skin, bone, and arrogance
The Ruins of Herevan Hold
Snow crunched beneath Natasi's heel as she stepped out of the shuttle onto the surface of Galidraan for the first time in -- well, in too long. It was winter in Herevan, and snow covered the village in the distance, as well as the ruins of Natasi's family home, which were considerably closer. Natasi followed along the lane, her blue velvet traveling coat buffeting around her as she wandered towards the ruins. It's so beautiful like this, Natasi thought quietly, her dark eyes softening as she paused to wait for [member="Talbot Vitalis"] to catch up. The Duke of Foxfield was also bundled into a winter coat, and held their infant son in one arm, with a camera dangling from his free hand on its leather strap.
"Would you take him?" he asked, and Natasi agreed, moving to take George, whom she cradled against her chest carefully, adjusting his fur cap to cover his ears. Natasi heard a click and glanced up to see Talbot pointing the camera at her, and stiffened self-consciously. "Relax, Natasi. You two look beautiful like that."
"Is this really the time?" Natasi murmured pleasantly, not wanting to use disharmonious tones and upset George.
"Visiting his maternal grandfather's home, the first winter after its liberation from the Jedi, in his beautiful mama's arms. Yes, I think it's the time. Why not? It's tasteful." He grinned. "I'll print it in grayscale. It can go in his biographies when he is famous and old."
"I hope you're not trying to distract me with flattery," said Natasi as she resumed her step, walking with her husband in stride. The Grand Moff wrapped her attractive blue plaid shawl around George as they trudged across the grounds. Their goal was the small mausoleum near the edge of the gardens, the final resting place of Frejrik and Reima Fortan, Natasi's parents, and her brother Mathes. It was the only part of the Fortan legacy still standing, aside from the underground servants' quarters, the power complex, and the barns. "I'm not going to change my mind."
"I don't expect you to," said Talbot. "Do you expect me to?"
Natasi heaved a sigh, her breath turning to mist in front of her, nearly freezing her eyelashes. "Since you are quite wrong, yes, I thought you might." She pushed the garden gate open, slipping between the two stone guardian lions and into the gardens proper. Nearby, the river gurgled under a layer of thin ice.
"How am I wrong, precisely?" asked Talbot as he trudged along in her wake.
Natasi reached the mausoleum by then and waited until her husband was at her side to hand the baby over to him, so she could pull the old metal key from her pocket. "It's entirely out of the question. We have people to fight in the wars, we don't need you charging off into battle looking for glory."
Talbot rubbed George's back, warming the little boy until Natasi got the door open. When they stepped inside, the automatic lighting and heating kicked on, powered by the hydroelectric plant in the nearby river. "That's rather condescending, even for you," Talbot responded quietly as he looked around. He'd never been in the Fortan crypt before. This was new; apparently a collapse of a nearby mine had rendered the old one unstable, and so this one contained spaces only for five: Frejrik and Reima, Mathes and the stillborn infant that had killed Reima, all in stone coffins, lovingly inscribed with dates and likenesses.
All except the empty stone bed, inscribed with nothing but an ornate Natasi Josephine Fortan and her date of birth. Talbot shivered violently as his eyes traced it, and he clutched his son closer to him before turning back to his wife. "Why shouldn't I fight for the First Order? Why am I suited only to play a mascot and nothing more?"
He couldn't see his wife, but he could feel her eyes rolling. "Do you think we might hold off on this row until I've had a moment to pay my respects? They're my family," she said, her voice pained, but she didn't let it sit long. "No, no, we might as well. You don't just play a mascot in the First Order. You support me -- oh, stop that," she hissed at his own eyeroll. "Why do you feel you aren't contributing just because you're not wearing stormtrooper armor? Tal, supporting me -- as Grand Moff -- is not an inconsiderable job. Why are you smiling?"
"You've got an ego," said Talbot, shaking his head in smug satisfaction. "You can't consider how I feel because I need to be seen supporting you. Can't you ever consider the thoughts of someone else besides your blessed Supreme Leader and yourself?"
Natasi pressed her lips together into a white line and raised her eyebrows. "Look what's in your hands, Tal. Our son. Your son. It's not just me you need to support -- no, not be seen supporting. Whatever you may think of its value, I can safely say that I couldn't do what I do without you behind me. But forget me, take me out of the equation. Your son needs a father. Your son needs to be taught how to be a man. He will be Duke of Foxfield someday. He may be Grand Moff someday, for all we know. He needs his father."
"You assume I'll die the moment I set foot on the battlefield," Talbot said sulkily.
Natasi pinched the bridge of her nose; he could tell she was rapidly losing her patience. "It's war, Talbot. It's not you running around with Sheldon Grasby or Alan Gage-Whitney or [member="Alec Sienar"] playing soldier or big-game hunting. It is bloody, and ugly, and terrible, and yes, people who are skilled and highly trained are blown apart within moments of entrying the field. That's war, and of course they will be looking to claim your scalp because they'll know -- yes, roll your eyes -- what it will do to me -- to all of us in the First Order." She lowered her hands to her side and looked up at him. "Whatever you may think, you're highly thought of by the people there, not just by me." She paused and smirked. "After this they might like you rather more than I do."
