something that just wrote itself, and i'm curious to see how you all feel.

Timeline: Post 9: First part is during the end of Balance Point. Second half is during a very specific incident in Edge of Victory II: Rebirth. (There's a quick commentary on those events next)

Setting: Explanation: The second half of this post takes place during Edge of Victory: Rebirth As we find out in Balance Point: Mara Jade Skywalker is pregnant, and has been able to put her disease in remission due to tears provided by the Fosh (Old Republic Jedi) Veregre. Well, during Rebirth We find out that due to the hunting down of Jedi, and the security breaches by Anakin and Talon Karrde to save Tahiri and the Jedi Academy on Yavin in Conquest Borsk Fey'lya is forced to request that they are arrested. At the onset of this news, Mara realizes something is wrong with her child, exposure to an unknown chemical agent (aka the very tears that were holding the disease at bay) and is rushed to see her doctorsIsm Oolos, Cilghal while frantically packing to also leave the planet. It's about 4-6 months since BP...and Rogue Squadron has just asked Jaina to extend her leave of absence from the squadron. As the Skywalkers and Jaina try to leave the system Rogue Squadron comes up prepared to defend them...but Luke convinces Gavin to back down, not wanting to destroy the very Democracy they had fought forand not wanting to be responsible for a coup. (On a happy note, so fed up Gavin is, that he apologizes to Jaina for not standing by her.)

Post 9

The galaxy spins and time whirls by…

So much has been lost.

So much has been gained.

The war has been heaving forward for a year, and no one is the same. The arms of the Vong have shifted to capture Tynna, Gyndine, and Hapes—63 worlds not lost, but a fleet destroyed at Fondor in a blink of an eye. Breaking into fragments the NewRepublic finds itself fighting a slippery battle—with invisible enemies fighting from the inside out. Traitors who choose to take the cowardly way out; collaborators, and mercenaries like the Peace Brigade.

NREMAT has been converted into a branch of the government's refugee agency SELCORE, The New Republic Senate Select Committee for Refugees. Choosing between relative safety on Coruscant, and aiding the war effort the four of us—Syla, Nestor Tristan and I—decided upon the latter. Assigned to a ship transporting refugee's to Duro, we sped through hyperspace presently safe from the path of the Yuuzhan Vong.

Or so we thought...or so we hoped...

On a micro level, my personal danger had been shunted aside. After all, our movements were erratic, and at times untraceable. So when my mysterious 'friend' was finally identified...

Wait. Watch. Our hunt begins...

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En Route to Duro

Traveling on the refugee ship FatemDr. Delan Lind struggled to bind the wound of a young Rodian female. Suffering from shock, her body trembled with fever while her eyes traveled around the cavernous mess hall turned living space as if absorbing the features of the many victims squashed together in filthy squalor. Softly, he tried to regain her attention, "Ms. Tell me, where are you from?" He had learned that often, speaking of home helped those left without roots to collect their thoughts. The concrete existence of the past, helped their mind to refocus, to see past the disconcertion and find steady ground. Of course, it was not a cure all, and had, on occasion, backfired.

Not all the time.

Achingly her wide bulbous eyes turned to him, a trickle of blood slipping through the dressing, down her face. Quickly, Lind changed the gauze, taking her hand, showing her how to press it for compression. He had returned to splinting her sprained wrist when he noticed that she was whispering. "All gone...all..gone. Minali and her politician boyfriend, gone. Don't know where." She whimpered, "We got caught by some Peace Brigader's, who thought that we were hiding a Jedi. We were separated. And Ignace wouldn't leave his wife, who finally...decided to come to live with him again, but now refused to leave the planet."

She adjusted her arm, changed topics before resuming "You're doing it wrong."

"Hmm?" He glanced back up at her. "Doing what wrong?"

"Cross, bilateral, cross, cross, bilateral. The wrapping for a double sprain."

He looked at her again, "How..." he changed his mind and asked his second question first. "Was it sprained before today?"

"Yes."

"Where were you trained?"

"Thyferra."

Lind looked at her shocked, Had the Vong gotten that far? Mechanically he removed the dressing and began tying it with a brace to further limit its movement.

Sensing his question she shook her head, "No, we were volunteers, leaving the planet to help after Fondor, but something went wrong. Hyperdrive. The transport that came to our aide was filled with Traitors. Traitors."

Dr. Lind nodded, the Fatem had been transporting refugee's to Duro after the Salliche Ag had withdrawn his offer to take any more at Ruan. They had come across a group of ships with a knocked out hyperdrive just coreward from Fondor. Somehow they had managed to overshoot the remains of the Hapan fleet, and had dropped out along the far end of the Rimma Trade Route. Whatever the Peace Brigade had been looking for, once they realized it was not on their ship, they abandoned it to its fate; stripped of provisions and with a few dead in their wake.

Another whimper.

"Am I hurting you?"

