Eleven Sins

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They were here.

She woke abruptly to the sound of the grandfather chronometer chiming out the time.  Three in the morning.  Giah slept soundly beside her, her breathing steady and even.  

Qaraghoa reached out and touched her shoulder, “Giah.  Giah get up.”  

The miqo’te blinked her eyes open slowly, breathing in deeply.  “Wha-?”  She quieted when she saw the expression on her bonded’s face.  The urgency there.  

“Go, wake Scheris.  Then both of you climb into the armoire and stay there until I come to get you.”

Fear pooled in Giah’s eyes, but she nodded, sliding out from her bed and padding around the corner to Scheris’ room.  Qaraghoa waited until she heard the click of the armoire doors, and then retreated into the shadows with daggers drawn.

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[elevensins]

Qaraghoa has dealt with would be assassins before.  

[eorzean-capitalist]

when hell bares its teeth you learn your place and this godforsaken sun could be the moon for all it provides ‘Rivers in the Dust’ - Radical Face

She came to Ul’dah with naught but the armor on her back and the sword on her hip.  Gil ran dry somewhere between Gridania and Ul’dah, and would have left her stranded in Horizon if not for a caravan looking to hire another mercenary to guide them safely to the city proper.

She tried not to gawk, but it was nearly impossible.  The towering heights of Ul’dah spoke of such wealth the way they glittered under the sun.  The jewel of the desert someone said in passing.  Yet once they approached the gates, she realized just what the gilded walls kept out.  Refugees of all size and shape, race and gender.  They huddled around small cook fires, lingered like starving ghosts near tent flaps.  Hollow eyes and nettle flies on young children, playing games in the dusty campsite.  

Her head hummed with the implications.  How little one realm varies from the next.  Always a Brume, no matter where you traveled.  Except here, a voice reminded her, she held no standing.  No longer the daughter of a great high house, now an escapee.  A refugee seeking asylum.  

The caravan stopped at the gates, and Ondine held still on her chocobo as the city guards moved in to inspect wares.  Coin passed between them, from the caravan’s leader.  Ondine smirked, recalling the same scene in another time, another place.  Where a bribe always greased the wheels unless the guard were particularly zealous in their worship of Halone.  

“Nice sword ya got there,” one of them said to her.  Ondine blinked at him as he brazenly touched the scabbard.  Gilded silver scrollwork depicting the Fortemps unicorn.  A parting gift from her sister, handed over in the swirling midnight snows of Foundation.  

“It was a gift,” she replied softly.  

“Can ye use it?” he asked.  Voices in her head rang with laughter.  For a moment, she pictured the one guard who noticed her in the blizzard.  His blood turned pink in the snow where he had fallen.

She had to concentrate just to answer, “Yes.”

He nodded solemnly, scratching his chin.  “Ye should check out the gladiator’s guild if yer lookin’ to make some coin in this city. Nawt much else ye kin do, ‘less you wanna do it dancin’ or layin’ flat on yer back.”

She wondered what blood looked like in the sand as opposed to snowbanks.  “Thank you.”

He nodded to her, patted her chocobo’s flank and moved toward his fellows.  Someone waved the caravan forward.  Guards stepped aside as the gates groaned a protest at being opened.

The caravan slowly moved forward.  Ondine glanced back once, at the refugee camps and all the hungry stares watching them cross the threshold.  Held back only by the fear of the guards and their swords.  

Yes, she would have to pay a visit to this gladiator’s guild.

[eorzean-capitalist]

My thoughts are the cold kind, I’ve got storm clouds that are brewing behind my eyes And my heart will be blacker than your eyes,  when I’m through with you ‘Black Eyes’ - Radical Face

Her room had become her prison, more so then the recesses of her mind.  Four walls of polished wood and a thin red carpet that felt cold against her bare feet.  The fireplace glowed softly, only embers remaining since it had been nearly all day since any of the servants were allowed inside to add logs.  

Bells chimed out the time somewhere across the cold, silent streets of Ishgard.  Midnight.  Ondine sat on her bed calmly, hands folded in her lap.  She had not dressed in her nightgown as her father had last ordered when he decided it was time for her to sleep.  She wore her armor, the practice gambeson and light plate used in the yard in a time before.  

