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  1. In Memory of LAJ_FETT: Please share your remembrances and condolences HERE

Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 12 (AU, OC)

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by Trieste, Mar 30, 2018.

  1. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
  2. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Today's lesson: Never piss off a journalist person with the truth on their side! Wow! Repercussions abound.
     
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  3. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11


    Rydonni Prime

    “Pick it up, let’s push the pace,” Vesper said, clapping her hands. The offensive coordinator of the Rydonni Prime Monarchs was putting her squad through drills, trying to get more of out of them. She knew it was there. She wanted them to find it before they faced her homeworld team this week, the Miners.

    The opportunity to return to her old team in a coaching role was too good an opportunity to pass up, even when the other option was making credits hand over fist as a hedge fund manager. Besides, if Alana Kirt could coach their alma mater to a Bak10 championship, surely Vesper could win a Galactic Cup.

    Vesper was so in the zone that she didn’t notice Dawn Solo come up next to her. Vesper turned to the head coach with a smile. “They’re coming along. We’re gonna light it up next game.”

    “Ves…” Dawn said, her voice straining. Lynd paused. It had been a long time since she’d heard that tone of voice from her former teammate. Not since their teammates had been called up for the reserves to fight for the Republic. “There’s something…something you should see…”



    Salis D’aar, Bakura

    “…the treason of Moliere Cundertol was directly responsible for the popular movement to directly elect the Prime Minister,” Nessa Trieste lectured her high school civics students. She might be pushing 70, but the Chandrilan still wouldn’t be anywhere but a classroom. “It’s easy for us to sit here today and see how those dark days led us to something better, but the beings who lived through it wondered if Bakuran democracy was dying before their eyes.”

    She was about to answer a question when there was a knock at the door. “Ms. Trieste?” the principal asked. “Could we speak for a moment?”

    “Debate the merits of senatorial election of the Prime Minister vs. popular election,” she instructed as she crossed the room. “I expect all of you to be able to muster arguments when I call on you.”

    She listened in the hallway to the soft, low voice of the principal. Her head drooped.

    All she could think was, Not again.



    Nar Shaddaa

    May came across one of the nurses, sitting on a crate that had contained kolto patches, softly crying.

    “Hey, it’s OK,” May said gently, squeezing onto the crate next to the nurse. “We do our best, but there are some who are too far gone. It happens to all of us sometime.”

    “No, no, it’s not that,” the nurse said through tears. “It’s…” She handed May a datapad.

    The doctor began reading and soon it was the nurse comforting her.



    Unknown Regions

    Falene Trieste stood in the cockpit of the exploration vessel. She was looking at the fourteenth planet she’d discovered. Like most of them, it was a gas giant, but one with swirling purple currents. It took her breath away, just like every new world did. She looked younger than her 48 years. Constantly roving and exploring made her feel like she was still fresh out of Prytis College of Natural Sciences. If she had her way, she’d die out here, the last thing in front of her eyes some glorious planet that no being of the known universe had ever seen before.

    That would be a Korriban of a way to go.

    Falene was still in a state of breathless awe when one of her crewmembers said, “Hey Fae, we just got a connection to home.” Where they went, HoloNet reception didn’t exist and even low-res uplinks could be hard to come by. “Holy Sithspit. Fae, come here.”

    “Whatever it is, it can’t be better than this,” Falene breathed.

    “No it’s not better. It’s worse. It’s…”

    Falene knew she had to look and that she wasn’t going to like what she found.



    Hapes

    Sierra Chume sat on the throne of Hapes in full regalia, holding court when a courtier whispered into her ear. She sat motionless for what seemed an age to the nobles gathered about her. Without a word, she flicked her hand gently. Everyone knew they were dismissed. In under a minute, she was completely alone.

    Sierra gently pulled her veil up and rested it on her head so it would not catch her tears.



    Salis D’aar, Bakura

    “…and the Court’s holding in Cullugh clearly states that federal jurisdiction…”

    It was the tradition of the Supreme Court that the most junior justice accepted any notes for a Justice during verbal arguments. So it was that the being who had been confirmed for Regan’s old Associate Justice seat received the flimsi folded in half and began the chain that eventually led to the Chief Justice at the center of the bench.

    Regan flicked it open with one finger with minor annoyance when it reached her.

    “…and accordingly—”

    “Thank you, Mr. Wallner,” Regan interrupted suddenly. That caught the attention of the Court and its attendees. It was not her way to cut into verbal arguments like some of her fellow justices did. “But I must adjourn the Court’s business for today.” She took a deep breath. “I have just been informed…”



    Nouvelle Orleans, Bakura

    Henrietta was white-faced in Elyse’s doorway. The latter knew what had happened.

    “No, not May,” Elyse breathed, her thoughts flying to Alynn.

    “No, it’s not May,” Henrietta said as the tears began to fall. She couldn’t say anything else.



    Salis D’aar, Bakura

    Officer Jax Ralter was on duty when the call came over the radio. His head snapped up at the report over the comm and he looked in disbelief at his partner. In an instant he remembered the day a speeder bomb had almost killed him and his entire family.

    “We should—” Jax began.

    “Frak what we should do,” his partner said, putting their patrol speeder into gear. “We’re going to get Elfie and Alex.” He whipped it around in the middle of the street, siren on.

    Jax knew their oath as police officers dictated they were supposed to do something else, anything else, but right now all he could think about was his family.



    Ministry of Defense, Salis D’aar, Bakura

    Fiona Westenra, Minister of Defense, sat behind her desk. Her eyes were cold and hard, stonier than the durasteel scrap desk she sat at, tougher than any starship she’d ever helmed. The briefing had been fast and rapid, delivered with the precision only bred in the Defense Fleet.

