Private Something So Light

[Bernard]

Bernard had dressed almost appropriate for the Gala, though his outfit ended up resembling that of the staff so much it was simple to mistake him for one of the attendants. One who'd failed to coordinate properly with the rest of the staff. The blue, rather than the customary Onderonian maroon, of his tailcoat with its white trimmings and silver details did make him stand out better for the queen's eye, as it did for any other parties interested in identifying interlopers in attendance.

In a manner, it functioned well as a measure of deterrence. Foreigners, especially the silent and broody sort that spent the evening leaning against a wall scanning crowds, commonly exuded the presence of a form of high class hired muscle at these events. Something that came in handy for a monarch concerned for her daughter's safety, so he'd been told.

The queen had spoken of attending factions, who'd want to exploit the publicity of challenging her, or her daughter, during the Lunar Gala. Normally a benign and, crucially, non-lethal duel for prestige. If they knew she'd hired outside help, or better yet, recognized just who she'd managed to get to back her, it would weed out a lot of the more brazen provocateurs who'd think twice before risking humiliation to outshine their bravado. Something that would make the evening run much more smoothly, the queen had remarked.

Bernard moved past a group of Berchestians, one of the factions they'd been warned about, as they huddled together in hushed conversation at one of the buffet tables. He made out a few words, enough to interpret the context as something relating to Deep Core betting profits, and continued on uninterrupted toward the east wall, close by the sectioned off throne, where he leaned against the wall next to the Jedi he'd managed to talk into accompanying him.

"You look stunning," he smiled, glancing to Ishida. "I'm a little surprised you ended up going that direction with your attire."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Just when Ishida thought she understood opulence, the drapings and decor of the Lunar Gala added another dimension to the definition. Silver paint covered the many archways that lead to each room and filled in delicate details on historic paintings that communicated historic epics of Onderon's history. Like the moon on water, the silver glow from the lights shimmered against the expensive velvets that made their rich reds seem to glow like embers.

High society was usually only offered to the Ashina by invitation of Hayata — and the only similarity between the mogul's events and this one was the hired muscle. And Hayata's versions were usually less discreet about it. Hayata also tended to encourage more traditional, sleeker aesthetics.

But the mechanics seemed the same — clumps of people congregating together, finding kindred spirits in conversation. All those in attendance were beautiful, to some degree. And if their faces weren't sharp enough, their eyes not big enough, the slope of their noses untouched, then their clothing was ravishing instead and drew attention away from their imperfections.

Ishida was watching a blonde woman in an expensive blue dress follow one of the uniformed servers with her tray of champagne.

"You look stunning,"

A smile wormed its way to her previously listless expression.

"I'm a little surprised you ended up going that direction with your attire."

Rose hues were a deviation from the norm. She felt the need to defend herself force up a speech bubble from the base of her throat and bloom right out her mouth before she could stop it: "It's pink because usually after the Lunar festivals in Hebo, the trees start to bloom."

Her brows knit, sloping inward. She glanced down over the pink fabric that smoothed over her frame and touched the edge of one of the pins that poked out of her updo. Ashina Steel, of course — a prototype made from the fractures of her beloved blade.

"What were you expecting?"

 

[Bernard]

"Something more..."

A pair of Zygerrians caught his eye. The notorious slavedrivers rarely showed themselves this far south in the galaxy, especially after a Sith Horde had ravaged their homeworld. Had their trade empire begun expanding again? His brows furrowed for a moment, then the Zygerrians disappeared behind a crowd of guests again.

"Lethal in combat encounters," he turned to her, taking in the rare sight of Ishida wearing a dress, "not that it couldn't be described as quite lethal in other aspects."

From the corner of his vision, he noticed movement near the queen. He glanced briefly in her direction, making a mental note of the Duros dignitary who'd approached her. He didn't look suspicious, not overtly, but he had been the third person to request a personal audience with the queen since the gala's opening. If anything happened to the queen, he thought it prudent to know who she'd all been in contact with. Keeping track of that same information for her daughter would prove ... more than difficult, however.

He glanced back to Ishida. It would be a long evening. Long, and uneventful, the Queen had said, if all things went well. Bernard took the threat to the royal family quite seriously, of course, but it had been weeks since Ishida and he had been able to spend an evening together uninterrupted.

