silver night, shadow moon

The second day of their journey since they had left the outskirts of Orion City and the abandoned moisture farm dawned. Hot, blinding, dusty: One day like the other. Jaina had given up on even trying to pretend she wanted to talk to Jag. It was mutual, so their trek was mostly spent in silence.

Valia led them well, steadily but not hasty. In the growing heat of Tatooine's twin suns Jaina could feel sweat run down her back and marveled at how the elder woman could look so calm and cool. If Jag felt the heat, he did not let it show. The fact irked her, like a rash she couldn't scratch. Everything annoyed her: the way none of her travel companions seemed to sweat and huff like she did, the hot sun, burning down relentlessly, the coldness during the night that had them roll into their thin bed rolls tightly and which still didn't offer warmth and peace. The way vultures sometimes cycled above their heads, their harsh cries piercing the silence. Waiting. Waiting for them to make one wrong step, make one wrong decision. Even the wind in the dunes was annoying, the constant rustling that blew fine sand into her face and found even the smallest crack in her cloak. It was all of that – and more. She was tired. She was wide awake. She wanted nothing more than to leave this Force-forsaken planet and she wanted to lay down and never get up again. Her lips were cracked and her throat parched, but she did not feel thirsty. She wanted to go home. She didn't want to see her family. She wanted Jacen back – and Anakin – and Mara, the way she had been before. The way all of them had been. Jaina wanted to turn back time: down, down, all the way down and backwards until she was a child again and her greatest fear was Mom finding out that she had dropped her favorite vase. She wanted to train with Jacen and watch Anakin sleep in his cradle, wanted to laugh with Zekk, Tenel Ka and Lowbacca without remembering being Joined and Anakin dying and Jag's voice from the speakers that connected her to the enemy and Jacen's golden eyes. She wanted-

The next thing Jaina consciously remembered was her step faltering and her balance slipping.

She fell onto her knees and hands, not hard but struggling to not sink into the soft sand and land in it face-first. Surprised, she drew back and eyed both her hands carefully, there was sand on her gloves but no other sign of an injury. Her legs felt normal, so why?

The answer came to her slowly: the heat. Perhaps dehydration, too.

It had to be a combination of that, and of her sleepless nights – nightmares, and Jag – and apparently, it had exhausted her more than she would have thought it would. At the same time, it was not only physical exhaustion that had made her stumble, she was aware of that. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that, while she had spent a few days in a bacta tank after her duel with Jacen, she had left the med bay as soon as she could stand. She hadn't cared – just had wanted to go home. Shortly after her return, Uncle Luke had asked her to follow Alema Rar, and here she was. Suddenly, she just felt tired to the bone. Jaina buried her face in both her hands and wanted to cry.

But Valia's presence, instead of disappearing in the distance, halted and moved closer again and without a second thought Jaina forced herself onto her feet again and continued on, ignoring her companions' frowns of surprise. Deliberately, she focused on other things: how the sand shifted beneath her feet, and what a difference it was to watch Valia glide over the sand and to listen to herself stomping and sliding across the quicksilver like a drunken bantha. Jag managed something in between a glide and her own, awkward stumbling. The sun glared down. Every inch of their bodies was covered by something: either by cloth, armor or goggles. It was hot, it was exhausting, and it was only the fourth day of their trek. Jaina, resigning herself to the facts, thought about Allana: her niece was able to find something good in even the worst possible situation. What would she say now? Jaina ignored the spike of pain that shot through her at the thought of Jacen's daughter. She could almost hear the girl's voice: At least, Auntie Jaina, it's not raining! And that has to count for something, doesn't it? The thought actually made her smile. Oh, the enthusiasm of childhood – she could only pray Allana would keep her curious and exploratory views on life even when she grew up.

The desert was endless.

Jaina had lost track of their direction almost immediately after the sand-colored walls of the abandoned moisture farm had disappeared from view. She was unable to pinpoint where they had come from, much less where they were going. It was only them: three people and an alien world. Endless, never-ending desert in all directions; sun, sand and heat. Jaina, used to the temperate climate of Coruscant and even the hot, humid jungles of Yavin, hadn't thought she'd come to loathe the dry desert climate of Tatooine that much. It felt like the planet was mocking her. Like fate was mocking her: the Sword of the Jedi, flame of hope. The flame, right now, was close to a heat-stroke. Her self-loathing turned to choked amusement over her own crybaby tendencies. What was wrong with her? Straightening her shoulders, she vowed to not let herself go another time.