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I want trees instead of gravestones and nothing to confess I got a soft spot for your ancient books of horror stories I got a music in my ears from long long ago and far far away And I still hum its tune but how could I ever believe every word it says to me? ‘Big Houses’ - Squalloscope

On chocobo, she fled.  Across the hilly ridges of Coerthas’ central highlands, careful to avoid patrols on the road by remaining off the path entirely .  A split decision, and a few decisive voices telling her what to do, and she headed away from the heavily fortified Dragonhead.  Whitebrim was a smaller encampment, and easier to steer clear of.

Winter still blanketed the ground, the chocobo’s feet leaving impressions that would soon enough vanish.   She had to stop once to consult the map Damielle included in her bags, hidden beneath a loaf of bread wrapped in burlap.  Dannifen pass seemed her best bet.  The caves were rarely patrolled.  She just had to take care not to run into the Monument Tower, and pray she could avoid any patrols nearby that might spot her.

The snow would help, at least.  It made the trek more dangerous, but there was less of a risk of running into someone who would recognize her.  Especially so close to the Darkhold.  There were always kinsmen of hers there, ever vigilant for an opening to retake their family project from the voidsent they accidentally allowed egress into this plane of existence.

She road until twilight threatened to become night and she had naught but the stars to see and navigate by.  A fork in the road forced a decision, and another chance to check the map before darkness made it impossible.

Ondine had never been this far from her home.  Never left the city proper, in fact.  She could go to Mor Dhona, the map revealed.  But she had to pass Aurum Vale.  A risk, but at night, with the snow swirling around her still, no one would probably even notice her.  

She paused for a moment, looking behind her at the fading skyline.  The Foundation loomed gray and tall in the distance.  Even in blizzard conditions, Ondine could see it, fill in the blanks the snow covered.

Choices, a voice whispered in her head.  Yes, choices.  She had made hers, and now there was no turning back.  Her sister’s safety in Ishgard depended on Ondine being gone.  Forever.

Deciding on her route, she tossed the map back into her bag.  Hopefully the Mor Dhona residents would open the gate for her after dark.  

[eorzean-capitalist]

The noise in her head silenced.

It was eerie, that lack of sound.  No static, no bells ringing, no whispers with inaudible words.  Only the sound of footfalls down the hallway outside her door.  Real?

Yes.  The doorknob to her bedroom turned abruptly, his voice calling, “Ondine?”

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Brother’s eyes were getting heavier   His bony hands cold and white And I could hear his ragged breathing like the wind along a knife  ‘Severus and Stone’ - Radical Face

When she was eight, Credelot came home.

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[eorzean-capitalist]

They were thirteen when they parted ways.  She looked up to him, already taller than she by a head.   The road before them appeared hazy, dust rising in the heat of a Doman summer.  He turned toward her, the exchange of expressions between them solemn.  They were not children anymore, the Khatun declared.  It was time for them to train as they had in previous lives, and return to Dotharl Kha when their training was complete.

He rested his hands on his hips, skinny as they were.  Neither of them were filled out yet.  His arms were corded, strong, but still slender, hands still that of a boy.

“You continue on to the capital.  Don’t stray from the road, do not speak to anyone.  You know where to go, and who to give your letters to.  I must continue another way toward Kugane.”  

He pointed to another dirt road to his left, one that seemed skinnier than the path to the capital.  She nodded, swallowing the blooming apprehension in her throat.  They had rarely been apart since the day they were born, she just a few minutes after him.  Dotharl did not fear anything, not even death.  She could do this on her own, just as her brother would.  

He pulled his pack off his back, fumbling around inside before pulling out some sort of fabric.  He held it out to her and as she took it from him, she realized it was the traditional shirt of the Doman people.  "Wear that.  Ditch your tribal gear when you can.  People in this land see us as savages.  We… you, have to fit in Ghoa.“

She struggled to fit it over her head and with a sigh of exasperation, Uhkel helped her.  There were things that had to be tied and things that covered her so completely.  It was hot, she realized.  She had to walk under the summer sun in something that covered her completely.  

