A/n: kez, thanks for the review again. I know, I can't believe it's over. All three parts of this story started my freshman year of undergrad, and now five years later, I'm almost done with my first year of graduate school...Yikes! Time flies!
FYI for others: In order to understand some references below I would like to direct your attention to a path down memory lane. Check out Mara's vision in Post 10 of The Changing of the Guard, and her vision to go to Valdet/Danshitie in Post 1 of The Coming Challenge.
I'll put up the Epilogue tomorrow, 4/17 along with the titles of songs that inspired certain sections of this story.
Oh yeah: Timing: During and after the final battle for the galaxy in The Unifying Force
Post 12
The galaxy spins and time whirls by...
One last battle, one last fight...
To die now would be a crime, and fate...our destiny would not allow it. The spirit of the Galactic Federation of the Free Alliances likened to a sapling in the wind. Its newborn branches sensing the roaring wind and the deadly blows that rushed like a river to sweep it away. But with skill and flexibility it bent easily and all the poison of the Yuuzhan Vong whipped through pores remaking the galaxy.
The spirals still turned and time still ticked by and we fought for our souls, our lives, and our hearts.
This is not the end.
Just a closing period to one chapter in preparation for another, and we march on bracing ourselves against other winds that may come our way.
We will bend...and twist, and turn...but we will never break.
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Valdet
Sing me a song
Tilting and whispering
Reminding me of our home
Sing me a song
Tilting and whispering
Beckoning from where we roam
Yearning I reach...
Yearning I ache...
For memories of happier days...
I never hoped to return...
Yearning I could not stay...away...
Sing me a song
Tilting and whispering
Leading from where I roam
Sing me a song
Tilting and whispering
My heart beats again, bringing me home.
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A stark difference from the ruins of the past, the stately, yet simple villa sent a shiver down Tristan's spine. In the growing dawn of the morning he was quiet, examining the replica cornice pieces of his childhood etched with images of the ancestors on the leading edge of the north portico. He recalled a time when he and his brothers would run along the side and his father would point up at the faces and chastise "the ancestors are watching. Quiet steps are the mark of a leader."
His father. How long had it been since had paid homage to their memories. How long it had been since he had truly felt complete. Basking in reminiscence, Tristan's minds eye followed the little boys as they romped around the yard and through the brush to the corner stone fence.
Along the edge of the western wall a trail of ivy grew, purple blossoms on the cusp of flowering, with yellow stems in the center peaking out with impatience. Impatience, the basic translation of the flowers name—Lorysina had grown even before the old house had been destroyed. Remembering, Tristan's chest tightened, and he used the back of his hand to wipe away some of the gathering moisture.
"They did a good job."
He turned to his companion, Isabelita and flashed a quick smile. "They did, I can hear our laughter, innocent yet aware of the tumult surrounding our lives." Feeling slightly melancholy he changed the subject. "Was there any money left?"
Isabelita glanced to where her husband watched the two children—Alden now in his sixth year peered at some bugs on the walk, while young Elbereth clapped her hands to a song only she could hear. "Some, and after the senate finished the paperwork—you will have complete control of the family finances again."
Tristan shrugged, gesturing for her to walk with him as he made his way around the house to where it faced the river. "That is not important. I just hope they heeded my warning, that the proposal by the new Galactic Federation of Free Alliances should be considered."
Isa, now a Citizen Representative in her own right, responded "We did, we are. We move slow Tristan, but I think joining the wider galaxy is a step that some are willing to take. "
"Some?"
She hesitated, "Naturally some are still wary of your reappearance. "
He was quiet, searching for that familiar weight of responsibility and expectation, finding it notably absent. Like a leaf during the fall dropping, he floated freely on a cadence of air, though in reality, of course, he was firmly on the ground. Brushing some lint from the light gray tunic he used his other hand to gesture at the home before them. "They needn't worry. Elbereth and I strove for order and peace in a time of madness. Just because it was not reached in the way we envisioned, does not mean that I do not welcome it.
Isa..." He trailed off, realizing that they had come to a stop. They were standing behind the house on a rise overlooking the River Styxlin., whose dark waters lapped against the shore, just meters below them. Unbidden, his eyes traced the lazy curves winding their way past the old docks and the dredger before dipping and enmeshing itself with the azure of the horizon. Just beyond that...