"What's the Lunar festival like in Hebo?"

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"The dress doesn't have to be lethal," Ishida spoke through her smirk. At least it wasn't the colour that was the most peculiar thing about it — just the general shift from traditional wear to something far less casual or armourlike.

Bernard watched, and Ishida watched him watch. Picking up small notes about what caused subtle shifts in those pearly eyes, when their shape narrowed slightly to something more thoughtful. It was all down to exchanges, something that seemed typical of dignitaries. She always imagined her mother would be good at these events, elegant and divine with her conversations.

"What's the Lunar festival like in Hebo?"

"Not like this." She started, gesturing subtly to the intricate design of the indoors. "It's all outside, along a riverbank so the moon's rise can be reflected and watched longer than any other setting. It starts in the evening, officially during sundown. There are no lights, other than candles and the glow of a giant dragon lantern that floats above the bank's edge. And it's more like a string of food booths with little round cakes rather than —"

Perfectly timed, a waiter in a crimson version of Bernard's suit trailed past. A silver dish raised to their chest as they swanned by the pair, wafting enticing smells of whatever roasted vegetable and meat bite-sized ensemble were on the plate.

"Whatever that is."

Even when she squinted, she couldn't tell.

"You might like it. Seems seasonal traditions have some string of similarities, even if it's just in the name." She paused. "Does that include Arkania? It must."

 

[Bernard]

"I'd love to see it. You'll have to take me some time," he grinned. The opportunity to see more of Atrisia's culture, with expert snide commentary, would be wonderful, he imagined.

"Oh, hardly among the Arkanians proper. The only thing that gets an Arkanian geneticist out of their lab is a meeting with their investors. Though, the descendants of the miners' cultures have several festivals throughout the year. Once every three months, roughly."

The guests continued their pleasant conversations, carried out at polite volumes. He could make out the strings playing a quiet tune that suggested an Alderaanian influence, though Bernard could hardly claim to be an expert.

"It's very steeped in tradition, though it's worlds apart from this, figuratively speaking. Song, dance, communal dinner cooking. It's really quite congenial and friendly. You never have to worry you'll offend some big wig with the wrong word.

"And their attire's drastically different too. Traditional garb always included at least two layers of thermal insulation."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"I'd love to see it. You'll have to take me some time,"

He did that on life day too, suggest they'd get the chance to visit other locales together. It added an everlasting intent or at least forward-looking notion to their relationship that hadn't had the chance to be explored in the X-Wing. Her smile was small, only because the idea of bringing him to Atrisia meant she would have to go back to Atrisia. And that thought still made something behind her ribs tighten.

"Are you a descendent of miners' cultures or Arkanians proper?" She asked. It was the first time he'd mentioned any sort of delineation in casts or cultures or anything about Arkania outside dragons, his time in the temple or broken fragmented references of family. It seemed a neutral enough point to seek more information on.

"Drastically different?" Ishida parroted and took the opportunity to be a little less stiff and uncongenial. Despite the foreignness of the situation they'd plunged themselves into, there was at least familiarity in the company. Enough for her to feel comfortable smoothing her hand down his arm and tugging at the hem of his sleeve. "Then where'd you have occasion to find this?

Or did you get it just for tonight? The queen would be delighted, I'm sure."

 

[Bernard]

"Just for tonight, in a manner of speaking. A friend loaned it to me."

He looked down at his waistcoat and smoothed it over. Underneath, his shirt hung loose, and he'd had to fold the shirt cuffs inward to keep them from poking out from under the coat sleeves.

"It's a little oversized, but it's nice. Feels more regal than the robes. I don't min going unrecognized as a Jedi either."

After several millennia most knew to connect robes and tunics with Jedi. And even with the NJO's laxer approach to uniform, the jacket-clad image of the newer generation had quickly caught on with most people. Primarily the underworld, who comprised the majority the Jedi usually dealt. The Alliance's upper echelons, on the other hand, seemed to lag behind in that matter. Bathrobes and beige, layered tunics still signalled a Jedi to them, and anyone wearing a leather jacket usually got dismissed as unimportant. Which came as something of a blessing, as elites tended to be more amenable and cooperative when they didn't quite know who your direct superior was.

