Day 19 of the 30 Day Star Wars OC Challenge from @smuggler-captain that I’m doing with @lessdenied! Previous posts are tagged with #30dayswchallenge. Yay, I am back to my regular writing schedule!
This is another deviation from the questions-as-written, since Teh’s personal history doesn’t follow the canonical in-game storyline. So instead! A little bit about Teh’s feels on family, on friendship, and on feels themselves.
“What the hell does genetics have to do with family?!”
Teh’laen’s perspective on “family,” and what that word even means, is non-traditional at best. After all, the people who raised her didn’t contribute any genetic material to who she is and who she’d become. As a result of that disconnect between biology and bonding, she’s never really bothered to distinguish between equally-meaningful relationships depending on genetics. She was adopted into the Va’shuvrk family, fully and completely, and the bonds between her and her deceased parents and siblings remain a pillar of her sense of self.
As such, the idea of “adopting” people with whom she’s forged a deep, lasting connection into the web of relationships that she calls her family is and always has been a core feature of how she relates to others… Even if she doesn’t necessarily couch it in those terms.
Essix is Teh’s best friend and has been for nearly twenty years. She has, on multiple occasions, risked her life to protect him—and has instigated more fistfights than she can count in response to someone dismissing his importance to her as, “It’s only a droid.” Essix is family in Teh’laen’s mind; anyone who says differently is gonna catch these hands and possibly a stunbaton to the back of the knee. But she’d be hard-pressed to slap a label on the bond between them. “Brother” doesn’t really fit and “son” is too, well, parental. (That said, she does adore spoiling him with new upgrades given the slightest provocation.) Essix is family; why does it need to get any more specific than that?
The process of adopting someone into what she considers her family is gradual, but once Teh forms that kind of attachment to someone, she’s not shy about it. Lover, friend, protege… Whatever the nature of their relationship, Teh is open and enthusiastic about it. It may take a while for such a relationship to reach that point of trust and intimacy—after all, the sorts of people with whom Teh’s associated on a daily basis for most of her life aren’t the most trustworthy in the Galaxy—but once it does, Teh accepts it wholeheartedly.
Teh’laen’s formed more of these sorts of relationships in the very recent past—and formed them more quickly—than she used to over the span of years. Her relationship with Cassbria (”Cass”) Temar is by far the most notable attachment; Teh’s had lots of lovers and plenty of serious relationships, but the depth of her feelings for Cass is practically unprecedented, and the fact that Cass makes Teh want to look beyond the immediate future is entirely unprecedented.
There’s a notable exception to Teh’laen’s policy of not worrying over labels and distinctions: her friendship with Naga’se, a fellow Twi’lek whom Teh met almost by chance. Teh’laen’s bond with Naga’se—Naga for short—has very swiftly evolved to the point of blurring Teh’s concepts of friendship and family. The two have become sisters, in every sense that matters to either of them. Both Teh and Naga lost their sisters to tragedy at a young age, and the similarities between Teh’laen and Naga’s sister, and between Naga and Rai’laen, led to the Rutian and the Lethan becoming surrogates for the person the other had lost. Does the distinction between friend and sister matter at all to Teh’laen? Not in the slightest, at least semantically. But Teh’laen’s attachment to Naga fills the void in her life left by Rai’laen’s loss.
"Oooh, yeah, genetics, right. You know that I'm only marginally more closely related to you than I am to a grophet, right? If we're talking about genomes and shit?" -Teh’laen to Hirani, her biological fraternal twin.
Teh’s relationship with Naga as surrogate sisters is a stark contrast to Teh’s ambivalence (occasionally veering into antipathy) regarding her recently rediscovered biological family: Gnoxis, her Sith Lord mother, and Hirani, her fraternal twin sister. Hirani—having been raised from infancy by the Jedi—is eager to make up for the family she never had, as is Gnoxis, who was deprived of the family she wanted to have. Teh’laen had a family that she lost, and presently has the family that she found, and is deeply resentful of her blood relations’ implication that an accident of birth should make them more important to Teh than the bonds she’s forged of her desire and volition.
