Private Something So Studious

[Ishida Ashina]

“Hm.” She’d been so overconfident in his apartment, rushing to try and make him feel safe with her — and here he was doing the same back for her. She smiled to herself and looked down at the back of his three knuckles. Hands that flipped through pages, provided therapeutic touches, and reassuring grasps all within minutes of one another.

Ishida nodded her answer yes.

“We were at connection..”

Up on the bench and out of the branch’s shadow, gold rays lit his outline. In the sun’s pale light his face seemed to glow, and while his blush had disappeared, the warmth stayed. It had never left. For whatever he’d meant to conceal from her earlier, it wasn’t his benevolence. She’d let her thoughts get away from her, tripped up again in conditional exchanges.

“Funny enough, that was the third book.” She half-lied. She hadn’t been truly interested in it, and probably wouldn’t have gotten to the title without getting through the highlights of the other two first, but she was pleased in this coincidental moment she’d picked it up.

The cover was deep purple, with soft sage-coloured writing embossed on the front. When she shifted the book, it shimmered in the sunlight an engraved illustration of giant leaves and treetops. The title itself wasn’t very interesting: LESSONS IN ONDERON'S LEAVES and in a smaller font: UNLOCKING THE JUNGLE'S SECRETS TO BALANCE — but the excerpt about the book on the first inside page was relevant.

Shoeless, she shifted to bring herself around cross-legged to face him, and held the book in front of her face to conceal the tracking of her eyes. In a few seconds, she dropped it down with an ah-ha.

“Here,” she pointed and lowered it enough to turn one of her hands into a pointing gesture. A fingertip stabbed at the words that weren’t translated at all.

“Says here, the best lesson for both of us to learn together, balance it out and maintain connection, would probably just be..” her expression turned sheepish, and she kept fixed on the fake words before shrugging all the way into the apology. “—to give you my other foot.”

 

[Bernard]

He'd meant to move away from massaging her foot to make her feel less silly, but now she proposed they go right back to that based on the recommendation of a—

Bernard gave her a flat stare.

He leaned forward to read the upside-down text. At a glance, the page detailed the growth cycle of a Dxunian winged oak, diagrams included, with intermittent commentary on its made-up spiritual significance to the greater ecosystem of Onderon. Not a word about interpersonal connections, breaks, relaxation, or any methods used to teach these concepts.

She pushed her shoulders up and met him with innocent eyes and a small, apologetic smile. It was cute in a way. He steeled himself internally, doing his best not to blush again. He didn't expect it would take effort to call her on the bluff.

"Somehow, I doubt anything in this book will help," he said, pulling one corner of his mouth.

He raised an eyebrow, and, without breaking the edging-on-disapproving stare, he plucked her hand up from the page, snapped the cover of the book resting in her palm shut, and tossed the volume onto the pile of unread books next to their bench.

Back on Denon, she'd acknowledged her inexperience, even as she'd offered to teach the art of rest. But even with her lack of expertise, he'd expected something more creative than simply going back to what they'd done before. Especially when it only made her feel silly to sit by and be the recipient of affection.

His expression softened.

"It's fine," he sighed. "Don't worry about it. I just didn't want you to feel silly anymore."

Something about her hand drew his eyes. He brought her hand closer, inspecting it. From beneath her cuff, a thin line ran the edge of her palm. Somehow she'd injured herself or been injured there, and that pain had left behind its echo in a scar. A physical reminder of the way war had robbed them both of a peaceful, happier life.

"In my research, I came across a volume on anthropology of ancient warrior civilizations. Texts relating to the foundation of the Jedi Order," he waved his hand, "the details aren't that important. In it, the author detailed a ceremony a now-extinct culture used to perform before a battle." He slowly traced her scar as he spoke.

"This culture believed that the pain inflicted in war lingers in the scars of its survivors as a sort of spiritual energy. They said that before a warrior was to go into battle, they must have that lingering pain cleansed so the soul of their soul would not grow calloused by the sorrows they burdened.

"It always struck me as odd. Why would a warrior need to have their wounds treated beyond a simple bacta immersion? But the more I've learned, the more I've grown to appreciate the wisdom in that ceremony."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Her sham was quickly exploited, and she had little time to plea another case before Bernard’s deadpan stare shifted to action and the book snapped shut just centimetres from her touch.

“Hey —” she puffed out in protest. The book thumped against a pile of others in response and she looked back to Bernard , caught somewhere still between that apology and agitation for her ploy being tossed away.

With a sigh, he assured her that there had been no harm nor foul with her discomfort earlier, and her attempt to remedy had been noted but didn’t carry the resonance she’d tried to achieve. It didn’t seem to matter, however. Bernard met her with earnest eyes and a charm that glinted in the angle of his half-smile.