"Arkanians proper," he replied to her first question.

"It's easy to tell us apart. We've got four fingers, all-white eyes, and this tan complexion. The miners are mostly off-worlders or Arkanian off-shoots: pale and closer to humans than pure-bloods."

The long and troublesome history between the pure-bloods and the off-shoots had been a difficulty Arkania for millennia. Even under the Alliance, the conflict between the two continued as off-shoots sought better living conditions that the pure-bloods regularly denied them. It presented a difficult political matter, and one Bernard lacked the time, or capacity, to follow as the war with the Brotherhood continued to ravage the Galactic East, and he didn't want to spoil the mood by going into the complexity of domestic or galactic politic. At least no more than they would already be exposed to at this event.

"On your short-list of galas, balls, and other such functions, where does this one rank so far?"

 

[Ishida Ashina]

A friend loaned it to me."

Disbelief struck her more blatantly than she might have liked.

"A friend of yours that has this sort of suit to loan?" The arch of her brows neutralized and she tucked her lips together, containing any further jest at the mysterious reference. Someone who had coat-tailed suits hanging in their wardrobe and was larger than the already tall Arkanian?

"Interesting." Was what she settled with, accompanied by a soft huh sound.

"Off-shoots?" The term was crude and almost sounded insulting. As if it were something her father would use to reference clans that didn't have a warrior's acumen. "Is that from intermingling with offworlders or something that happened in a lab?"

The duros she'd noticed Bernard inventory earlier had joined the side of the woman in the expensive blue dress, and the pair seemed to be pleasantly immersed in a dialogue that included a lot of hand gestures Ishida didn't recognize.

"On your short-list of galas, balls, and other such functions, where does this one rank so far?"

"You mean the two between an arms-dealing showcase and one with The Mandalorian Enclave?" She scoffed. "Well, the showy display of armaments is less than I'm used to. But we did just get here — still. Sort of...quiet.

If I recall correctly, you promised something more lively. What exactly are you expecting to happen?"

 

[Bernard]

"A friend of yours that has this sort of suit to loan?"

He nodded to her, meeting disbelief with sincerity, and felt a little confused by her apparent surprise. It wasn't as though tailors and clothing like this wasn't quite abundant in the galaxy, with the amount of monarchies and oligarchies still operating in the galactic disc. It just happened that most of the time, this sort of get-up turned out to be far less than practical.

"Off-shoots? Is that from intermingling with offworlders or something that happened in a lab?"

He raised an eyebrow and turned to Ishida, but she seemed preoccupied with observing something else. He glanced in the same direction, trying to make out what she'd found, and, soon enough, spotted the Duros and another attendee conversing.

"Genetically engineered," he said.

"You've never met one? That's...surprising. Many have left our homeworld and now travel the stars. Off-shoots are far more commonplace than pure-bloods out here beyond the ice-dunes, and even on Arkania, really," he said as they watched the distant exchange.

The Duros looked around, subtly. For species without irises it tended to be more difficult to track gazes, hed often wondered how Ishida managed to do it with him so consistently, but for the Duros small turns of his head were the indicator. He didn't so much seem to be looking for something as getting his bearing. The woman, meanwhile, spoke and gestured at the same time. Her gestures didn't appear consistent with Galactic Basic Sign language, or any other visual-manual modalities Bernard was familiar with. It could simply be ignorance, or something more.

He looked away from the pair and subtly, or as subtly as he could manage, searched the crowd for anyone else who seemed to have an unusually high interest in the two.

"If everything goes well, nothing," he said absently.

"The queen asked for two Jedi to serve as protective detail during the Lunar Gala," he glanced away from the Duros for a moment, back to Ishida, "and I didn't promise lively. Just that being here with you would make it so."

The conversation between the Duros and the woman seemed to draw to a close, and the two parted ways before Bernard could spot anyone suspicious. Unfamiliar gestures alone didn't seem enough to warrant following up on. The two seemed noteworthy enough to keep in mind, but nothing more.