Qarukhel chuckled at her softly and ruffled her hair.  "There, there, baga egch.  It is not so bad.”

“You aren’t wearing this,” she countered stubbornly.

His smile faded, back to the serious countenance he always wore.  "Ghoa, this country is not Dotharl Kha.  It is not the Steppes.  Women are seen differently here.  This is only for your protection.“

Her eyes narrowed in that dangerous way she knew always unnerved her older brother.  "And who is to protect the people who assume I am weak because I was born a woman this time?”

He had no answer for that.

[elevensins]

Understand what we don't know This might pass This might last This may grow Easy come and easy go Easy left me a long time ago “Pendulum’ - Pearl Jam

The bed had been in storage, an easily collapsible cot he kept just in case.  A heavy coating of dust made him sneeze as he pulled it out.  A mental note to pull out some of the rags from under the kitchen cabinets and wipe it down.  How long since he had last used it?  Eons.  In a time before, when he was still around and they actually had guests.  He made friends so easily... K’aili, not so much.

He could hear his guest upstairs, the clank of a teacup.  She’d been so delighted with his tea, it made his cheeks flush.  The warm sensation was nearly alien, he had to remove his gloves for a second to touch his face to make sure it was real.  

The cot creaked heavily, springs groaning in protest as he opened it up and locked it in place.  Setting it against the wall, he left it there for a moment to grab the edge of his desk and drag it outside the room.  It was going to be bare bones for now, just the cot and the dresser.  He could, perhaps, find a small table for her and a vase to fill with fresh cut flowers from the garden.  

She liked Kyanite.  The same hue as her pale blue skin.  Surely she’d be fine with the blue daisies, then.  He tucked this thought away for later.  There was so much to do suddenly, so he picked up the quill and parchment and began jotting down a list.  Find her some towels of her own to use, a small table, perhaps a bookshelf if she wanted one.

He paused, the quill against the parchment still so it stained with a growing inky black blot.  He was putting too much thought into this. She was only a temporary guest.  Staying long enough for him to craft her grimoire.  Then she’d be gone. 

Because everyone left, eventually.

[eorzean-capitalist]

They were here.

She woke abruptly to the sound of the grandfather chronometer chiming out the time.  Three in the morning.  Giah slept soundly beside her, her breathing steady and even.  

Qaraghoa reached out and touched her shoulder, “Giah.  Giah get up.”  

The miqo’te blinked her eyes open slowly, breathing in deeply.  “Wha-?”  She quieted when she saw the expression on her bonded’s face.  The urgency there.  

“Go, wake Scheris.  Then both of you climb into the armoire and stay there until I come to get you.”

Fear pooled in Giah’s eyes, but she nodded, sliding out from her bed and padding around the corner to Scheris’ room.  Qaraghoa waited until she heard the click of the armoire doors, and then retreated into the shadows with daggers drawn.

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“I don’t want to die…”

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Spoiliers below the cut.

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[elevensins]

Reprisal.

Betrayed by many Now ornaments dripping from above Awaiting the hour of reprisal Your time slips away -Raining Blood, Tori Amos version

Suchin brushed her fingers over the dead girl's face, closing her eyelids so she no longer stared into space.  Reaching down, she flicked open the durasteel restraints that had held her in her final moments.  Distasteful, but necessary.  Betrayal could not be met with mercy in the Empire.

That was not the Sith way.

She straightened and gathered he lekku around her throat.  Synthweave skirts swished as she moved to the computer.  Slicing was never her forte, but she had learned enough from a few to erase the holo-recordings she knew Darelde thought she had been taping surreptitiously.    A blip, and all visual evidence of her interrogation were solely contained on the data spike she tucked into a pouch on her belt.

Finally she claimed the holocron from its pedestal. Darelde promised her a wealth of information on it for a little time to study it before sending it off to  Bi'ev.  Instead she tried to kill Suchin and claim it for her own.  