"I can't just sit here, Natasi," Talbot said. "I'm an able-bodied man -- maybe slightly older than the usual recruit, but still able-bodied and not too old per the regulations."
"No one is asking you to just sit there. There's much you can do -- with your position, with your wealth and your influence -- to support the war effort. Why do you feel this need to take up arms?" She pulled off her traveling pack and withdrew a quartet of small evergreen wreaths, each tied with a black ribbon, and began to move around the mausoleum, placing a wreath on the chest of each of her departed relatives. "You could die, Talbot -- not that you will or are even likely to, but you could and what good would that achieve in the long term? Even in the short term?"
"I can't explain it," Talbot said irritably. "It's -- it's -- "
Natasi paused at Mathes' stone ediface and looked up at her husband, her eyes shining with tears. "A man thing?" she concluded. "My brother made the same argument when joining up, and he died. It as good as killed my father. Is that what you want for us? For me to be a widow and for your son to grow up without his father, all for the sake of your male ego? How can you be so selfish?"
"I want to fight for my country," Talbot snapped back, his voice rising a little. George squirmed in his arms and Talbot laid a reassuring hand on the back of his head, shushing him gently. "It's different for you. You belong to them. You were with them from the beginning. Who am I to them but your husband? No skin in the game. They don't respect me."
"Of course they do," Natasi protested.
"They don't," said Talbot, a warning glance telling Natasi he did not care to be interrupted. "They see me as a Johnny-come-lately, attracted by the success and the trappings. I need to earn it, not just for myself but for them. Why can't you understand that? I cannot hide behind my wife's skirts for my whole life. Natasi, I won't, and if you won't give me your blessing, I'll -- "
"What?" Natasi demanded, her breast rising and falling in excitement and anger. It had been years since anyone had argued with her with this kind of intensity. Authority, it seemed, did not welcome it. She had to admit she was rather enjoying the back-and-forth, but the fact that her husband seemed to be making some kind of vague threat she didn't enjoy as much. "You'll what, Talbot? Our kind of people don't divorce. So, what?"
There was a long pause, then: "I don't need your permission."
"No," Natasi conceded.
"I am a citizen. I am eligible."
"Yes." Natasi turned away from him and placed the wreath on her brother's stone.
Talbot shifted George from one shoulder to the other. "I don't want us to fall out over it."
"And I don't want you to go," Natasi said. They stared at each other for a few long moments, like two equally-composed, equally sized stones that had collided. Neither would budge. Neither would give. Finally, Natasi turned back to her brother's stone, reaching forward to adjust the ribbon so it lay just so. "My brother and my father had this exact argument before he left. Almost to the word. Pride and patriotism are like prayers, darling." His eyebrows raised and Natasi turned back to him finally; he could see that the tears had finally ruptured and had streamed down her cheeks, smearing her mascara. When she spoke, her voice was wobbly. "All very noble, but of absolutely no use on the battlefield."
"You really are the worst kind of hypocrite," he muttered. In that moment, Natasi felt every bit as loathed by her husband as the Galactic Alliance was to him. She simply canted her head to one side and fixed him with a mildly inquisitive look. "You encourage people -- barely more than children -- to take up the Supreme Leader's coin and fight, but when it's your family that might be injured it's another tune."
"May I remind you that my cousin is a fighter pilot for the First Order, which is one of the most dangerous billets that exist in the armed forces?" Natasi responded coldly.
"Oh, certainly, but let's not split hairs."
Natasi moved towards the door stiffly. "I encourage our people to do what they can to support our goals," she said as she wrenched the door open. "To fight those who would oppose us however they can. It's not necessarily through picking up a gun. We all must serve -- "
"Don't give me your speeches," snapped Talbot. "Give me your blessing. Say that you will support me."
Natasi was as cold as the winter whirling outside. "I won't. I will not condone a course of action that could orphan our son. Why can't you accept that you have a responsibility to him? To see that he grows into the man we want him to be?"
"He will not grow up at all if the Galactic Alliance destroys the First Order. He will be murdered, just like you and me and everyone else who has played a part in the leadership of this nation and their families, too."
Natasi thought back to her conversations with [member="Jaius Sovv"] and thought, on the whole, that that wasn't terribly likely -- not if the ancient Sullustan had anything to say about it. Still, it didn't do to quibble about that now, not when there were bigger and better things to quibble about. "You cannot stop the Alliance on your own!" Natasi said, exasperation as clear as if it had been written on her face. She looked prepared to say more but stopped when, in the distance, from the village, they heard the churchbell chime, and she glanced at her watch. "We'd better look sharp. Your mother is expecting us in fifteen minutes and you know how she gets." She locked the door behind her and tucked her key away, then turned back towards the shuttle, trudging against winter winds.
[member="Talbot Vitalis"] | [member="Alec Sienar"] | [member="Pierce Fortan III"] | @Regina Vitalis | @Petra Vitalis
