Beyond - Legends Annals of the Noble House of Trieste: Volume 13 (AU, OC)

It's a shame there isn't some giant upcoming event that naturally pulls the entire family together. That would be convenient, if fortuitous!

 

Hmm... like the annual Noble House Yuletide party?

 

Or perhaps a major galaxy-wide event that gets broadcast to farflung planets?

 

Ah yes, that too. (I was thinking in terms of the Annals, rather than ELL.)

 

The Cup Final is one of the few crossover events that unite them!

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn This one's going to be a two-parter because there's just so much to be done. @Bardan_Jusik I know will want to see some of this.

Mesh’la Vhetin, Keldabe, Mandalore

For the third time in four years the Noble House of Trieste had the privilege of watching the crown jewel of their family assets, the Bakura Miners, compete for the glory of the Galactic Cup of Limmie. This time they had traveled clear across the galaxy to watch their team. The box reserved for the visiting owner was near to bursting with Triestes. Even those who usually didn’t take in Miner games didn’t miss the opportunity to come.

True, it wasn’t a full complement. Some, like Horst Penn and May Hull, had professional obligations with the team that occupied them today. Kerry had only arrived hours before the game. She’d flown in directly from the Sweetner Bowl where as Bak10 Commissioner she’d watched Bakura’s own University of Evenvale be crowned as GCAA champion. On top of that, she was half a stadium away as she was spending the first half with her old friend the Manda’lor. Niall had pointed this out to Niamh and she’d turned her macrobinoculars to the Manda’lor’s box to see the pair were laughing with drinks in hand. No doubt their planned parting at halftime was due to not wanting to strain the friendship over the winner and loser of the game.

They were the few exceptions. Even Sierra Chume and her family had come for the first time in years (under the pretense of a state visit to see the Manda’lor as well), much to the delight of Corrine and Vienna. The Ypres-Eldreds were there too. The Vehns were taking a break from their Centrality problems to enjoy some limmie. These families were letting everyone know that if only the Buccaneers, Blasters, and Smugglers had been in the ELL this season, surely they would be in this game right now. (Vesper, who very much had been in the league with the Monarchs, was pointedly ignoring this counterfactual debate.)

If anyone had pride of place today, it was the Eldreds. Not only was Regan the Chairwoman of the team, but Trixie knew her husband was beaming into homes across the galaxy today through the BBC Sports broadcast of the game. Though Trixie would never admit it, she had just as much investment in today’s game as her mother.

The one exception was Declan. He was nowhere to be seen and it had put Regan in a foul mood in what should be a day to remember.

“The gall,” Regan fumed privately to her husband from their center line seats.

“You made your pitch. He’ll regret it later,” Atticus said. It was less soothing and more truth-telling. “At least he had the sense to make someone who cared Chairwoman.”

“He should care,” Regan said tartly.

“Then he’d be Chairman and your name won’t be on the Cup later today.”

Regan looked at her husband and said nothing for a moment. When she finally spoke, it was to say, “I hate it when you’re right.”

---

May had used her position as team physician to get Elyse, Henrietta, and their children field-level passes for the game. They’d had those privileges occasionally at Bakura Gardens, but she knew that the kids would especially like the experience of being on the turf in a stadium that could supposedly seat every resident of Mandalore. She’d been here many times and she still found it impressive. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her family who had never gotten to experience it.

“Shouldn’t you have something important to do right now?” Elyse asked.

“Like what?” May asked, as if it was the most surprising question her cousin could have asked.

“You’re the team doctor! Don’t you have to make sure everyone’s healthy or something?”

May laughed. “If I was doing that now, I’d be bad at my job. We put everyone through exams days ago with checks after practices for areas we think are problems.”

“Think?” Henrietta said.

“Limmie players are notoriously tough. They could have a limb partially severed and would want to go back on the field. Getting them to be honest about their physical condition is a constant struggle, but the med team watches the games and practices. We know where to look most of the time,” May said. “The good news is that the team’s pretty healthy. We don’t have any Glencross Shoulders out there.”

“What’s a Glencross Shoulder?” Henrietta asked.

“When I was working under Han, he told me that early in her career Alana messed up her shoulder, but kept playing. She probably shoulder rehabbed it, but refused to take the time off. It bugged her to some degree for the rest of her career, all the way up until the end. Her last game, she landed on it—hard. Dislocated it. She had me rotate it back into place in the tunnel. She had to have been in pain for the rest of the game.” May shook her head at the memory. “Plenty of other players have gone out there hurting, driven to play. Thank the Force we don’t have any of them today. It’s a healthy team. The Mercs will have to beat us fair and square.”

“That’s it. Elon’s never playing limmie. I don’t care if Enoch did. Not happening,” Elyse vowed.

“That’s right—Enoch played at Fleet Academy,” Henrietta said, suddenly remembering. “I’d almost forgotten about that!”

“Speaking of forgetting, anything you’ve been forgetting to tell us about?” Elyse asked May.

“What do you mean?” May asked, though the corner of her mouth was starting to tick up.

“It’s written all over your face,” Elyse kidded in a reference so thinly veiled it had to be purposefully bad.

“I had a feeling you’d ask,” May said.

“I thought the scars meant a lot to you. I was surprised when I heard you’d gotten rid of them,” Elyse said, no longer joking.

May looked away and out at the pristine field of grass for a moment before she looked back at her two closest friends in the galaxy. “They did. There was a lot wrapped up in them, things with my dad…” Her voice trailed off as she searched for words to express her feelings. “After Ayn died, I thought about Shenandoah and Niall, about how they’ll never have Ayn again. Something changed. I was on Nar Shaddaa when I heard, where there was so much suffering. And all that I could think about was Alynn. Even though it’s been just us for a while…I suddenly realized I wasn’t acting like it. Running off to a city in siege when I had a daughter of my own who needed me…

“And while I’d always thought of my scars as a sign of my dad’s love for me, I think they were keeping me in the past. I was focusing on a relationship that was over, one where I’d been a child, and not thinking about the one I had now where I was a parent. It’s not like there’s no longer any proof that he loved me, it’s just that it lives inside me now, something that will fuel the relationship I still have, that I treasure most.

“Does any of that make sense?” May asked.

“It’s beautiful, May,” Henrietta, putting a hand on May’s arm.