[[tl;dr: Wherein a Jedi learns of her family, past and present. ]]
Timeline: A few months after Vaylin’s defeat.
“Soldiers of Zakuul, we apologize for the manner of our approach.” The normally soft-spoken Jedi raised her voice, projecting so that her words rang clearly across the fifty meters separating her from the Zakuulan loyalists. “We regret the damage done to your ship, and offer our assistance in making the necessary repairs, once our parley is concluded.” Years of diplomatic training kept her from pointing out the obvious, that this parley was somewhat less than voluntary on her audience’s part.
The Twi’lek Jedi’s gaze slid over the dozens of reprogrammed skytroopers, focusing on the visored faces of the holdouts from Vaylin’s forces. “My name is Qerines Hadze, Jedi Master and Emissary of the Eternal Alliance. I come bearing a message from the Alliance COmmander, and an offer.
“Empress Vaylin has been defeated. You acquitted your duty to the Eternal Empire. Your duty now is to the people of Zakuul; peace has been restored, but the scars of war remain. Your countrymen need your help in rebuilding.
“The Alliance offers an amnesty to those of you who will lay down your arms and return with us to--”
Qerines tried not to be disappointed with her own lack of disappointment as her double-bladed lightsaber blazed to life and deflected the first blasterbolt into the low ceiling of the corridor. This marked the fifth time in as many weeks that she’d delivered the Alliance’s offer to a group of Zakuulans still fighting for a mad tyrant who’d been defeated months ago and had been met with the same emphatic, violent refusal.
The purple beams of hard light issuing from her saberstaff became a hazy curtain between her and the fusillade of blasterfire as she windmilled the weapon with the ease and blinding speed of two decades of practice. Her eyes drifted half shut as she reached out, seeing the trajectory of each of the hundreds of bolts of energy originating from the skytroopers’ blaster rifles and converging on the center of her chest. Once she knew which bolts would strike where, it was a simple matter of interposing her saber between her and the killer light in the right order and at the correct angle. The Force and her own reflexes guided her movements, ducking and spinning and twisting to dodge those blasts she couldn’t easily deflect. Her mind wove the deluge of information from her senses both mundane and mystical into an intricate choreography, positioning body and blades to evade and parry as necessary, redirecting the bolts’ hateful energy and turning it on its former masters.
The corners of the Jedi’s mouth twitched downward as a single, carefully-aimed shot flashed over her shoulder with scant centimeters to spare. It wasn’t worry for her own safety that sparked her quickly-stifled flash of irritation; Minev, the sharpshooter late of the Sith Empire who’d been assigned to her small team, was certainly not reckless and, moreover, was intimately familiar with the Jedi’s combat style and capabilities. No, her disapproval stemmed from Minev’s subtle but unmistakable defiance of the team leader’s orders. One of the handful of Zakuulan loyalists crumpled to the ground, a smoking hole burned through the hollow of his throat. Even without her connection to the Force, Master Hadze could tell that the man was dead before he hit the ground.
It ended quickly.
Lieutenant Minev walked up behind the Jedi standing hunched over the commandeered ship’s primary memory core. Years of training as a sniper had rendered moving soundlessly second nature for the Imperial soldier, and she stopped a polite few meters away before coughing softly.
Qerines wasn’t sure whether Minev’s gesture was meant as a courtesy to indicate her presence and avoid startling the apparently distracted Jedi, or a tacit request for her commanding officer’s attention and permission to speak. Regardless, it was unnecessary, and Qerines stood, stretching her tense shoulders and gave the woman a small nod and an easy smile.
The soldier gave her a perfunctory nod, standing at parade rest as she delivered her report. “Master Jedi. All skytroopers have been deactivated and rendered inoperative. This ship is severely damaged; getting it spaceworthy again would require time, technicians and parts that we don’t have. I recommend notifying the Alliance and requesting a salvage team. Failing that, the vessel should be scuttled to deny it to the enemy. I’ve taken the initiative and placed demolition charges, though they’re not yet armed.”