She felt a subtle tug on the hand he still held, and her attention refocused to where he looked. The angle of his endless opal gaze seemed honed in on her wrist, and she followed his gaze. It was small, the cut along the edge of her palm, but its discolouration and small rise had caught his attention. Attention enough to spiral into one of his rhythms she’d found so fascinating. His mind was always working beyond the present, filling in the gaps with learnings from the past anf creating projections and possibilities for the future.

And his willingness to trust her enough to share always made her want to listen. She was reduced to little more than a girl with an insatiable crush in instances like now.

He drew his thumb along the scar tissue, and her spine prickled so she sat a little straighter. His touch then was like a balm on her skin, so gentle and sincere. Her eyes tightened, and she shifted her gaze to non-obviously consume the golden lines against his tanned skin. He wore his scars so permanently, so publicly — and he was right. They were from a burden on his sole.

To show she was listening, or at least still somewhat attentive, she made an under-the-breath-remark that admonished the concept of learning from failures: Maybe there’s a reason they’re extinct — and as soon as the thought ran through her mind, it tripped, stumbling and rolling across a scape that stretched into the recesses of her pre-adolescence. A time when she wasn’t sparring, she was studying ancient powers that could have rivalled Atrisian dynasties if they hadn’t follied. There was respect shared among warrior cultures, one teacher would say. Especially when we can learn from their mistakes and not make them our own, another tutour would advise.

“I think,” Ishida started, suddenly cognizant, and looked up from the entrancement of their hands to his eyes “—I’ve heard of this before. I know what you’re talking about.

The ritual started with physical cleanliness, usually bathing followed by oils and natural essences, and then once the physical needs were addressed they shifted to the spiritual — which required the warriors and the healers to gather together — which isn’t that abnormal, but this group..” she also forgot their name “Invited in their elder storyteller.

But, the ceremony would be silent at first, everyone meditating, connecting..” she smiled subtly at the reference back to his earlier question “..and it would remain painfully quiet, sometimes for hours, maybe a day or two, until one warrior pressed by the impending battle would finally be moved to speak. They would place a hand over the wound which they dwelled on the most. Not necessarily in pain, but sometimes in thought, and speak through how it came about. This is where the storyteller comes in as useful, the inflection of their retelling gave an indication of whether or not their mind was free of interference and coupled with the healer’s perception of their energy, the warrior could be cleared.

If they weren’t, then they’d ——” she frowned. “I forget the process of the treatment ceremony.”

Her hand in his was light around hers and she shifted only so she could see the line of new skin along her hand herself.

“I did this to myself. It’s part of an Ashina ceremony.” Ishida admitted, half heh-ing . “Those healers would have little to work with in terms of sorrow.”

She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. Her free hand floated to her thigh. Even beneath the fabric of her pants, the skin was bumpy from scar tissue. “This one, though, would pull me from the front lines.”

Her thoughts almost wandered too far, and she snapped back.

“Did that sound familiar to the ceremony you were thinking of?”

 

[Bernard]

Many ceremonies required a sacrifice of some sort. It wasn't surprising that a ruthless clan as Ashina demanded its scions pay one with their own blood. He wondered, however, what she'd gained in return.

She didn't linger on that scar. Her hand moved to her thigh, where the evidence of a wound hid under the fabric of her trousers. What sort of injury would make her freely admit that she'd need time away from the battlefield because of it? The last time he'd met her in a hospital bed there had been no end of curses and complaints about the stagnation of bed rest, and that had been after she'd been shot and cut off from the Force.

She seemed to have been lost in reminiscence while he'd been lost in thoughts, as her tone brought them both back into the present.

"Did that sound familiar to the ceremony you were thinking of?"

"Not entirely, though it sounds quite fascinating. The one you describe seems a lot more involved than the one I read about. The texts described it as being much simpler and—" He cut himself off.

The custom he'd read about had been considerably more private, as the culture had placed great emphasis on close bonds between individuals. It only involved a private rite between the warrior and whoever they trusted most. Its procedure also had been much more personal. And explaining its details out loud suddenly seemed impossible through the sudden and unfamiliar building shyness that tightened his chest.

He cleared his throat, trying to find some semblance of a centre again as a familiar warmth settled in his cheeks.

"They didn't really give many details. There were only a few, barebones, basic instructions gleaned off some old, incomplete tablets they'd found." His eyes darted to an arbitrary shelf to their side, doing his best not to meet Ishida's eyes.

