Before the Saga The Archivist's Shadow - OC Weather Challenge - Tara

Title: The Archivist's Shadow or The Nowhere Story
Author: Kit'
Timeframe: 55BBY
Characters: Tara Tarindae (OC) Saelyra (OC)
Genre: angst, introspection, action
Challenge: OC 2021-2022 Challenge - Weather

Summary: After being captured and tortured on a mission, Tara Tarindae managed to escape, but she had to leave her Master behind. Now lost, masterless and alone, Tara is given the chance by Master Yoda of a new Master and a new chance at life - if she can get past her anger

Author's note: At the moment this will be like 3 chapters. It's called the Nowhere Story because every time I gave an update on Reddit I said that while I was enjoying writing, it was going nowhere. Hence it's become the nowhere story. However, just as I was about to bow out and declare it a lovely exercise, but not useful Tara and Saelyra slapped me upside the head and said "watch this!"

Hope you enjoy. Concrit welcome. Feedback adored!!!

 

The rain sheeted against the side of the Temple. Each drop, heavy and sharp as it struck the glistening glass and steel structure, running in rivulets down the side of the Temple and into the cavernous depths below.

Tara leant her head against the glass, listening to the sharp taps that accompanied each raindrop as they hit the window next to her head. Her eyes were closed, and her finger tips traversed the cover of the book she held in her hands. It was the one she’d found tucked into her Master’s bedside table when she’d finally been allowed to leave the healer’s wing. She couldn’t see the cover with its lurid picture of two Jedi and the large, overly pink hearts that framed them. It wasn’t that she wanted to read the book. Romance novels with their turgid and sometimes ridiculous plots were Master Dor’s domain and his love, but somehow holding that last book in her lap made her feel closer to him. She lifted the book to her chest and wrapped her arms around it, smelling the deep, warm notes of the ageing pages.

The apartment had been a mess when she had returned to it, her Master’s usual disaster zone plus twenty or thirty boxes of flimsies and manuscripts he was supposed to be reading. She’d managed to pile them into a corner, dashing off hurried messages to various publishers that they hadn’t been forgotten, but that her Master was away on an extended mission and should return soon.

Those letters had been lies. No-one knew where Master Dor was. She hadn’t seen him since...her hands fluttered up to touch the scar that ran down her cheek. It prickled under her touch, and she shuddered. Since their encounter with the Doctor, who had cut them and tortured them in the name of science and his insane quest to find out what the Force was made of. She had escaped. Her master had been… Her thoughts refused to go any further. Her Master was still missing.

She’d left the apartment as it was and now spent most of her time in the darker reaches of the Archives. It was safe down here, no-one really ever journeyed this far into the stacks and she could be alone in the quiet left to her own thoughts. Jocasta Nu was glad of the help, of having someone who was willing to file and search in the areas far beyond the louder, more buoyant stacks filled with padawans, or the quiet meditative areas for Masters.

That’s how Tara had found the window alcove. She’d been wandering through the back parts of the archive, trying to source some far flung text for Master Dooku when the heat from the windows had caught her attention.

She’d always thought the Archive had been buried at the heart of the Temple, but here was a full panel of windows, the heat of the sun beating through them, scorching her fingertips as she pressed her hands against the pane.

She could hear the heartbeat of the city beyond, the song flickering into life behind eyes that could no longer see. It had become her solace, the quietest spot in the Temple, where she could hear the universe but never be discovered.

Down here she could imagine that her Master was only a few blocks away, drinking at some disorderly establishment, or finding out the latest gossip from one of his many contacts.

Down here she could imagine him reading his many trashy romance books, or writing furious letters to editors who hadn’t got the parlance quite right.

Down here she could imagine that there was the possibility that he was still alive.

She hugged the book tighter to her chest, letting the tears run unbidden down her cheeks, a strange mimicry of the way the rain slid in rivulets down the glass.

There was the familiar tapping of a cane nearby and Tara straightened, stuffing the dog-eared novel back into her tunic and making a show of spreading the data pads out in front of her.

She forced a smile on her face as she heard Master Yoda’s now familiar presence through the Force. He had been overly attentive since Master Dor’s disappearance. He’d caught her months ago at the training room door, his voice full of concern. In recent weeks he’d come around during the evening hours, asking for updates on any progress she’d made in her studies, but he hadn’t asked how she was doing. She wasn't sure what she would say if it came up. She didn’t know how he would react. Jedi were supposed to let their emotions go, but she’d buried them somewhere deep and she was scared that if she spoke, if she let them out, then the scars that bound her from head to toe would unravel and nothing would be left except tears and anger.

Tara could hear the creak as the old Jedi leaned on his cane. “Trust, I do, that keeping busy you have been?”

Tara nodded. The Force whispered that there was someone else with him, standing back a bit and watching her from the shadows.

She swallowed down the ache in her throat, trying desperately to keep her eyes fixed where she thought he was, as her fingertips tapped anxiously against her knees. She could sense his reluctance, the tension in him as he struggled to speak. She braced herself for what he was about to say.

“Watched you, I have,” he started. “Need a Master you do.”