"Tristan?" She took in his gray eyes, his suddenly still features. She tilted her head, appraisingly and prodded-- "Yes?"
Tristan started, and continued—in a tone that betrayed that he was speaking more to himself than to his friend's daughter. "I think that this will be our future. A new hospital to replace the one that was destroyed when the palace fell, and Keladry, Eli and I shall be content. "Abruptly he faced her and picked up both her hands.
"My family served the people, and serve it I shall. There are times when old traditions become merely tradition—and remain in the rainbow of nostalgia where they remain evergreen. My family was meant to lead the people, but maybe it is time that we changed the manner of the leading. It does not matter how I serve, but that I serve."
Isabelita pulled her hands from his and leaned up to kiss his cheek lightly. "Bravo, my friend. Bravo. E...would have been proud."
For a moment she thought he was going to cry, as Tristan's eyes drew softly closed. He was floating again, feeling the happiness and the rightness again. The light whoosh of a quick inhalation of air brought him back to terrafirma. He had turned back towards the shore, facing the horizon, and his eyes never left the vanishing point, he whispered, "Isa, do you think that on the way back that we could..."
"Your highness..." She put her hand, shaking slightly, onto his shoulder. "...Tristan..." Iralian and she had been wondering when he would be ready, and had hoped that he would understand their actions. "Of course we can."
xxx
They stood back where Nestor Alluvia had stood, on that fateful night almost six years earlier. The erosion of the river beds had yet to touch the upper limits of the rise, and with some careful and quiet preservation by the Faiences the site had been preserved—for this moment. Alden, sensing the seriousness of the moment held fast to his father's hand, trying to see what his mum and poppa found so fascinating.
Isabelita watched Tristan's approach, knowing how she had felt each time she had snuck over to clean away weeds, to place the yellow Zinalia blooms. They had been together for almost a decade—Elbereth almost five years older--had started out their relationship playing the big sister, but near the end of her life, they were the best of friends, intuitively swearing that that would never change. The night after Elbereth had met Tristan, Isa had been the one to receive a whispered call of confusion, while she had received one of joy upon their engagement after the revolution.
But Elbereth had not been a perfect woman. Determined to keep herself together, to uphold the image of strength, she had ignored help, withdrawing from those who loved her. During her last lucid days, she had avoided all of her friend's comm's, retreating further into sublimity. Isa understood now, having spent her own grief so long ago. As dusk approached Elbereth had withdrawn from all those who loved her so that she could focus her energies on the one who mattered the most.
Tristan.
Isabelita would not have been human if she didn't feel a smidgen of jealousy, but as she watched Tristan carry his young daughter, Elbereth's namesake, to the cleared field, she knew...it had been the right choice.
An image of time past, she saw him stand, silent, straight backed, the posture of a man who had left this site hating the world and himself, full of selfish virtue and bitterness so profound it had almost destroyed him.
Sometimes, when the world is falling apart around you, and the choices for destruction seem endless one must let go of selfish desires and focus on where a difference can truly be made.
Elbereth understood her husband, and had helped him find his path. Helped him find happiness amidst her death, and the pain of the galaxy.
xxx
As Isabelita and Iralian watched him with guarded spirits, Tristan was aware of how much things had changed. Someone had kept the clearing full of blooming Lorysina and Lidalia, and in the place of the short wooden spike Nestor had driven to mark the grave, was a piece of purple granite. Iridescent and flecked with shades of gray the stone reminded Tristan of the passion and decency that defined his first wife. Shifting Eli to his other arm, he squatted to his haunches reading the inscription.
Din'sal Liadia
Din'sal's heir
Tristan Se La graminda ashiela
Keeper of Tristan's love
Menila Valdet cre' Danshitie
Le aur Se'la, S'ela
Mother of unified Valdet and Danshitie
She kept us safe, protected.
Are aeshielan, Le aeshielan, Sona denathia Le Brenen
Our beloved, his beloved, sleep with peace in eternity.
Tristan solemnly gazed at the lettering, feeling the cool breeze off the river creating goose bumps along the back of his neck. He could almost feel Elbereth's presence, and instinctively straightened, mimicking the body language of the man who had buried his wife here over five years ago. Swirling around him the breeze pulled petals off the ground whirling around him, transporting him back through time.