    Before her stood the holographic images of her most senior commanders, the Fleet Admiral and the Commandant of the Marines, joined by her principal underministers. There would be no word from Marian Square. The decision was hers. She had no time for any emotion, just the calculation that she’d needed as a starfighter pilot and starship commander.

    “Take us to Defense Condition 2,” she ordered.



    Gesco City, Bakura

    “Honey, you should see it. It’s beautiful,” Rickard gushed as he came in the door. He was still riding high on the V1. Today had been the flight test and it had handled like a dream. Rickard had brought home champagne for celebration with the being who had been his partner every night he’d come home wondering if they were going to pull it off or if he’d miscalculated horribly.

    Instead he found his wife sitting in the chair beneath the stairs in the foyer, softly crying. He had seen too many widows of comrades he’d lost in the Marines to think it meant anything else. Rickard knelt on the floor and hugged his wife and waited for her to tell him when she could find her voice.



    Tesserone, Roon

    Austin Vehn clutched his chest as he looked at the Lady Constance Mountains in all their majesty. What had been a moment of beautiful contemplation, a moment of peace after the final defeat of Tel Adain, had turned to a terrible pain. Addison rushed to him as he staggered, but he remained standing.

    “What is it?” Addison breathed. “What’s happened?”

    “Blood has been spilled this day,” he breathed.

    “Who? Is it Connor?” Addison asked in maternal panic, looking around for their four-year-old son.

    “No.” They both turned to find Eleanor coming from the house. “He’s fine.” Her visage was clouded too, as if the Force had reached her as well.

    “Then who is it?” Addison asked, looking at her husband.

    “I fear it is someone just as bad…” Austin said, his eyes growing clouded.



    UB Salis D’aar, Bakura

    Niall and Niamh were snuggling on the couch, watching a holo drama. It was a ridiculous, soapy space opera but it made them smile. It was one of many mundane moments they’d begun sharing together.

    They both nearly jumped into the ceiling when two Marshals burst through the door, one with his blaster drawn.

    Before Niall could open his mouth, the one without the blaster was already across the dorm room (not that it was that far a distance to travel) and had hauled Niall off the couch and was hauling him out of the room.

    “What’s happening?” Niall shouted.

    The Marshal with the blaster activated a comm that Niall couldn’t see as they moved towards the stairwell. “We have Blackbird, en route.”

    “Niall!” Two voices shouted his name at once. The first came from the open doorway of his room where Niamh was, looking in shock. The other came from Shenandoah, who was being similarly handled by a pair of Marshals.

    “What’s going on?” Niall repeated.

    “We need to secure you, sir,” the Marshal who was half-pushing, half-hauling him down the stairs said. His words were delivered with urgency that scared Niall more than anything had ever frightened him.

    Everything passed in a blur until suddenly he and Shenandoah had been thrown into a speeder, which roared away at a speed like the twins had never experienced out of their Marshal escorts before. As the velocity pressed them back into their seats, their hands found each other as their hearts pounded and they looked wordlessly at the Marshals, the kind beings who had been with them for so long, waiting for an explanation that they knew could not be good.



    Redwood Creek, Bakura

    Kerry Trieste sat in her office where everything was calm and quiet, reviewing a report on broadcast revenue. The athletic directors weren’t going to be happy. They were never happy. It almost made her wonder why she was still doing this job. She’d just turned 80 years old. Most other beings retired before that point. Then again, most other beings weren’t Kerry Wyvern Trieste.

    There was a gentle knock at the door. “Come in,” Kerry invited, half-distracted.

    The door slid open silently and she looked up after a second. It was one of her Senatorial Guards. They wore plainclothes here instead of the ceremonial regalia that of the halls of the Galactic Senate, but they’d been with her ever since she’d ceased being Chancellor. By Senate law, she would have their protection for the rest of her life unless she declined it.

    “Ah Jordi,” Kerry said, “what can I do for you?”

    “Madam Chancellor,” Jordi began.

    That’s when Kerry knew it wasn’t good. Jordi never called her by her old title. She put down her datapad and her spine straightened in her chair. She listened, her eyes never leaving Jordi’s face.

    She had been in Golden Prairie when her father had been shot, a child screaming over his body as they’d rushed him to the hospital to save his life.

    She had been in Salis D’aar when an assassin shot her husband in the back instead of her, a wife helplessly holding his hand as he died in a hospital bed hooked to machines that ultimately couldn’t save him.

    She had been at the Great Fair of Tirahnn as part of her first campaign for Chancellor in mid-debate when the newly-elected president of that world was gunned down for dreaming of a better day for his world, a fellow sentient being hauled away against her will as she stretched one hand towards the president, never to reach him.

    Kerry stood, bracing both hands against her desk. She had been scared, mournful, and defiant in her life. Now she was full of sorrow.

    “I’m sorry Jordi, you’re going to have to…”

    Kerry never finished. She fell back in her chair and began crying.



    Leaving Cape Suzette, Bakura

    The Marshals had bundled their principals back into the shuttle, which had been off the ground before the door had even closed behind them. Not every Marshal was even on the shuttle. Some were securing the area as beings fled screaming.

    Out of instinct, the one between Ayn and Declan had fired. Not once—three times. All three of blaster bolts hit Garner Lekworth square in the chest. He would not get to explain himself at trial. It would be left to federal investigators and the Marshals to piece together why he decided to fire that shot. A narrative would soon emerge that he was a deeply troubled being, rejected professionally, peddling unsubstantiated stories that the media would not even give the credence of broadcasting.