She shook her head. "No. They killed my husband, Illghazi. They didn't even consider that he was telling the truth." She was remarkably composed. Her expression was blank.

Standing Dr. Lind snagged an extra blanket from a passing 9-P0. "Here, I'll send another doctor around to check on you in a few minutes. If you feel strange, ask one of the children to find me, or one of the other Doctors." He kneeled back down squeezing her shoulders in comfort. "I know it hurts, and it won't help for me to say that the pain will eventually go away. All I can say is to take the little hopes, the little joys and use them. The Vong may destroy our families and our homes, but they cannot take our spirits."

Resolutely, Natir watched as he walked away, carefully testing her wrist. The transport was cramped, and she was sure entirely beyond its capacity. Everywhere she looked there was a wide berth of species, even some she had never seen before. Her mind went blank as she struggled to come to grips with the events of the past few days. Illghazi had just...died.

The ringing of the blaster, red beam, and as he was hit, his face always peaceful had been contorted in pain. And he had had only eyes for her, mere instances before they closed. To push back the memories, Natir tried to focus on those around her, searching for any ounce of familiarity, patterns.

In the large room the species had segregated themselves by planetary affiliation. She watched a tiny Sullustan child hopping around on one foot, and found herself smiling as his isolated play piqued the attention of other young. The ball that he had been holding slipped from his finger and her eyes shifted to follow it, and saw it stop at the feet of a well dressed human. Absently, she examined the threadbare clothing he wore, a sense of familiarity and déjà vu sparking through her mind. There was an insignia on his shoulder, a red symbol of the New Republic. A member of the NREMAT...no SELCORE medical team.

There was a passing droid, and she turned suddenly to ask for this man's name, only to feel her chest tighten from the sudden move. Unable to breathe she leaned back her hands clawing at the folds of the blanket in which she was wrapped. Moments stretched to eternity and she vaguely remembered a Bith looking over her with concern before the spots slowly began to clear, and her breathing became unlabored. Grasping hands helped her up into a sitting position, and she saw Doctor Lind placing an injector into his pocket.

"Almost gave us a fright there."

"Sorry," she rasped.

"No sudden moves. You have to take it easy for a few days. Ok?" He smiled. "I'm going to be on my break for the next few hours, but I wanted to introduce you to the doctor who can help you. Of course there are 2-1B's as well, but in case you wanted to talk to someone..." He gestured behind him to a female figure, who was making her way over from a previous patient. A woman with long dark curly hair and compassionate eyes. "Doctor Stanton."

For a moment the two of them stared, astounded, a million different thoughts crossing between them, most notably Illghazi's absence. Keladry Stanton dropped to her knees to embrace her best friend. "Natir. Oh..stars. Natir." After a few moments she felt Delan's warm hand on her shoulder, and she glanced upward.

Standing, she beamed at her colleague, wiping away tears of joy. "Delan, I'd like you to meet one of my best friends, Natir Elgardy."

He smiled back at the female Rodian whose sadness had been, for the moment, pushed back. Then to Dr. Stanton. "I'll leave you two to catch up. I'll be back at 0400."

Kel glanced at him. "Do you think it would be all right if I moved her in with Syla and I?"

Dr. Lind, her superior on the Fatem, nodded briskly. "I can't see why not. I'll send Nestor over to help you transport her."

Before he left he looked at his patient sagely. "Little hopes. Little Joys." He touched palm to his heart and walked slowly away.

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A few hours out from Duro, Nestor found himself on the watch for the morgue. Initially the Fatem had been a luxury liner transporting those who could afford around the galaxy. Its climate controlled XG fridgeration unit, in days past used for storage of choice cuts of nerf steak, corellian rhyshcate and the sweetest Alderaanian wine was now filled with remains. Every once in a while a desperate refugee would limp in looking for valuable for anything that may offer them solace or an edge to survival. As a consequence, it had become policy to place a security guard at the entrance.

In the silence, he whispered a prayer for those no longer of this world, a prayer in native Danshi, that he had spoken over the burial of his Queen. It was a prayer for lost souls, a prayer for Illghazi, Natir's husband, a good being full of kindness towards his friends and his patients; a gentle being, with passion for life.

"Nisa al dora

Yor al manhata

Le fremni, Le hala

Norda ki ar, ki do, ki meni"

"So we pass

Embracing the sail

The sky, the fire.

Passion in life, Passion in death,

Passion above all."

Many of these beings had simply...faded away. Their passion subsumed with grief, engulfed with hatred, and devoured by madness. Others had merely given up. Morbid thoughts.... Nestor reached into his right breast pocket for a handkerchief, touching upon a fragment of parchment, brittle through exposure to recycled air, rather than yellow with age.