“I have a Master.” Her jaw clenched so hard that it hurt. She could hear the rain picking up outside, lashing the side of the Temple.

“Need a Master, that is here, you do.”

Tara breathed out, her fingers had stopped tapping, instead pressing hard into her leg. She didn’t say anything, letting the little alcove fill with the sound of pelting rain. Eventually she spoke.

“And I suppose this is more than a suggestion.”

Yoda made what had become a familiar grumble of assent.

“Leave you two alone, I shall,” Yoda muttered. She heard the tap of the stick again as he moved away. There was a pause and a murmur of a silent conversation through the Force. Tara rolled her eyes and leaned forward to idly run her hands across the data pads that were still splayed across the floor.

The tapping of the cane slowly faded, replaced by nothing but the sound of the rain lashing against the tower. She bit the inside of her bottom lip, knowing she was being petulant but trying desperately not to care. They couldn’t replace him. Not even Master Yoda could do that.

There was a movement and the whispers of the Force told her that Master Yoda’s companion had sat down on the carpet across from her.

The silence became oppressive.

“I have to get these back to Master Nu,” Tara snapped, breaking the silence. There was no response, but the slight current of air told her that the person had shifted their position. “I’m an archivist. I have to do my job.”

“And which one will you be taking back for Master Dooku?” The voice was melodic, soft and, Tara frowned, female. A hand reached out, picking up one of the data pads. “Is it the Alderaan book of love poetry?”

Tara shifted slightly. Her fingers reached out and wrapped around a datapad.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Master Yoda has assigned me to you,” the voice said. “I am to continue your training.”

“As an archivist?” Tara didn’t even bother to keep the scorn from her voice.

“I’m not an archivist.”

“Then you can’t continue my training. I’m an archivist and trust me, I don’t need help learning how to reshelve books.”

“You’re just an archivist?” Barely concealed bemusement. “That’s all you are? Twenty years of training to shelve books and find information for Masters too busy to do it themselves?”

Tara scowled. “That’s not all an archivist is.”

“Isn’t it?” Another long pause. The rain continued to sleet against the windows, sharp staccato sounds that filled the silence. “How long since you’ve been outside of the Temple?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Not since you returned.”

Tara’s scowl deepened and her fingers tightened around the data pad. The novel sat, suddenly uncomfortable, on her chest. It was true. She hadn’t ventured anywhere since she’d come back. The Healer’s Halls had been a source of warmth and comfort, the apartment an empty void of loss that had driven her to drown her sorrows and then finally she’d come to the Archives with their familiar smells and echoes. She’d tried once or twice to get back on the training mats, but the borrowed lightsaber had seemed clumsy in her grasp, and the Force had been nothing but a nonsensical babble of conflicting information. The idea of venturing beyond the familiarity of the Temple was-

Her fingers tightened around the data pad until her knuckles went white.

“It’s not only Archivists who can do research,” the voice still sounded bemused. “Just as it’s not only Guardians who know how to fight, or Healers who can use bacta.”

Tara let out a breath. “What do you want from me?”

Thunder rolled through, a deeper sound in the unrelenting snare drum melody of the rain. The other person said nothing, just reached out and took the remaining data pad from the ground.

“Twi’lek Costumes of the Nine Dynasty, an interesting read but unless Dooku has taken up a new hobby, I doubt he’ll be very interested.”

“You’re not answering my question,” the words came out as a growl.

“You didn’t answer mine. How long since you’ve been out of the Temple?”

Tara shook her head. “I don’t know. Not since I’ve come back.”

“Why?”

The question was so simple, but she couldn’t answer it. How could you? How could you say that you hadn’t been anywhere? Hadn’t trusted yourself. Not since the Doctor had tortured you. Not since your Master had disappeared. Not since you’d found yourself in the healer’s wing with little memory of how you got there. Not since the nightmares. Not since you’d found herself terrified that if you slept, if you let your guard down, even for a moment then the Doctor would be back with his knives and his clipboard and his terrifying grin.

She went with the simplest explanation that got most people off her back. “I’m blind.”

“So are the Miraluka. Doesn’t mean they shut themselves away. They don’t relegate themselves to the archives and hope that no-one notices they are there.”

The silence stretched again, another crackle of lightning. Tara imagined it angrily tracing through the rain leadened sky, mirroring her own feelings.

“Walk with me.” The other person stood, moving easily as they did so. Tara got the feeling that the request was only for the sake of politeness.

She stood, feeling the stretch of so many scars as if someone had stitched her into a lace-dress far too tight for comfort. Her hand brushed against the wall to steady herself.

“Do you need help?”

“No.” The anger made the word stick in her throat. She suddenly hated her body again, the way it made her feel, the useless latticework of scars that tugged and pulled when she walked, the fact that her sight had been taken from her and clumsiness that had replaced it. The muscles around her eyes tightened, pulling at the scar that ran from ear to ear, as she heard a snort of laughter.

“Suit yourself. This way, my padawan.”

She shook her head, her feet refusing to move as anger flooded through her. “I’m not your padawan,” she hissed. “I don’t care what Master Yoda says. I’m Master Dor’s padawan.”