    But Garner Lekworth became nothing more than a footnote to this story. For some, less than that. No less than Phyllida Travers would stand before the Senate building and declare, “I shall never speak that being’s name. Never. They shall not have the trappings of even infamy. They shall be consigned to the dust heap where they belong, forgotten.”

    The story was on the floor of the shuttle. It lay there, cut down in its prime. It was shaken by its spouse, as if jostling could restore the spirit that was gone. The Marshals had to use physical force to separate them. It was the only thing they could in the face of pain born of delirium.



    Somewhere in space

    Of all beings, it was Cillian Lynd who said it first, hugging his eight-year-old son Hank to his chest while Swann held him from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder, tears streaming from her eyes silently. They stood in front of the hangar viewport, the one that they had always shown the escaped indentured workers of the Corporate Sector their first beautiful view of freedom. This day the stars shined brighter, almost piercing the trio who lived among them.

    “So passes Ayn Dormingale Trieste,” Cillian said as a single tear traced its way down his cheek, “daughter of Gaeriel Dormingale, granddaughter of Sabé Dormingale, twelfth Taoiseach of the Noble House of Trieste.”
     
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  4. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    Damn. So much for a Chancellor run. :p

    I wonder who will be the next Taoiseach? Will Declan take the title back? What happens when the Taoiseach can't choose their own successor anyway?

    Also, I presume this means Volume 13 is coming soon.
     
  5. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Powerful stuff. The galaxy awaits how this all plays out.
     
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  6. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    Only once before has a Taoiseach died without naming a successor. What happens then...well...you'll see. ;)
     
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  7. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    Also, who becomes Prime Minister now?
     
  8. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    That too will become clear in due time... [face_whistling]
     
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  9. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @Bardan_Jusik (for a brief guest appearance) @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11 Beat the drum slowly and play the pipe lowly...


    Salis D’aar, Bakura

    It had been a long time since a sitting Prime Minister had died in office, but the capitol took up its mourning veil with the solemn efficiency that came only from institutional memory. The government suspended all but the most essential business to take up the solemn duty.

    The Deputy Prime Minister had been sworn in as Prime Minister in proper constitutional succession in under an hour. The oath of office was administered by none other than Chief Justice Regan Eldred. The holo of the moment would become an iconic image in Bakuran history, her awareness of her duty competing with the pain in her eyes.

    Ayn lay in state in the rotunda of the Bakuran Senate building for four days, her closed casket draped with the blue field and 32 gold stars of the Bakuran flag. Hundreds of thousands filed past to pay their respects as Ayn rested under the watch of Marines at attention.

    Declan stood, silent, his gaze never leaving the flag-draped casket, keeping watch over his wife for every moment of public viewing. He never shed a tear, but his grief could be felt in every inch of the rotunda.

    What almost every Bakuran alive at that time would remember was the funeral procession, when the casket was taken from the Senate to the memorial service. An honor guard Marines, Defense Fleet servicemembers, and Coast Guards led the way, bearing Bakuran flags that fluttered in the light breeze.

    As had been the case when the last Trieste Prime Minister, Fionn Dunross Trieste, had been borne to his final rest, Ayn was not taken by hearse. She was borne by her family the whole way.

    Fionn had required his wife and seven children to carry his casket down the broad avenues of the capital. Ayn needed only six.

    In the front rank were Vesper Lynd and Rickard Harlow, the business titans of the family, the Gesco City Triestes. Vesper eschewed mourning weeds for a somber dark blue that spoke of deep loss and the public service Ayn had given. Rickard wore his dress blue Marine uniform, its creases as sharp as the edge of a bayonet. His wife could count on one hand the number of times she had seen him in it in her life. His military service, which had cost him half a face that was restored only through cosmetic surgery, was not something Rickard willingly acknowledged. The state funeral of a Prime Minister demanded it.

    In the second row were Elfie Ralter and Trixie Penn. Elfie seemed dragged down less by the physical weight she supported and more by the emotional toll the loss represented. Her black clothes contrasted with the paleness of her open face, hidden beneath a veil that did little to hide her grief. Trixie, on the other hand, wore a defiantly red outfit, as if daring death to pull her down. Her eyes were locked forward, never wavering. One could easily imagine she was full of spite for never getting to prosecute Garner Lekworth in court.

    In the rear were Elyse Carlowe and May Hull, the two widows. They had buried husbands and now they would see a wife to the grave. Elyse’s face reflected the pain of survival, of death taking a part of you but leaving the rest. Yet it also reflected determination to seize life and not abandon it to death. Dr. Hull had left Nar Shaddaa for this, her work done even if there was more to do in the Vertical City. A daughter had lost a mother. May could lose no more time with her own.

    Behind the pallbearers walked Declan, unbowed, his eyes focused on the casket preceding him. He never stumbled, never missed a step. He had each of his children by hand, the twins’ eyes downcast, unable to look at the stark reminder of their mother’s passing that went before them.

    What followed was perhaps the greatest funeral procession of the Noble House.

    Regan Eldred was the highest-ranking government official in the family to make the walk, so she had the honor of following the family, hand-in-hand with Atticus. Next to them in a dress uniform weighted by stars, medals, and ribbons was Minister of Defense Fiona Westenra. Though she was a civilian in her role as Minister, like Rickard the passing of a Prime Minister demanded her formal finery from her time in service. It said something that the Prime Minister and his wife were almost an afterthought to such beings.