Nestor,

I know there's not much time left. Take care of him. Even though the people may not recognize it, he is by law, and when I die, the proper ruler of both Valdet and Danshitie. I know that he was meant to bring our peoples together, to make them work togetherwe cannot always be isolated and solitary in our matters. I believe that there is much we can give the galaxy, so I shall retain hope beyond my final dusk that this misstep is just a hiccup.

When the time comes, you know where I'll be happy. Since losing his family and maintaining Valdet's borders without any guidance he found it easy to falter. While putting his faith in others, Tristan has never truly believed in himself. I tried, but there wasn't enough time to show him just how much I believe. He needs to be a shown a purpose beyond us so that he can truly see all the good that he can accomplish. I put my faith in him; I know that he can be successful.

I put my faith in you. For all that you have done, and all that you shall do, I thank you. I shall sleep easy knowing that you are there protecting him.

E.

For the thousandth time, he reread the message, hoping that she was happy at the final peace of their worlds, safe, for now, in the Outer Rim, beyond the reach of the Vong. Her faith had always been Nestor's strength, and now he wondered how long he should wait.

He had watched as Tristan and Keladry's relationship grew with each passing day, her expressions of love, a daily reminder of how far they had come, and his painful silence. Almost a year had passed and Tristan was still holding himself in check—loving the quiet woman from Coruscant, but not ready to commit.

Nestor patted his left interior pocket, checking for the other message, once again thinking of Elbereth's instructions before the bombing.

"When you think he is ready to move on. I know he will hesitate, I know he will struggle. This is the only way I believe he will cross over the gilded line, and live fully."

She had been sitting on the edge of the verandah, before she started to slip into her almost endless catatonic states. Her golden hair was limp, almost featherlike, and her eyes would never burn like the Danshitie violet again. Her words echoed in his ears.

"Nestor, a man can change if he is forced to, when he realizes that he cannot move forward without acknowledging his faults. I know Tristan Romani, as if I have known him all my life. He will not move on until he knows that he is not betraying me...

He is young, he has a life to live. I want him to see beyond the cloudy skies and the war torn sorrows that have plagued his world. I want him to hear the patter of children's feet in a courtyard. It may be a life without me, but it will be a full one with a woman he loves, and one who loves him in return."

Her hand had trembled as she turned to face Nestor, holding out the second letter between her bare sinew and bone fingers. And then she had dismissed him, allowing him to kiss her hand goodbye and then leaning forward to press her own lips to his temple. She had known what was to come.

How long should he wait? Nestor and Syla had in effect said their own vows, but Syla had decided to hold off the official ceremony until rejoining his family on Danshitie. She seemed to sense its import. But Tristan...

A gruff voice interrupted his musings. "Alluvia, move it. Shifts over, it's my turn. Interlopers be damned, Serge is here." The large man who helped load and unload the transport stomped towards Nestor.

Cracking a smile, he looked up to see his replacement, willing to accept whatever levity was possible. Waving, he made his way to the bulkhead shared with Tristan and Doctor Lind, not surprised to find Tristan on the edge of the bed marking up his datapad on his patients. He was nothing but meticulous.

Looking up as Nestor entered, Tristan mumbled a quick greeting before resuming his work. "Hello."

"Doctor," Nestor was firm.

Looking up again, Tristan was troubled by stern set and the intense glare of Nestor's expression. "Is something wrong?"

A softening, then again troubled. "No. Nothing is wrong. I..." Nestor had never been the most articulate man, he was one for action rather than talk. Pulling over a chair he settled in, leaning forward on his knees so that he was almost the same height as Tristan on the bed.

"I have to tell you something." He reached into his pockets and removed the two fragile letters. "Before the destruction of the palace, before Elbereth..." he appraised Tristan's reaction, knowing full well how far Tristan had come from that night on Tatooine. Nestor had not dared to mention her name himself. "Before Elbereth passed on...she called me to your chambers and handed me two letters."

Slowly, his heart beating quickly Tristan laid his data pad on the bed and sat up straighter.

"The first...were my instructions. To make sure that you stayed...safe...that she had faith that together everything would turn out well." Nestor's eyes glistened with emotion. "The second...the second she meant for you."

"For..me?" Tristan choked on the words. "I talked to her every day, why wouldn't she give it to me herself?"

Nestor shook his head vehemently, "It was not for you to read upon the moment of her death, or even in the months following. Rather, it was for when...for when..." He stuttered, sucked in some air, "for when you stood on a precipice, when you had the opportunity to move forward, but could not prevent yourself from looking back, from holding on to her." He held out the envelopes his hand shaking. "I think...that time is now." Carefully with deference, he placed them near Tristan's right hand.

"I will leave you, but there is more you need to know, so when you are ready I will be in the mess, awaiting your command." Standing quickly, he bowed—an action that he had long since ceased to perform, and practically ran out of the room.

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Some say that the Jedi do not dream...but what of those who cannot touch the Force? Is it possible to have a vision of someone long gone, or is it merely an echo of what your heart yearns for?