"Only two? I thought that, as the daughter of a wealthy metal manufacturer, you would have attended quite a few of these throughout the years."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"Genetically engineered,"

A relief of sorts whooshed through her. Something about Arkanian purity, or the notion of it, made her anticipate his response more than she’d otherwise admit. And as soon as she’d spoken the word intermingling, she’d thought of off-worlders, and that was inevitably her, and there were so many improbabilities stacked against them. And the more he explained, the rarer he became.

"If everything goes well, nothing,"

At first, an evening resulting in nothing sounded like something remarkably dull. And she fought the urge to click her tongue against the roof of her mouth in displeasure. The potentially irritated expression was softened only by the novelty that nothing posed; how rare was it that nothing happened? How improbable was it that she and Bernard could simply walk away from a fancy party having enjoyed it, and each other’s company, without anything to distract them?

There was something intriguing about that prospect, something worth settling into. So she reassigned her expectations to match his, and labelled it as something hopeful.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Ishida admitted, trying again to exercise transparency. “But I think I agree.” She tugged at one of her moon-shaped earrings, just to do something with her hands that wasn’t overt. “Nothing is..new for us.”

"Only two? I thought that, as the daughter of a wealthy metal manufacturer, you would have attended quite a few of these throughout the years."

“Hah.” She scoffed straightaway. “Ashina negotiations are subtle, clandestine and very closed-market. He’d prefer to boast that Ashina Steel is earned, not bought.” She flashed a hand up. “Not necessarily true, but my father’s pride in exclusivity supersedes his pursuit of profit.

That’s one of the things I learned from Lady Hayata.” Ishida admitted. The woman may have been morally gray, but without her, Ishida’s transition to the modern core would have been far more awkward and disastrous. The time Aiko Hayata took for Ishida to cherish modern femininity amidst a heavily male dominated vertical, while maintaining respect for her family's traditional patriarchy and the legacy of their steel, was the most exposure Ishida received to business outside of her father’s select few he deemed worthy to represent his weapons.

After a few beats, she sighed: “I'll find a balance when the time is right.”

She looked forward, away from Bernard and back to the crowds. Uncertain what she was looking at the crowds for necessarily, but looked out regardless.

“Maybe only two-ish of this calibre,” her tone shifted into something more challenging. “But I showed up in my own dress. Which suggests my list might be a bit longer than yours Mister-borrowed-suit.”

 

[Bernard]

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I agree."

"You do?" He glanced over, finding her adjusting one of her earrings. He considered adding more to his reply but decided against it, a little relieved, as their conversation began to take a different turn.

"Nothing is..new for us."

"It is," was all he added.

Lady Hayata was a relatively new name. He'd heard her mentioned by Ishida once or twice, though the woman still posed a mystery. Still, only two such events didn't seem to align with expectations of someone as important as the daughter of a metal baron who prized politics over the life of his own family.

Not that they'd ever talked extensively about what her days had really been like, growing up in Hebo, beyond the few glimpses about her brother and the lies that propped up the skeleton of legacy.

"Maybe only two-ish of this calibre, but I showed up in my own dress. Which suggests my list might be a bit longer than yours Mister-borrowed-suit."

"Only two, huh?" A smug grin flashed across his features.

"Looks can be deceiving, Miss I'd-fight-in-a-dress," he nudged her with his shoulder.

"Six," he declared. "Not including today."

He remained silent long enough for it to take effect, if it did at all.

"One as a Youngling, I barely remember it. One as a Padawan, still on Arkania, then much later the grand opening ceremony of the Temple on Coruscant, and a follow-up gala to a medal-ceremony during the Sith War. Those were the ones I attended as a guest. And each time I could wear Jedi tunics, so there was no need for fancy getups.

"Then there was one private gala hosted by the chancellor Chandra herself, where I worked undercover as a server, and one more hosted by the late regent of Kuat during a diplomatic mission. My outfits were provided for me."

He smiled at her, arms innocently folded behind his back.

"So you see, I just never had a need for this kind of ostentatious display."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"Looks can be deceiving, Miss I'd-fight-in-a-dress,"

“Miss I’d-fight-in-anything.” Ishida corrected quickly, smoothing her hands down her hips as if to accentuate how unphased the idea of action was, even now. She’d be able to dodge efficiently, run perhaps. Kicks wouldn’t be so possible unless she ripped it across the knees to free herself.