His memories tumbled to the surface and with peace he thought of his quest to find Anian, and watching her body tumble to the ground when Bran tried to kill Elbereth in a fit of rage. He saw Illian, his other brother-in-law forever encapsulated in youth grasping her hand before they both succumbed to injuries.
Even in death, they loved. Fiercely.
He saw his home in shambles, Elbereth drifting into her own death. His calloused hands swollen and tender after placing her body into her eternal resting place.
And his anger... His anger that had been so precious so desired. So consuming.
He was no longer that man—no longer the Tristan Romani who would put tradition above reality—as he had so long ago when he had placed his sister in danger. No longer the Tristan Romani who had screamed for blood, ready to let go of principles that had been ingrained in his soul since birth.
Honor. Respect. Love for Life.
He had let fear take over and had found himself looking in countless mirrors unable to see his own face, to feel any sense of self.
On his shoulder, his little girl gurgled, her tiny nose wrinkling in consternation at the lack of attention, breaking Tristan's reverie. She giggled watching the swirling petals, reaching above to capture the flying colors of purple and gold.
He straightened the blanket that covered her, kissing her on the forehead. "Oh baby girl." Cradling Eli, he spoke to the swirling wind.
"Love, Elbereth, here is our dream. Your dream. Her mother is all that you hoped for me, and fills a part of my heart that I never thought could feel real again. You saved my life, and taught me to see myself again. This is my daughter with Keladry. This is Eli, your namesake.
"Thank you for your courage, and your guiding spirit. Thank you for forcing me to see past the sorrow and to grasp the light that Keladry offered. I know who I am now. I understand. Floundering for my sense of self, my identity I let go of what was truly important. I tried to let go of life.
Tristan grinned at his daughter, who blinked before smiling back. "I realize that while I may have let it go, life never left my side. It walked with me from my darkest moments to my brightest dawns and made me believe in myself again.
I have stood at the crossroads between the blinding light and the suffocating darkness. Between Life and Death...I wanted you to know.." His voice broke, and then resumed, stronger than before. "I wanted you to know. That I chose life."
"Da-Da!" Eli raised her arms, pushing up into a sitting position.
He looked at her, brush kissed her forehead. "I choose life."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Coruscant
Shhhh
Cough. Cough.
Shhhhh
Cough. Cough.
Shhhh
Pulsating. He could feel his heart pulsating. Radiating through his fingertips, beating against the directional controls of his ship. They were still clenched around the rudder in desperation. He could make it. He could see the end in sight.
Shhhhh
A sharp pain—staggering breaths—not enough oxygen. He swiped a hand across his brow, swiping at the sweat...trickling down the rim of his nose and face and down his neck. Through the blackening vision, edges of his perspective fading into the onyx bleakness of space he saw the hold of the Star Destroyer Right to Rule and shuddered involuntarily.
He reached for the controls again, and his hand slipped. How had they become wet? Sparing a glance he looked down...great now he was seeing red.
Red. Blood. Red.
Tentatively he touched his forehead again and looked at the finger.
It wasn't sweat pouring down his face...it was blood.
His blood.
From somewhere far away he heard his name.
Hoarsely he called out..."Yes? Calling me?"
"...tractor beam."
He snorted involuntarily. His name wasn't tractor beam.
"A little closer, Mr. Alluvia. We'll have you in the tractor beam. Then you can relax."
Oh. Ok.
"Mr. Alluvia?"
Shhhhhhh.
Cough. Cough. Cough.
Everything hurt. So. Much.
The ship shuddered, and he realized that the Right to Rule had him in its grasp.
He let go of the controls...and the pulsation grew.
No air. Noair. Noair noair noair noair...
"Mr. Alluvia?"
"Syla...i...sorr—" A whimper, exhale.
Silence.
xxxxxxxxxxxx
Earlier that day...
Screeching metal filled Nestor's ears as he wove between the burning fighters. He could see the Right to Rule through the viewport and the distant image of the living planet just beyond on the horizon.
The Selanore was on not going to last much longer. Ducking, he juked around a hulk of burning coralskippers absently listening to the chatter on the radio. The battle for Coruscant had just begun, but he could see the destruction surrounding them. Below him the curve of Coruscant confronted him and he immediately turned the transport flipping it over and around.
"Nestor! A warning next time!" One of his gunners, yelled through the mike.