The dream was vivid. Last night, and nights past, he had been standing face to face with his queen, his wife. Neither spoke a word.

She was as she was on their wedding day, hair twirled around like a crown intertwined with diadems and pearls from the north shore of Danshitie. Standing in a floor length rose dress, splashed with darts of white on an aubergene sheath overlay.

They had been standing at a crossroads, and he was grasping her hand, pulling her back to walk along his path, while she shook her head and tried to move towards a rolling mist. Alone.

He had railed, screamed, but somehow each step he took back, the slippery her hand became and she was able to move further away. Eventually, she stood a mere step before the mists that concealed her horizon. Holding her left hand, he watched as first her right, then the left slipped beneath the veil. Staring at him, her violet eyes sparkled with her own grief urging him back onto the path he had left behind, saying goodbye.

But Tristan refused to listen.

Her features grew fuzzy, but he still grasped her hand.

Her eyes became pinpoints of light, but still he grasped her hand.

As he tried to push forward to join her through the fog, instead of pulling her out the fog turned to ice, her hand froze breaking into a thousand pieces and Tristan... woke up.

Remembering, Tristan now found himself averting his eyes from the chair Nestor had vacated to the letter lying next to him on the bed. Gently, he lovingly examined the parchments, recognizing at as Elbereth's favorite choice of correspondence. She used this paper, stronger than flimsy, as an illustration. Quickly, he scanned her words to Nestor, memorizing, drinking in her essence. Her faith had been his lifeline.

He moved on, to the message she had left for him. On the front, in faded brown—once dark black—ink was his name, curved and painstakingly written by a hand that...no longer listened to commands to hold steady. Tristan. The 'n' was lighter than the other letters and it was obvious that his name was the last thing she wrote, the effect of the tremors was clear.

Gulping down the sadness, Tristan flipped open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of writing parchment. Standing up, he moved towards the light in the corner, wanting to see every drop of ink, every miscurve, and every scratchout. This was...her last.

T.

Dearest Tristan,

I am sitting at my desk, the one that Bran bought me when he thought I may still be of use to him. The one made of red al-ien wood from the preserve on Danshitie. Engraved in the wood is a carving of a blue Agnor, a copy off a sketch that you drew for me, in honor of our third meeting so long ago.

That tiny bird puffed up like a Sparkiet when wailing, roosting in the preserve where our love first blossomed, spreading her song at a time when the seasons changed, welcoming the cool nights signaling winter—and flight.

It is time, my love. It is time.

I know a part of you is offended that I was not brave enough to articulate these words—

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Shaking his head Tristan closed his eyes...When were you not ever brave! Opening them again he read on.

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It is time, my love. It is time.

I know a part of you is offended that I was not brave enough to articulate these words in person. However we are bound by the limits of time and space, and I know that my flesh and bone and weary heart shall not last for much longer. (If I am still alive, forgive me for my impertinence, but this appeared the only avenue left for my voice to travel, beyond my final rest.)

Tristan, you are an easy man to love, and I know that any woman who can see you for your faults, side by side with your strengths and still love you is worth all the stars in the sky. For you are more than what you seem to be, and I have always had faith that someday, you will finally recognize your own self-worth.

You may be an easy man to love, but you are also stubborn one. Loving someone else does not mean that you have to forget me. I will always be there, within your heart, within your soul. I can never leave you, as you Tristan Romani shall always, and ever be a part of me.

The time has come to take flight.

Reach down and hold onto our memories, grasp them and realize that your past is a part of you—but does not own you. Step forward, and move with the changing seasons.

We have a past, ashiela, we have a present, but we do not have a future. Loving her back, is not a betrayal. It is an acceptance that life goes on. Insahal nisal. Forgive yourself.

Let me go.

Are ashiela I Me. Al'orian Morodin denaitha. Tristan el ashiela denaitha. Se'la, S'ela.

O! beloved, love (mirror of the stars). Ancestors of the Al'orian Morodin. Keep Tristan and his love within your embrace. Safe. Protected.

I will be with Salya, our child, waiting. I expect to wait a long time, and will wait to hear stories of your life, children and your wife to whom I will forever be indebted to for securing your happiness.

Zilsafer

Til Then.

Elbereth Dono Morodin-Romani,

E.

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"AHHHH Choo."

"Bless you." Syla handed Natir a napkin, placing a small hand against her face. "Just a touch of fever. Make sure you eat your entire share. I can promise you more food later, but for now..." She watched as Keladry slid into the makeshift booth, scooping half her food into her friends dish.

Natir turned and began to protest, but Keladry just looked at her pointedly before turning back to her own food. Syla could tell she was worried again, unsure of how much room she should give Tristan, if at all. Scanning the line she spotted Nestor, who waded through the refugees for his own share of rice and synthmilk before making his way towards them.

His countenance was expectant, on edge, and as he slid in next to her, Syla placed a hand on his neck, trying to massage out the tension. As he quietly spooned the food into his mouth, their eyes met briefly, and she knew that he had finally talked to Tristan.