“Doesn’t make a whit of sense to me,” Elyse said, “but that’s mainly because you looked awesome with those scars and I can’t see why anyone would get rid of them to be normal.”

“You would, wouldn’t you?” May laughed. “Maybe we’ll have to rough you up in the family game next time. Get you a good gash to prove you’re tough.”

“Oooooh yeah,” Elyse cooed. “A nice mean one. No one will ever cut me at the grocery then.”

May shook her head with a smile. She loved these women.

 

I agree with May. Holding on to the past is never good.

And Declan... needs to snap out of his funk. Yes, everyone grieves in their own way, but there are still certain obligations that need to be fulfilled.

EDIT: I see now from the ELL post that

Spoiler

Declan did show up by the end of the game. I look forward to seeing his arrival.

 

I thought someone might notice that. All will be explained in the next post!

 

A truly emotional ride. Fits perfectly to this gloomy autumn weather in my part of the world. Plus November being the month of remembering the dead. Thanks for posting this!

I cannot be frequent online, but each time I am, I try to make sure to read this epos.

Wait, there is no trying...

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn Part 2 of the Galactic Cup Final!

​

Mesh’la Vhetin, Keldabe, Mandalore

The game was a virtuoso performance by the Miners. Against one of the best offenses in the league, the Miners outpowered and outscored them. It was the kind of game that entered into lore. When victory was assured, general manager Shay Dionne felt a gentle touch on her shoulder, courtesy of her guest. It was the first time he’d betrayed his presence all game long, having remained silent through every setback and point scored.

“Thank you,” Declan Trieste said softly.

He had asked the general manager if he could share her box today. It didn’t have as good a view of the field as the one his family was in, but he knew that Dionne would understand that he didn’t want to be with them—that he didn’t have it in him. He just wanted to watch the game.

“Any time,” Shay said, standing and clasping Declan’s hand.

They both knew they had somewhere to be now.

---

Down on the field, with confetti raining down, the Noble House gloried in their ninth Galactic Cup championship as owners of the Miners. May hugged Elyse and Henrietta as their kids ran around the field. Ginny kissed Rickard. Trixie and Quill made confetti angels. Kerry let the cork on a bottle of champagne fly so she could pour some for those closest to her. Niall held Niamh’s hand as she took in an experience beyond her wildest dreaming. Shenandoah looked up into the lights and smiled.

It was from Shay that Declan received the Galactic Cup for that most celebratory gesture: the lifting of limmie’s holy grail above his head. He had raised it before, but it felt heavier than he remembered. He remembered lifting it with Ayn, her smile, the one that said she knew how much this meant to him, how much he loved the Miners.

How he got the Galactic Cup over his head Declan would never remember, but he would never forget the tears that trailed down his cheeks in that moment. “For you, Ayn,” he whispered, words no one could hear over the celebratory commotion of the stadium.

He went to pass the Cup to Regan and the pair of them held it between them for a moment. “She would be proud of you,” Regan told her nephew. Declan said nothing, simply nodding and releasing his hold so she could take the trophy.

It took considerably less effort for Regan to hoist the Cup, the picture of confidence and satisfaction. It embodied her sudden and unexpected surge to the forefront of the political figures of the Noble House. No one stood with surer footing than her. Bakura knew who held the reins now—and she still had 16 years left on her terms on the Court.

Her serene pleasure turned into surprise, and then a smile, when her son in-law, Horst Penn, took the Cup from her. He had no affiliation with the team as a sideline broadcaster for BBC Sports and no claim to such a hallowed act, but no one was willing to get in the way of his unbridled joy. It was hard to be angry with Horst when he was like that.

“Everybody!” Horst shouted to his in-laws. “Get in here!”

The Noble House rushed over to surround him as he held the Cup above his head. They reached up to take hold of some small bit, even if they could only brush their fingertips against its etched surface. They pressed together, united not in mourning as they had been weeks earlier, but in celebration. Parents held their children up so they could be part of this celebration. They were a family in good times. They’d been through enough to know to enjoy these moments while they had them.

And somehow, even though they knew it couldn’t be true, they felt one more hand supporting the weight of the trophy with them. Together like this, she was still with them.

 

So Declan was in another box. It does make sense that he wouldn't want to be with the family, given his recent loss. The raising of the Cup is definitely a touching moment. Hopefully it helps Declan come out of his funk and begin running the Noble House again.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn

Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

“You are the last being I would have expected to find this kind of life appealing,” Holly Remizan said, leaning against the railing of the large veranda that faced onto the fields adjoining the house.

“It’s the worst kind of life there is,” Declan said, holding tea in one hand as he joined her in pose, “except for all the others.”

Holly gave a short laugh despite herself and looked into her caf for a moment. “Well, I can’t argue with you on that.” She took a sip. “So you have a plan?”

“No,” Declan said, looking out at the fields. A cool wind was blowing today, running across his face. The days were getting shorter, the days grayer. He could smell rain in the air, even if it hadn’t arrived yet. It felt like it was raining more recently.

Holly arched an eyebrow. “You’ve been out here for months and you haven’t figured out a way to run those frakkers through with a lightsaber? What’s up?”

“I’m out,” Declan said.

“There’s a window—”

“I’m out,” Declan repeated, more firmly this time. His tone foreclosed further discussion.

“So then why am I here?” Holly asked. It was a genuine question, not a hostile one. For once she was unable to anticipate her employer’s moves. It unsettled her to not see the play.

“You’re very good at what you do, Holly,” Declan said. “Too good to be wasted on someone who’s no longer in the game. I’ve got a list of senators and governors I’d make an introduction to. They already know who you are. None of them are beholden to Travers or Gawa. Some of them will probably run for prime minister in four years, if not all of them. Even if the PM gets reelected, they’ll primary him. You could put any of them over the top.”

“It should be you. Even if not this time, you’d still be in a strong enough position next time,” Holly said. “It’s what Ayn would have wanted.”

Declan closed his eyes. “Ayn doesn’t know what I know. The cost of running this time would be too high.”

“You’re in your prime, Declan,” Holly argued. “You could have another 50 years in government if you wanted them.”

“Just think about it,” Declan said, straightening as if that would end the conversation. “Come back to me with your answer when you have one.”

He turned to go into the house, but Holly halted him. “What do they have on you?” He half-turned to look at her. “That’s the only explanation. You were never one to give up the fight. Not when Madsen tried to siderail you in the Senate, not when you lost the nomination, not when Drave was surging against you.”