"We don't have much water left."

It was a question more than a statement. Her voice sounded hoarse even to her ears and she cleared her throat. It felt scratchy, as if sand had even invaded her insides.

They had established a routine by now. Valia led them on. Jag followed, and Jaina brought up the rear. Jag had tried to protest this arrangement – mainly because he hated the idea of Jaina in his back, she guessed – but Valia had overruled him.

"It's not a bad idea to have someone with a danger sense have our backs, you know."

And that had been it.

At her question Jag turned half-way and froze again, facing forwards again and calling out to their guide. At his voice, their guide stopped and waited until they had closed the gap between them.

"We'll reach a water reservoir this evening," Valia said and winked. "We've made a good time."

She continued on, looking back over her shoulder at the Jedi and the bounty hunter following her closely.

"You're doing good. At least," the sudden smirk was visible only in the way her wrinkles crinkled around her eyes, and in the almost unnoticed tilt in her voice. "…For a bunch of spoilt Coruscanti tourists."

Jaina rolled her eyes and, to her own surprise, felt the corners of her lips twitch upwards.

To Jaina's perception of their journey it wasn't of importance to find a guide for the crossing of the Dune Sea for navigational purposes – she supposed the sun and the sky and the stars at night allowed some kind of orientation. No. Valia's true worth was in the fact that she knew the Dune Sea, and she knew its secrets.

"What's that?" Jag asked, shielding his eyes with his hand. "It seems…" For the lack of a better word, he shrugged.

"Green?" Valia asked, her eyes sparkling. "It's not an illusion, bounty hunter. What you see is an oasis."

Jaina, from her position at the rear, could only see some specks of something that appeared to be green and alive. Sighing, she stopped, shielding her eyes with her other hand. Jag must have some kind of binoculars installed in his helmet visor – he surely had – because the only thing Jaina could see was a spec of something at the horizon. It still was two hours of trekking until they finally reached the outskirts of something that seemed somewhat misplaced in the desert landscape: palm trees and colorful flowers clinging to rocks, palms and stone walls. The small oasis seemed like it had only survived due to its secluded position at the base of a rock formation, thus protected from the harsh desert winds, and due to the water that trickled down the rock at different places, forming a small, crystal-clear lake at the foot of the wall. Kneeling, Jag tested the water, sniffing it and probably analyzing it, as well.

"Seems like we can drink it."

"Of course you can drink it," Valia huffed. "This is the Dune Sea. There is no pollution here, no poison or illness like on Coruscant and so many other Core worlds."

Jag shrugged. "You can never be careful enough."

Two of Tatooine's thee moons were already visible in the sky.

While Valia started a small fire and Jag continued his examinations of their surroundings, Jaina stood at the strange line that divided desert from oasis and just looked. It felt unreal: the heavy, sweet scent of the flowers climbing the wet rock formation, the trickling of water when, a day ago, the only sound she had heard had been sand and wind. Maybe her eyes had gotten used to the scantiness of the desert around her, because now the colorful, living details seemed so much clearer to her. The soft edges of the leaves, the glimmer of mica in the rusty red of the rock walls – Jaina took a deep breath and tried to process the impressions that were flooding her, not because they were grand and loud, but because they were so… So small. Tiny flowers, tiny droplets. A tiny bird, fluttering down to take a bath, droplets of water on his plumage sparkling like diamonds. Like birds in a durasteel factory. She'd never understood what her Master had been trying to tell her, all those years ago. Now, finally, the meaning was clear.

"Girl." Valia waved at her, a wooden spoon in her hand. "Get over here, and bring the provisions."

Dinner consisted of some kind of stew, made from the freeze-dried rations they carried with them and water from the small pond at the feet of the rocks. While Jaina re-filled their water bottles and Jag ran a small perimeter check – she was glad for it, since it meant she would not have to do it herself – Valia had dug around in the ground near the pond, bringing forth moist sand mixed with even darker soil and, finally, a hand full of unshapely, reddish roots. Humming in satisfaction, she had rolled them into the embers of the fire and had let them cook. When ready they had a floury, soft texture and taste that reminded Jaina of something she could not put her finger on. From their perch at the foot of the oasis, close to the small water pond but far enough to not disturb other, four-legged visitors, they could see the sun sinking behind the horizon and the great, golden ripples of the Dune Sea. First it was day, then the light dimmed and suddenly the darkness was complete. The temperature dropped almost instantly. Jaina pulled the material of her cloak tighter around her shoulders and was glad for the piece of clothing which she had inwardly cursed so often before.