Wiping his mouth he murmured softly, making sure that Keladry and Natir were still conversing. "I have to tell him more...but I had to give him privacy to read..." He sighed and swallowed some milk, his lips puckering at the slightly sweet taste.

Keladry looked up, "Still not used to the taste Nestor?"

"No, not yet." He was solemn,

"Hopefully you'll get used to it...eventually." She was light, impish.

"You've been saying that for weeks. I don't think that it's a likely occurrence." He rolled his eyes before downing the rest of it, nearly spitting it out at Natir's sudden exclamation.

"Emperor's Black Bones! Sithspit! Shavit..." All three of the people at the table turned to face her, and her pale green skin tinged red. "I'm sorry...I just remembered where I saw..." Her face grew pale...and she started to cough.

Syla pushed over a glass of water, "Here."

Shaking her head she turned to Keladry, the rasping subsiding. Lowering her voice, she looked at her friend, eyes wide with fear. "I know who he is."

Quizzical, Kel raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Your...admirer." Natir grimaced.

Nestor stopped, a spoonful of rice hovering halfway to his mouth. "What's his name? Species, build?"

"I don't know his name, but he's on this transport, right now. Helping the ill. He...he's the same man that asked me about your mother...human." Natir stared at Keladry's loosely clasped hands lying on the table, looking up when Nestor pulled out a datapad.

"He has to be someone we know." He pulled up a roster of medical personnel.

"Tall, dark hair, dark eyes...and he was wearing a suit with a NREMAT patch." Natir supplied eagerly.

Surprised Syla glanced at them. "That could be more than just the medical personnel, he could be a volunteer."

Nestor tapped a button on his screen expanding the list. "Here, look at this and see if you can come up with a set of names. This transport is not that big, but we're about to land and we need to make sure that..." His brow furrowed, "actually, we can just wait until after Duro. If this guy is the real deal, he probably knows how hard it is to find someone in this warzone. He'll stay on board."

Keladry spoke up for the first time. "Why hasn't he contacted me? I haven't received a card in months. Not since...right before we left for this mission." Comprehension dawned, "I'll probably have one waiting when I get back."

"If he approached you on this transport, he's too easy to trace. Coruscant gives him ample cover." Syla wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Coward."

"We should call Tristan." Kel's voice was soft, strained, her lack of enthusiasm revealed just how much their relationship had suffered in the last few months. There was only so much one person could give before the love becomes bittersweet. There had to be love in return...

Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, Nestor put the datapad down on the table. He reached for his commlink...and grimaced. Nestor had promised Tristan time...his thoughts were interrupted by the flashing of the proximity alarms.

"All personnel to docking stations, all personnel to docking stations." Nestor looked at the three women, and took their leave.

"I'll fill him in...you three concentrate on narrowing down the list on the datapad." He turned to Syla and kissed her forehead affectionately. Then looked at Keladry with hope. "Stay solid, Kel—maybe we can finally end this nightmare."

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"This is SELCORE ship 32523Captain Duchelle, ID transponder 45452 for drop off."

No answer. Frowning, the captain retransmitted the message, remembering that Duro had been having communication problems.

By the fourth time the receiver showed a spark of life, "Captain Duchelle, we just received word from Administrator Organa Solo—do you have room to take on more refugees?"

More? "No, we're here to offload. There's no room."

The slightly panicked voice, murmured to someone in the background. "I suggest you turn around and make a jump outsystem. We just received indications that the Vong are about to attack Duro."

Behind him, someone swore, and the captain waved his hand to shut them up.

"Copy. May the Force be with You." Twisting around Duchelle frowned at his crew—"Pass the word along, and calculate an emergency jump to Coruscant. Hopefully, SELCORE can tell us where to go from there. Make sure all personnel stand by, and maintain order. I do not want a panic on our hands."

xxx

Upon hearing the news, both Nestor and Tristan found themselves in a sudden whirlwind of preparations, helping the crew to make sure that the refugees were secured. Dr. Lind caught his shoulder and whirled him around—"Were you able to check on the aft deck, where the families with young children are being held?"

"Yes, we went through the procedure for bracing and battle attacks."

The ship suddenly shook...and the older man blanched, whispering.

"They're here."

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"They're here." Duchelle glanced at his local-space screen, widening the scope, "but they're not going to get us." He looked at his navigator.

"Calculations?"

"Done. We're set. Countdown—one minute."

The blips were moving closer, white on the screen as the ships internal IFF transponder had yet to identify them as friend or foe.

"Everyone get your crash webbings. Now."

59...58...57...

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Running down the hall Tristan ran into Nestor, and together they made their way to a doorframe, bracing them for the inevitable battle. At the capacity the shuttle was flying at all available crash webbings were being used. With a level of urgency, heightened by the impending danger Tristan caught his bodyguard's attention. Yelling over the panicked cries of beings, and the intense rattling as the ship's hyperdrive kicked into gear, he waved the letter. "What else did she say!"