Despite the situation, Nestor grinned. They had launched from Muscave, and were now deep into the fracas between the Vong and the Alliance above the former galactic capital. He blinked back sweat and listened as three of Twin Suns' pilots disappeared in a cloud of debris. The fighters were escorting transports filled with resistance fighters and commandos to the surface, hoping to entice the Yuuzhan Vong heretics into rebellion. Nestor and the Selanore was one of many ships shooting errant corralskippers away from the smaller fighters giving them and the transports freedom of movement to duck into openings in the dovin basal line.
Watching them land, Nestor wheeled his ship around and tapped the comm for orders. "Selanore reporting."
The voice coming from the fleet of Star Destroyers to which he had been assigned, replied quickly, "Follow the rest of the fighters down to the surface, do what damage you can to pre-assigned targets." A beep on the console alerted Nestor to his course.
"Did you guys hear that? I'm going down long and hard. Make sure you're strapped in."
Nestor lost track of time, and they pounded target after target, shooting grutchins off of transports, and then accompanying other fighters against ground forces. In the murky din he could see the changes inherent in the new Vong held Coruscant. This wasn't the Coruscant that he had lived on for two years, rather it was a hellish world filled with fire and twisted metal overgrown by some of the organic and living world shaping that dominated anything the Yuuzhan Vong touched. Absently listening to the wide range battle frequency, he was aware of the death and the continuing fight. In the midst of a battle, flying became almost an instinctual practice.
For a moment between strafing runs, Nestor Alluvia almost laughed aloud at the reflection. He had been trained in ground fighting and security on Danshitie, pulling a brief stint in the planets low-budget planetary navy. He was constantly examining ground force deployments against the Vong, trying to apply his education to the new tactics furiously developed throughout the war. Even now, flying above the battle his subconscious tried to find a familiar pattern to the fight on the planetary surface.
Mindlessly he switched on and off the various manual weapons controls, working in sync with his two gunners. Somehow, in the last five years he had changed his forte. He found himself just as comfortable in the Selanore then standing in a carrier on the ground, a part of larger troop movements.
It was a sobering thought. Somewhere, in the midst of the life of protecting Tristan, Nestor had changed. Ironically, the realization came as he was entrenched in the fight for the galaxy's survival, his survival. To some extent the razor sharp edge between life and death had shifted his priorities and beliefs. Perhaps it was a reflection of a change long past, but it became clear that his values had taken on a different shade of meaning.
Suddenly, proximity alarms blared and Nestor looked at the scopes baffled.
"Boss, what's going on down there?" It was the second gunner, Tilantin
"I don't know, there's nothing on the scopes—what do you guys see?"
"Nothing on my side."
Something slammed against the back of the ship, and the lights dimmed in the cockpit before resuming normal illumination.
Nestor's heart jumped. "I'm pulling up." Nestor slapped the commlink and reported in..."Something's wrong, we're going to try and make it back home."
"Acknowledged."
Nestor whispered to the ship, "Come on...Come on..."
A loud thud on the side of the ship, lurched Nestor to the side, slamming his head against the forward bulkhead. For a moment he saw only stars...before becoming aware of a trail of curses emitting from his own mouth.
"Shavit!" Sithspit..what was that! Automatically, he programmed a course correction, setting the automatic safety precautions in motion.
"Tilantin...Dofras you there?" Nestor turned off the wailing alarms, engaging the fire suppression systems. His head was pounding.
"Dofras here."
Silence. "Tilantin?"
"Uh Boss, Tilantin's gone."
Shavit. We must have gotten hit by a grutchin or a falling piece of debris. He checked to make sure that the hatch by that gunwell was sealed.
"Boss, do you hear the hissing?" The statement was followed by a sudden clash and a gasping sound.
Nestor's eyes glazed over for a moment and then he blinked. They were still leaking air.
"Sithspit. Dofras, keep us as clear as you can, we going to have to land on that Star Destroyer."
Silence.
"Dofras?" More Silence. He struggled to remain facing the Star Destroyer his wrists shaking under the pressure of entropy. He looked at the scopes again...at least they hadn't been exposed to vacuum, otherwise he would already be dead...his thoughts trailed off...
What is going on! Before he could say another word his head exploded in pain.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
On the bridge of the Star Destroyer Right to Rule Admiral Pellaeon glanced at the display in front of him. "Tactical,"
"Admiral,"
"What's going on with the ship coming out of six-two-six?"