“Ah,” For a second she thought she heard a hint of resignation in the voice. “Master Dor’s padawan. The blind one. An Archivist. Not a person in her own right.”

It didn’t seem to be a question so Tara just left it hanging in the air.

“I need to get this back to Master Nu,” Tara said, holding out the data pad.

“And then what? Go back to the empty apartment and drink yourself into nothingness?” Tara’s jaw clenched “Stay here, listening to the rain but never trusting yourself to really get wet? To feel it on your skin? To actually experience life? Wait for someone who might never come home?”

Tara's shoulders tensed and she took half a step forward, opening her mouth to say something. The other person cut her off.

“Walk with me, Archivist. Let me show you how I can make you whole, and, if you don’t believe me, then I’ll return you to the safety of your books, so that you can just be Master Dor’s padawan, the archivist and nothing more.”

 

Intriguing first post. Who is the one talking to her.
And archivists can do more than just file and search.

 

Thanks @earlybird-obi-wan - all should become clear in the next couple of posts.

 

Tara stood on the threshold, feeling the way the spray dampened her skin, making her hair stick to her face. They’d walked the entire way without talking. Tara had decided that, whoever this new Master was, they were comfortable with silence. Unless he was reading, Master Dor usually filled the air with sound, a teasing banter that she found easy to return. This silence was different though, it stretched between them and made her skin itch with the discomfort of not being the first to yield.

The person, they hadn’t given their name, had led her to the very doorway of the Temple. Now they stood there, silently side by side, while the rain pattered down and speeders screamed through the sky above them.

“Where are we going?” Tara asked eventually.

“Out.”

“Out where?” This was worse than dealing with her best friend Namia when she was in a mood to be otherwise.

There was a sigh and the way the spray changed made her think the person had turned slightly. “Out into Coruscant. You said you hadn’t been outside the Temple since you’d been back. I figured that now was a good time to push that boundary.”

“But it’s raining, and we will get wet.”

“Yes, and tomorrow it will be too sunny and humid, and you might get burnt. The next day, too overcast and you run the risk of catching cold. There will always be a reason, an excuse for you to find until you cease trying to do it at all.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Tara sighed deeply, her fingertips digging into the side of her leg. She rounded on the other person. “What do you want from me?”

“To teach you, that you are not confined by the limits you place on yourself - blind, archivist padawan of Davin.”

She huffed in annoyance, wondering if she would have bruises on her arm tomorrow from how hard her fingers dug. “I don’t have your name.” She finally said, There was a chuckle.

“I hadn’t given it.” For a second Tara wondered how much trouble she could get in for punching a Master. The snort of bemusement only made it worse. “Let go of your anger, archivist. It does not become you.”

“How would you know? You don’t know me.”

“I would argue that you no longer know yourself. Angry. Blind. Archivist. Padawan to Master Dor. It’s not a personality, it’s a list of adjectives.”

Tara’s jaw was beginning to ache from being clenched so hard. “Did Master Yoda send you here just to torment me?”

“I think he thought that I would be able to help you understand. To use an analogy that fits with your much proclaimed desire to only be an archivist. Sometimes losing something is not the end of the book, but merely the start of a different chapter.”

Tara grimaced. “I still don’t have your name.”

“I am Saelyra.” No other information was given. There was a shift in the breeze again and Tara realised that the other person was gone, walking down the long, shallow stairs that framed the front entrance of the Temple. Tara followed, wincing as the rain hit her. She made her way slowly down the stairs, not quite trusting her feet. The Force whispered and grumbled as she went, not ever being clear enough that she could trust where she placed her feet. When she finally reached the path at the bottom she found Saelyra waiting for her.

The moment she reached her, the woman turned and walked away, picking her way across the pavement. Tara followed, stumbling occasionally as she did so.

“Your name is a Miralukian one,” Tara said accusingly.

“Yes, that’s because I am Miraluka.” The frustrating hint of bemusement was back. “Is that a problem?”

Tara gave a snort of laughter. “That Master Yoda literally has the blind leading the blind? Does that not seem strange to you?”

The rain beat down; she was already wet through to the second layer of her tunic. The fabric on her sleeves hugged her skin, clinging to her uncomfortably.

“Perhaps he thought you could learn best from someone who has spent their whole life living as you do now.”

Tara shook her head, trying to let her feelings go, but the Force whispered and mumbled, silencing her every attempt. “You’re born blind. You’ll never know what I’ve lost.”

Beads of water ran in the creases of Tara’s clenched fists, but Saelyra didn’t respond to the taunt. Above them the sky crackled with thunder.

“How long has it been?” They rounded a corner and Tara bumped hard into a post. There was a murmur of laughter from nearby pedestrians and a couple of cat calls about drunk Jedi. She ignored them, even as her face burnt with embarrassment.

“Since?” Tara stared at where she thought the woman’s face was, trying to make it look like she didn’t know what Saelyra was talking about.

“Since the Force became a jumble,” Saelyra asked. “Since you’ve run into posts, not been able to walk a straight line. Since you’ve picked up a lightsaber and trusted yourself to use it.”