Nestor blinked, not sure if this was the appropriate forum for this discussion before throwing caution to the wind. "She told me, that she wanted you to hear the patter of children's feet in a courtyard." His hesitation was clear.

"And?" Recognizing the need to still do his job, Tristan frantically searched the hallways, making sure that it was clear.

"And that you...that if you waste your life, living it alone asking what if's...you will be destroying her dreams for you." Noticing Tristan's wandering eyes, Nestor shouted over the cacophony of the hyperdrive motivators. "Look at me Tristan. She said that It may be a life without me, but it will be a full one with a woman he loves, and one who loves him in return."

Tristan's heart stopped, and a sob caught in his throat. Even before he could think, his eyes caught sight of a young female Chadra Fan standing, tears streaming down her face a few paces behind Nestor.

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...22, 21, 20, 19...18

"Captain we have coralskippers on our scopes."

"Just a few more moments...a few more moments..."

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Tristan tore himself away from the door, running at breakneck speed to the child. Scooping her into his arms he turned back towards Nestor and braced himself once again. Foolishly, the previous conversation running at lightspeed through his mind, he changed the subject.

"What were the other developments?"

"What!" The roar was overwhelming and the small child was whimpering, squirming in Tristan's arms.

"Other. Developments." Tristan tried to calm the child down, reminding Nestor of his message over the comm when the general alert had sounded.

Nestor's voice was tiny against the roaring din and he struggled to enunciate. "We found Kel's stalker. We. Know. Who. He. Is."

The ship jerked violently.

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"Now!" Captain Duschelle grabbed the hyperspace lever and slumped back as the stars sped up into starlines.

xx

Nestor's last words were ringing in his ears, and Tristan gaped outwardly. In his arms, the child stopped squirming with the sudden silence, whimpers filling the vacuous stillness.

Taking advantage of his shock, the bodyguard appraised the younger man. "I..." He realized he was still shouting, and lowered his voice, "I do not know what you have decided, but she feels safe with you. Se'la, aur S'ela. She loves you—"

Tristan interrupted him, "Nestor, my friend, stop." Slowly he placed the little girl on the ground, and almost immediately she reached up for Tristan's hand, grasping his thumb while sucking on her own. Looking down briefly, he set his shoulders with conviction.

"I love her too."

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We spent our time in hyperspace well, and by the time we reverted to real space above bustling we had identified my mother's killer.

His name was Donyer Camer, and I could place him at the scene of the crime. It was sickening actually, as we watched Leia Organa Solo step down from her presidency, he must have basked in the knowledge that in the next room, my mother was breathing her last. He was a hairsbreadth away, and I didn't have a clue.

As predicted, he left me another letter, and somehow managed to slip away into the chaos that greeted us. We had waited this long...and knew that he would show up once again. He had an endgame, and we were determined to best him.

We reached Coruscant, behind a faster fleet of ships. The news of Duro's fall was fresh on everyone's mind, and Coruscant was heavy with fear. This time, however, the Vong had given the peoples of the NewRepublic an outlet, and Tsavong Lah's pronouncement echoed in everyone's ears.

"Give us your Jeedai, all of them without exception."

"Give me Jacen Solo, alive. So that I may give him to the Gods."

In return...purported peace.

It was the start of a dangerous time, and joys mingled with larger sorrows and indignations. A time when Tristan and I took a step into a larger world, together.

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Coruscant

New Republic Mess Hall, adjacent Rogue Squadron hanger

A halo of light streamed through the iridescent windows of the mess hall, spreading tiny rainbows of color throughout the room. An eclectic group of individuals gathered, pilots, techies, and a support staff, as well as a few civilians. Absently, Tristan took in a group of younger pilots whose hands were flying through the air, describing the engagement at Duro. Shaking their heads, some were smiling—while others, Tristan could recognize, were still wary glancing up through the skylights as if expecting a sudden attack. Closer to Tristan another group of pilots, easily identifiable by the Rogue Squadron moniker on their flight suits, played a sedate game of sabaac, not for money but for ration bars. The faces of Rogue Squadron were almost universally known, and Tristan recognized both Wes Janson and Wedge Antilles from an earlier meeting. The other two, Hobbie Klivian and the current commander, Gavin Darklighter were accompanied by a dark haired woman—and for all appearances, the winner of the potInyri Forge.

The corner of his lips twitched, amused.

The mess hall was a little crowded for his tastes, and Tristan had hoped for a more quiet arena...but events had precipitated to thwart his efforts. Immediately after arriving from Duro, the NREMAT team had been sent on two more missions before finally receiving a brief respite. Then, not long after arriving back on planet, Tristan and Keladry had been commed by the office of the Ho'Din physician Ism Oolos who had been working on the mysterious plague that had attacked so many prior to the Vong invasion. He had some questions about the research they had been doing for NREMAT and had set up an appointment for early this afternoon.