His gaze lingered there while he chewed through his sudden reticence, the blush in his expression only growing more pronounced.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

being much simpler and—"

The unasked question of and what hung in the air, linked between his tightly-shut lips and the steep arch of her brow. Not unlike earlier when he'd leaned away from her, he seemed suddenly overcome by redness. Ishida watched him change. From openly inviting her into discovery, sharing learnings, to looking over her shoulder as if the rest of the ceremony was hiding somewhere in the walls behind her.

In case it was, she followed his eyes, found nothing, and looked back to him. The quizzical knot between her brows didn't recede.

"You gathered wisdom from basic instructions on a simple ceremony?" A small noise clicked out from the back of her throat. "What were the instructions?"

 

[Bernard]

"You gathered wisdom from basic instructions on a simple ceremony?"

He caught a moment of reprieve. The disbelief Ishida held for the wisdom he'd found in uncomplicated rites and simple tenents of thought opened up a distraction from his emotions.

"It's in simplicity that much depth can be disguised," he asserted.

But his moment didn't last long, as Ishida pressed him on the details he'd omitted.

He placed his hands on his legs, pinching the fabric between fingers and palms. For a moment, he remained quiet, glancing from her legs to the floor and back again, as he considered his words.

"The rites they performed were both spiritual and medicinal in nature. Their goal was, uh, to both cleanse the pain and dark energies from the body and to heal the physical echoes of that pain, that being the scar or injury itself."

 

[Ishida Ashina]

Unlike Bernard , Ishida wasn't trying to look anywhere else. Her eyes were comfortably resting on him and taking in the minutiae ticks and subtleties that seemed like itches of discomfort. It was her. It was absolutely her making him uncomfortable.

At least this time, however, he didn't pull away.

She allowed him his space, not reaching out for his hands again when his lack of touch left an absence against her skin. Sharp and calculating, her eyes narrowed at him and she bent a bit as if to lean and capture his eyes again from the fixed height he seemed trapped in.

"You said that." Her words were taut, but her smile was soft. She was fast becoming amused at his nervousness and wickedly felt the need to continue pressing.

"How did they do it, though?"

 

[Bernard]

"I did? I did." He laughed nervously.

She kept pressing for more details, relentlessly. Although she smiled, he could see the glint in her eyes that revealed something more wolfish.

He shifted, tilting the angle of his shoulders toward her, and met her eyes with a side-glance.

"I—they, well..." he found himself tongue-tied all of a sudden.

Under the scrutiny of her gaze, the embarrassment he felt seemed to disconnect the web of his thoughts, leaving him only with a self-conscious observation of his own blush.

It couldn't end like this. He couldn't end like this.

He closed his eyes, took a fuller breath, and aligned himself with his centre. He straightened his back and met Ishida head-on.

"It—The rite was usually performed between two who shared a bond. The scars would be laid bare, both the remnants of its spiritual and ... physical elements," he murmured the last words, shifting slightly on the bench. "The pain afflicting the warrior's spirit would be 'met with mercy' while the physical injury would be treated with a medicinal salve. Together they were supposed to cleanse the wound in both spirit and body," he'd sighed the words out near the end, begrudgingly forcing them out.

He'd also avoided Ishida's eyes again towards the end of the explanation, and the red in his complexion hadn't faded.

"It's a very ... intimate rite by Jedi standards."

Which was also the reason he rued remembering it in the first place.

Ishida Ashina

 

[Ishida Ashina]

When he laughed nervously at himself, she smirked.

Thoughts, words, emotions, one after the other she watched Bernard sort through. She'd never seen him like this, losing composure. And as uncomfortable as it was for him, she was drawn to it, blended between curiosity and growing endearment.

Folded into his central heat, he changed again, subtly, and straightened to recollect his typical poise.

Finally, he delivered something closer to an explanation. It was still vague, but the concept translated enough for her to also straighten, lean back a bit, and feel a flush rush to the top of her cheeks.

For all the time it took to get it out from him, meeting with mercy sounded a lot
like kiss it better.

She shifted her weight while he looked back away, and rocked herself closer yet. Her marked up hand, lifted and hovered between them.

Further, around her wrist, were darker marks that were remarkably akin to the lightning that scratched over his face and neck, and however far they went beneath his clothes. She scrunched up her sleeve to her elbow and fixed her eyes on his.

"Show me?"

Before the suggestion could take effect, there was a sound off to their side. Near the doorway they'd come in through.

Still with her arm extended, Ishida looked to the source of the noise and watched as a crimson-armoured attendant appeared amongst the shelves. The individual quickly assessed the scene and bent at their waist.

"Her highness is prepared to review security detail for the night with you, Jedi."

"Thank you." Ishida nodded and dropped her arm to fold her hands in her lap. They lingered, waiting to escort the pair while Ishida shot Bernard a look that looked equal measures amused and frustrated. He'd been saved by the Bell-boy.