“Think about it,” Declan repeated.

“We can beat them,” Holly tried again. “They think they’ve found your weakness? We’ll find theirs and blow them open like a Death Star.”

Declan went into the house without replying. Eventually Holly realized he wasn’t coming back out and left. She didn’t back losers, and she was sure Declan Trieste wasn’t a loser. She just needed him to realize it.

From inside the house, Declan watched her go. Though he wouldn’t let on, he had her thinking. Despite every desire in his heart, his brain was beginning to work things through. What had it come down to in the end? The money.

“Damn it,” Declan muttered. Much to his chagrin, he had a new project now.

 

It always comes down to money.

Sent from my comlink using Tapatalk

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn

​

Inniskee, Carlowe, Bakura

Niall didn’t know people lived like this.

That was the kind of phrase that rich beings used when they were faced with the squalor of poverty in the slums, of families subsisting on far too few credits to provide much of a future, let alone hope. Niall had seen that life and it had convinced him that what his parents were doing to create an equitable Bakura was the right thing to do.

What he didn’t know, until now, was how regular Bakurans lived. Every moment he’d spent in Niamh’s hometown was a revelation. The coastal hamlet felt like it had less buildings in it than the number of pubs in Salis D’aar Niall had been in. Niamh didn’t know everyone—but she knew far more beings in this small town than Niall could honestly say he did on all of Bakura. Sure, he’d met lots of politicians, diplomats, and Marian Sqaure staffers, but he didn’t really know most of them. Their families and interests were not the sort of thing they discussed with the son of the prime minister. Niamh, on the other hand, remembered siblings and parents and parties they’d both been at long ago while they all asked how she was getting on at UBSD and how her parents were.

She introduced him only as Niall and he was nothing to these people other than a schoolmate (though their smiles indicated they had a feeling he was more than that to Niamh). Dinners were at home with Niamh’s parents and after that it was just a choice of which of the two pubs in Inniskee they were going to go to. That was the extent of the nightlife available to them.

During the day they walked the town, the shore, the lanes between fields, and anywhere else that took their fancy. They were often caught in the rain, but they dressed for it. One day, Niamh arranged for them to go out on a boat to experience the ocean. Niall had been on his family’s yacht, but on that stalwart craft you could barely feel the ocean. By contrast, every wave moved this boat. Niamh had also neglected to tell Niall the price of their passage was helping bring in the catch, for she’d taken him out on a working boat. Hauling in fish, which was destined for restaurants and markets in town and not much further, gave him a surprising sense of fulfillment.

Eventually, Niamh confessed to her old high school friends what Niall’s last name was and they grilled him in a corner booth at the pub about the glamorous life of the Noble House: living in the State Apartments, what it was like to win the Galactic Cup, and about all the famous beings he met. Soon enough they’d made all the queries they could think of and they were back to talking about holo dramas, things they’d read, who they were seeing, and what they’d read on HoloNet.

One afternoon they sat on the seawall by the harbor, their legs hanging over the edge. They’d picked up beer from a liquor store and were drinking from bottles wrapped in brown flimsi bags, watching the sky begin to turn golden. Eventually Niall couldn’t take it anymore.

“OK, it’s been killing me,” he blurted.

Niamh turned with eyebrows raised. “What?” she asked with some concern.

“Why the bags?” he asked, holding up his beer.

She laughed. “That’s how we used to drink it in high school when we’d come out here.”

“Hold on—are you telling me you were flaunting the legal drinking age?” Niall asked, his mouth curling into a smile.

“I’m not saying anything of the sort,” Niamh defended. “I happen to have gone to dinner with the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I have the utmost respect for the law.”

“Yeah yeah yeah.”

“But I don’t know if you’ve heard this, Mr. Marian Square, but the consensus is that on Bakura the drinking age is just a suggestion,” she continued.

“There it is,” Niall said. “I knew it.”

“It’ll never stick in court, garda!” Niamh shouted.

They laughed and she leaned against him, looking out at the sea.

“But seriously, is there some kind of open container law here?” Niall asked.

Niamh rolled her eyes. “I guess you can take the boy out of Salis D’aar, but you can’t take Salis D’aar out of the boy. ‘Open container law.’ Could you sound any posher if you tried?”

“Says the woman who just namedropped the Chief Justice.”

“To answer your question, counselor,” she teased, “no, there isn’t.” She paused as she took a deep breath in and out. “I just wanted to share it with you. This feels like the last thing I did before I left for UBSD, before…” Niall didn’t try to supply words to describe whatever she was thinking and waited. “…before I met you and my life changed.”

Niall thought and then asked a question he wasn’t sure he should ask. “Do you miss that Niamh?”

“No. I feel sorry for her,” Niamh said, “because she doesn’t know that she’s going to meet a jerk from the library who’s going to change her life.” She kissed his shoulder.

He didn’t know what to say for a long while. The sun was lower in the sky when he finally found the words.

“Thank you for bringing me here. For sharing your home with me,” Niall said.

“I was nervous when I asked, you know,” Niamh confessed.

“You shouldn’t have been. I think…I needed this. I don’t think I realized how much until now. All of a sudden I’m scared what I might have ended up like without this, after my mom…”

The words came in starts and fits after that. Niamh listened to everything he had to say. The truth was she couldn’t hold all the emotions he poured out. That was what the sea was for, a vast reservoir for feelings that might otherwise destroy beings great and small. It had once taken her youthful hopes and pains and now it took his.

 

I am glad to read that Declan has a new project and that Niall gets a new perspective on life. Great read, as usual!

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn

Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

Declan stepped out into the cold afternoon. He was surprised the landscape hadn’t frosted yet. It would soon enough.

The chill in the air felt good. It was bracing. He’d been sequestered in the Taoiseach’s Study for days now. He’d ordered the droids that no one was to enter, not even them, for any reason. What he was working on wasn’t for anyone to see. It would take him as long as it needed to take, but he’d do it alone all the same. He had the time and he sure as Korriban had the motivation.

Though stepping outside was mainly so he could rest his eyes after hours of reading and work, the truth was that he enjoyed looking at the empty and still fields. It was the lack of other life that he enjoyed. He’d spent his life surrounded by aides, supplicants, and power brokers. The open vista made him feel their absence more than at any other time. Delcan would stand, leaning against the rail of the veranda for so long that he would stop actually registering the world around him. His eyes would take in the world, but his mind would wander beyond the here and now. Even in the cold he could stand there until the evening fell.