"Not sure, Transponder ID's as the Selanore, a mid –size freighter, independent Alliance vessel. I'm patching through to the comm, one minute sir."
The Imperial Admiral turned back to directing the battle. Fifteen minutes later, he glanced back at the display, frowning. "Communications, six-two-six?"
"The Captain is Nestor Alluvia, he's not sure what's wrong—just that they got hit during a strafing run on planet. The readouts I'm getting indicate a loss of air and that both gunners are crippled. "
"Take care of it. Carry on."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Communications was, at present, Lieutenant Zorn formally of Sluis Van. He toggled a few keys and watched the course of the damaged freighter on his scopes.
"Mr.Alluvia, we're attempting to pull you in through a tractor beam."
His head set received a burst of static, and Zorn adjusted the volume hearing a rasping as the Captain struggled to breathe.
He repeated himself. "A little closer, Mr. Alluvia. We'll have you in the tractor beam. Then you can relax."
Across the way, the Ensign in charge of tractor beam emplacement glanced over nervously. "That ship got hit pretty bad."
Zorn glanced at his forward display and blinked. From the outside it was clear that the Selanore had been in a collision that had ripped the portside gun-well from its moorings. The once pristine ship had scorch marks along the side, and gaping holes where a grutchin had made it through the outer hull. The automatics must have been able to shut down the compartment to space. Glancing down at the coordinates, he blinked, the ship was listing away from the targeted beam. "Mr. Alluvia."
"Lieutenant we have a lock."
"Mr. Alluvia."
There was a cough on the comm, weak but a distinguishable life sigh. It was followed by a groan of pain.
"Syla...I...sorr—"
Static. Concerned, Zorn glanced up at the ensign in front of him. "Pull them in quickly, make sure medical is notified of the situation." It was now out of his hands. He flipped channels and pulled up the wide angle on the scopes—back to the battle.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Keladry watched as Syla paced along the perimeter of the docking bay on the Ralroost Word had trickled down days ago of the Supreme Commander's death and the role of Jaina and Jacen Solo had already become the talk of legend. Details were scarce, but like the final battle over Endor so long ago, the myth worked wonders on morale.
Before the start of the battle the three of them had said goodbye, Nestor assigned to aid in the battle of Coruscant, the two women stationed with a medical team on the Ralroost. Each was confident of survival, but in a time of chaos, one blaster bolt can change confidence to death.
Keladry, despite not knowing if Eli and Tirstan had made it to Valdet, had prepared her own message, hoping above all that it would never be seen.
Now, surveying her friend's path in front of her, her chest tightened. She had pegged Syla and her dying with the Ralroost, or even just her in a freak accident, but never Nestor. Nestor...was their rock.
She shifted her gaze to the incoming transport, just arriving from the Right to Rule. Her hand involuntarily went to her mouth as she recognized the ship that was being towed in right behind it.
Selanore.
Or rather, what was left of the Selanore. A sob escaped her lips, before she could suppress the sound, Syla pivoted on her heals—her big eyes growing wider with fear. Together their gaze traced every line every indentation in the vehicle that had carried the four friends—no family—throughout the war. From both Keladry and Syla's vantage point, the ship was on its last legs, and while they had confidence that repairs could have been cobbled together, without Nestor...Kel trampled that thought before it could go further.
Instead she jogged quickly to where the lithe woman stood frozen in shock. Engulfing her in her arms, she whispered. "Hold on my friend, everything will be alright. Wait until we see him, then we can decide for ourselves about the prognosis."
Their part in the battle had been aboard the Ralroost during the feint by Nas Choka above Muscave. Every single person knew they were fighting for more than their lives. This battle had felt different.
There was the same grimness—fighters ready to die for the galaxy.
There was the same unsettled knot of fear, the one that suggested hours, minutes, seconds left to live.
There was the same...unknowing rhythm of action. Inserting IV's, stabilizing patients, dressing wounds, and slowly pulling blankets over those they had been unable to save. All of these actions, while the mind was conscious of the bleeding, the vaporized, the floating remains of the dead in the space surrounding the ship.
In the midst of this Keladry and Syla fought their own battles trying not to hope for fear of undeniable pain of the unthinkable. Word had trickled in hours ago, lists of schematics of those who had been injured, and unaccounted for above Coruscant and Zonama Sekot.