    Behind them walked the heads of state. Queen Mother Sierra’chume represented the largest territory among those present. She was joined by a former Supreme Chancellor in Kerry Trieste and a former Queen of Naboo and President of the Roon Federation in Eleanor Vehn, there was no shame in the three walking side-by-side. Kerry was joined by her long-time partner, Galactic Senator Gavin Serling. In lockstep with her was the Manda’lor himself, Beskaryc Taab, in beskar’gaam polished to a shine. He was here in memory of the coalition between the two worlds that had defeated the Ssi-Ruuk. It was a bold statement that he would come all the way across the galaxy to honor a fallen Prime Minister of Bakura.

    Just behind them was Prince Trellam Iseult, Sierra’s husband (who even on Bakura could not walk side-by-side with his wife); Ivgenni Isesult, decked out in his Hapan naval dress uniform like his father (albeit with fewer decorations); and Corrine Iseult, returned to Bakura (this time publicly).

    They were followed by Cillian Lynd, who also wore his old dress uniform from his time in the Marines, with Swann and Hank. Joining him in the last row of the official organization of the family by title and precedence was Jax Ralter, in his finest SDPD uniform, escorting eight-year-old Alexandr with him.

    It had been left to the remainder of the family to sort themselves. There was no question about who would come next. Falene Trieste was a former Taoiseach and it was only right that she lead the family. She had persuaded Verity Vehn, the matriarch of a family just as illustrious as the Triestes, to join her and holding hands as they walked.

    Nessarose Trieste and Dorian Lynd were reminded of the spouses they had lost. Dorian was joined by his family: Nicholas Arden, who minded his children Dorian and Miranda while their mother Vesper did her duty; Ginnifer Harlow; and Vienna Harlow, who seemed even more somber than usual.

    The Ypres-Eldreds, Corrie, Quentin, and baby Morris, were joined by Horst Penn and his son Quill. It was easy for Bakura to watch Corrie and her family be somber. It suited them. Watching the usually fun-loving Horst fight back sorrow as he squeezed his son’s hand brought many to tears again.

    Henrietta Trieste shepherded her children, Siobhan and Aloric, while watching Elon for Elyse and Alynn for May as they shouldered their heavy burden. Her sister in-law, Jane Serena, was helping, as were Ronan and Mandy Trieste. The grandparents looked older than the others of their generation, who had come earlier in the procession. Though younger than Kerry, Fiona, and Regan, the pair were in their mid-70s and lacked access to the organ replacement therapies that extended lifespans on Bakura.

    Almost at the end were the two Jedi of the Vehn-Triestes: Austin Vehn, with his wife Addison and son Connor, and Grace Vehn. Though their place was here, they felt most at home towards the end of the train.

    But they were not the last. The Sith descendants Falene had adopted into the family—Elza, Gaius, and Avie—took that position. They remembered all too well how they had been all but expelled from the family by Ayn. Even so, they were called to attend, if only for Falene’s sake. Like it or not, they were part of something greater than themselves.

    Today, all Bakura felt that way.
     
    Last edited: Oct 26, 2020
  10. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    I cannot express in words how powerful these descriptions are.

    So the Deputy PM takes over as Prime Minister. Do we even have a name for him or her?

    The question of Taoiseach succession also remains open.
     
  11. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    ^:)^Stunning. What a titan of a character gone. ^:)^
     
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  12. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    In order:
    1. Mission accomplished for this post! I'm glad the gravity of the moment came across. (Confession: when writing some of the recent posts I get a little teary-eyed while I'm typing. They're almost like members of a real family!)
    2. We don't have a name for him, just his sex. To this point he's been a supporting character (mainly someone Ayn bossed around).
    3. Very much. We are drawing closer to a resolution on that... :D
     
  13. AzureAngel2

    AzureAngel2 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Jun 14, 2005
    Jolly good writing as always. The intrigues, the dramas, the humour. The Kennedy Clan is so boring when compared with your Trieste dynasty.

    I am typing this while being on the last 5 minutes of my lunch break. Then I am back in the middle of chaos, because almost every child at the crèche cries today...

    Therefore I almost had tears in my eyes when reading your text. It was something completely different and a real treat.
     
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  14. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    I'm flattered to hear that I'm not the only one who tears up when reading these. :)
     
  15. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @Bardan_Jusik (yes, still!) @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11

    Salis D’aar, Bakura

    After the memorial, the family held a private wake at the Plaza. Only family were invited. There were no politicians, no media, no outsiders to mutter they were sorry for their loss. It was a place where the Noble House could mourn as one in private.

    There was food and—more importantly, in keeping with Bakuran tradition—alcohol, but no one seemed to want any of it. They barely talked, not because words failed them in this moment but because they didn’t know what to say. Ayn had not been universally beloved even among them, but the galaxy seemed unreal without her. The void she left had sharp edges that still drew blood if you encountered them. It was as if they didn’t—or perhaps couldn’t—process this loss.

    There was one being present who was not a member of the Noble House. Niall had politely requested of his father that she be allowed to come and Declan had quietly assented to Niamh Crannagh’s inclusion at the wake. She held Niall’s hand and looked in wonder at this House of Bakura stopped in its tracks when not even the Neo-Sith War had robbed it of vitality. It broke her heart—so much so that she had to do something.

    She excused herself from Niall’s presence for a moment and, with her heart thumping, walked over to Nessa Trieste. Declan’s great-aunt might be a high school teacher, but she was also the daughter of a legendary Jedi Master. Such beings were just not approached casually.

    “Excuse me, Mrs. Trieste,” Niamh said.

    “You must be Niamh. Elfie said you were a delightful dinner guest a while back,” Nessa said, the presence of this newcomer seeming to brighten her.

    “I was wondering…I heard that you inherited your mother’s mandoviol and I was wondering…it wouldn’t happen to be here, would it?” Niamh asked.