This was one of those times. He was about to stir to go back inside when he realized he was no longer alone. A stag had wandered into the field, far enough from the house to be safe, but near enough that Declan could make out its face. Just as Declan became conscious of its presence, so it stopped and turned its head and its pointed rack towards him.

Neither moved for longer than Declan could count. It was as if they were in a contest with each other, to see who would hold the longest. Both had nothing but time, after all.

The stag was the animal on the Noble House family crest. Part of Declan thought his heart should thrill at its appearance or read portents into it coming at this moment. Nothing like that passed through his being, but he wasn’t entirely without feeling. It was more like a connection, one in which they both enjoyed the stillness and quiet of the land. They were only passing through the lives of each other, never to know the end of the stories that had fortuitously crossed in this moment.

In the end it was the stag who moved on first, walking without concern or hurry into the forest, disappearing almost instantly after reaching the tree line. Only then did Declan rouse himself and return to the house. For once he had more on his mind than when he’d stepped outside.

---

​

Hapes

The funeral of Ayn Trieste had made the Queen Mother pensive on the return flight to the Consortium. She spoke little, as if the space behind her veil constituted a separate world that others could not penetrate instead of a symbolic separation of the divine from the mundane. She seemed different than when she meditated affairs of state and her family knew better than to pry.

They didn’t have to wait long to learn what was on her mind. Mere days after their return she announced a decision and preparations began. Today the Queen Mother’s will was made reality.

Corrine stood alone, save for the two chume’doro who flanked the large doors leading to the great hall of the palace. She had been trained from birth for how to conduct herself at formal occasions, but her preparation felt woefully inadequate for this moment. She knew her part, what was expected of her, and how to hold herself, but that didn’t stop the flutter in her stomach.

Everything would be different in just a few short minutes.

The doors swung open slowly before her, moved by unseen mechanisms, revealing the glittering space beyond. It was filled with the most prominent nobles of the Hapes Consortium, all of whom had turned their heads to look at her. The only space they did not occupy was the long, straight carpet of gold that bisected the room, flanked by more chume’doro. The protection was purely ceremonial, for none would dare to step out of line here. Even by the cutthroat rules of Consortium politics and plots some things were not done.

Her heart pounding, but her step deceptively even, Corrine began gliding down the carpet, her eyes fixed forward as everyone else’s were on her. The further she walked, the higher the rank grew. By the time she reached the end of the carpet, her father and brother were just behind her, one over each shoulder.

As Corrine continued walking she was alone, the rest of the nobility now feet behind her. She halted halfway to the platform on which her mother and the throne sat. The vertical height was an easy step, but even that was an Olympian height in the politics of the Hapes Consortium. Corrine tilted her head up just slightly to look into Sierra’s eyes. The hall was absolutely still.

“Come, Corrine,” the Queen Mother instructed in the words of tradition before she rose from the throne.

The daughter stepped forward so she was at the foot of the platform, where her mother now stood. Corrine then turned so she faced the hall and the upturned faces of the Hapan elite.

Sierra placed her right hand on Corrine’s shoulder. “My fellow Hapans, this is my daughter, with whom I am well pleased,” Sierra Chume declared. “She, Corrine Westenra Iseult, of the House of Trieste, chume’da.”

Until this moment, Sierra had only been the presumptive heir to the throne of the Consortium, her claim resting on birth and her female sex. Now she was heir apparent, named as such by the Queen Mother, her title confirmed by royal fiat. In reflecting on Ayn Trieste’s death, Sierra had decided that succession plans for herself must be made formal. Bakura might have the orderly transition that a democracy afforded with its constitutional mechanisms. As Sierra had learned when Irsine Chume had died, not even being chume’da was a guarantee of ascension—but it certainly helped.

The great body of nobles, including her father and brother, fell to one knee and bowed their heads as one. So they would for the rest of Corrine’s life. Never again would she bend her knee, save for to Sierra Chume herself. Corrine looked out at the sea of heads, realizing for the first time that they would one day be her subjects. Some, if not many, of them would likely scheme and intrigue against her, but they would do so from weakness. She would stand in a position of strength from now forward.

As her gaze roved across the room, she looked for one head, all the way at the back. As she had hoped, that head did not remain bowed for long. Vienna Harlow was a democratic Bakuran through and through and couldn’t resist sneaking a look at her second cousin with a grin. Despite the solemnity of the occasion and the expectations now attached to her life, Corrine returned the smile. That shared look was worth more to her than the fealty of every bowed head in the hall.

 

Great update, first giving us a winter feeling and then the delicate politics of Hapan. Thank you!

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn

​

Hapes

“Hey princess,” Vienna called with a smile one part mockery, one part affection. “I can call you that for real now, right?”

“You know I could tell the chume’doro to make you disappear and they would. They can’t argue with me anymore,” Corrine replied, seemingly serious. They both know she wasn’t. “Aunt Regan can’t send the Bakuran Marshals after you like Aunt Ayn or Uncle Declan could.”

“My dad’s a Marine,” Vienna pointed out.

“My dad’s a general.”

“A pretty boy general who’s never seen the front.”

They couldn’t sustain it any longer and both fell to laughing. Though there’d been a formal reception after Corrine’s investiture at which she’d received the nobility and accepted their obeisance, the 17-year-old had insisted that she get to hold a private event for the young nobles of the Consortium and other guests of her choice. Sierra had acquiesced, but repeated familiar warnings about the ramifications of the heir to the throne’s social decisions and associations.

Accordingly, Corrine had planned an absolute rager.

In true chume’da fashion she’d commandeered a decently-sized ballroom of the palace for her event. As Corrine had begun outlining her desires, the palace staff detailed to execute her vision all began thinking the same thing. It wasn’t until Corrine finished that one of them spoke up.

“So you basically want prom,” she said.

“I want royal prom,” Corrine confirmed.

That was why the usually brilliant gilding of the ballroom was muted underneath a general darkness, the only hue courtesy of roving colored lights. There were no stately waltzes taking place, but instead the pounding bass of a live band playing their popular hits (when one was the chume’da you didn’t get a DJ or cover band for your prom—you got the actual band). The palace kitchens had been turned from producing its usual gourmet meals to spicy finger foods that could be gobbled between songs. The only difference between this and a regular high school prom was the stern chume’doro minding the punch bowl. Woe unto the misguided teen who thought they could spike the refreshments tonight.