“I don’t need a lightsaber.” There was the sound of a crowd approaching and she side-stepped them, slipping slightly on the wet ground as she did so.

“Ahh, that’s right. Archivist. I remember. Not really a place you’d need a lightsaber. Unless it’s for those who return their books late.” Saelyra chuckled.

“I’m glad you find me amusing,” Tara said, barely able to keep up with the swiftly moving Saelyra. The woman stopped and Tara almost barrelled into her. Saelyra’s hands grabbed her arms. She could feel the people on the street as they brushed by, trying to keep under the eaves and avoid the heavy patter of the rain.

“If I don’t laugh, then I’d cry.” Saelyra said. “I’ve only met you five minutes and I can tell that you’re lost. You don’t know who you are anymore. Angry, blind, padawan who likes books. No other thought. No other ambition than to hide in the archives until the nightmare ends.”

Tara’s skin prickled. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, desperate for it to disappear.

“It’s not going to end,” Saelyra continued. “If Master Yoda didn’t think you were worth something, he wouldn’t have brought you to me.”

“And do you think I’m worth something?”

Saelyra released her and took a step backwards. “Davin thought you were worth something and I trust him. If I thought otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

Saelyra turned and walked away again, forcing Tara to follow in her wake.

“Where are we going?” Tara hissed as Saelyra rounded another corner.

Saelyra did not answer as she continued to walk, pushing through crowds of people until she came to a stop outside of one of the many turbo lifts.

Tara could hear it humming as it worked its way up from Coruscant's depths.

"Down," Saelyra said simply. "There's some people I need to meet."

The doors pinged open and she stepped inside as if nothing was happening and Tara followed her.

It wasn't like there was a choice. The doors closed, blocking the sound of the rain, although the water that puddled on the floor filled the lift with a musky scent that made Tara wrinkle her nose.

They rode the lift down three levels and Saelyra led the way out. Tara kept close behind her. There were so many people here, much more than she had expected.

“Did Master Dor never take you to the lower levels?” Saelyra asked as they made their way through the crowded streets. Down here the rain still fell, sleeting through the few patches that showed the sky above. In other spots it ran in straight lines of drips that people hurried around as they walked. Puddles lined the streets, dragging at the hem of Tara’s pants as she made her way through the crowds, trying to stay closely on Saelyra’s heels to make sure that she didn’t get lost in the ebb and flow of the crowd.

The myriad of smells from the stores of the food vendors that lined the street had Tara salivating. The thick, spicy odours joining the humid air that clung to every part of her that wasn’t already drenched by the previous downpour. Even though it was barely a whisper, the Force warned her of the danger, pleading for her to return to the safety of the archive.

Tara realised she hadn’t answered the question. “Yes, once or twice. He always said it was too dangerous for a padawan.”

“You’re twenty,” Saelyra snorted. “Even an archivist should be able to stand on their own two feet by then. Davin normally makes sure of that.”

Tara frowned in irritation, her fingers of one hand curling over her thumb, cracking the knuckle. “Master Dor took me plenty of places.”

“So I’ve read. Outer-rim worlds no-one steps foot on, deep into the underworld on Idira 6; places that would be considered too dangerous for a consular, let alone a simple archivist.” Saelyra took a sharp left, past a small group and down a flight of stairs. Tara followed, her hand trailing on the bannister to steady herself as she descended.

“You walk like an initiate in a training helmet,” Saelyra said, “I’m surprised you haven’t tripped. Doubly surprising since Davin described you as someone who is rather adept at katas.”

Tara glared at where she thought Saelyra was standing. “I can’t see the stairs. The Force doesn’t tell me where to put my feet.”

“No?” That bemused tone was back. “I can’t see them either, but I walk fine. The Force will tell you plenty, if you let it. I just want to know why you stopped listening.”

Tara frowned, unwilling to answer. The Force burbled around her, a nonsensical hodge podge of noise. It had done that since the incident with The Doctor. Healer Leona had told her that she’d likely walled herself off unconsciously as a means of protection. There had been many long meditations sessions in the Healer’s halls where they’d tried to help, but most had just left her panicking and shaken.

“You keep saying Davin,” Tara said, ignoring Saelyra’s last remark. They turned a corner. There were less people down here, the rain no longer poured through the gaps. Instead it ran down the sides of the building, creating waterfalls that cascaded down the gutters, gathering everything in their way. Tara found her socks were slowly getting wet from the relentless damp.

Saelyra’s hand caught her as she went past, pushing her back against the wall to let a large Houk family lumber by.

“Davin is someone I’ve relied on in the past,” Saelyra said, her arm still flung across Tara’s chest. Three more groups passed by, grumbling about the rain, the price of meat and the love lives of their friends.

“He’s never mentioned you,” Tara said, shivering as a large drop of water hit her neck and rolled down her spine.

Saelyra laughed. “I imagine he wouldn’t. He has mentioned you though.”