"It's almost time."

"Pardon me?" Jag said, turning towards Valia, who had spoken. The old woman had wrapped herself into her cloak and was a dark shadow against the darkness of their surroundings.

"For the lunar eclipse."

Jaina risked a glance at Jag and saw him frown. He had taken off his helmet and visor. His dark hair was tousled, sticking up where sweat and heat had plastered it to his head first and he then had mussed it with his hand.

"It happens every millennium," their guide said, pointing skywards. Her pipe was hanging in her hand, seemingly forgotten. "Tatooine's three moons align completely. The people of the desert say when lovers see the shadows of the three moons kissing in the sand…"

"What happens then?" Jag. The fact that he even asked, did not just snort disinterestedly or disdainfully, surprised Jaina. A few years ago he would not have cared about things like that. Maybe he was trying to be polite, or maybe he was trying to get on Valia's good side. And it seemed to work: she didn't see the woman smile, but she could almost feel it. Not for the first time she asked herself how Force-sensitive Valia really was.

"That depends on whom you ask."

Jaina snorted, unable to remain quiet any longer. "Whatever."

"You don't believe in legends, girl?" Valia's eyes were weary, but her smile remained.

"I believe in many things," Jaina said without hesitation. "Fairy-tales are not among the things I do believe in."

"Once upon a time, child, you would have been a fairy-tale, as well."

"You mean the Jedi?" Jag interrupted before Jaina could protest.

"I mean the Jedi. Good and evil, Jedi and Sith. Light and dark – life and death. It's the thing every fairy-tale is based upon, isn't it?"

Jaina opened her mouth to contradict and was surprised to hear Jag's voice once again. "Every story has a true core."

Valia smiled. "You're an intelligent boy. And good-looking, did I mention that already?"

Jaina sighed and rolled her eyes. Jag, who had opened his mouth to answer something, caught her grin. For a second, they shared the moment: wariness in their bodies but alertness in their minds. Then he caught himself and looked away again, his shoulders stiffening. Something inside her twisted, painfully. Rising abruptly, she shoved her water skin and the second ration bar back into her pack savagely.

"I'll take the first watch."

Jaina was used to the soft darkness of Yavin Four, where nights did not last long and brought little relief from the humid, warm air. Nights on Coruscant were different again: black-and-white-and-blinding all at once, sharp-edged, brightly lit and filled with sound. Coruscant never slept. Darkness never descended completely, except for the underground world of the lower levels. The nights of Tatooine were silver-light and shadow. Contrasting, sharp, the harsh line of dunes against the black sky, and yet – softer. Moon light and desert wind and strangely soothing.

On the other side of the softly glowing embers, something moved. Jag shifted on his bed roll and rose. Jaina was struck by how he moved: graceful, easy and cautious. He was still wearing his beskar'gam. Something caught in her throat: he looked ridiculously young in the light of the three moons. And then the streak of white hair flashed silver and age settled unto him like snow settled onto the soft forests of Naboo. He looked like someone else, someone she didn't know. A stranger. Jag was a stranger to her in many ways.

The bounty hunter stretched and slid down onto the ground next to her, carefully avoiding getting to close.

"There's something I need to tell you," he said. Deliberately, he met her eyes.

"What?" Jaina's voice was steady, and she was proud of it.

"Master Jade Skywalker."