“Don’t tell me,” Corrine shouted to her best friend over the music, “you’ve never been to a dance before, right?”

“Shows what you know! Thanks to you I have friends now and we went to the last one they had at school together,” Vienna yelled back even though there were a foot a part.

“Vienna Harlowe? With friends? The galaxy truly is a better place!”

“OK, so maybe they’re more like acquaintances, but I still like them.”

“No, they’re definitely friends! Just not as good a friend as I am to you.”

“Well, none of them are a Hapan royal or my cousin, so the deck’s stacked in your favor,” Vienna pointed out.

“That’s not why I’m your best friend! No, I’m going to prove what a good friend I am to you by giving you your pick of all the boys here tonight!” Corrine said, throwing an arm around Vienna and gesturing to the room with a sweep of her arm.

“You’re setting me up with someone?” Vienna asked, suddenly nervous.

“Of course not. But you’ve been talking to me for the last five minutes, which means that everyone’s been watching us and is desperately trying to figure out who you are. The nobles know each other at sight—it’s drilled into them—so you’re really throwing a spanner in things. On top of that, anyone who the new chume’da talks to just has to be important and interesting. They’re all going to be falling all over themselves to meet you now. Don’t worry—the worst that’s going to happen is handsome boys are going to throw themselves awkwardly in your path. Just remember that unlike that backwater world you’re from, women get to choose here. If I were you, I’d dance with all of them,” Corrine advised, her voice laden with suggestion. Before Vienna could reply, Corrine scampered off with a mischievous look, probably to find her own dance partner.

Vienna turned and realized that nearly every being she could see, some still dancing and grooving, others nursing flutes of punch, were looking at her. It was almost something out of a bad dream…except she wasn’t scared. They weren’t looking at her because she was standing out like a sore thumb, which was what she would have thought a year ago. Their gazes were full of envy…and desire.

Before she knew what she was doing Vienna looked at one of the young noblemen. She ordinarily would have flinched at the eye contact, but instead she crooked a finger twice at him. Like a droid with a restraining bolt he obeyed. Vienna almost couldn’t believe it.

“Hi,” he said when he was close enough to be heard over the music. “What’s your name?”

“That’s completely irrelevant,” Vienna said. It had sounded like a good line in her head, even if she didn’t know where it came from. Maybe it was born of the semi-darkness, loud music, and teenage hormones as thick as fog. “The only thing that’s important is how good of a dancer you are.”

“I’m pretty good.”

Vienna took his arm and pulled him along. “Let’s see about that.”

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn

​

Kilmainham Brook, Prytis, Bakura

The snow that Declan had been expecting hadn’t materialized. Instead they were experiencing an unseasonably warm spell. One could almost think that winter wasn’t around the corner. Even the birds seemed to be fooled. Their songs traveled across the field before disappearing into the trees, destined for ears other than those of Humans.

Declan knew it wouldn’t last. Once he would have viewed a day like this as a rare treat, something to be enjoyed before the rain and clouds returned. He probably would have walked to the Ministry of State from Marian Square, much to the annoyance of his protection detail. Perhaps he would have eaten dinner outside with Ayn, dragging her away from the affairs of state to seize the moment.

Now he sat with a bottle of whiskey and a glass on the steps from the ground to the veranda. The glass was merely a formality. He poured as much as he wanted into it whenever he wanted. He already knew this would be the end of any work he’d do that day. There was no point to trying to work on a day like this. He was like millions of other Bakurans in that regard.

The only difference was they were enjoying the day.

Declan found no pleasure in today’s break in the weather. He simply roiled with anger. How dare the planet gift them with a lovely day. There was nothing to enjoy in this galaxy. His wife was dead. Murdered. The sun shouldn’t just hide itself today; it should never shine again. No one should be able to go about their lives—let alone smile—after such a tragedy.

The worst part of it was that they would. Only Declan knew that the world had ended as surely as if the Death Star had fired upon it. Until the rest of the galaxy realized it, he could only sit here and drink. As Declan poured more liquor out into the glass, he supposed he could be patient and wait for them to come to their senses.

As it was, he had nothing but time.

---

Salis D’aar, Bakura

“What have I done to deserve disruption of our usual annual ritual?” Nessa Trieste asked as she gave Dorian Lynd a brief hug before they took their seats at a Zeltronian restaurant near her flat. “It’s usually just Truce Day and Galactic Cup Finals that you drag yourself to and that’s it.”

“Don’t forget the family game,” Dorian said with a smirk. “Not that the kids do anything but give us a few pity passes these days.”

“You should remind that grandson of yours that he got his moves through your side of the family,” Nessa said with a smile. “Congratulations about that. If it wasn’t for the Monarchs playing Truce Day I don’t think I’d be seeing much of you this year.”

“Yeah, I’m going to wind up in Ryell a lot. Won’t have much argument against it, what with a daughter and a grandson there,” Dorian admitted. Not only was Vesper the new head coach of the Monarchs, but her son (also named Dorian) had been taken by the Monarchs in the draft out of the Bakura Fleet Academy. “Honestly, I think Vesper talked the team into it as one last laugh against Dorian. She was as mad as Korriban when he went to Fleet Academy.”

“She afraid he’ll get shot in the service?” Nessa asked with parental concern.

“Please,” Dorian scoffed. “No, she was just mad he went to UBCS’s rival when he got recruited. Imagine if he’d been on the Blue Birds these last two years. Probably would have gone first overall under Alana with the way she turned that team around. Still, he won the Bak10 his freshman year.”

“Well clearly you’re a proud grandpa,” Nessa said with a knowing smile.

“I’m surprised you haven’t been crowing over Lex’s latest successes and achievements,” Dorian said, bringing up Nessa’s only grandchild.

“I mean it wouldn’t be a fair fight,” Nessa said as the server brought her a drink. “Thank you.”

“True,” Dorian allowed.

“Lex is so much more impressive than any of your grandkids,” Nessa said a smile playing on her lips.

Dorian couldn’t resist laughing a bit at that. “Oh Nessa. This is why I feel like we don’t see each other enough.”

“And who’s fault is that? I’m the one on a teacher’s salary, not the one with a thriving medical practice,” Nessa pointed out.

