The Dream


{Jaina's POV}

"Jedi don't dream; they have visions."

I've heard that said many times before – from my uncle, from Tionne, kriff, even my mother, who turned her back on her Jedi heritage, has said it once or twice. Yoda's "Do or do not, there is no try" is – as anyone could tell you – takes the "Most Oft' Used Jedi Phrase" cake, but the dream one comes pretty kriffing close.

But it's hard to remember that in the middle of a dream, Jedi discipline or no. So when I drifted into the hazy world of subconsciousness, and into a mass of images, sounds and touches, my defences were not up and I entertained the idea that my Jedi masters had been wrong. The idea that what I saw was even only partially a vision.

In this particular "dream", I saw a moment from the last time I had been to Nirauan. Syal and Soontir had gone out for dinner, leaving Dav and I to baby-sit Cherry and Yiven. Cherry, being two years younger than myself, and Yiven, being eleven, went to bed fairly early in the evening. Before you start to think that we took advantage of the relative freedom to shed propriety, I assure you, we didn't. Dav and I have never been very physical – our relationship is one of close friendship, and little more than our emotions grew beyond that.

Still, the night took an almost otherworldly quality, and defences lowered more than usual. Deciding to forgo a holo for companionable quiet, we flipped through the Fel's music selection and found an unlabeled disc, which Dav identified as a "Rilasn Kriet" record. He inserted it into the player, then, surprising me, offered his hand.

He must have asked me if I wanted to dance, though I hardly remember. All I can clearly recall is that within moments he was leading me through a waltz. It was unfamiliar and I had never been particularly graceful, but one of my favourite things about Dav was his laugh and he used it often while I tried to figure out the steps through my own mirth.

Eventually I must have gotten them right, or perhaps Dav and I only gave way to instinct and ignored the original dance steps.

My dream consisted of two scenes – the first and foremost being held by Dav, loved and secure, not knowing anything about how drastically things would change later. Dav tried so hard to be what his father and society demanded of him – the perfect fighter, student, leader, and overall citizen; with me, he had always been a horrible actor. Maybe that was what drew us together in the first place – there had never been any need to be anything other than what we truly were with each other.

With just us, his demeanour lost the necessary stoicism he showed with his pilots, the mildness he presented to his parents, and became simply Dav – my dearest friend, partner, and more. There was no smile on his face when he looked at me as we danced, but his expression was tender, softened and I assumed that my own was the same. The moment was timeless, peace before the storm. I could have spent a good amount of my life just like that – dancing with the man I loved.

The second scene in my dream, however, caused the hair on my neck to stand up straight. I was transported from the Fel living room to the cockpit of a clawcraft, where I could only watch as Dav barked commands at his squadron, the Spikes. Something – the Force? My own instincts? – told me exactly what the odds of this dogfight were – and they weren't pretty.

The 'something' swelled up within me, freezing my blood, cutting off my voice, but I could not speak, nor even understand what was wrong.

There was a fighter on Dav's tail – it fired repeatedly, attempting to cut away at Dav's shields. Dav swerved, flipped – my subconscious received a lesson in perfect manoeuvring.

I was becoming dizzy from Dav's spinning, and concentrated on finding a way to steady myself. I couldn't move. I must have made some kind of involuntary noise in my frustration, however, because Dav tensed, and fought his way into a momentary peace, glanced over his shoulder and looked right at me. His eyes widened, but I could see little else through his helmet and face mask.

"Jaina?" he whispered, awestruck.

I was caught up in the dream; I wanted to reach out to him, touch his hair or shoulder, and ask him what was going on. I had forgotten, you see.

Jedi don't dream; they have visions.

I never had a chance – assuming I had the ability to move my mouth – to reply to his whisper. A painful lurch shook the cockpit and I awoke with a start, a silent cry on my lips.

I didn't have to check the Force to know Dav was gone.

My heart was already screaming it.