    “Come on, everybody into the ballroom,” Nessa ordered, herding the Noble House out of the sitting rooms they had been listlessly occupying.

    “I’ve got something to say,” Niamh said, standing on a chair in the large space. It probably wasn’t the safest perch, but she looked steady enough on it. “I only know a few of you, and it’s very kind of you to allow me to be with you in this moment. And I never met the Prime Minister…which I realize doesn’t help my case for standing here so I had better get to it.”

    “Before you do, love, remind me who you are?” Cillian Lynd asked with a smile that, as always for him, bordered on kindness and mockery.

    “My name is Niamh and I’m a friend of Niall and Shenandoah’s from UBSD,” she said. “I’m from about as far as you can be from Salis D’aar and places like this, but even where I grew up we still had wakes—and this is the worst wake I’ve ever been to.”

    “I like her,” Trixie said to Horst with a smile.

    “But this could be the best,” Niamh continued, “because if my town had a place to dance like this, we’d throw the greatest wakes in Bakura’s history. I think the Prime Minister deserves a damn good wake, so Nessa, if you’re ready?”



    Niamh hopped off the chair as Nessa began strumming her mother’s mandoviol to set the beat. Not everyone knew the tune, but it started to work its way through the room. Wherever Lexine’s instrument had been kept, there’d been other instruments on hand too. Niamh and Nessa had grabbed a bundle, including a traditional Kurtzen pipe. Though she was a little rusty, Niamh had learned how to play it in school and tried to recall those early lessons.

    As Niamh found up the melody, toes started to tap. They could feel it, the call to dance, start to spread through the room. It was Vesper who stepped forward from the group first. With the confidence of a Galactic Cup champion and an offensive coordinator she commanded, “Lynds: let’s form some lines.”

    Group dances were part of Bakuran culture. Though the Noble House had been more likely to go to a cotillion instead of a céili, they were the sort of things that you couldn’t grow up Bakuran without knowing. From the elder Dorian to the youngest Miranda, the 11 Lynds began one of the traditional steps that generations had done before them, coming together, weaving in and out, linking arms and twirling, and all manner of synchronized movement.

    “I, for one, am not in the habit of being shown up by anyone from Gesco City, even if they are family,” Regan said, grabbing her husband to pull him into the pattern.

    “Quentin, I don’t know how to do the dance!” Corrie protested as her husband coaxed her out.

    “These things were designed to be done drunk. You’re going to be fine,” he told her.

    Elfie took up one of the other instruments that had been brought along, another mandoviol, having been taught by her mother as well. Unlike Nessa, who strummed with a pick, Elfie used the bow to slide notes out of the instrument.

    “Do you remember the last barn raising we went to?” Eleanor asked her daughter. “It’s not so different.”

    “We’ve figured out far worse,” Grace said before they jumped in.

    The music opened everyone up. The food started disappearing and the drinks started pouring.

    “Cheers,” Verity said, clinking a glass with Fiona. They each downed theirs in one go.

    “I always knew Oisin got a good one with you,” Fiona said, immediately pouring another.

    “Deal me in,” Ronan said, coming over. “Been too long since I had a Bakuran business lunch.” Even if Ronan wasn’t as much a part of the family as he once had been, he still was family and that mattered on a day like today.

    Niall pulled Niamh away from her pipe and into the dance.

    “Thank you,” he said as they twirled.

    “It was nothing,” she replied as she brushed his cheek with the inside of her thumb.

    “No it wasn’t,” Niall said.

    On the periphery of the room, Kerry nudged Austin Vehn with her elbow. “Come on, you’re telling me the Force doesn’t help you be a good dancer?”

    “You know that’s not what it’s for,” Austin said with a rakish smile.

    “It should be,” Kerry retorted. “Addison, you married a cold fish.”

    “No, he married someone with two left feet,” she said with a smile as she raised a glass.

    “Then you won’t mind—” Kerry broke off from what was going to be an invitation to dance as she picked up a sound on the periphery. She turned and clicked her tongue.

    “What?” Austin asked.

    “Just like Beskaryc to crash a family-only event,” Kerry said.

    “Want me to take care of it?” the Jedi inquired.

    “He’s here now,” Kerry said, heading for the balcony, which was settling back down as the jetpack exhaust dissipated. “Might as well get him a drink.”

    The Noble House was smiling again, some even laughing as they collided in good-natured mistakes. Children darted in and out of the pattern with just enough nimbleness to not be tripped over. The movement melted away their sorrow in the parquet-floored ballroom just like it did in the smallest pubs and parlors. They were slowly finding their way back to life after tragedy.

    Declan leaned against a wall, watching, but not without the hint of a smile on his face.

    “I’ve seen you cut a fine step,” May said coming up next to him.

    “It’ll be a while before I can dance again,” Declan admitted. “Ayn was too good a partner.”

    “You know, you provided comfort to me when Sevan died. If you need someone to return the favor…”

    “Not sure how welcome I’d be in your widows club.”

    “Heard about that, did you?” May asked with a little smile.

    “Is it supposed to be a secret?” Niall asked.

    “No. But you would be welcome if you wanted. Or if you just want to talk to me. I’m in town, at least.”

    “Thank you.” Declan paused. “Heck of a way to meet her.”

    “Niamh? She seems like a good one,” May agreed.

    “Ayn would have liked her,” Declan said. It was only because May had known her eldest cousin for so long that she noted the slight hitch in his voice.

    She took his hand in hers. “Yes, she would have.”

    They watched the dance, a memorial of the moment to their fallen Taoiseach.
     