Dorian looked away for a second before looking back. “Would you like it if I came to Salis D’aar more?”

“Where’s this coming from? Is something up?” Nessa asked, her brow furrowing.

“Something terrible happened recently,” Dorian said slowly, looking down at the table.

“What?”

“I woke up last week and realized that the day before I hadn’t thought about Siona. Not once. I sat down on the bed in shock. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Hey, it’s OK. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I know those feelings,” Nessa said. “It feels like you’ve betrayed them at first. I won’t say it gets better because it still hits me sometimes. It happens with Conn. You’re not a bad person. You’re just still alive.” Dorian’s left hand was on the table and she reached for it.

“I realized I didn’t think about her because I was thinking about you.” Dorian’s eyes came up and locked with Nessa’s. Her hand froze centimeters away from touching his. Nessa’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out.

“You’ve been the only thing that’s gotten me through this,” Dorian continued, still looking Nessa in the eyes, his gaze steady.

Nessa drew her hand back. “Dorian, I…I get it. I’ve felt the loneliness. It’s been 30 years. How could I not?”

“And it’s been 10 for me,” Dorian said. He hadn’t blinked yet. “And I’m a fool for not realizing it sooner.”

“I…I need to go,” Nessa said, rising. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Dorian said, half rising from his chair.

“I’ll see you at Truce Day,” Nessa said hurriedly before walking away.

Dorian slumped back into his chair. He put his head in his hands and let the air out of his lungs. Somehow, that had gone exactly as he’d expected.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn

​

Hapes

Vienna awoke on the softest surface she’d ever known. She returned to consciousness by degrees, the tactile first, followed by the next closely related sense, smell. She wasn’t sure exactly what smelled. Some combination of floral fragrance followed by…what was that? Vienna didn’t know.

She stretched and realized that her tongue felt fuzzy, thicker than usual. Light began to creep underneath her eyelids. Very bright light. Too bright. And then she heard it, a sound so light that she was surprised she picked it up. The gentle padding of feet on thick carpet.

The Bakuran cracked her eyes open to discover a pair of legs, her gaze hitting somewhere around the knees.

“Breakfast, madam?”

With difficulty, Vienna opened her eyes all the way and realized she was viewing the world perpendicularly. That was when she realized she was laying on a couch in a gallery filled with art in some wing of the palace that she couldn’t remember if she’d seen before. The legs belonged to a footman, offering a tray of eggs and juice.

“With the compliments of the chume’da,” he elaborated.

“Thank you yes please,” Vienna said, still not fully awake. The footman placed the tray on the couch—it really was the best couch she’d ever been on, let alone slept on—and left Vienna to it. She was still in her party dress from Corrine’s party, most of which was coming back to her. She wasn’t sure if it was all coming back to her…but she was pretty sure she wasn’t missing anything too important. Except maybe why she fell asleep on a couch. A really, really nice couch.

Vienna pushed herself into an upright position (though not all at once—it was hard work) and tried the toast first. It seemed like the right move.

“Sithspit, is this what food is supposed to taste like?” Vienna mumbled. It tasted incredible. She’d eaten at Marian Square and this beat that by a mile. And she was only eating the toast.

She heard a creak and instinctively turned her head to look at it. Corrine was creeping out of a room backwards, closing the giant, antique door behind her with one hand, heels in the other. She shut the door with as much gentleness as possible, but it still contacted with a thick thud. Before Vienna could greet her cousin, the chume’da held a finger to her lips and scurried across the carpet. Corrine picked up the tray of breakfast with one hand, put her shoes on them, and took Vienna by the other.

“I promised Mummy we’d get you out of her before anyone thought to ask too many questions,” Corrine explained in hushed tones. “I can get away with a lot, but if they found out who you are, they’d start thinking I was a democrat. They still don’t trust Mummy on that point.”

“Clearly you can get away with plenty,” Vienna whispered, jerking her head towards the room Corrine had exited. She snatched some eggs off the platter with a fork. Sithspit, what kind of eggs were these? It was like a rainbow and a chicken produced them.

Corrine rolled her eyes. “That just keeps them guessing. Besides, he’s—you know.” She gave her eyebrows one quick pump up and back down. Vienna knew what Corrine was talking about. Though no one in the Consortium had a problem with women loving women (some even felt it was the intelligent thing to do), men who loved men were not viewed with as much generosity. Especially among the nobility, Hapan men were viewed as good for two things: fighting wars and fathering daughters. The latter was more important than the former, but both were always done under the supervision of women. A man who wasn’t going to even attempt to father children wasn’t of much use to the noblewomen. Admitting you were gay was a hazardous thing in the nobility.

The chume’da had no prejudices on that point. In fact, if she found a gay noble she sometimes gave him cover by spending the night with him. It deflected unwelcome questions for him and encouraged the nobility to think that the heir had a healthy libido. They would have thought her odd for not seeking pleasure with any nobleman of her choosing (all secretly hoping that it would be their son who would satisfy Corrine).

A member of the chume’doro was waiting for them when they exited the gallery. She’d been dispatched to discreetly assist Vienna in her departure. The Bakuran gobbled half the plate quickly, not knowing when she’d eat again (though given the efficiency of the palace, there’d probably be a second breakfast waiting for her on the shuttle). She’d barely swallowed when she and Corrine hugged.

“I can’t say see you soon, because I don’t know when it’ll be,” Corrine said. As the chume’da for real now, her life would be even more circumscribed.

“About that—”

The chume’doro cleared her throat, indicating it was time for Vienna to begin moving. She obeyed, but threw a word over her shoulder.

“Horses!”

Corrine cocked her head in confusion.

“Get some!” Vienna clarified.

That was all she could say before she and the chume’doro turned the corner.

“Horses…” Corrine mulled, still holding the tray. She picked up a piece of toast and chewed it and Vienna’s words over. “Get some horses…” Well, at least she had something she could mull over in her next boring state meeting. It was a nice parting gift from a wonderful, royal prom.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn (and hey, let's include @Bardan_Jusik for just one offhand remark he'll probably find hilarious)

​

Denon

Ronan Trieste felt old.

If anyone had told the average resident of Denon that Ronan was 75, they wouldn’t have batted an eye. It was a perfectly reasonable age to feel old at. An unsurprising age for one to feel the years.