But the longer the dress, the longer the blade or weapon she could conceal. To her thigh, her steel shoto. The other had her sabre of course. She’d been without her katana for a while now, and as much fabric as she covered herself in, she still felt naked without it. The dependency on a Jedi-traditional weapon only was taking some getting used to.

"Six," "Not including today."

Six, Ishida mouthed soundlessly. She hadn’t expected to lose threefold. Her arms folded across her chest in defiance of the fates. One brow furrowed, and another pitched a strong arch to challenge the validity of the number. Six was a lot for a non-dignitary.

Further explanation revealed more details. More than half were as a guest, all of which required only Jedi robes. Which added emphasis to his earlier statement about not being recognized as one tonight. Did that add more to the ability to have a normal evening? Not be a Jedi for a night?

He wore smug pride better than his borrowed suit. It was tailored perfectly to him.

The corners of her smirk deepened. “That’s a shame.” She sighed. “You missed several opportunities to look this handsome in your ostentatious display.

Maybe you can cut a deal with your friend. Keep it for your next six galas.”

Suddenly, a thought struck her. A product of the discussions of attending galas, the expectations of a mogul’s daughter, and the distinctions of him as an Arkanian proper. As if the thought were a tangible thrum against the back of her eyes, she forced a blink.

“I ...just realized..” And she felt stupid “I don’t even know how those invitations would be addressed. Do they say Of Arca in lieu of your surname? I—” shock made her mouth dry at the absurdity of her blindness. “Do Arkanians have family names?"

 

[Bernard]

"That's a shame." She sighed. "You missed several opportunities to look this handsome in your ostentatious display.

"Maybe you can cut a deal with your friend. Keep it for your next six galas."

"Why should I want to flaunt my looks? I already caught the eye of the only person who matters."

A few moments later, during which Bernard purposely didn't look for her reaction, Ishida continued: "I ...just realized..I don't even know how those invitations would be addressed. Do they say Of Arca in lieu of your surname? I—Arkanians have family names?"

The notion that Arkanians might not have surnames, coming from Ishida, gave Bernard pause. He almost looked her over with a raised eyebrow as if to make sure the Ishida standing next to him was still the same one he entered the ballroom with, though he stopped himself. Judging her for ignorance would be the same as condemning her curiosity. He couldn't do that, especially not when her curiosity brought out one of her more precious sides, one that never failed to make him fall for her a little more.

"Arkanias do have surnames," he said, smiling to himself.

"And my invitation cards do usually follow my name with "Of Arca", nowadays at least. Or, when they're clueless about how to properly address me, they use my title, 'Knight of the Jedi.' I don't make it easy on them, of course, having renounced my family name."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

For someone whose entire existence orbited around the importance of family legacy, heritage, bloodlines and hereditary expectations, Ishida was shocked at her own ignorance having lasted this long relative to Bernard. And how self-centred she'd been to be so belaboured about her stories relative to surnames and all the baggage it brought.

Of course he had a surname. What a silly proposition otherwise — what a concept if such a proper nation had no trace of lineage. Arkanians proper would have to trace their lineage somehow. The looseness she felt between her shoulders coiled up tightly again in an instant.

having renounced my family name.

An anvil dropped into her thoughts and squashed anything further.

"Pardon?"

She would have emphasized a you what — but he hadn't hesitated. He'd simply stated a decision made. There was nothing more to dwell on other than why.

"When? Why?"

 

[Bernard]

"You never put that together?" He turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

"Almost a decade ago now, I suppose. I had to, because of concerns for my safety. And it also made working with militias and private forces much easier if no one knew my real name."

He shrugged.

"I suppose there's not much of a point in keeping it secret today, but, it doesn't feel right going back to the way it was before."

His eyes fixed on something past Ishida, something far away, and got a distant look about him. For a few heartbeats, he sank deep into his thoughts, but then, as quickly as it had set in, his attention came back to the present.