Now they watched. Silently, Keladry steadfastly trying to be brave—and Syla, holding her own, unwilling to accept the reports and diagnosis from the Right to Rule's medical personnel. The transport settled in, groaning under weight and overuse.
Depressurizing the ship released coolant in billows of white smoke, and the creaking of the ramp could be heard over the steady rumblings of a post-battle inventory. Eventually, stretcher after stretcher of Alliance casualties descended, and Keladry and Syla directed the flow.
That one to recovery, the one after to the morgue.
Another for surgery.
They saved the most fragile for last, the ones that held on for some irrefutable reason, despite injuries leading to certain expiration. One of the medics ran down the ramp to meet them, monotonously rattling off the litany of care instructions—Keladry listened, but could not allow herself to feel.
Finally, as they pushed him down the ramp it was all Keladry could do to keep Syla from collapsing.
Nestor was prone, lying deathly still on the hoverstretcher, the only signs of life through a portable heart monitor and the rise and fall of his chest. His face was ashen, his eyes closed—a sterile cast covered his right leg. A large gash on his head was covered by a large bacta patch, revealed by a section of his exposed scalp.
It looked bad. Keladry knew patients with head injury's who awoke after blood loss and coma, only to be in a permanent vegetative state. She knew that it was only a matter of time before Nestor Alluvia's body decided for itself whether to fight or let go...
By the Force you will fight. We have not come this far to let you die. Kealdry pulled Syla up, straightening her own shoulders with determination. The man in front of her had left his home and his family for duty—he had sacrificed his own safety and happiness to follow one man across the galaxy. Now, when it was time for him to live for himself, to live beyond his role as Tristan's protector, the medics were telling his loved ones that he was going to die? It was ludicrous, and Keladry had enough training and background to hope for a miracle, a miracle that would be accomplished with a little bit of skill and fire. It is time I repaid some debts. Nestor, it's my turn to help you.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
I will give you one thing. Nestor Alluvia is a fighter. Despite what our eyes saw, despite what our hearts told us, he made an almost full recovery. The day he was discharged from the medward, Syla and I marched ourselves down to the where the Rogue's had hidden a stash of liquor and took a celebratory drink.
Until that day, we were still fighting the war.
All three of us realized just how lucky Nestor had been. If he had blacked out just before the tractor beam achieved its lock— we would have stood watch at his funeral. Recuperation was long, but not endless...the horizon of possibilities lay before us... and now, it was only a matter of time before we returned to the skies.
Slowly the galaxy turned towards peace, and somehow I managed to find out if Nom Anor's supposed death was fact...or myth. His death brought me a sense of satisfaction, and one more reason to reunite with my family on Valdet. .
With the holonet still being repaired, I knew that there were still uncertainties—but I also knew I was strong enough to face them, strong enough to face the future with my head held high. I had faced the coming challenge—and survived.
But before any of us could leave, I had a message, one long since overdue, to deliver.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Zonama Sekot
During the Aftermath of the Defeat of the Yuuzhan Vong.
Keladry stood at the edge of the forest surveying the private family moment. Jedi Masters Luke and Mara Jade Skywalker sat with their son Ben in a moment of unabashed joy and peace. Maybe I should return later... Hesitating she stood, indecisive.
In the center of the clearing Luke Skywalker, stood up, hoisting the young boy into his arms. Meeting her gaze, he tilted his head in greeting before gazing back down at his wife who remained seated. Kel glanced away as he kissed her head, speaking briefly and then walking in the direction of the shipping area.
Keladry observed Mara Jade Skywalker's wary approach. The stately Jedi frowned before asking, "Have we met before?"
The doctor couldn't help but smile, "Once, briefly before the war began. I doubt you would even remember meeting me." She could feel the weariness of the last few weeks hitting her and anxiously she rubbed her fingers across her forehead.
"Dr. Stanton?"
Keladry jerked in surprise, she would never have suspected or expected Mara Jade Skywalker to remember her. She nodded, "Not Dr. Stanton anymore, I got married." She let out a nervous laugh before continuing, "Which is why I'm here. My husband wanted to thank you for something that you did before the war, so he told me, before we had to part ways that if I ever saw you to give you this." She reached into the pocket of her tunic and pulled out a datacard. "You and your family have done more for us then you probably even realize. We're glad to see that you're in good health, and happy." Why are you acting so awkward? Perhaps it was the emotional impact of this meeting, before it had been her job—now it was personal.