The path ahead seemed clear again and Saelyra dropped her arm and went to move on. This time it was Tara who grabbed her sleeve. Her head was suddenly pounding, shoulders tight as a lump formed in her throat. Part of her mind registered that Saelyra robes didn’t feel like the normal Jedi robes. They were softer and lighter than the standard issue robes, without the scratchiness that the Temple laundry seemed to pride itself on.

“What did he say?”

“He called you padawan perseverance,” Saelyra said softly. “Said you would keep going no matter what, even if you shouldn’t. Said it got you in trouble and out of it too.”

“Oh.” Was all she could manage over the lump in her throat. The Force roared loudly in her ears for a second and she stumbled as she took half a step forward. The only thing that stopped her from falling was Saelyra’s hands grabbing her shoulders.

Saelyra breathed out long and steady. “So you see why I’m surprised to find that maybe Davin was wrong.” She reached up, brushing the tears from Tara’s cheek, before turning and heading off down the path. Tara stood blinking, the Force silent again and the thunder rumbled overhead, making the long metal struts of the buildings that surround her, thrum.

Tara hurried after her, confused by the conflict between Saelyra’s words and her gesture. She was also confused by the way in which the Force ebbed and flowed. It had been almost silent since her escape from the Doctor, and now today, every time Saelyra spoke of Davin, or ribbed and poked at Tara’s fragile identity it roared back into life, louder and more insistent than it had ever been.

“What do you do?” she asked when she caught up again, almost tripping on the junk the water had piled into corners. “And how do you know Davin?”

Saelyra gave a chuckle. “Thought you might have figured that out by now. You are an archivist after all.”

“You are not an archivist,” Tara said without thinking, noting that Saelyra had ignored the second part of the question. There was a chuckle.

“Definitely not. Try again, archivist. Let’s see how much of Davin’s perspicacity rubbed off on you.”

Tara frowned. “Perspicacity?”

“To see clearly, easily. A great trait in an archivist. Thought it would be a word you’d know, with all the books you’ve read. Thought Davin would have taught you, he was always a stickler for expanding one’s vocabulary.”

Tara ground her teeth together in frustration. “I know you’re not a mind healer.”

“Why is that?”

“No mind healer is quite this maddening,” Tara spat angrily and Saelyra laughed.

“Funny, angry, blind archivist. Nice to see that your humour has not disappeared. No, I’m no healer.” They rounded a corner and Saelyra paused. “We need to wait here for a minute.”

Tara leant back against the wall, down here it smelt as if it was perpetually damp. She felt Saelyra lean against the wall next to her, the fabric of her tunic brushing against her hand.

“What are we waiting for?” Tara asked. She was glad of the pause, her mind was racing with everything Saelyra had said. Part of her felt that she was coming undone. It was as if the woman was finding all the weaknesses in the armour Tara had so hastily erected to counter the Doctor’s ‘ministrations’.

Trapped against the damp wall, her feet slowly getting wet from the swirling water, Tara felt adrift, as if she was one of the pieces of rubbish being tossed along by the push and pull of the water. First the Healers, then her friends and now Saelyra seemed to be pushing her places she didn’t want to go, drawing her inexorably towards…

At the thought, the Force crashed over her again, mirroring the sound of the storm far off in the Coruscant sky. Suddenly she missed her Master with his calm and easy going nature, he would have let her in on whatever secrets that Saelyra seemed to find pleasure in holding.

Tara cracked her knuckles again to try and ease the tension, and heard Saelyra grunt from her perch.

“It’s a who, not a what,” Saelyra said, eventually. “They should be along soon.” She paused and then snorted. “Try to make yourself blend in a little more archivist, rather than looking like a put out Jedi who’s been dragged backwards through the rain.”

“I have been dragged backwards through the rain,” Tara said with a frown. “And what do you mean less like a Jedi?”

Saelyra sighed. “It’s the stupid padawan haircut and the braid. Your hair is wet, so pull out the pony tail and loop your braid down the back of your shirt. Luckily your hair is long enough that it should all blend in. Pity we didn’t think about the clothes. Lose the tabard and obi too and loosen your tunics. ”

There was a momentary pause, where she tried to think of an argument as to why she shouldn’t, but suddenly she was too tired to care. Tara did as she was told, tugging the damp tabard loose. She pulled her belt off and unwound the obi, feeling the rush of cool air against damp skin. She shivered.

“What do I do with it?” she asked, bundling the long lengths of cloth together.

“Nothing, stick them in the corner and we’ll get them on our way back.”

“And if someone takes them?”

The answer was curt. “Then I’ll make sure you get new ones.”

Tara frowned, thinking of the scolding she would get for losing part of her uniform, especially one that was new. She clutched them as if they were a weapon that could save her from the approaching maelstrom.

Saelyra let out a long sigh. “Fine. I will take them, I think they’ll fit into my pack.”

The woman shifted, taking the damp clothes out of Tara’s hands. Tara got the feeling she was being appraised. The next second there was the sound of fabric tearing. Tara winced thinking of the scolding she would get.

Saelyra moved around her and Tara drew back as she felt a piece of rough material touch her face. “What are you doing?”