As Ronan stood on the balcony looking out at the sunset blushing across the glassy towers of the ecumenopolis, he reflected that if he had remained on Bakura it would be embarrassing for him to feel this way. He’d have as many as 50 productive years ahead of him before people would think of him as old.

Sometimes he wondered if he’d made the right choice to leave his homeworld and come to Mandy’s home. It was a question that didn’t remain on his mind for too long. That line of thought only caused him to remember why he’d left. Bakura had become too painful. One son dead, one son in prison. Ronan put his head down. Even now he couldn’t dwell on it without succumbing to sorrow.

As if willed by the Force, he felt a hand on his shoulder. A familiar one, the only one that helped since he’d left Bakura. Mandy was no longer the pop star he’d married but she was still as beautiful as when they’d had that summer fling. At least she was to him. He wasn’t much interested in anyone else’s opinion.

“I was thinking we should go to Kashyyyk,” Mandy said. “Those treehouse suites are lovely and there’s such wonderful camaraderie when you go to one of the barbecues.”

“I thought you didn’t like getting the hair out of your clothes when you got home,” Ronan said.

Mandy shrugged gently. “It’s an annoyance worth enduring.”

Ronan had once managed the finances of the Noble House and had brought the same dedication to their own finances. As a result, he and Mandy had the funds to spend the rest of their days however they wanted. They could sail around the galaxy on a fully kitted-out starship, stopping at every exotic port of call, and they’d still never run out of credits. Though Denon was their home, they left whenever they felt like it. Ronan in particular found that meeting new beings and humbly taking part in their lives was now the biggest pleasure left in his life. He’d once hoed a field on Dantooine with a farmer and loved every minute of it.

“I’ll have someone make the arrangements,” Ronan said. “It would be nice to see Garragemp and her family again.”

From inside their spacious penthouse apartment, Ronan picked up the sound of their door chime. While they had droids to see to such things, more often than not Ronan got the door himself. He had the time and didn’t mind.

He pressed the button to open the door—and discovered his nephew standing there.

“Forgive me for not calling, but I wasn’t sure you’d agree to see me. May I come in?” Declan asked.

---

Redwood Creek, Bakura

As much as Shenandoah enjoyed her research assistant work during the break, even her professors wanted a break between terms and closed up their offices. That meant she had to do find something to do until classes began again. Since it was clear her father didn’t want any company, she availed herself of the next best option and jumped a shuttle for Cape Suzette. A short monorail ride later she had arrived at the home of the only grandparent she had left.

Kerry was glad to have a visitor to take her mind off her work and used Shenandoah as an excuse to nip out early—usually to mix drinks for them on the deck that looked out over the great curving bay of nearby Cape Suzette.

“Evenvale goes and wins one galactic championship and suddenly everyone thinks they’re going to be the next GCAA champions,” Kerry scoffed. She knew she shouldn’t deride the members of the Bakura 10 Conference, which she oversaw as Commissioner, but sometimes they could be as stubborn as a nerf. “We’ll be lucky if we win another one in the next decade.”

“It almost sounds like you wish you had your old job back,” Shenandoah said, accepting a drink from her grandmother. They clinked glasses before settling into chairs to watch the approaching sunset. The clouds over the bay could light up with brilliant colors if the angle was just right. Shenandoah tried her drink and had to stifle a grimace. Her grandmother hadn’t gone through two liver transplants for nothing.

“Ha,” Kerry scoffed, after finishing an approving test of her glass. “Once I had a majority in the Senate, your Grandmother Sabé lined up all the votes I needed pretty much every time I had something to pass. That was easy by comparison.”

“Even during the Civil War?” That had barely been her parents’ time, let alone Shenandoah’s.

“We had common cause then. The Senate rallied around the flag and we used our supermajority, thanks to the senators who resigned their seats after the secessions, to pass legislation we’d dreamed of,” Kerry reminisced. “A lot of beings died…but I’ve always felt they died for something beyond just the federal union.”

“The good old days,” Shenandoah suggested.

“You could call them that,” Kerry agreed, sighing with remembrance.

“Sounds like you’d rather be PM again than Supreme Chancellor.”

Kerry considered that for a moment as she stretched out in her chair. “Well, I’ll certainly be remembered outside of Bakura for being Chancellor. But after the heady days of being Prime Minister, I’ll admit it could be disappointing at times.”

“But you could do so much more there,” Shenandoah said, skeptical.

“The thing you have to know about the Republic is that even though there’s a popularly elected executive, they’re not the center of political power,” Kerry explained. Her tone was lazy, rather than lecturing. “The Senate is where the real power lies because it’s such an unwieldly beast. Unlike most the legislatures on planets, there are no formal political parties in the Galactic Senate. That means every senator is a force unto themselves.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” Kerry said before drinking again. “Everything on Coruscant gets done through shifting alliances. There are blocs, but none of them are large enough to govern. It’s a result of the fact that the Republic is so vast. Each sector has its own political spectrum and issues important to it. Even within a compact region like the Core you’ll get senators representing contradictory interests. There are too many permutations for there to be hard and fast parties, even regional ones.”

“But Fianna Fail and the Union Party run candidates,” Shenandoah pointed out.

“Sure. Those labels just don’t matter when the Senator gets to Coruscant. All that matters there is how someone votes, not how they got there who supports them back home. That’s only important for reelection.

“The Republic is run by dealmakers, often the committee chairs who broker compromises on what legislation gets to the floor. The Chancellor is largely irrelevant. Sure, she can veto legislation, but she better have a damn good reason for it after everything a bill’s gone through to reach her. The power to administer the executive departments and defend the Republic is one of her few areas of autonomy, but the Senate makes their mark clear through the budgetary process. They’re not shy about the power of the purse.” Kerry finished her drink. Thinking about her time on Coruscant was apparently a thirsty subject. “Truth is, Gavin probably had more influence than me when I was Chancellor.”

“Fascinating,” Shenandoah mused.

“Trust me, there are much, much better topics than Republican politics.” Kerry smiled. “For example, what you’re going to do after you graduate later this year.”

“I haven’t figured that out yet. There are so many things that have caught my interest at UBSD. It’s a miracle I’m actually going to graduate in four years,” Shenandoah admitted, looking into her drink, which hadn’t disappeared as fast as her grandmother’s. “I changed my major enough.”

“That wasn’t a question about your career. It’s a question about what you want to do when you don’t have classes to go to,” Kerry said.