The twi'lek clucked her tongue as she glanced back at the corpse.  So wasteful.  Sith society took insult at a botched assassination attempt.  It demanded recompense, usually the head of the one who failed to kill the targeted Sith.

Of course, that also meant some of the most brilliant minds died prematurely.  Darelde wasn't as strong in the Force, but Suchin winced to think how much history, how much knowledge might have been lost if she had simply killed her.  

The torture probe bleeped, indicating the copy of the session was finally complete.  She took the spike from it and turned from the room.  In time, someone would discover the pureblood's body rotting away and do something with it.

She didn't care what that might be.  Pulling out a holocomm, she dialed Bi'ev's frequency.

"Master, I have information I think you will be very interested in."

[elevensins]

This is my last time, she said As she faded away It's hard to imagine but One day you'll end up like me   'Get Out Alive' - Three Days Grace

Somewhere behind them, a shattered terminal sparked.  The lights flickered briefly, but Achai hardly needed to see in order to place a bootheel on the hand of the Jedi at his feet.  She gasped, weakly attempted to grasp at the hilt of the lightsaber just out of her reach.  He smirked at her and bent over to scoop it up.  

"Caught the apprentice before he could get to the airlock," Vith called as he rounded the bend to join the Miraluka.  "What, she ain't dead yet?  Come on, 'Chai, there's no time for this."

In most circumstances, Vith never dared refer to the Sith by the shortened, pet version of his name.  But there was no one else here to witness their banter, except the Jedi Achai knew would be dead soon.  

 "She will be soon, don't fret," he replied and held the Jedi's lightsaber hilt out to the bounty hunter.  Vith took it gingerly, staring at it as if it were a viper that might bite him if he held it in the wrong place.  "You can't activate it that way, Vith.  Just hold onto it for me."

He knelt, pressing a knee into the Jedi's chest painfully, and reached to grasp her hood, yanking it back to reveal the wizened face.  For a moment, he swore he knew her from somewhere, and he delayed choking her just a second longer to figure out how.  

"Yes, Sith, I know your brother," she whispered.

"'Chai..." Vith cautioned, but Achai shook his head.  

The Jedi mouthed something briefly, then stopped and took a moment to find the breath to speak.  "You... will not... the Sene Seekers..."

Achai had heard more than enough and clenched his fist tightly. The Jedi stopped speaking all together, mouth working soundlessly as the pressure against her windpipe increased until finally her eyes closed and she slumped in death.  

He kicked her viciously, anger welling up in him so swiftly he lifted her body into the air and threw it violently down the hallway.   Vith watched quietly, pulling the helm off his head, tucking it under his arm.  His questions were written clearly on his countenance.   But Achai shook his head, hand lifting to still the Chiss' tongue for now.  

"Her padawan is dead?"

"Yes. What are Sene Seekers?"

Achai growled, "It's nothing.  She's making idle threats."

In public, they were Sith Lord and bounty hunter.  Vith was part of Darth Invecti's growing powerbase, his strong arm in matters that required the use of brute force.  In public Vith always deferred to his Sith master.  In public he would never have lifted a hand against a darth.

But a drifting ship with an entirely dead crew was no longer public.  In private, they were confidants and lovers and Vith was getting tired of being kept in the dark.  Despite the danger an angry Sith was when provoked, he grabbed Achai's hood and slammed him up against the wall, pinning him there.  "Pardon me your lordship but I'm kriffin' tired of you not telling me things."

"Vith, don't," Achai warned.  Already the Force flowed through him, an angry torrent, an aura that glowed red around him.  

"Or what? You think a few more scars are gonna scare me off?"  He grabbed a ridge on Achai's rebreather mask, as if that might force him to focus on his face.  "What's a Sene Seeker?  How'm I gonna keep you safe if ya don't tell me what's goin' on?"

"It's... they're not going to find me in Imperial territory."  

"Oh maker, Svik'achai tell me what the kriff is a spaced Sene Seeker?"

It was the use of his married name that stilled the Sith.  The anger drained out of him so swiftly that he started laughing.  "You sound like my mother when she caught me stealing cookies in the kitchen right before dinner."