"What about her?" Jaina couldn't conceal the hitch in her voice. A stab of fear shot through her, immediately followed by a cold, cold thought: not again. Her former Master – her aunt and, even more importantly, her friend – had been alive when she had left Coruscant, but just barely so. Only Ben's arrival had stopped Darth Caedus from delivering the killing blow. Maybe he hadn't wanted to kill in the presence of his former student and cousin. Maybe Ben had managed to distract him. Maybe Caedus had merely been surprised: maybe he had expected the poison to be stronger, to either kill Mara immediately or knock her out longer. Maybe, maybe and nothing of it mattered. Cilghal and all the Masters on Yavin Four had done their best to help her, but while the wounds on Mara Jade Skywalker's body had started to show signs of healing; she still had not awakened. When Uncle Luke had broken down and allowed for his wife to be taken away from Yavin, Coruscanti healers and physicians had spent considerable time trying to explain to the small gathering of Solos and Skywalkers that there was no way of predicting when Mara would regain consciousness, and whether she ever would open her eyes again. Uncle Luke hadn't even been able to listen to the physicians, Jaina remembered. She herself had stood, frozen like one of the Alderanian statues her mother liked so much, until her brain had processed the mere possibility of Mara not being there one day. It had been impossible then, and still was impossible now.

Jag was still looking at her, a strange light in his eyes. "She woke up from the coma a few hours after you left."

Her pulse was hammering in her ears so loudly she barely heard his soft words, and it took even longer until their meaning registered. "She woke up?" She asked, her voice sounding weak and disbelieving even to her own ears. "She's not in a coma anymore?"

"No." Every other person might have smiled at being the bearer of such good news. Jag's face remained expressionless. "She was not yet allowed to leave the healing quarters the day I left, so she ordered me to come see her. She told me to send you her love."

"Thank the Force." Jaina breathed a sigh of relief, burying her face in both her hands. Her throat felt raw, as if she had screamed without pause. "Will she be okay?"

"She will be." Jag confirmed. "She was already getting at the Grand Master for not taking care of himself enough only three hours later."

"That sounds like her." Then, something occurred to Jaina. "Wait." This time she searched for his eyes, locked with his gaze and held. "Why are you telling me this only now? Since we met three days ago you've known that she was awake again, and you did not tell me?"

"Two days and three nights," Jag said stiffly, the strangeness gone from his eyes again.

"To hell! You should have told me immediately!" Jaina reigned in her volume but couldn't clamp down on the sudden fury coursing through her.

"I wanted to, but the first thing you did was attack me and try to start a fight, and since then you've ignored me!"

There was the voice in her head, screaming, that he hadn't done any different, but she was struck silent by the implications of his actions.

"You did it on purpose." Jaina's voice was a whisper in the darkness. "How long did you want to keep it from me?"

She sensed something. A flash of red, hot anger mixed with something she knew but couldn't place – until it came to her like an epiphany: Hurt. Sharp-edged anger, anger at Jaina, anger at Jag, at the entire world. It was faint, barely recognizable, and she flinched in surprise. The odd echo disappeared, leaving behind only the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. Jag just stared at her, disbelieving, and Jaina felt shame roll over her like a tidal wave. For a long time, neither of them said anything.

"I'm sorry," Jaina finally whispered. "That was uncalled for. I know you wouldn't..."

"…Sink that low?" Jag completed her fragment.

"No," she protested. "No, it's just…" She bowed her head. "I am sorry. You wouldn't do something like that. I don't know how I thought… So many things happened, and I tried… I really, really tried…" She choked, realizing too late what she was doing and turning away from him abruptly. Here she was, and she was pouring out her heart to him like they still were friends. To think she had accused him of cruelty in the past.

"It's okay." Jag's voice was as gentle as the soft sound of the wind in the dunes. She probably was imagining the pain she read in his eyes, but only because it was dark, and she was pretty sure she shouldn't be able to know– "It's okay. Stop punishing yourself. There's nothing you could have done."

The moons were bright slivers of quicksilver against a black sky.

"How long will it take to reach the Valley of Spirits?"

"Two more days."

Jaina didn't dream that night. Exhausted, she collapsed on her bed roll, drifting off into nothingness almost instantly. She woke up a few hours later, her heart pounding in her ears once again. Realization felt like a bucket of ice water down her spine. She had thought it impossible: he wasn't Force-sensitive, not in the slightest. And even if there had been a connection between them once it had been the one of a normal couple. They had always been two normal human beings to her mind, not like Uncle Luke and Aunt Mara, or Anakin and Tahiri who shared – had shared – a Force bond so deep she had envied them, at times. And whatever Jag and she might have had a long time ago: Jaina's time as a Killik Joiner would have severed that, too.

But here she was, and she could sense Jag in the Force.