Mediator and Arbitrator
Aliris Tremiru
Tirin had done everything he could to make Aliris feel comfortable. After about a year spent in recovery, he ensured her new quarters were a sanctuary. A cozy retreat made from soft blankets, delicate pretty string lighting, clothing carefully chosen to fit her preferences. Her return was nothing short of a miracle, but he suspected that miracles came with prices, often hidden until the cost was unavoidable.
He gave her time—space to adjust to the peculiar stillness that often followed chaos. Finacial stability and basic needs were a form of love she was deserving of. Tirin was worried for her. Aliris had survived, yes, but survival wasn't the same as being whole. Whatever had brought her back was something he needed to understand, not just for her sake, but his own.
When the time felt right, he asked her to meet him in the study. It was his favorite place aboard the Aries, a private but welcoming retreat beneath a large sky observatory window in the form of a spacious yet cozy book room. Shelves were heavy with ancient texts and datapads surrounded them, the faint scent of bound paper and ink lingered in the in the air. Tirin had prepared a simple spread carefully—platters of cookies, steaming mugs of cocoa, small comforts he hoped would help ease into the conversation he knew was coming.
He noted her presence, her movements told him enough.
Tirin cleared his throat softly, offering a small smile as he began. "How are you adjusting? Do you like it here?"
He studied her closely after speaking, gauging her posture, her body language, the subtle tells she might give him. Tirin had learned over the years to read between the silences, to recognize what words couldn't express.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's natural to feel unsettled," he said after a moment, "After what you've been through, normal might feel foreign. But it's okay to take your time."
His thoughts drifted briefly, unbidden, to his former Padawan, and the burdens he'd once failed to recognize until it was too late. But he shook off the memory, refocusing his attention on Aliris. This wasn't about the past. It was about ensuring that this time, he got it right.
He leaned back settling in a plush chair with a hot mug in his hands, exhaling softly.
But even as he spoke, the unease gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more—something lingering at the edges of her presence, just out of reach. Whatever had brought her back, it wasn't ordinary.
Tirin had done everything he could to make Aliris feel comfortable. After about a year spent in recovery, he ensured her new quarters were a sanctuary. A cozy retreat made from soft blankets, delicate pretty string lighting, clothing carefully chosen to fit her preferences. Her return was nothing short of a miracle, but he suspected that miracles came with prices, often hidden until the cost was unavoidable.
He gave her time—space to adjust to the peculiar stillness that often followed chaos. Finacial stability and basic needs were a form of love she was deserving of. Tirin was worried for her. Aliris had survived, yes, but survival wasn't the same as being whole. Whatever had brought her back was something he needed to understand, not just for her sake, but his own.
When the time felt right, he asked her to meet him in the study. It was his favorite place aboard the Aries, a private but welcoming retreat beneath a large sky observatory window in the form of a spacious yet cozy book room. Shelves were heavy with ancient texts and datapads surrounded them, the faint scent of bound paper and ink lingered in the in the air. Tirin had prepared a simple spread carefully—platters of cookies, steaming mugs of cocoa, small comforts he hoped would help ease into the conversation he knew was coming.
He noted her presence, her movements told him enough.
Tirin cleared his throat softly, offering a small smile as he began. "How are you adjusting? Do you like it here?"
He studied her closely after speaking, gauging her posture, her body language, the subtle tells she might give him. Tirin had learned over the years to read between the silences, to recognize what words couldn't express.
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. "It's natural to feel unsettled," he said after a moment, "After what you've been through, normal might feel foreign. But it's okay to take your time."
His thoughts drifted briefly, unbidden, to his former Padawan, and the burdens he'd once failed to recognize until it was too late. But he shook off the memory, refocusing his attention on Aliris. This wasn't about the past. It was about ensuring that this time, he got it right.
He leaned back settling in a plush chair with a hot mug in his hands, exhaling softly.
But even as he spoke, the unease gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more—something lingering at the edges of her presence, just out of reach. Whatever had brought her back, it wasn't ordinary.