The Chiss blinked a few times, staring as if his lover had just grown a second head.  "This... isn't funn-- dammit, 'Chai."

Achai took advantage of his confusion, tore the rebreather off of his face and grabbed the Chiss by his suit's power conduit, reeling him in to capture his mouth in a brutal kiss.  The Chiss responded eagerly, breaking it a few heartbeats later, resting his forehead against the Miraluka's.

"Don't think you've gotten out of explaining this to me."  Then he donned his helm again, securing it to the rest of his suit.  "And that was a dirty damn trick, distracting me like that."

Pushing away from the wall, Achai grinned at him.  "Mission accomplished here.  Let's extract the holocrons and get back to our ship."

"Achai..."

"Fine," the Sith huffed, refitting the rebreather over the lower portion of his face. "You'll get your explanation.  When we're well away from here."

[elevensins]

Kerj'idiss'oett, better known as Idiss by friends, fellow legitimate business people, and lovers, did not enjoy entanglements that involved anything Imperial.  In fact, one might say he deliberately refused any cargo that might attract Imperial attention.   Anyone who met him and got a good look at the color of his skin immediately understood.  Idiss was Chiss.  And Chiss did not take kindly to their own people striking out on their own to consort with the enemies of their allies.  

There was plenty of smuggling to do that did not involve Imperial things, however, so Idiss was quite content to never go anywhere near Imperial space.  He bragged there wasn't a price high enough to even tempt him.

At least, up until a young Jedi approached him with an offer to catch a ride to Balmorra.   "For myself, and two other Jedi."

Idiss tossed another card on the table without even looking up at him.  "I don't go anywhere near Imperial space, Jedi.  I'm sure you can find another ship to carry you three there."

"Idiss," the voice said softly and a hand set on the table.  

He lifted his head finally to realize the Jedi had pulled his hood back to reveal a young, handsome blue face and a red gaze that stared at him.   Idiss set his cards on the table, facing down, and leaned back in his chair, lifting his leg to dangle over the armrest.  "Oh, I get it.  You think that if I see you're Chiss, like me, I'll break a decades old tradition of not going anywhere near Imperial space, right?"

The other Chiss chuckled softly, shaking his head.  "No, Idiss, I would not presume.  However, I hoped you might reconsider if offered proper compensation.  Yours is the only ship not commandeered right now that can carry passengers off world.  Quarantines and all that."

"That's because I'm not stupid, I unload my cargo and get the hell off world fast."

"I'm certain that also avoids anyone questioning your delivery."

"Look, kid, do you have an offer or what?" Idiss drummed his fingers on the table in irritation.  He'd paused the game for the Jedi and already his rodian opponent was fidgeting impatiently.  

The Jedi nodded, "I'm prepared to pay whatever your standard fare is.  My fellows will contribute their own, equal shares.  Plus, twenty percent extra for the trouble of taking us to Balmorra."

Idiss considered this for a moment, remembering that his coffers were beginning run dangerously low.  It was the only reason why he'd even consider the Jedi's offer.  "Make it an extra thirty percent and we might have a deal.  And, I wanna know who else I'm transporting.  If you've got a lethan twi'lek with you, no dice. I am not about to have one of those on my ship.  I'll have every pirate ship in the area trying to board me before we even get to Balmorran space."

The Jedi paused, almost startled by that.  "I... admit I hadn't even thought of that but no, the other two who'll be traveling with me are also Chiss."

"Well slap a womprat, all three of you?  The Ascendancy must be losing sleep at night," Idiss laughed.  "Fine, you have yourself a deal. I leave in one hour. Better make sure you guys are ready to leave then, or else I leave without you. Oh, and I expect half up front, half when we get there."

"Oh don't worry," the Jedi assured, "You'll get your money.  I have one rule for you, however."

Idiss lifted a brow at that, "I gotta here this."

"My fellow Jedi are off limits," he said, and then stood aside, gesturing toward two young Chiss females standing near one another at the far side of the bar.  Twins, obviously, as their facial features were sculpted exactly alike.  Everything about them matched, right down to the style of their hair and the clothing they wore.

