Private Wherever You Will Go

[Ariel Yvarro]

Awakening in her original body, now augmented with cybernetic enhancements to prevent another untimely demise, she found herself in the familiar yet changed surroundings of the Avalonia Grand Hotel. Beside her was her wife, Rowan Cordé... Ariel should have known. Grief did strange things to people, hell, Ariel had gone off and raised her own cousin from the dead. She understood it perfectly and yet...

Rowan being there, her presence alone was a comfort. Even if Rowan had been responsible for it. The weight of resurrection bore heavily on Ariel. She shifted her gaze toward her wife, the Morellian whose history was just as long and storied as Ariel's. It was Rowan's quiet strength and unwavering support that provided the former Grand Moff with a semblance of stability.

Ariel had not sought return, no, and the circumstances surrounding her revival continued to be shrouded in mystery. The cybernetic modifications she now bore, while life-preserving, served as constant reminder of her own mortality and unnatural extension of her existence.

The room in which she and Rowan occupied was a blend of the past and present, mirroring the internal conflict that Ariel now faced. The cityscape visible through the window was at once both familiar and foreign. The city was shifting, and it reflected the shifts that had occured in her absence. Her daughter was now Grand Vizier and the Commonwealth, well, it was not quiet what she remembered when she passed.

At present, Ariel needed to address the gaps in her memory and the advancements that had transpired. She needed to reacquaint herself with the nuance of languages, not just the ones she spoke but the ones that now lived throughout cities like Avalonia, throughout the Commonwealth itself.

Ariel exhaled, her mind ran through the political ideologies she once championed, and how all of them had undergone some sort of transformation. The galaxy had gone on without Ariel, and now she needed to navigate the delicate balance between reclaiming the past and embracing the future.

"Well." Ariel spoke, the word punctuated the air. The weight of uncertainty hung there, tense and deep. Rather than try to find words that might all at once seem so inadequate to truly describe the moment. Ariel slipped her hand into Rowan's. She gave Rowan's hand a reassuring squeeze, "here we are then."

Rowan Cordé ​

 

[Rowan Cordé]

//: Ariel Yvarro //:​

---

She knew it was wrong.

She knew she should have just let go.

But knowing a lifetime without her was unbearable. The more Rowan thought about her life, the less it had begun to matter. She hated it.

Knowing that one person had infiltrated her mind and grasped her heart as tightly as Ariel did was something she didn't calculate. Being with the Yvarro woman was like drinking water in its purest state. It rejuvenated and healed.

All that was gone, and the world around the Morellian had lost its color. The streets were paved with reminders that Ariel had lived and died. At every turn, someone was praising her or reciting an accomplishment she had achieved.

Everyone had a piece of her. Another reminder that Rowan had always had to share.

Her grief was everything; she tried it all. Journals, letters, therapy sessions, group grief counseling - everything that the Commonwealth had to offer, she tried it. Maybe it was because she couldn't fully say why she was grieving or sounded like the others crying over the great Ariel Yvarro. No, to Rowan, none of them had the right to feel the same grief as her.

They loved her, but only Rowan got to love her.

Rowan recalled the moment the dam broke. She hadn't cried, not one tear for her wife, the woman who had taught her what love was. Rowan had found herself standing in the middle of her office, and a gentle breeze entered the room carrying a familiar scent - she thought momentarily about her wife, turned to expect her standing in the doorway, prepared to scold her for keeping the windows open for too long and letting a chill in.

Instead, no one stood in the doorway, only a memory that broke the emotionless spy.

She broke into a thousand pieces. Grief had won; her life, her love, all of it was gone. No one understood her pain; it ate at her until there was nothing left but the desire to bring her back.

The warmth of Ariel's hand drew the ivory-haired woman's attention from her memories as she watched. Whatever they had done, it worked, and a small smile curled at the corners of her lips. Despite the happiness that swelled in her heart, she knew this was wrong. Death was death; it was final, no matter how or why. Returning to life was against the way of life, breaking the cycle, but Rowan, at her core, did not care anymore.

"Mm." Rowan nodded; she was never one for words; the speeches and moving the crowds was Ariel's job, but she owed her wife something. "I'm sorry." she turned to look at what she was responsible for. "I know, I've never been good at saying things." She started, her brow furrowing slightly as she focused.

There were so many things she had prepared to say when she saw her love again, but at the time, Rowan thought she had her own lifetime to prepare—hundreds, maybe thousands of years, but no, the time was now. "I," another pause as she cleared her throat. "I am sorry; I know this might not have been what you had wanted—I am a selfish woman."

The former spy brought the woman's hand to her lips, gently kissing against her knuckles. "I love you far too much, I will make it up for you till the end of days."

She leaned forward, gently kissed her wife's brow, and smiled slightly wider. "You're not mad at me for this, are you?"

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

What could Ariel say?

She could have voiced her discomfort, her quiet disdain at being brought back into a world she hadn't asked to rejoin. She could have cried foul, demanded why her peace had been disturbed, why she now bore the weight of existence in a body not quite her own, her flesh, yes, but threaded with cybernetics to ensure survival. But would that have been fair?

Had she ever asked her cousin for permission before resurrecting her? No. She had done it for selfish reasons, cloaked in sentiment but rooted in need. She had brought Natasi back for her own gain... and then walked away when it became too much to bear.

The irony was not lost on her.

Her gaze drifted to Rowan, silent, enduring Rowan, who stood by the window bathed in soft city light. Ariel offered a smile, warm and genuine, despite the turmoil clawing beneath her calm.

Rowan had never been effusive with her emotions. She didn't wear her heart on her sleeve. She never had. Not in the way others might have hoped, but Ariel had accepted that long ago. It was one of the many things she had come to love about her: the steadiness, the quiet certainty, the way she always stayed.

Ariel reached out, fingers brushing against the strands of white now laced through Rowan's once-dark hair. Time had left its mark. Her hand rose, cupping Rowan's cheek with a tenderness that trembled only slightly.

"Darling," she murmured, her voice low, almost reverent, "I cannot fault you for a choice I would have made myself."

She saw it then, that flicker of uncertainty in Rowan's eyes. That guarded, hesitant ache that only came when she feared she had crossed a line. So Ariel leaned in, guiding her gently toward the bed with grace rather than command.

"Then I suppose," she continued softly, the corners of her mouth curving with quiet mischief, "you shall have all the time you need... to make it up to me."

When Rowan finally broke the silence to ask, quietly, unsure, if Ariel was angry, Ariel didn't answer with words.

She kissed her instead, letting that single act carry everything she couldn't say aloud. Acceptance. Forgiveness. Love. And a promise.

They were both alive. That would be enough, for now.

Rowan Cordé ​