The hours after the appointment would have been the first free moments both doctors had had since Tristan's revelation to Nestor on the Fatem. Once again though, the best laid plans had fallen through.

As with many doctors, upon their arrival at the office, Dr.Oolos was running behind, and then to their chagrin called away on a medical emergency. At that point it was too late, and Tristan had been forced to cancel the reservations he had made at a nearby top 200 restaurant.

He reminded himself, It does not matter where...but that I seize the moment. The group was to ship out again within the next few weeks and Tristan did not want this moment to happen on a refugee ship, especially when it could have happened in a moment of relative calm. He tapped his foot semi-nervously as he waited for her return.

Next to him the sabaac game ended in a fit of laughter. Their conversation trickled over, despite hushed tones.

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"So Commander, any word on new recruits?" Inyri Forge slid her winnings towards her side of the table. Five ration bars, Whyrens reserve and two days leave...not bad. Next to her Wes was humming a the theme song from Ewoks, while leaning back in his chair. Annoyed she glared and kicked him.

Amused, Gavin Darklighter shook his head, "We're set at nine slots...I don't know when we'll get a full squadron again."

"What about Lieutenant Solo?" Her voice was light, with forced casualness.

Wedge and Hobbie exchanged glances, the baby faced pilot reaching for the cards, absently shuffling the deck. They knew what Gavin had said to Jaina, he had expressed his regrets to them in private. She had been hurt, he had seen that in her eyes. The Jedi were losing support right and left, and bureaucracy was revealing weaknesses in strongholds of support.

"She has taken an extended leave of absence. To be with her family." Gavin's annoyance was reigned in, his anger now held in check. Still his former and current squadron mates saw the twitch in his cheek.

Inyri looked up from her counting. She hitched for a moment, then shook her head in disbelief. "Oh." Her eyes betrayed her dismay—Jaina Solo had been a true Rogue pilot, to lose someone over politics—in a squadron that had spurned politics since its latest inception...

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Tristan stopped listening, when a pair of arms snaked around his neck. He smiled. "Hey again."

Kissing the side of his cheek Keladry walked around and sat down. "Hey to you too, are you ready to eat?" She was starving.

Tristan shook his head, "Not quite yet." His fingers tapped the table nervously and he leaned forward, urging her closer. Kel pulled her chair in, supporting her chin with her elbows on the table.

"What's the conspiracy?" Her eyes twinkled with mirth. While the day had been frustrating, the ambient light and life in the mess hall along with the gorgeous day outside had lifted her spirits.

He leaned over the table, and kissed her softly. "Just wanted to do that," his lips moved up into a smile. "My love."

Her lips parted, her eyes widened reflecting the light so that they appeared like fine chocolate tinged with mint. "Oh." Then she grinned at him, her heart swelling. "It's about time."

Stunned, Tristan threw back his head and laughed. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket he took out a small box. He heard her inhale sharply, and when he looked up her eyes were wider than before.

Standing up he gently pulled Keladry away from their table and centered them in to the bright tableaux of light and color coming through the reinforced window. Her hand trembled slightly in his, and he gave it a squeeze. "I love you."

For the second time the softening of her expression, the brilliant upturn of her mouth surpassed the iridescent light waves surrounding them. They were standing in color, with indigo blues, irrepressible fresh grain gold, mint rush and a rush of red twirling and coalescing through the glass to become a visual representation of the feelings within his heart. Coughing slightly he bowed towards her, a small sign of deference to the woman he wanted to spend his life with.

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"Hey, don't we know them?" Wes brought his seat down to the ground with a resounding thunk The other four sitting at the table with him turned to where he was pointing.

Wedge frowned, "I think we do." Standing in front of one of the big windows overlooking the pilots hanger, was a man and a woman. Both had dark hair, with the woman's pulled up into an elaborate curled coif above the nape of her neck. Dressed casually there was something about how close they were standing that suggested that something personal was passing between them.

"Oh! He's going to propose!" Inyri laughing voice was infectious and caused some of the other tables nearby to focus their attention.

Holding their collective breaths, they watched as he slowly bowed, revealing a small box in his right hand.

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Straightening, Tristan kept his voice even, struggling not to stumble over his unrehearsed speech.

"Keladry Stanton, I was recently told that there was a woman who was willing to love me despite my faults, accepting me for who I am. For a long time, I took advantage of that love, unable to reciprocate."

You..." he exhaled, "You were able to ignore my tantrums, my anger—my desolation and see that I was more...and comfort me." A sparkle of blue winked near her nose, "An old friend reminded me that despite this war, despite the danger we constantly find ourselves in, the future still exists, my path in life was spread before me, waiting to be embraced. " His voice lowered as he admitted, "Opening my eyes, again, I know that my past will always be a part of me, but that my future can only exist with you, in your arms.