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  16. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    Leave it to the outsider to inject some life into the gathering. :D Niamh is going to fit right in. Also, indeed what a way for her to meet the boyfriend's dad for the first time. Too bad Ayn never met her. I agree with Declan that Ayn would have definitely liked her.
     
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  17. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @Vehn @SWNerd11


    Ministry of State, Salis D’aar, Bakura

    Declan stepped off the lift on the top floor of the Ministry of State with purposeful pace. His posture was erect, his gaze unshrinking, his manner open. It was his first day in back at the office after Ayn’s death and there was much to do.

    “Good day Gaeri,” he said to the first State employee he passed. After 11 years in the post, he knew everyone by name, knew their spouse’s name, their children’s names. “Lots to do today, lots to do.”

    As he headed for his office, a wave of quiet precded him. Beings stood and watched him as he went past in silent tribute to his fallen wife. Many of them had cried when they had heard the news. It wasn’t that they mourned the Prime Minister or were crushed by the national tragedy as much as they wept for Declan, for having to go on living in the face of such loss.

    Declan didn’t seem to notice. Maybe he decided not to acknowledge it and focus on other things. He continued his cheery greetings as he passed them all. He reached his personal secretary, who also rose from his desk. “Blake, good to see you.”

    “Minister—”

    “We have some things to discuss to get back up to speed,” Declan said, not even slowing down, forestalling any teary tributes to Ayn. “Give me two minutes to put my things down and we can get started.”

    Delcan stepped into his office, the door sliding shut automatically behind him. His jaunty step halted halfway across the room.

    Yeoh Gawa was sitting on his couch.

    “What are you doing here?” Declan said, his pleasant manner gone in an instant. He had never liked the deal Ayn was considering, one that would have given the Gawas what they wanted: a Trieste-free executive branch. He was not going to pretend to be friendly with their matriarch.

    “Forgive the intrusion, but I thought it best you heard the news from me,” Yeoh said, keeping her seat.



    Federal Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of Salis D’aar, Salis D’aar, Bakura

    “Go away unless you’ve come to confess to a crime,” Trixie said without looking up from her work, “and it better be a felony with at least a 15-year term.”

    Then attorneys who worked under her were well used to this kind of greeting. They’d adjusted to her sarcasm and even come to find it endearing. Instead of hearing a return greeting from one of them, all Trixie received was a simple, “Ms. Penn.”

    Her head snapped up to discover an unexpected visitor, if not an unknown one. “Deputy Attorney General,” she said. “I hope you’ve come to hand me a new case, preferably one where I get to put a lot of beings in prison.”

    “Not quite. The Attorney General has decided your talents are no longer needed at the Southern District,” the Deputy Attorney General said.

    “Oh?” Trixie tilted her head. “Don’t tell me I’m getting your job.”

    The Ministry of Justice official smirked. “You’ll be getting a new job, but it won’t be anywhere in the federal government.”

    Trixie rose from her desk slowly, her eyes flashing darkly, as if daring her superior to say what they both knew was coming.

    “The Attorney General has seen fit to relieve you of your responsibilities as Federal Attorney for the Southern District, Ms. Penn,” the Deputy Attorney General said. “Pack your things.”

    “You will regret this day,” Trixie threatened. Perhaps she promised. You never knew with Trixie.

    “I really doubt it. Enjoy private practice.”

    Trixie was left alone in her now-former office. With a noise of rage, she swept everything off her desk. She looked at the mess on the floor and made her decision. She was going to take all the office supplies she could carry with her.



    Ministry of Defense, Salis D’aar, Bakura

    “I didn’t think our initial meeting would be so prompt,” Fiona said, rising to greet the new prime minister’s chief of staff. Holly Remizan had resigned from that post when the new prime minister had been sworn in. He’d brought his own executive staff from the Senate and they were rapidly learning on the job. “However, I’m glad that we’re getting to things so quickly. There are several situations you and the prime minister should be aware of, beginning with our tracking of the Centrality situation. While a long way from Bakura, it’s created instability in the Outer Rim that could reach here before long.”

    “I assume your deputies are briefed on all major areas of concern?” the chief of staff asked.

    “Of course, but I’ll give you the high points,” Fiona assured him.

    “That won’t be necessary,” the chief of staff said. “I’m not here for a briefing. I’ll cut to the chase: the prime minister would like your resignation.”

    Fiona’s bearing became still as she looked at her visitor. She said nothing for a moment and then walked silently to her desk. She pulled out a sheet of flimsi, scribbled a single sentence, and signed it with an admiral’s scrawl before sliding it across the durasteel desk towards the chief of staff. It was her requested letter of resignation, brief and to the point. She turned around and took a piece of carbon-scored metal from a shelf.

    “This was part of the starfighter body that took my leg,” Fiona explained. She weighed it in her hand. The chief of staff wondered if she was going to hurl it at him. The former minister of defense looked up at him. “I’ll take this with me. Everything else can be sent after me.”

    “Of course,” the chief of staff said.

    “One more thing,” Fiona said as she stepped out from behind her desk. “Frak you and frak the PM.” She delivered the epithets evenly, but the malice behind the words was as real as if she’d shouted them. In retrospect, the chief of staff might have preferred it if she had.

    Fiona Westenra walked out of her office without another thought or a backward glance.



    “At this point, you’re probably the last one left,” Yeoh Gawa said, looking at her chrono.

    “And how much did you have to pay our new prime minister to have the pleasure of delivering me the news?” Declan asked sarcastically.

    “He was glad to have an extra pair of hands on a busy morning,” Yeoh replied, “and I wanted to serve my planet.”

    “You must have him so deep in your pocket that he can’t see daylight anymore.”