“I told you that you looked too much like a Jedi. This way you can pass as Miraluka,” Saelyra said, tying the strip of fabric over her eyes and around her head. “Far fewer questions that way.”

Tara shivered again, as the still warm material tightened around her face. Saelyra’s surprisingly gentle hands were tucking her braid up inside the band while they smoothed down the rest of her fine, damp hair.

“Better,” Saelyra said softly, reaching up to wipe something on Tara’s forehead. She tugged at the collar of Tara’s tunic, loosening it a little. “You still look like a Jedi, but I doubt they’ll look too closely.”

There was the noise of something being drawn out of a bag and then the familiar shaft of a lightsaber was being pressed into her hands.

Tara stiffened slightly. “No. I told you, I can’t use this. I don’t want one.” She tried to push it back towards the other woman, but there was a snort.

“You’ll need it, archivist.”

“No, I can’t. I can’t use it anymore.”

There was a pause and then Saelyra sighed impatiently. “So the reports I read of your friends forcing you back onto the mats were wrong?”

Tara hung her head, biting her bottom lip. Namia, Mace and Qui-Gon had tried to help her, getting her back onto the mats to do kata practice. She knew it was just their way of showing how much they cared, but, when it hadn’t been an instant fix, it had resulted in tears and arguments. She’d spent most of her time terrified that she would do something silly and cut herself, or one of them as she slowly, labouriously moved through the katas she’d practised since childhood as if she was an initiate learning for the first time. She’d ended up frustrated at them, and at herself for being so incompetent that she needed to be coddled like tiny child.

Secretly she’d been relieved when they’d all been dragged away on missions by their Masters, leaving her alone again. She’d stopped then, happier in the silence and loneliness then she’d ever felt trying to cater to their ideas of what she should be doing.

“It didn’t work,” she said eventually. Her hands suddenly hurt and she realised she’d gone back to clenching them so hard that her fingernails were cutting into her palms. “I’ve already told you many times, the Force doesn’t speak to me anymore.”

Saelyra snorted. “Doesn’t speak or you don’t listen?”

Anger flooded her, driving away her words. The woman was frustration personified, seemingly bent on poking and prodding at wounds that Tara thought healed, at the mental locks on the chests in which she’d hidden what she had become.

When she got back to the Temple, Tara decided she would go see Master Yoda and explain how this wasn’t going to work. She was content to tutor under Master Nu, and leave Saelyra to her work.

There was the sound of footsteps and a distant door chime. “They’ve arrived,” Saelyra said, pushing the lightsaber into her hand again. When Tara opened her mouth to protest, the woman pushed it harder. “You’ll be glad of it when the time comes. Take it, you’ll be surprised how hard it is to cut your own arm off when it’s set to training mode.”

Tara took a breath, hitching the lightsaber to her belt. As she pulled her cloak over it, the Force sang into life, and she straightened in surprise. She shifted, feeling the comfortingly familiar weight. She didn’t realise how much she’d missed it.

At her feet, the water ran swiftly down the gutters, carrying the debris from a storm that still raged somewhere far above them.

She took a step forward, and the lightsaber brushed against her leg, making her ache with the familiarity of it all. She hadn’t worn a lightsaber on her belt since Master Dor had…

She pushed away the thought, not letting herself go there. That was part of her life that was over now. Her blindness, her injuries and Master Dor’s disappearance had all put an end to the idea that she could be anything other than an archivist. The song of the Force, so loud a second before, echoed back into silence. She groped after it, but came up with nothing. Tara closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip hard enough that it hurt. This was why she couldn’t stay with someone like Saelyra. Every time the Force came back, it made her think she could go back to her old life, back to being normal…but that was something she could never do…

“Let’s go. Keep quiet, stand at the back. We won’t be long. Try not to look like a Jedi,” Saelyra said, breaking the moment.

“You keep saying that,” Tara pointed out, pushing her frustrations away, and instead concentrating on where she put her feet. They moved towards where the sound of the door chime had come from.

“I do. Sometimes we have to reinvent ourselves and take on new roles,” Saelyra said cryptically.

Tara frowned. Saelyra made no sense. She seemed to want to have nothing to do with the trappings of being a Jedi, except for the lightsabers. She thought about the clothes she had grabbed earlier, much softer and lighter than the normal Jedi robes. Her demeanour was arrogant, but not in the way that Tara had often encountered in some of the Masters in the Temple. Instead it spoke of someone who saw the world in an entirely different way, and was comfortable with her place within it.

“Not a Guardian,” Tara muttered under her breath.

There was a snort from ahead of her. “No, not a Guardian. Although I’d love to hear your reasoning, archivist.”

“Guardians don’t hide the fact they are Jedi,” Tara said firmly.

“True. Guardians wouldn’t survive long in my role if they did. I’m not a Consular either, if that was your next guess.”

“No,” Tara said, her eyes narrowing “I knew that. Consulars pride themselves in diplomacy, and you seem to pride yourself in the opposite.”

Saelyra’s laugh was long and rather loud. “True. On that you have me. Diplomacy has never been my strong suit.”

“That leaves Sentinel,” Tara pointed out.