Lightly tapping her nose, he brushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I, Tristan Romani, stand here, to give my heart to you. I stand here to hold you, cherish you, protect you and yes, to finally admit...that I love you. I will love you forever, even when the color of the breaking dawn ceases to touch our brows."

He flattened out his clenched fist, the ring centered on his outstretched palm. "Marry me, Keladry Stanton. Marry me..."

She sniffled, shaped her hand so that the fingers were close together and then slowly spread them out so that the ring was clasped between their intertwined hands. Ignoring the greenish tinge to his hair, she laughed, and nodded. "Yes, Tristan. I will."

He slipped on the ring, basking in the warmth that surrounded them and embraced her.

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"Hey, I know! Weren't they the couple at The Worshyr Tree who helped us..." Wes exclaimed...

Wedge turned to him smiling, "You're right, Janson."

"Definitely a first for him." Inyri muttered under her breath.

For a moment the terror of the war was lifted as the man slipped the ring on her finger, hugging his new fiancé.

Unable to stop himself, Wes grinned and yelled, "Hey, kiss her already! We're not going to wait all day!"

The two broke out of their reverie, surprised that they had an audience. Looking at one another they smiled and they kissed, lightly at first and the deeper with passion.

Wedge and Gavin grinned, thinking of their respective wives, and slowly the mess hall returned to the myriad of conversations, lighter now than before.

This of course, given the nature of war, did not last long.

The holonetnews display above their heads caught Gavin's attention. Using the controls, he turned the volume up shushing everyone at the table.

"Breaking news, Chief of State Borsk Fey'lya has issued an arrest warrant for Jedi Masters Luke and Mara Skywalker. The details of the warrant are not ready at this time, but in recent days, rumors of planetary security violations have been widespread. Additionally, with the blockade at Yavin 4 by the Yuuzhan Vong..." The Androsian reporter tapped her earset.

"This just in. On your screen is live footage from above Coruscant. It appears that the Jedi Masters choose to resist arrest...as you remember Luke Skywalker is the former Commander of Rogue Squadron, and the son of..."

The rest of it was lost as Inyri and Gavin's beepers went off. Taking the message, Gavin, rather Commander Darklighter, glowered at the rest his companions. "They want us to go up there and stop the Skywalkers from leaving the system. They want Rogue Squadron to stop Luke Skywalker—the squadron he started..."

Inyri appraised the man who had grown up from the brash young kid of days past, confusion evident on her face. "Boss?" She looked at him with determined eyes.

He nodded sharply, "We have to go. This has to stop, now." They sped out of the mess hall towards their ships.

Wedge, Hobbie and Janson looked at one another aghast, and watched as Rogue Squadron zoomed up to the growing blockade. Holding their breaths through the tension that followed. It was clear that despite their orders, the squadron was going to side with the Jedi Masters.

How far is Borsk willing to go to save his own skin? Angrily Wedge glanced at two other men who had fought with Luke in the Rebellion, exchanging expressions of frustration.

Hobbie's face was dour. "This is an impossible situation. I don't know how Gavin is going get out of going rogue here."

Wes, trying to remain upbeat, and failing quipped. "Impossible is what Rogues do best."

Wedge shook his head, "Luke will talk him down, but this stress cannot be good for Mara." The three of them were part of the select group that knew of Mara Jade's pregnancy, and Wedge knew from experience how important it was to keep a pregnant woman calm. On the screen before them, the two ships identified by the reporter as the Jade Shadow and Jaina Solo in an X-wing winked out, and the three men leaned back in relief.

Wes whistled. "I better be, thanking my lucky stars that they got away."

Wedge looked at him curiously. "Why?"

"She still hasn't gotten me back for that stunt with her ship. If Mara Jade didn't get away. I'm sure I would be in for a bunch of humiliation. I know from Lt. Kettch that something big was in the works." Janson began whistling again.

Wedge, stared, deadpan at his friend, "Janson..." He shook his head choosing not to comment. "You're going senile. Come on let's go check on the Rogues."

And hope that they are not about to be court-martialed.

End Post 9

Credit:

First half: All the information about the Salliche Ag and the issues at Duro are based off of events in the NJO in the Agents of Chaos Duology and Balance Point. Kel's letter we've seen before, as well as the prayer that Nestor says at the Morgue are both from "Changing of the Guard." Second half: Of course those of you who have read the NJO know that Luke does talk Gavin down, and thatas far as we knowthey don't get in trouble. We also know that Borsk's arresting them, has little to do with him not liking the Jedi but more with him trying to separate them from the government so that they have the ability to act without worrying about repercussions. (From Rebirth) Alright, so the lines in Keladry's after Duro are from Balance Point. The situation that occurs above Coruscant space, as explained at the top of the post is from Rebirth. Everything else is all me.