After a moment to stare, Idiss grinned, "See you in an hour, Jedi."

[elevensins]

You're a stranger so  Why do I care? You vanished today Not the first time I hear... 'The Stranger' - A Perfect Circle 

He practiced with wooden swords, meant to spare the training dummy from being neatly sliced in half by a proper lightsaber.  Forms taught to him by a number of Jedi Masters, from Master Yalaan to Master Al'dien, and a few Lord Crux managed to teach him.  After convincing the youth that it wasn't cheating or taking advantage of an opponent to strike them from behind.

One move melded into another, a flurry of blows striking the dummy with precision.  He focused his sight on only the room, blocking out the activity going on elsewhere in the ship.  In his mind, he imagined a dozen different scenarios and worked through them all.  

He stopped only when a bead of sweat on his brow distracted him for a moment and he realized he was not alone.  Two figures stood in the doorway, the bulky form of Lord Crux and a smaller, more slender man in a synthleather jacket and dusty pants.  An old, well used blaster hung from a holster on his hip.  

"Jedi," Lord Crux began, sounding more irritated than usual, "This individual insists on seeing you."

It was not like the Sith to let anyone in to see Ehlial like this.  The padawan reached up to pull his hood back, setting the practice swords on the ground.  "It isn't often I get guests.  Can I help you, sir?"

The stranger, he realized, was much older than he first though.  Wrinkles around the corners of his mask, his hair thinning around the temples.  When he spoke, his voice was low and gravely.  "Guess it'd be too much for you to recognize your old man when you never met him in the first place, huh?"

Crux sighed in exasperation, leaving Ehlial to wonder what their conversation had been before coming here.  "He insists that he's your father, Jedi.  I can throw him off the ship if you like."

"No," Ehlial said, just a little too swiftly.  He thought back to his childhood, to Alpheridies.  His mother's wan smile as she watched him in the fields.  He asked her why she seemed so sad.  

You look a little too much like your father, she replied.

He held a hand out to the stranger, who seemed delighted to shake his.  "I don't even know your name."

"Jaaroh Sahnin, kiddo," the spacer replied with a grin, "And damn if you just had blonde hair you'd be my spittin' image."

Lord Crux rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door frame.  "I'll be somewhere else."

[elevensins]

Brainwashed?

"Welcome back, Jedi, are they done properly indoctrinating you already?"

Ehlial stood there silently for a few stunned moments.  Lord Crux had been in a mood ever since they had landed on Tython and he had remained aboard the ship.  Even if the Council allowed him access to the temple grounds so long as he behaved, the stares and reproachful glances weren't something he tolerated very well.  Despite the long travel through hyperspace, he refused to join Ehlial down on the planet.  

But this utterance was most unusual for the Sith.  No matter how much Crux wanted to voice his disdain he usually kept it to himself or let it out in small cryptic murmurs when he thought the Miraluka wasn't listening.  

"I'm happy to see you, too, Lord Crux," Ehlial replied simply and finished climbing the gangplank. 

The Sith snorted, "So you have a sense of humor now? Did they implant that in you while you were down there or should I have the doctor check you for fever?"

He stood closer to Crux than he ever had before when there was tension between them.  The Sith stood a head higher, towering over the smaller Miraluka.  Restlessness, that was what Ehlial sensed in him.  On the ship too long, and on a planet full of peaceful Jedi as well.  

To emphasize this, the Sith took a step back, folded his hands behind his back and began pacing across the walkway.  "I am not going to debate the philosophy of your Jedi masters, Ehlial.  Though to be honest, I have to wonder how any of you could hope to stand up to the Sith after your Jedi Council is done brainwashing you.  Look at you, such power in you.  Such a waste!  So far I have obeyed your Master, and been good enough not to try to convert you to the dark side.  But I have to wonder if you'll ever be strong enough to fulfill the future I have foreseen."

He finished by cutting his hand through the air forcefully and turning abruptly, stomping away from the padawan.  Ehlial felt a range of emotions, each of which he studied and compartmentalized before the Sith had managed to get to the stairs leading down to the engine room.  "Lord Crux, that's not fair."