“But you don’t think that’s right?”

“I…” Tara said and then paused. Sentinels was the obvious answer, but the parts of the Force she could hear in those few earlier seconds spoke of something far more and far darker than that. “I don’t know,” she eventually admitted.

“That’s a first,” Saelyra said. “Something the archivist does not know. Maybe, soon the archivist will learn that there is life outside the safety of a book. Those books cannot teach her how to hear the Force, and how to find her Master.”

Tara shuddered to a halt, suddenly desperate to ask what Saelyra had meant. She’d been kept away from the search for Master Dor, despite her pleading, so the chance to join was-

She dropped her shoulders, willing her body to relax. If Saelyra was offering her that chance, then she wasn’t going to let it pass by giving in to the woman’s needling. There was a crack of thunder far above them, and the water surged again, filling the silence with noise.

There was a creak as Saelyra pushed the door open. Above them, the chime sounded, sweet and light and completely at odds with the rush of warm, foetid air from the room beyond.

“Come archivist,” Saelyra said softly. “Let me show you what I do, then maybe you will have your answer as to what I am, and how I can lead you back to yourself.”

 

Love how Saelyra is guiding Tara. Who are they meeting?

 

Great job! I like how the storm and rain seem to mirror what Tara's feeling, and how it threads through the story as she and Saelyra continue on their journey through Coruscant.

I'm curious to find out more about who Saelyra is. My guess is that Yoda's early reluctance to have Tara work with her might be partially tied to who Saelyra is, and is not solely a discomfort at having to push Tara out of her comfort zone with another master. Having a Miraluka work with Tara is a good idea if Tara is ready for it. It can be very difficult to accept major changes and move forward to a new sense of "normal," especially if there's guilt and trauma involved. Looking forward to more!

 

Ah, you'll have to wait and find out. (Although not wait that much longer really...)

Thank you. It was fun to play with the storm and how much it was mirroring what was going on in Tara's head.

Uh....no comment....

Your wish is my command!

 

The smell of the room curled around her, carrying the scent of old t’bacc, stale alcohol and the body odour of creatures that prided themselves in how much they could drink, rather than how clean they could be.

“A cantina?” Tara hissed. “This is where we are going?”

“Didn’t figure that an archivist, let alone one of Davin’s charges would be so prudish,” Saelyra returned quietly. Tara breathed out sharply through her nose at the remark, Saelyra chuckled and put a hand on her elbow, guiding her to the bar. “Take a seat, archivist,” she said and Tara pulled a seat out, feeling the sticky residue, she wiped it on her pants and was rewarded with another chuckle. “If you don’t like that, then don’t touch the bar,” Saelyra advised. “Roosey believes that cleanliness is a suggestion, not a requirement.”

In a much louder voice she hailed the barkeep. Ordering two of the house drinks. A moment later Tara heard the glasses thunk stickily onto the counter top.

“You got yourself an apprentice,” the barkeep asked. Their voice was warm and friendly and Tara got the impression that they knew Saelyra well.

“I got myself a librarian,” Saelyra said. “Knows all the things that they keep in books.”

“Your job to teach her what they keep out of them?” The voice asked. Tara’s eyes narrowed, more of the world was filtering in now, sliding through the whispers of the Force. It was as if the lightsaber was a key, not the right key, but one that was wiggling in the lock that she’d so carefully constructed. The Force showed her a vision of a tall thin Chagrian with dark thick tentacles and grey eyes and long horns. He wore a leather vest with his shirt open revealing a scarred chest.

Saelyra laughed lightly and nodded. “And to keep her safe,” she answered. She looked back to Tara as the Force settled down again and she could feel a faint hum of warning from it. She took a drink, feeling the heat of the alcohol burn in her throat, driving away some of the dampness. Saelyra leaned over towards the barkeep. "Is he here?"

"Not yet, should be here soon, ‘lyra. Always comes around this time.”

"Good,” Saelyra said quietly. “Gives me time to talk to my librarian."

The barkeep snorted. "Just remember, if you break it, you pay for it."

"You know I'm good for it, Roosey." There was the clink of metal and Tara frowned. Jedi didn't traditionally keep money, but then nothing that Saelyra had done so far spoke of a traditional Jedi.

"That so?"

Saelyra laughed again. "Always." Tara heard the barkeep's name being called further down the row. "I think the Togarian needs your attention," Saelyra said, "but we'll have another round before you go."

There was another clink as two more glasses were set before them. "Just try not to do too much damage," the Chagrian muttered as he walked away.

"Any more guesses?" Saelyra asked, quietly. Tara wondered how Saelyra always seemed to know what she was thinking.

"No, but you aren't a normal Jedi," Tara muttered.

"Neither are you."

Tara snorted in disbelief. "On that you are wrong. I'm very normal. Or I was very normal. Now I am..." She trailed away, unwilling to go on, her chest suddenly aching with hurt and guilt and grief. She took another mouthful of drink, relishing how the feel of it pushed away any lingering thoughts.