The red haired woman accepted the data card and looked at the doctor curiously. "We did what we had to do for the galaxy…not only for ourselves but for our children."
Nodding again, Kel let slip an inch of wistfulness. "I know. I have a two year old daughter who I haven't seen in about a year. It's why my husband and I chose to separate. I was needed here, and he had other responsibilities where he could better serve the war effort, and guarantee her safety. Now with the death of Nom Anor, and the end of the war, there is closure, something that we needed desperately." She was rambling again, not fully explaining herself, but before she could be more clear the comm at her hip buzzed. A sigh escaped unbidden. "I have to get back, I'm only on Zonama Sekot because of some of the injured, but I'm due back on the frigate."
She began to move away, stopping when she heard Mara Jade call to her, "Yes?"
"What's your daughter's name?"
Her back to the Jedi Master, Keladry paused. A simple question, it begged a simple answer. There was no reason why a hero like Mara Jade Skywalker would remember a mission that happened over five years ago, long before the invasion. Somehow Keladry felt that she needed to explain the choice..."Names are important. You named your son for your husband's mentor--I for my husband's first wife; her grace and spirit are some things I want my daughter to strive for, in her own way. "
The woman before her raised her eyebrows with curiosity.
"Elbereth, her name is Elbereth."
Mara's forehead furrowed, as if drudging up long lost memories of a time long past. Then, just as suddenly, she met Keladry's gaze and took a hesitant step forward.
"Valdet...and Danshitie..." Mara shook her head amazed. "You're married to Tristan Romani."
The Jedi shook her head wonderingly, "I thought you were thanking me for our work during the war."
Keladry tilted her head in acknowledgement. "That, and again, I believe Tristan explains it, there--" she gestured toward the datacard before growing reflective.
"I know the war has just been won, but after five years of fighting and bloodshed, I have come to an important conclusion.
The actions we take, the choices we make, reflect across a wide spectrum. Each person stands upon a precipice, every act a stone waiting to be dropped in a pond of dropping stones. We know that the ripples begin at the core, at the most immediate, and consciously we see how they spread touching others, engulfing the future and remembrances of the past.
But each stone is unique. The grooves, the niches the erudite coloring, size, shape, polish--each imbibe a level of meaning beyond the physical realm.
Your deeds on Danshitie and Valdet saved two planets from a fiend who...ended up having a very clear method to his purported madness. Who in hindsight delivered a very personal threat to you and the beings of this galaxy, far beyond our two simple planets. The evil of Iker Rafagr--who you know as Nom Anor—the death of Tristan's first wife, they all had the power to destroy all that he fought to preserve."
It has the power to destroy all that he shall fight to preserve. Mara started, woman's voice, this woman's voice, no longer a stranger, rose unbidden to her mind. An echo from a vision long past. Iker Rafagr was Nom Anor...
Keladry continued, "You see? Nom Anor's actions on Valdet defined Tristan throughout the war, but your deeds saved him. The stability of his planets, the consequence of your decisions and your choices brought him a level of peace. Despite the anger, and need for revenge that he hid away from all of us..." She blinked, unsure of how much detail to go into, then threw caution to the wind. Quickly she recounted some of the events of the past five years, "I know that Jedi are not the only one's open to the Dark Side, and I saw him struggle with it every day when he thought that Nom Anor had perished above Rhommomool. With no being to inflict the anger upon, he let it become a seed of evil taking root in his soul. Finding that he was still alive brought our family to another cliff where our lives could have been changed forever."
She rushed out the next part, "He led us. He may not have known it, but he led us through this war. He never wavered in his belief that the Vong would be destroyed, his faith in our leaders was unsurpassed. Despite his fear that he would fail, that he lacked the strength to fight, he showed that his fear, his darkness did not define who he was. He was able to take our love and destroy the dark side within him, to recognize that sometimes we can only act within our bounds, within our purview of life. He relinquished his quest for Nom Anor's death, and began to live again."
Her pale hazel eyes glistened with unshed tears. "So while he will be relieved to hear that justice has finally been served...I would like to thank you...for all that you have ever done, and that however Nom Anor's death came to pass—your family's ripples will always be inextricably bound with mine."