The Sith paused, then sighed heavily.  "No, I suppose it isn't.  You are young.  Perhaps young enough that you could still cultivate the power of the Sith.  If you wished it of me.  You know what I could teach you, Ehlial.  I could mold you into a warrior no one in this galaxy could hope to defeat."

Ehlial fearlessly approached Crux, reaching out to grasp his gloved hand gently.  "Crux, I'm sorry you couldn't go down to the planet with me.  We can go somewhere else for a time, let you stretch your legs there.  Would that be acceptable?"

The Sith glared down at the smaller padawan with such hatred, such anger that Ehlial felt he was about to actually strike at him for the first time.  But his hand never lifted, and he drew in a deep breath before exhaling a reply.  "Damn you, boy.  Don't you try charming me, too.  I know how this will all end."

"Maybe," Ehlial said with a shrug, "But I've read the history holocrons. I know of at least two Jedi who've even defied your own Emperor.  How many Sith have managed that?"

It was as if someone turned on a light above Crux's head.  The anger in him evaporated to something akin to startled understanding.  He pulled his hand away and turned so now he faced the Miraluka, stoking his chin thoughtfully.  "It is true, what you say.  Most Sith who are powerful to that degree end up dead, or pulled into the Council.  You most certainly are not -that- strong, Jedi.  The Sith Emperor would crush you before you could scream.  But, there is truth to your words.  I will think on this."

"Fair enough," Ehlial said, steepling his hands and bowing shallowly.

Crux returned the gesture, hands clasped at his side.  "I am glad we could understand each other better, Jedi.  Also, I request a trip to Nar Shaddaa.  It smells, but there I can at least go about my business without too many heads turning in my direction."

[elevensins]

Gold Dust.

I have your photographs And the sun on your face I'm freezing that frame 'Gold Dust' - Tori Amos

She found the package on her doorstep, just as she had all the others.  The last one had been delivered years ago.  She almost feared they had finally stopped.  That he was grown now and the mysterious photographer had stopped following him.  The surprise of seeing it there made her nearly drop the bag of groceries she held in the crook of her arm.

Retrieving it quickly, she tapped her finger against the door's lock and moved quickly through the portal as it hissed open.  The groceries were left on the kitchen counter, forgotten for the moment as she tore away the strange brown wrapping to reveal the holocube inside.  The message was displayed on the surface, longer than the others.

My apologies, Mrs. Neverdusk.  I'm sure you can understand with the tensions going on and your son being grown now that it's much more difficult for me to take the time to get a snapshot of him to send to you.  As you can see, he has passed his trials.  This may well be the last time I can send you anything.  However, I have also passed on a word of his parentage to him.  He's old enough and trained enough now that I feel him more than capable of making his own decisions about his family.   Regards, Y.

She felt a little chill run down her spine.  The very idea of him coming to see her.  What might she even say to him?  Would he remember her at all?  Did he know the circumstances of how he ended up on Tython? The bargain that was struck?

Shaking her head, she turned the holocube over and clicked the button to activate it.  His image sprung to life, a young man now nearing twenty.  Such a placid expression, his chin lifted as he studied something above him, his hands held loosely in his lap.  He had her eyes, she noted.  Of course he did.  

She tried to touch the image, just wishing she could touch his jaw, studying the way he moved.  Then startled as it hissed with static and the picture suddenly disappeared until she pulled her hand away and it reformed.  

The holocube joined the others she'd stored away in a chest under her side of the bed.  She took a moment to dust all of them off with care, displaying the photos sent to her over the years.  From a young boy of seven, squinting into the Tythonian sunlight, the padawan braid growing longer against his cheek as the years passed.  An adolescent holding a practice blade with a touch of uncertainty. A young man, fingers steepled in front of him, confidence in the half smile on his lips.  

When finally she turned them off, she closed the chest.  Kissing the tips of her fingers, she pressed them against the top of the container and then pushed it back beneath her bed.  Standing, straightening her blouse, she turned back toward the kitchen.  

She still had groceries to put away, after all.