    “Our views on the right direction for Bakura are similar. He looks forward to a constructive working relationship with the private sector.”

    The minister of state frowned, signaling his displeasure at this new alliance. “Please inform the prime minister he’ll have to fire me,” Declan said, finally moving behind his desk. “It’s not going to go over well, sacking me so soon after Ayn’s death. It’s a public relations nightmare that he doesn’t need as he's trying to find his footing, but if that’s the way he wants to play it, he can.”

    “You’re right, which is why it will be much easier when Bakura hears that you simply could not carry on in the wake of your wife’s untimely death and are resigning your post voluntarily,” Yeoh said calmly.

    Declan actually laughed. “I won’t make it that easy for you,” he said, his mouth twisting into a smirk.

    “If you force the prime minister’s hand, you will also force mine.”

    “Oh, please, enlighten me how you’re going to bring your great financial resources to bear against me and my House,” Declan continued sarcastically.

    “Actually, I won’t have to spend a centicred,” Yeoh said. “I’ll call one media briefing and invite all the newspapers, all the channels, anyone really, who cares to show up. When they arrive, I’ll tell them all about how you and Ayn came to me and asked me to funnel millions of credits from all my boardroom friends into your campaigns and party coffers. I’ll let them know exactly how I did it, and that it was all completely legal. I’ll even give them the financial statements so they can confirm it. And once they have that, they’re all going to remember that story Garner Lekworth brought them, the one my friends at the Chronicle told me they’d rejected as baseless. They won’t put his name on it, of course, that would be too damaging. But they’ll do the digging he urged them to do in the first place. Now, I don’t know if everything he claimed was true…but I’ve dealt with your family enough to figure that he was probably more right than he was wrong.

    “And when these stories come out, your wife’s prime ministry won’t be some shining progressive triumph. It’ll be a house of bones, built on malfeasance and deceit. She’ll go from being a martyr to a demagogue who cared little for the institutions of this planet. In fact, the Senate might rush to repeal some of her signature efforts in an attempt to help the planet forget they passed the legislation in the first place. I’m thinking BakIncome will be the first on the chopping block. The tax cuts we could make from that alone would put a lot of credits in Bakurans’ pockets.

    “Obviously, there will be some hard questions asked of you when this all comes out,” Yeoh said casually, as if pointing out that he’d need to get blue milk when he went to the store, “some of which might come before Senate committees. Perhaps we’ll even see the Marshals bring you in.” She shrugged. “Whatever it takes to restore citizens’ confidence in our system.

    “Now, things will be a little rough for me and my family, but thankfully we’ve adhered to the letter, if not the spirit, of election finance laws. It will pass soon enough, much sooner than for you. The one thing you and your wife never figured out was that if our arrangement came out, it was going to hurt you much more than it would ever hurt me. Frankly, I’ve never cared if people knew about it.”

    Yeoh stood and walked to Declan’s desk. “Now, there is one way we can avoid this nasty situation.” She placed a letter of resignation on his desk. “You’ll resign for exactly the public reasons I’ve already outlined, which are helpfully enumerated here, and you will never seek political office through Fianna Fail again. Your career will be over, but your wife’s legacy will be spared. And I’m sure that’s more important to you than anything that might happen to you now.”

    Declan crumpled into his chair without a word. He had laid enough traps in his days to know when he was caught in one. His mind had gone through all the permutations and scenarios and they all came out in one of two ways: the ruin of Ayn’s name or his acquiescence.

    “I accept your terms,” Declan said softly. He signed the letter of resignation.

    “I’ll bring this to the prime minister. I imagine you’d like to be with your family now,” Yeoh suggested, except it wasn’t speculation. He was being dismissed.

    Declan stood and walked out of the office he’d inhabited for nearly a dozen years, the culmination of his political career, a career that was now over. Before he left, Gawa called him back.

    “Oh, you’ll probably hear it soon enough, but today the Fianna Fail senators voted Phyllida Travers in as the new deputy prime minister,” Gawa said.

    Trieste turned and looked Gawa. “One more thing. Since you’re so pleased with yourself, I’m sure you’ll do me the courtesy of being honest. Were you behind it?”

    “Whatever our disagreements, I had no hand in your wife’s death,” Gawa vowed. “Blood is bad for business.”

    Declan nodded once and then continued his departure. As he walked back the way he’d come only a few minutes before, the staffers were still standing, watching him once more. He was vaguely aware of them as he passed, unable to greet them. He realized now that their silent tribute before had not been for Ayn, but rather for him with the awful foreknowledge of what was about to happen.

    It was pity.

    Declan Trieste stepped into the lift. The doors closed on the place where he had found so much fulfillment as surely as they closed on his career.
     
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  18. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    Oof. And just like that it all comes crumbling down.
     
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  19. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Never wage war on the Triestes. It doesn't end well.
     
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  20. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    @AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @Vehn @SWNerd11 and @jcgoble3 in particular I know has been waiting for this



    Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

    Declan knelt before the freshly turned patch of earth at the foot of the great tree. Its trunk had grown thick since it had welcomed his grandfather’s cremated remains into the ground to nourish its roots. The limbs twisted into the sky, its verdant leaves drained of color today by the overcast gray skies.

    Since Fionn Dunross Trieste had returned to Bakura, this soil had welcomed seven members of the Noble House, providing them with their final resting place. That number included Declan’s father Mihal.

    The ashes of Ayn Dormingale Trieste were the ninth member of the Noble House of Trieste to come to rest here in their ancestral lands.

    Declan Trieste remained on his knees, his eyes unblinking, as if his gaze could pierce the soil and find something of the wife he had lost beneath the loam. He barely heard the footsteps approach behind him.