Master Hadze nodded, giving the soldier an encouraging and appreciative smile. “Very thorough, Lieutenant, thank you.” Minev nodded sharply, then shifted one foot behind the other. Before she could execute her crisp about-face, the Jedi cleared her throat. Minev paused, then resumed her former stance. One thin blonde eyebrow cocked, jumping a centimeter and a half closer to the line of her close-cropped hair. “Yes, my L--Master Jedi?”
She let the slip of the tongue go without remark; the mannerisms and speech taught by a lifetime in the Sith Empire weren’t to be unlearned in the year and a half since Minev joined the Alliance.
Besides, she had greater concerns. She kept her voice soft and level as she asked, “Have the surviving loyalists received medical attention?”
If the other woman read anything into the question or Qerines’ manner, she gave no indication. “No, sir. The Zakuulans fought to the last and refused to be taken alive.” She paused a moment, lips pursed in thought, then added, almost as an afterthought, “They died well.”
If she’d expected that to offer the Jedi some consolation, she had gravely misjudged her audience. Qerines tried and failed to keep the bitterness and derision out of her voice as she shot back, “They died pointlessly.”
Minev watched her team leader’s face as the Jedi closed her eyes and steadied her breathing to compose herself. After a moment, the Twi’lek opened her purple-irised eyes, and Minev gave a one-shoulder shrug.
The gesture only served to further exasperate Master Hadze, and she fought to keep her crimson skin from flushing an even darker red in response. “Our mission is to convince the remnants of Vaylin’s forces to surrender and accept the Alliance’s offer of amnesty! Not to kill them! If that were the case, we would have simply destroyed this ship and saved ourselves the trouble.”
The sharpshooter’s expression was unreadable, and Qerines was struck by a thought. Is this how other people feel talking to Jedi? Are we this exasperating? After a pause to gather her thoughts, her subordinate spoke, her tone level. “Respectfully, Master Jedi, no, it’s not. I was in the briefing, and our orders are to offer the amnesty. They made their rejection quite clear. We carried out our orders, and more to the point, I carried out my orders.”
The conversational curve took Qerines by surprise and she temporarily postponed her objection to the soldier’s interpretation of their task. “What do you mean, ‘your orders?’”
The lieutenant met her eyes unwaveringly. “Lana Beniko instructed me to keep you whole, hale and hearty. I believe her exact words were, ‘don’t let her naïve idealism get her killed for idiotic reasons.’”
Qerines’ brows drew in. “And you interpreted that to mean you should summarily execute someone who posed no real threat to my wellbeing?”
“Again, Master Jedi, respectfully, when the Sith Lord spymaster of the Eternal Alliance tells me it’s my ass if you get yourself killed, I’m not taking any chances. I’m way more afraid of pissing her off than you.”
She searched the sniper’s face, then nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant. Thank you for the explanation… and the backup. In the future, please make every effort to take our adversaries alive.”
“I’ll try.”
The Jedi laughed softly. “I suspect that’s the best I’ll get from you, so I’ll take it. I’ll finish--”
Qerines broke off as a panicked voice broke in over the earpieces she and Minev wore. Both women winced in pain as the comms adjusted the volume to compensate for Garis’ shout, but not quickly enough.
“General! Sensor contact!”
Now wasn’t the time to correct the young Republic pilot’s nomenclature. “What is it, Garis?”
“Sith Fury-class interceptor, sir! She just dropped out of hyperspace right off our stern! Charging weapons on an intercept course!”
With their own Defender transport docked at an airlock and the loyalist vessel’s shields still disabled, they were practically helpless. “We’re on our way, Corporal. Recall everyone to the ship and prep for takeoff. Do you have an ID on the Fury?”
