Twenty Years Ago "She's beautiful." Keri, the Jedi Healer, smiled down at the infant in Calys' arms. "Have you decided on a name yet?" "Alexia," Calys said. "'Where I was born, it means 'Guardian'." Keri nodded thoughtfully. "It's a good name." She hesitated. "Have you - " "No." Calys voice was abruptly harsh. The child, attuned even now to her mother's mood, squirmed and let out a tiny wail. Calys quickly soothed her daughter, her expression softening, then looked up at Keri again. "It's better this way," she said quietly. "Alexia is my daughter - no matter who her father is." Keri evidently didn't agree. It wasn't her decision, but neither could she let it go. "What will you do when she's older?" she said instead. "She's going to start asking about her father, Calys, and you know it." "Most of the children here don't know their parents - " "But they know who their parents are. That's the difference. She's not going to know who her father is - and for that matter, neither are you. What if she turns out to look like him?" "Then I'll know, won't I?" Calys snapped. For a moment, the two Jedi glared at one another. In the end Keri sighed, relenting. "She's your daughter," she agreed quietly. "I only hope you know what you're doing."
Fourteen Years Ago Calys knelt by her daughter's bed, her expression pensive. Alexia was sleeping, finally - the child had far too much energy, even after attending classes with the rest of the younglings all day and then excitedly describing it to her mother in the evenings. Calys suspected that Alexia sometimes felt as if she didn't quite belong with the others - none of those in her class were children of Jedi. At least, not children of living Jedi - Ariana's boy was Alexia's age, but her old friend was long dead, and he lived in the creche with the rest of the younglings. More and more Jedi were involving themselves in the war effort, an occupation which left little time for children. The Jedi Master let out a soft sigh, reaching out to stroke the child's hair. Alexia stirred slightly, but didn't wake. She's going to start asking about her father, and you know it. Calys had not expected to have that conversation so soon. Then again, it wasn't entirely unexpected - some of the younglings in Alexia's class had come into the Order late enough to remember their parents, and they would swap stories. Alexia had always been bright; she had undoubtedly realized fairly quickly that the rest of the children had fathers. Unlike her. So, like the innocent six-year-old she was, she had asked her mother. Taken by surprise, Calys hadn't handled it well. The memory of the pain was still too fresh - and it didn't help that Alexia was very persistent as only a small child could be. She had snapped at her daughter, and for the first time Alexia had looked truly afraid - No, not her proudest moment. Calys grimaced. She had regretted it almost instantly, of course, and apologised - but that still didn't make it right. To lose her temper like that had been decidedly un-Jedi-like of her ... but more than that, it had been wrong, and she knew it. And the right thing to do was to find out. Find out, and tell him, she owed them both that much ... or not, depending on the result. Yet - Calys still couldn't bring herself to do it. Alexia's face, peaceful in sleep, gave her no hint about which of the two it could be - she was a spitting image of Calys at that age, a likeness so close it was startling. My daughter. No, she would not run the test. Could not.
Eight Years Ago Alexia glared at the offending remote, lightsaber angled defensively. Calys, watching from the sidelines, suppressed a smile. The remote exercise was not one of Alexia's strengths, and as a result, was the one she was forced to practice the most. Privately, Calys thought she had the potential to do a lot better if she focused, but she had a tendency to let her mind wander - Like now. The remote spun, darted, fired. Alexia, caught off guard, swung her blade down an instant too late. The bolt caught her on her thigh. She cursed in Bothan. "Language," Calys said mildly, stopping the remote with a wave of her hand. Alexia glared at her too. Calys' return gaze was serene; no need to say anything, they both knew why she had let it through. And she had already discovered silent disapproval worked far better than scolding when it came to her daughter. "None of the other initiates practice this much," Alexia complained. "The ones that can't last fifteen minutes against a remote are," Calys said pointedly. Alexia grimaced. "I could stop the remote with the Force," she challenged. Calys was amused. It would be well within her abilities, true ... though not the point of the exercise. "Yes, you could," she agreed. "But can you stop three, or four - or a shooter at twenty paces?" Alexia scowled rebelliously, but her expression soon turned thoughtful. "If you used three or four remotes, wouldn't they just crash into each other?" Laughing, Calys reactivated the remote. "You would think of that. Come on - again - " Alexia brought her lightsaber back up with a sigh.