    “Things have arrived from Empress Teta,” Kerry said. “Ayn’s instructions were as we expected.”

    He made no reply.

    “Declan, it’s time,” Kerry said.

    “The Noble House needs a Taoiseach,” Falene added.

    “Leave me be,” Declan murmured.

    The mother and daughter understood that Declan had lost everything: his career, his future, the love of his life. But they were right.

    “Ayn’s instructions are clear. You are to be the next Taoiseach in the event of her death,” Kerry said. “You need to take the oath.”

    “No,” Declan said. “I want nothing to do with it. All I want is to be left alone.”

    Falene slowly knelt next to her brother. “Declan, if you refuse we’ll have to take it to the next being on Ayn’s list.

    “It’s Vesper.”

    Declan didn’t even react to the news.

    “I’ll give her credit—she didn’t let her personal feelings get in the way of doing what was right for the Noble House,” Kerry said. “If you and she had both gone, Vesper would have been the only one strong enough to pull us through. It’s the right call.

    “But if you let Vesper have this now, the Noble House will be lost to us forever. We will become the Noble House of Lynd. Dorian or Miranda will almost succeed her as Taoiseach. Her vision for this family is not ours. You must accept this mantle. If you don’t, Shenandoah and Niall will never have the opportunity be Taoiseach.”

    For a moment, the ninth and tenth Taoiseachs thought that not even that would move Declan. But then he got to his feet. He looked at his mother with eyes devoid of feeling. She knew that he would do it.

    Kerry who held the family Fulcrum for Declan to place his hand on. As the most recent Taoiseach, it was Falene who recited the oath.

    “Do you, Declan Trieste, swear before your Creator in the presence of Falene Trieste, tenth Taoiseach of the Noble House of Trieste, and Kerry Trieste, ninth Taoiseach of the Noble House of Trieste, to guide the Noble House of Trieste faithfully, to uphold its interests above all else, to further bind the Noble House to Bakura and her interests, to assume all debts and obligations outstanding upon the Noble House, to keep the Triestes as the first house, the Noble House, of Bakura, and to commit any deed necessary to vanquish and destroy any and all enemies of the Noble House of Trieste?”

    “I do so swear before my Creator,” Declan said. Once he had spoke those words swiftly and with enthusiasm. Now he said them with a weariness and lack of emotion.

    Kerry opened the tome to the front cover which contained that list of names he had seen twice before in his life.

    Niall Trieste 5 ABY
    Fionn Trieste 38
    Amergin Trieste 70
    Saraid Trieste 105
    Niall Dunross Trieste 110
    Nevan Trieste 142
    Lennon Trieste 175
    Fionn Dunross Trieste 208
    Kerry Wyvern Trieste 252
    Falene Trieste 276
    Declan Trieste 286
    Ayn Dormingale Trieste 289


    He became the first being to ever sign his name a second time.

    Declan Trieste 299

    Kerry closed the book without a word.

    “Now, as your Taoiseach, leave me alone,” Declan ordered.

    His mother and sister silently withdrew as Declan resumed his position on his knees before the mound of earth. He remained there, motionless, unblinking until long after he heard their shuttle leave.

    Then, and only then, for the first time since Ayn’s death, did Declan begin to cry. He cried and cried until he could no longer hold himself upright. He fell to the earth and sobbed over and over again until he wailed.

    The morning had come when the world was theirs.

    Tomorrow belonged to someone else.
     
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  21. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010
    So it is Declan again. Does this begin Volume 13, or do we return to Volume 11?
     
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  22. Vehn

    Vehn Force Ghost star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    Volume 12.5? No, seriously, amazing stuff. But this, for the first time in all the years I've followed Noble House brings up a very serious problem: succession. What happens if there isn't a Trieste to pass the mantle off toward? I know its highly unlikely but it got me thinking!
     
    Last edited: Nov 2, 2020
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  23. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    Yes, this formally marks the end of Volume 12.
    It will be Volume 13 next. Just as Grover Cleveland is our 22nd and 24th president, so Declan is the 11th and 13th Taoiseach. I hope to get that kicked off soon. Let's just say that a lot of work went into writing the last five or six posts so they could come out in succession. I knew I couldn't leave you readers in suspense for too long! ;)
    We almost came to that point once upon a time! The occupation and later destruction of Bakura in the Neo-Sith War killed all but two members of the Noble House of Trieste. While Fionn Dunross Trieste was the anointed successor of his father, Lennon, had Fionn also died in the occupation his cousin Aine (then serving as Galactic Senator for the Bakura sector) would have inherited as the last Trieste alive.

    But to the heart of the question, the Noble House's assets are legally collected in a trust. The mechanics of that trust give the trustee (the Taoiseach) the sole discretion to assign a new trustee. Ayn's list was a fallback mechanism in the event she died before making that choice. So what happens if that list (which isn't necessarily every Trieste) is exhausted by the legally simultaneous death of everyone on the list? There's some other legal mechanism in the trust...that I may not have thought up yet. :p

    There are dozens of scenarios if all of the trust's mechanisms were exhausted and the courts then determined who should inherit--so many that we could probably fill an entire side thread speculating about different rules of succession. Honestly, that would be fun, but I think you'd all prefer more stories rather than legal speculation in a vacuum. :D
     
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  24. SWNerd11

    SWNerd11 Jedi Knight star 1

    Registered:
    Dec 19, 2017
    Vesper was robbed! But seriously love your writing. Let me know when Vol. 13 goes up!

    Sent from my comlink using Tapatalk
     
  25. jcgoble3

    jcgoble3 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Nov 7, 2010