The queen seemed to be standing up, conversing with an advisor at her side. This was unusual. At least it was according to the records Bernard had studied. He couldn't make out what she was saying to her advisor, nor could he read lips. Whatever it was, the advisor seemed to agree with Bernard's assessment. His gestures were subdued, but he was protesting whatever the queen had decided.

 

[Ishida Ashina]

"You never put that together?"

Ishida opened her mouth to say something but clicked it shut instead. Her cheeks almost matched the pink of her dress, and embarrassment's heat flushed her expression.

"No." She admitted instead of letting the shame sit in her throat. "It's a concept that never occurred to me." Even in her brother's exile, Inosuke retained the name Ashina.

She'd wondered, of course, why his peers referred to him as The Knight of Arca or just Bernard — but she'd never considered the decisiveness of denouncing a family name—leaving it behind entirely. How absolute that choice was, and it seemed uncharacteristic of someone who so cherished their family heirlooms. Their conversations around his family, home, and past were all delicate. Tiny little nuggets she gleaned from his river of memories, and now and then, he'd allow her to prospect something golden and valuable.

"Almost a decade ago now, I suppose. I had to, because of concerns for my safety. And it also made working with militias and private forces much easier if no one knew my real name."

Putting it together was an apt choice of words for the way he only gave little pieces to reveal his puzzling past. Except they were cut incongruently, and she'd have to shape them to fit them all together. So far, the pieces were a father and a brother who had a falling out, Bernard never finding a Jedi Master at the temple, a temple destroyed, a family heirloom he received when his brother no longer needed it, his family name denounced because of concern for his safety and militia and private forces. The picture she was putting together was sinister indeed, and the Ishida of a timeline ago had been foolish enough to encourage him to return home to help solve his Force-connection problem. The reflection cued an unconscious drift of her hand to her chest, where she absently touched the rope of the heirloom ring.

"I suppose there's not much of a point in keeping it secret today, but, it doesn't feel right going back to the way it was before."

He seemed to speak to it so easily now, shrugging away his decision to rebuild his identity apart from the world he'd been raised in—what a heavy decision for a young boy to make. Had he made it alone? He must have if no one knew his real name — a name remained a mystery still, and Ishida wrestled with herself on whether to continue pressing or respect the navigational course he was setting away from it. He did this, though. Kept his secrets close, his troubles. Of course, he did — he'd been alone, without family, without trust, for a long long time.

How important it was, then, that she make it known that was no longer the case. Instinctively, her hand moved to grip his, pressing her thumb to the back of his hand and twining fingers within the spaces of his four.

"Who hunted your family?" The grip of his past was so tight on her curiosity that it squeezed the question out against her better judgement. There were answers within him, deep within the current, waiting to be sifted out. She could feel them, buried deep. They had to be. He’d had to protect himself for so long.

Silence settled, and his attention wandered. Hers did not.

A member of the waitstaff whisked past, their suit's tails fluttering behind them as they swanned to a group of pretty ladies who were standing together beneath the impressive chandelier.

"What happened?"

A gentle breeze swept through the room, and the gems of the light twinkled and rattled together. Conversation's volume started to rise, and a lone belly laugh from the corner of the room floated to the ballroom's ceiling.

The sound was harsh and cacophonous in the private bubble of the Arkanian's history — but it added to the joy in the room. Beneath the silver lights, one after the other in quick succession more happy sounds came to life. As if the pockets of people were all starting to understand the same punchline. They were all laughing, and Ishida was asking Bernard to uproot a past he'd concealed for a decade.

Bernard seemed occupied with something behind her, and Ishida half-turned to see what it was. The queen's casual body language from when she'd been sitting had tightened now, her posture rigid and urgent. The line of her jaw was firm and set, and her feet moved with a sureness that belonged only to someone who believed they were above making mistakes.

Her curiosity groaned beneath the weight of propriety. She added quickly, remembering where they were: "We don't have to talk about it now."

 

[Bernard]

"I hate talking about this," he murmured under his breath.

The ballroom faded in its importance, and the stars beyond it became the centre of Bernard's attention when his gaze moved up to the skylight.

"They were Sith," he began. "Arkania was still left to fend for itself and vulnerable then. It hadn't recovered from the fall of civilization in the Core, and there were bands of marauding remnants."