“Well, I should see about getting to work. After all, that’s the point of an education, isn’t it?”

“There will be plenty of time for that. And trust me: you’re the descendant of three straight Prime Ministers. Whatever career you want is going to come to you,” Kerry assured her. “If I had it to do all over again, I’d just have some fun for a while.”

“I’m not sure Dad would like that,” Shenandoah hazarded.

“Perhaps it would do your father well to get upset about something,” Kerry said without malice. “But think about it, Shenandoah. You only get to graduate college once.” She paused. “Well, unless you’re Uncle Conn. He graduated college at least three times. Maybe four. And he still turned out OK in the end.”

Shenandoah smiled. Perhaps there were more paths open to her than she thought.

 

The way you opened this post, I initially thought I was reading Ronan's death. Good fake-out.

I wonder what Declan wants from Ronan?

Shenandoah is making similar decisions to me. I have 12 months left before I graduate. Maybe I can learn something.

 

@AzureAngel2 @DarthUncle @jcgoble3 @SWNerd11 @Vehn

​

Denon

“I’m sorry, we don’t keep tea in the house,” Ronan apologized. “The truth is I never picked up the taste for it. We can send a droid out for some if you’d like.”

“I didn’t come to Denon for the tea. If I had, I imagined I’d be sorely disappointed,” Declan said. Something almost like a smile crossed his face briefly.

“I’ll have you know that we have importers with stocks of the finest wares here. We could find tea that would blow your mind,” Mandy said, rushing to the defense of her homeworld.

“Even so, no need,” Declan declined. The three had taken seats in the sitting room of the high-rise flat the couple kept. Night was starting to steal into the sky and the skyscrapers were illuminating up with pinpoints of light, each one denoting a family settling in for the evening. “My business here is rather brief.”

“All the more reason to have called,” Ronan said. “You really should have.”

“What I have to say is not suited for the HoloNet.” He held up a hand to forestall supposition. “Nothing clandestine or nefarious. Just personal.” He paused. Ronan and Mandy gave him the time to gather himself rather than prompt him.

“I’m here to apologize for what I’ve done…for what Ayn and I did to your family,” Declan said, his blue eyes as bright as ice.

“Our children made their choices,” Ronan began.

“As did Ayn and I,” Declan cut in. “Choices we forced on the Noble House. Impossible choices we asked you to make. I’ve been thinking a lot about the past recently. How we got to where we are today. Asking myself if we could have done things differently…

“There were other options to how things went down in Nouvelle Orleans. Less extreme ones. After Madsen’s resignation we wanted something bold to give Ayn a show of strength, demonstrate she belonged in the West Office even if she hadn’t been elected to it. When we learned about the syndicates and how powerful they were, and the way they created a vulnerability for us, it was too convenient a solution.” Declan sat back. “We were heady with the authority of the Taoiseach and the West Office. We didn’t just want to prove we deserved to be running Bakura, but that we could bend the Noble House to our will.

“It was the wrong thing to do. Antrose was bound to react the way he did. If we had approached him privately, offered inducements rather than threats, things could have been different. Could have ended differently.”

“While I appreciate your self-reflection, as I said, Antrose made choices in his life,” Ronan said, deciding now was the moment to speak up. “They’re choices we can’t approve of, even though he is our son and we love him. There was stubbornness on both sides.”

“And let’s not forget that Henrietta and Elyse both left when they understood what was going on,” Mandy added. “You were in the right.”

“We may have been right, but we were wrong in what we did,” Declan insisted. “I can’t even console myself that I had the right motivations when it comes to…” He paused, unable to find the words for a few seconds. “…when it comes to Enoch.”

“Delcan, this is going too far. We know you were a skeptic of operations in the Centrality. The reports that came out after everything went public made it clear that you tried to stop it,” Ronan said, sitting forward. “What happened to Enoch was tragic, but I will not allow you to flog yourself for that.”

Declan swallowed. “Except Ayn and I were pushing for it behind the scenes.”

Ronan and Mandy said nothing as they tried to comprehend what their nephew had just said. “You’ll have to explain that,” Mandy said, tentatively.

“From the moment I couldn’t secure the nomination at the convention, Ayn and I decided that we look for an opportunity to bring him down. She’d be Deputy PM and if he resigned she’d take what I couldn’t win in an election,” Declan said, unburdening himself of machinations he’d never spoken of to anyone but Ayn and Holly. “We had such great visions for Bakura and we swore we’d do what it would take to make them a reality. When some beings inside the administration began to advocate for supporting the Federation in operations in the Centrality, we thought we had it. I spoke against it with Madsen, but I encouraged others to push for it, knowing Madsen would go for it if he felt he had a majority of the Cabinet behind him.

“I never—never—thought that Enoch would be sent for the strike team. It didn’t even cross my mind. I didn’t even think it would fail like it did. We thought everything would go well and the scandal would be that Madsen had authorized the raid without getting consent from the Senate. It was…Maker everything that we did was built on that…

“Obviously what I’ve told you, if it was ever made public, would ruin me, Ayn’s memory, maybe even the whole Noble House. But the more I’ve thought about the past, the more everything we did against your family has been on my mind and the more it weighed on me. You two deserved the truth. The sordid, terrible truth. You’ve always been welcome on Bakura. There’s nothing keeping you away. But I understand if this is the last time we speak. I respect that. But living without Ayn…and how that happened…” Declan began to cry. “…and all the questions…I just thought…I just thought you needed to know the truth.”

He put his face in his hands and as the tears flowed, an all-too familiar state of being for him. What was different was the arm that wrapped around him. It belonged to Mandy, who knew that pain and moved without thinking to assuage it. It didn’t matter that the being in front of her had admitted to a hand in her youngest son’s death. The only thing that was important to her was the grief.

She was shortly joined by Ronan who patted Declan gently on the back. “Enoch knew the risks when he signed up. Some politician was always going to order him into danger. He did it anyways. It’s all right.”

Declan couldn’t believe that it was anything close to all right. It would only be later that he would think that perhaps there was more forgiveness in the galaxy than he’d imagined.

 

For Declan to have such a heart to heart with family. Absolutely powerful and heart wrenching to read. I'd forgotten about Enoch until you brought him up again. Great writing as usual.

 

Admitting what you've done can be hard, but sometimes it lifts a burden that can't be lifted any other way. I hope this admission will be the start of healing for Declan.