Keladry smiled, "You will always be welcome on Valdet and Danshitie, in our home and in our hearts." Without another word, she tilted her head goodbye and made her way back through the forest.
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He will lead them.
Mara watched her retreating back, and then slipped to the ground inserting the card into her datapad.
He will lead them.
She stared at the words coalescing on the screen. Then Mara Jade Skywalker, and Tristan Romani met for the first time since his sister's funeral on Yavin IV.
The words were simple, unadorned with pity phrases or snippets of hero worship. Like his wife he sought to be grateful yet respectful; heartfelt yet gracious; contemplative yet certain.
Master Jade Skywalker.
One life is all that we have, one life. You knew me when I struggled, and saw the repercussions of hesitation and insecurity. I always seemed to be beyond my body, watching my actions hurt those I loved, destroying all that they dreamed. When I sent that letter to the Jedi so long ago, asking for aid...I never dared to expect a peaceful resolution, I never dared to hope for a beacon amidst worlds of suffocation and darkness. One life can make all the difference.
We are linked in so many ways. The threads that bind the beings of this galaxy to one another spin a magnificent tapestry of shimmering starlight revealing the nascent importance of one human life to another. The living Force, perhaps.
I am leaving at a time when the future of this war is uncertain, but I know that the Jedi, and the citizens of the Galactic Alliance shall prevail. Nevertheless, in case my journey to my home is fateful, I wanted to bestow my own recognition of all that you have done.
To your health, for surviving the evils that Nom Anor sought to spread throughout the galaxy. (He was, in the end, also known as Iker Rafagr, Dr. Cree'Ar, Reef Niln.)
To your family, the Jedi and those who lead this weary war.
To your kindness of a young girl who, misguided, mistreated, and manipulated was able to find her way back. Anian smiles upon us even now.
To the light, which shall burn ever brightly as long we work together toward a brighter future.
One life is all that we have to give—and there is time left to grasp it and mold it...there is time left to live
For that, I thank you.
Tristan Romani
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Shutting down the datapad, Luke handed it back to his wife. Hurtling through hyperspace toward an uncertain yet bountiful future there was much to be thankful for.
Mara leaned forward placing a light kiss upon her husband head, before bringing her knees to her chest. They remained that way, lost in their thoughts...
Breaking the silence, Luke grinned, tilting his head at the message light against the bulkhead. It was the message light for the short-beam holocomm. "You received rather interesting comm from Wes Janson."
Mara smirked cryptically. "He got my present."
"He said something about watching your back? Mara...what have you gotten us into?"
Mara shrugged her shoulders, laughing silently before she responded. "Oh...lets just say this is long overdue retribution for those modifications to the Sabre...the war got in the way, but I didn't forget."
With a mock look of shock on his face Luke gasped, "Jade, what did you do?"
Mara just smiled, "Let's see...with Inyri's help I broadcasted a message to the fleet with the obituary of one Lt. Kettch, requesting all messages of condolences to be sent care of Wes Janson at the new headquarters..."
Luke's eyes narrowed, "That doesn't sound so bad, except that his inbox will be full for the next few months."
"...I may have added a phrase or two about how in Kettch's honor Wes will buy everyone a round of Lomin Ale..."
"Mara!"
"...and I may have also arranged for his fighter to broadcast a 'requiem' for Kettch every time it starts up to the tune of the ever famous Lomin Ale ditty that Corran is so fond of..."
"No...!"
"...oh and then there's the facsimile Kettch doll that I left shredded in his cockpit."
"Please tell me there's not more..."
"...no...merely a message telling him to never mess with my ship again...or try and envelope my very devious husband in any more of his schemes...otherwise I may not be responsible for any further acts of retribution I may dole out—including and not limited to torture, accidental discharge of a proton torpedo, amputation, destruction of property..."
"I get it, I get it. " Luke let out a short laugh, stopping her recitation. He wiped the tears of laughter from the corner of her eyes, and then pulled her to her feet, embracing her.
Simultaneously, they glanced toward the room where their son slept, and Luke took both of her hands in his and smiled. Leaning in he kissed her softly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. I love you, Skywalker.
I love you, Jade.
Nothing more needed to be said, it was time to live.
End Post 12
Credit: All mine, though the events with Nestor are based on the battle in TUF, and the scene with Mara and Luke takes place on their way to Kashyyyk in TUF.
EPILOGUE TOMORROW!