Although several regimes attempted to create stability in the Core, Sith and Imperial remnants continued as roving bands that looted their way across the Colonies and the Inner Rim. It hadn't been until the Galactic Alliance that peace had found a more permanent home in the Core.

He grasped her hand more firmly and shifted his glance to her.

"There was a man among them with a personal vendetta against my family." Bernard's jaw tensed and eyes narrowed. "I had to hide so he wouldn't find me. That included giving up my home, my name, my past, and my future."

It had been painful to give up everything. It was painful remembering it, but that didn't bother Bernard as much as it once might have. What made recalling the events of his past so uncomfortable was the feeling of powerlessness they carried.

Back then he'd been young, frail. The person he'd been back then and the person he'd become were worlds apart. He didn't have time, didn't want to make time to remember what he'd grown beyond. He'd lost enough time to the past that all he wanted to think about was the future. Someplace better.

He sighed, turning away from Ishida, letting his gaze fall to the centre of the ballroom floor where the guests enjoyed their festivities.

"I...I think I'd prefer if we did talk about something else, I'm sorry," he said with resignation in his tone and looking more dejected than before.

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Being in public, and somewhat on the job, was all that kept Ishida from wrapping her arms around Bernard and pulling him into her for belated consolation. Instead, all she could offer was her hand in his and her undivided attention.

"I had to hide so he wouldn't find me. That included giving up my home, my name, my past, and my future."

His expression seemed to tighten, the lines at the edges of his eyes sharp and the curve of his mouth straightened impossibly. There was no yearning to his tone, however. Simply reciting history, facts, he could have no sway over.

Ishida drew in a sharp breath, and inadequate silence stung her mouth. Her brain went stupid with disbelief. The Sith had taken everything from him, and yet he still believed some could be redeemed, still had the patience to offer to those who showed hesitation. Her admiration of him stirred, and she met the firmness of his grip in her hand.

The stoniness of his face lessened and faded into something wearier. His attention shifted away from her and to the centre of the room where the pretty girls were now drinking their flutes of champagne through stories and giggles. People had been drinking enough by now to find it easier to laugh. Golden, liquid courage bubbling down their throats and settling buzzily in their bellies. Carbonation swelled and pushed out the hesitation and sensibleness that came with sobriety, and one of the girls broke from the group to float toward a pair of Berchestians. Every now and then she'd look over her shoulder, and her friends would meet her glances with toasts and giggles.

The bald, tattooed men were well aware of what was happening and looked entirely unimpressed by the time the young lady in blue arrived before them and curtseyed.

"I...I think I'd prefer if we did talk about something else, I'm sorry,"

"No, don't be. I'm the one who should apologize. I appreciate all you told me —" She should have hesitated. Maybe with a few more seconds of thought, she'd have realized the inappropriateness of the situation. "—but I shouldn't have pursued this conversation now. This isn't the place."

In her peripherals, she saw the silhouette of Onderon's queen lift from her seat. It was a smooth movement. So subtle that Ishida almost missed it — but she was half-looking for anything else to steer their conversation toward.

Ishida leapt at the chance to change topics on Bernard's behalf: "How close of an eye do you have to keep on the queen?"

 

[Bernard]

"No, don't be. I'm the one who should apologize. I appreciate all you told me—but I shouldn't have pursued this conversation now. This isn't the place."

His eyes fixed the ground. He stayed silent for a while, distant, and held on to her hand like a lifeline.

"How close of an eye do you have to keep on the queen?"

Slowly, lethargically, his attention began to shift. The voices of old spectres quieted down enough for him to recall the importance of their mission. Duty became a beacon to rally behind, and it tugged on his thoughts like gravity. He didn't resist the pull, and his mind welcomed the change freely. Mission parameters, conversations with the queen's guard, tenets of the Jedi Code, and more details replaced cold snow, Sith marauders, and the signature smell of ozone.

The queen and her daughter had been the primary VIPs. They'd been asked, of course, to ensure no one got harmed, but when it came down to it, the queen's life came first. The terms had grated against Bernard's insides. Valuing the life of one above that of another always made him uncomfortable, but the cold calculus of war agreed with the guard's assessment. The cost of life would be greater if Onderon were plunged into civil war over succession.