“That’s the thing, General. She’s showing as the Rage of Iego.”
Minev and Hadze exchanged a worried glance as they jogged across the bridge to the open blast doors and the corridor beyond. “That’s the ship that’s been shadowing us for weeks, sir.”
Qerines nodded, her expression souring. “Longer than that, Minev.” The soldier looked at her questioningly, and she expanded as they trotted down the passage toward the airlock and their ship. “That ship--it’s been pursuing me for years, since before the war with Zakuul. Showing up on planets I’ve visited, asking rather pointed questions about me and resorting to brutal methods to get answers to those questions.”
The lieutenant nodded once, sharply. “Then we’re leaving. Now.”
“Do you hear me arguing?”
“Sir! They--” Garis’ shouted warning drowned in a deafening flood of static and high-pitched squeals as their nameless foe jammed their comms.
The Jedi allowed herself a rare curse, one ear ringing even after the device adjusted the volume. The Imperial cursed a blue streak, and the two broke into a sprint.
A flash of either premonition or simple intuition struck her, and the Jedi slid to a stop, one hand grabbing the back of the other’s jacket and yanking her backwards a fraction of a second before an explosion filled the corridor with shrapnel. The flying bits of metal bounced off the Force barrier Hadze gestured into being, and the echoes of the breaching charge rang in the tight confines.
The secondary hatch of a Fury interceptor was visible through the smoke and the new hole blown in the ship’s hull. The hatch slid open with a hiss, and the darkness beyond was rent by the ignition of a lightsaber. A corona of vibrant green surrounded a core of blacker-than-black--the black of the Void, of nothingness and nonexistence. Fitting, the Jedi thought as her hand dropped to the saber at her waist.
Minev shared none of the Jedi Master’s restraint. In one smooth motion, she unslung her rifle, snapping it up and loosing one hellish bolt, aiming purley by reflex. Even without conscious effort, her aim was true, the shot perfectly centered in the silhouette emerging from the darkness.
That green and black saber snapped up, reflecting the bolt with aim just as perfect. Qerines drew her own saber and ignited it, whirling it up to interpose between the Sith and the sharpshooter. Instead of splitting her sternum and consuming both of Minev’s lungs, the blaster bolt slammed into the bulkhead, leaving a carbon scorch and glowing durasteel. Without taking her eyes from the approaching Sith, Qerines stepped in front of the soldier, weapon still in a low guard.
“Go. I’ll catch up.” She didn’t really hear the protest, but recognized it nonetheless. Doing her best impersonation of an Imperial officer, she curled her lip and snarled, “That’s an order!”
Her training complied with the command before her conscious mind had fully parsed it. She sprinted back down the way they had come to a T-junction that would take her back to the ship via an alternate route that would hopefully avoid the Sith. She paused, looking worriedly at the Jedi.
Qerines turned her head just enough to call over her shoulder. “Launch the ship, but stay close. I’ll be along shortly.”
Emotions warred on the young soldier’s face, then she nodded and disappeared around the corner.
The Jedi turned her attention back to the Sith, walking deliberately through the smoke and debris choking the improvised ingress. Qerines kept her saber at the ready, reaching out with her senses to anticipate her foe’s next move. The Sith stepped out of the shadows, into the light of the corridor, and Qerines studied her through half-lidded eyes.
Like herself, the Sith was Twi’lek; that was surprising enough, given the Sith Empire’s disdain for non-humans. More striking still was the genetic mutation she apparently shared with the Jedi, giving them both the same deep, rich red skin tone that marked them both as Lethan.
If she had to guess, she would put the darksider’s age at early to mid 50’s. Judging the age of Sith was difficult under the best of circumstances, given the horrible physical toll channeling the Dark Side took on a body. The green-eyed Twi’lek appraising her from a dozen meters away showed none of those signs of deterioration, though whether to attribute that to limited use of the Dark Side or to some Sith-Alchemy exercise in vanity, Qerines was unsure. She suspected the latter.