"Close. The safety of both the queen and her daughter are our highest priority." He looked over to see the queen descend the stairs.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the Duros stir as well. The queen turned halfway down the steps and was flanked by her guards, moving to a discreet side exit that led back into the palace. From the direction the Duros was headed, it became clear he intended to follow. None of the guards stopped him, instead, one of them fell in behind him as an escort.

"I think that's a cue that I should be following," he said, trailing the group with his eyes. "The queen's daughter should be on the other side of the room. I'll stay with the queen, you with her daughter."

He pushed off the wall and took a step. Ishida's hand turned in his as he moved, gently keeping his arm back. He hadn't let go quite yet, and he paused mid-step. A smile grew in his expression, and he turned back to her.

"Thank you," he whispered and leaned in to quickly kiss her. "For bringing me back to the present."

He stepped away again, holding her hand for as long as their arms allowed, and trailed her palm with his fingers just before he stepped beyond the limit, drawing the moment he had to turned away from her for as long as he could. Eventually, he did, and moved briskly to follow after the guard. On his way, he turned to Ishida again, tapping his wrist then signing "call-me" to indicate they should keep in touch through the comm units.

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Concern overtook Ishida's countenance, and she carefully watched Bernard shift from distant thoughtfulness to involved observance. He looked from the floor, where nothing but shadows of guests of now and the ghosts of the past moved, and over her shoulder to the queen. The tightness around his eyes returned when he looked beyond the spectres of yore to the movements of the present, and Ishida felt an emotion she didn't recognize straight away. It dragged through her, slowly, begging for a definition she never attributed.

"The queen's daughter should be on the other side of the room. I'll stay with the queen, you with her daughter."

It would be a lie to deny the thrill that coursed through her at the notion of action. A reaction that laughed in the face of her earlier sentiment that accepted normalcy as something pleasant and desirable. It was enough to temporarily distract her from the guilt and growing compassion she felt for Bernard’s history.

Readily, she nodded at her assignment. Momentum was starting to build, and she hadn't expected him to look back — but when he did, with a smile, she felt a confused version that mimicked his pull at the corners of her lips. That was all she anticipated.

Then, briefly, he kissed her and she felt herself widen in surprise. Emotion plumed out from the tiny, concentrated pucker, and her hand in his tightened. It was punctuation activated, and he expressed his gratitude beyond the token of affection with words that gave clarity to his public boldness.

Nobody was looking at them, of course. This was a crowd of the self-involved. But it was still a deeply savoury moment for the heir of Ashina, who recognized it as an unwitting public, on-the-job display of togetherness he’d not initiated before. The resonance of that crept through her and settled only when the warmth of his touch disappeared from her hand.

After a few paces, he gestured. She forced a nod through the fog of happiness and worry.

For whatever reason, maybe she felt it was necessary for appearances, she waited for him to gain some distance before she peeled in the adjacent direction.

Before they’d touched down on the planet and walked through the opulent doors to the grand hall, Bernard had been sure to share the blueprints and reviewed the layout with Ishida. So when he mentioned the other side of the room, she knew what he was referencing.

Her walk feigned an unhurriedness about it. Past the girl in the blue dress who was getting barely any smiles from her tattooed audience. In fact, they seemed to be making preparations to excuse themselves from her buzzed presence.

The ballroom’s largeness quickly relegated to lines and arrows in her mind’s eye that matched the mapping system the pair had reviewed earlier.

She’d hem-hawed over heels or flats for the evening, and was finding herself grateful that she’d elected to sacrifice a few extra inches in height for movement. One was certainly more advantageous than the other for one who courted danger so readily.

In a roundabout way, just left of the lavatories, was an unmarked hallway that split into a fork. If Ishida recalled correctly, the right one — yes, the right one — looped back around to the back room’s entrance.

She followed it and —

— “Oh!” The princess’ bright eyes flared, startled. Then settled into an unimpressed glare. She adjusted her skirt, floofing out the wideness that settled at her hips to accentuate the pinch of her waist. “You’re not who I was expecting.”