"You are the Jedi Master known as Qerines Hadze?" The Sith broke the tense silence, spitting her name with such vehemence and disdain that the Jedi was taken aback. She allowed herself a small grin and a very un-Jedi-like flash of pride; to have any Sith hate her so was surely a compliment of the highest order.
Qerines extended her senses, probing, assessing, gauging her adversary’s strengths and vulnerabilities. She reached out with the Force, prodding--and her breath exploded from her lungs like she’d been kicked in the stomach. The Sith standing before her roiled and raged like a wildfire, her entire being fueled by--and simultaneously consumed by--a burning hatred, and at the core… a soul-deep anguish, a heartbreaking sense of loss.
“I would speak with you,” the Sith intoned imperiously, regarding the Jedi through slitted eyes.
“I suspected as much,” she answered dryly. “There are easier ways to reach me.”
The older Twi’lek’s brows drew in slightly, having clearly understood the subtext. “That--those--were… another matter. A personal one. Not some kind of message for you.”
Qerines shook her head. “Whether you intended to send a message was irrelevant. I understood your message perfectly.”
Those narrow brows, emphasized by the menacing spikes tattooed all around them, arched in cryptic amusement. “Clearly, you do not.”
The younger shook her head. “Enough, Sith. This conversation is over.” She snapped her saber up in a high guard, then whirled it around her head, bringing it down in a slash aimed to remove the Sith’s head from her neck.
The vile green and black blade looped up in an easy, almost dismissive parry. Just as well; the strike had accomplished its purpose, momentarily blocking the Sith’s view of the Jedi. Qerines let the inertia tuck her into a low spin, and by the time the green and black saber had recovered into a guard, she had exploded out of her crouch into a dead sprint down the corridor, away from her crew and her ship.
Have to buy them time, she thought to herself as she ran. Behind her, she could feel the Sith’s flare of frustration, even before the accompanying curses reached her hearing. A plan started to take shape as her eyes passed over an arrow emblazoned with “Cargo Hold #2.”
She rounded the corner without slowing, a lifetime of athletic training and a nudge with the Force allowing her feet to transition seamlessly from deck to bulkhead and back.
She could sense the darksider’s approach, stalking after her in pursuit, the Sith’s footfalls heavier in the Force than on the deck. “The Jedi move lightly through the world, carried on the currents of the Living Force as a leaf on a stream,” one of her early teachers had been fond of saying. “The Sith do not; they want to be noticed and to leave their mark on the Force and on the lives of those around them.”
Qerines tried--unsuccessfully--to suppress a dark thought. Her footsteps sound like inevitability.
She ducked into the hold, eyes scanning the towering stacks of cargo containers and smaller racks of supplies and spare parts. It was second nature, as intuitive as breathing, to wrap herself in the Force and vanish from sight, and she slipped between rows of freight pods. She didn’t know if any of it would fool the Sith hunting her, but all she had to do, she reminded herself, was buy time for her crew to circle around and pick her up at another airlock.
How much time, that’s the question.
Qerines felt the Sith enter the hold before she saw her--standing in the hatchway, green eyes narrowed, searching the dark corners and crevices.
“Jedi, come out.” Her voice echoed ominously in the cavernous hold. “We have much to discuss.”
The hidden Jedi answered by grabbing a shipping crate with the Force and hurling it through the air at the Sith. The green-eyed Lethan’s lip curled in a snarl. One hand came up, the lightning flowing from her fingers superheating the plexoid crate and blasting it to pieces well before it hit her.
Qerines’ breath caught in her throat, and as the Sith’s emerald glare settled on her hiding place, she dashed down one of the seemingly infinite narrow passages that snaked maze-like among the cargo containers.
It devolved into a running battle; the Jedi struck from ambush, then faded away before the Sith could bring her considerable power to bear. After several such engagements, the Jedi came to a pair of realizations: First, while she was unquestionably the more skilled duelist, she was hopelessly outclassed by the sorcerer in terms of raw power… and she suspected her own strength would fail long before the Sith’s reserves were exhausted. In short, any protracted battle would be one she would lose.
Secondly, it was becoming increasingly clear that the Sith was not striking at her with anything approaching her full capabilities. Why, Master Hadze couldn’t fathom, except for the possibility that the Sith wished her alive and didn’t want to kill her prematurely. She didn’t know why, but she still had nightmares about the horrors the Sith had left in her wake. She would not allow herself to be taken alive.
She let the shroud concealing her drop, and she stepped sedately out from hiding. She faced the Sith across a mostly open “clearing” among the containers, and her amethyst gaze met emerald unwaveringly. She folded her hands in the sleeves of her robes, her lips speaking the words for what, she suspected, would be the last time.
“There is no emotion; there is peace.” The Sith had stopped, some fifteen meters distant, and her eyes narrowed.
“There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.” In her peripheral vision, the green-and-black blade swept up into a guard and the other hand clawed its fingers, gathering power for another blast of lightning.
“There is no passion; there is serenity.” Those lips curled in a derisive sneer, and Qerines felt the surge of anger--beyond what she’d expect from the standard-issue Sith disdain for the Jedi teachings.
“There is no chaos; there is harmony.” Her steps brought her closer, close enough now to register the decades-old scars--brands, she corrected herself--that marred her cheeks and forehead and marked her as one of those Sith Lords who’d risen from slavery to the highest rung of the brutal ladder that was Imperial society.
“There is no death; there is the Force.”
Qerines came to a stop barely a meter and a half from the Sith, well within the reach of that balefully glowing blade.
“My name is Qerines Hadze, Master of the Jedi Order and emissary of the Eternal Alliance.” The rage that fueled the Sith swelled and the Jedi felt the power gathering to strike the killing blow. She imagined herself for a brief instant as standing at the floor of a narrow canyon as a dam burst, the rushing wall of water about to overtake her. There was a certain peace in knowing that death was imminent, inexorable and inevitable.
There is no death; there is the Force.
“I do not fear death, Sith, and I do not fear y--”
The Sith Lord’s fury exploded out of her, and Qerines had enough time to twitch her lip in a defiant grin--
Her grin died instantly as the power was unleashed as a lightning storm that encircled the two of them, savaging the crates and containers all around them, leaving glowing scars and gaping rents but leaving the two Twi’leks unscathed. Above the crackling lightning and the sounds of devastation, the Sith’s voice rang out angrily.
“THAT IS NOT YOUR NAME!”
The fury in that voice was hardly a surprise, but the sorrow and anguish underscoring the words took the Jedi off-guard and hit her with a palpable force. She doubled over, gasping for breath, and felt tears course down her cheeks in sympathy with the soul-rending sadness emanating from the Sith. She craned her neck up, looking in wonder at the tears flowing freely from the Sith’s eyes.
“That is not your name,” she repeated, and with a visible effort unclenched her clawed fingers and snapped off her lightsaber.
“Qerines’Hadze,” she scoffed. “A bad joke.”
The Jedi straightened slowly and set her jaw. “Many cultures name their children after virtues they hope they will exhibit or embody. Is ‘redemption’ so surprising?”
The Sith’s lip curled derisively. “That name wasn’t picked for your sake. It was directed at me.”
“How--”
“Your name,” the Sith continued in a hushed, almost reverent voice, “is Hirani’Tarkona.”
The question died on the Jedi’s tongue. Those words, that voice… She remembered them, from beyond the fog of forgetfulness. She was certain she’d heard them before, before even her earliest memories of training at the Jedi Temple on Tython.
“How--” Hirani began, faltered, then tried again: “Who are you?” she asked, and from the expression on the other Twi’lek’s face, both already knew the answer.
“My name is Gnoxis,” she said slowly, her tone marked by a gentleness that visibly surprised both of them, “and I am your mother, Hirani.”