"Let me guess, you were going to say 'half a Jedi'," Saelyra's voice was almost taunting her. "Sightless, Forceless, Masterless. Desperately trying to be friendless and using alcohol and books to hide the fact that she hates the world because she's terrified that she doesn't know what she is."

Tara reeled slightly back in her seat, as the words slammed home. The Force clamoured around her, too loud to think and she clenched her fists at the wail of noise.

"Ah," she heard Saelyra murmur, "so that's where the Force is. Not gone, just captured and put out of reach."

Tara heard Saelyra reach into her pack and the rustle of fabric. There was the snik of a knife opening and Tara flinched, swallowing hard as she fought down the urge to run. It was the same sound that she’d heard for months, every time the Doctor was about to start another one of his ‘experiments’. It was the sound of pain.

Blood thumped in her ears.

Any whispers of the Force fled.

“Ah,” Saelyra’s voice was soft. “I had read, but I didn’t realise.” There was the sound of tearing fabric. Tara sat frozen, her body flushing with heat one second and cold the next. She flinched again as Saelyra reached out and gently picked up Tara’s hand. Saelyra hands moved gently as she wrapped long strips of fabric around Tara’s wrist, then slowly up and across her palm.

Tara closed her eyes, breathing deeply and willing her heart to slow as memories flashed quickly behind her eyes, each one soaked in blood, and pain and loss. The knife glinting in the light of the labs, the children screaming, the wails of the mothers and her own Master’s blood dripping from her fingertips. She had never managed to be enough for any of them. She couldn’t save them. She couldn’t even stem the bleeding…

“Did Davin ever teach you how to do this?” Saelyra’s voice was an anchor to the here and now and Tara grasped at it. She focused on the feeling of the strips of fabric as they wound around her hand and between each finger,. The fabric was smoother against her skin, not what she’d expected from what had once been her obi.

“Yes,” her voice was quiet. She fought through the images of the laboratory with its stark white walls and constant smell of blood and latched on to the one where Davin had taught her how to fight. “I didn’t like it. Didn’t see the point of learning how to fight hand-to-hand if Jedi were supposed to use lightsabers.”

Saelyra chuckled as she finished tucking the loose end back into the band around Tara’s wrist. “I can imagine he gave you the big lecture about how a Jedi shouldn’t rely just on a lightsaber, or the Force, but that anything could be a weapon.”

“Yes,” Tara said softly. It was a lecture she’d heard many times early in her apprenticeship. One that she could almost recite by heart. One she’d give anything to hear again. The Force burbled into life again at the thought of Davin and Tara breathed out long and slow as it gurgled and babbled around her, not quite making sense.

Maybe, she pondered, it was the thought of her Master that kept the Force closer. That if she just kept the idea of him alive then somehow the Force would speak to her again and she wouldn’t feel quite so alone.

“How do you know the speech?” Tara asked quietly. “How do you know Davin?”

“All in good time, little archivist,” Saelyra answered and Tara grimaced at the non-answer. Saelyra finished tucking the second loose band tightly so it wouldn’t unravel. .

“Will you at least tell me why you’ve bandaged my hands for a fight?” Tara asked.

“You’ve already said you won’t use a lightsaber, and I don’t want you to be unprepared. I don’t think I could live with Master Yoda’s disapproval if you got seriously hurt.”

“So you brought a blind Jedi down here to fight someone? And your only worry is that Master Yoda will be disappointed if I get hurt?” Tara exhaled sharply. “I can’t see anything, the Force doesn’t talk to me, and we’re sitting drinking in a pub in the lower depths of Coruscant. I’m going to get hurt, it’s a given.”

She stood up, pushing the chair back. In the war of staying to find out what Saelyra knew about Davin and the concept of self-preservation, the latter had finally won. “I don’t care about your games,” she said loudly, tiredly. All her conditioning to never defy a Master, not even one as obnoxious as Saelyra, told her to stay, but she pushed it down, shaking her head as she did so. She turned and took a couple of steps towards where she guessed the door was. “I’m going home.”

“You’re not,” Saelyra’s voice was calm. “You go home and I make sure that the Council knows that you are beyond help. The agricorps doesn’t hold any stock in books.”

Tara stopped dead, knuckles cracking as her hands bunched into fists.

The low banks of anger that she’d kept shielded ever since the first ‘experiment’ slowly sparked into life. She turned back. The lightsaber banged against her leg with the movement, reminding her of what she had once been.

She caught herself just as her hand reached for it, desperately wanting to curl around it, ignite it and strike down Saelyra for threatening her.

Instead she took a step towards Saelyra, the anger growing steadily, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Thoughts tumbled through her head, too quickly to process. How dare Saelyra insult her, tease her, make comments about Davin as if she had known him as well as Tara had. How dare she drag her down to this hellhole in some vague quest to do who knew what. How dare she never answer any questions, instead poking and prodding at Tara as if she knew all of her weaknesses. As if she was, once again, an experiment.

She took another step. Her hand now rested on the hilt of her borrowed lightsaber. The Force screamed its defiance and rage and Tara had the sudden clear mental image of it, balled up within the chest she’s created in her head; an animal struggling to break free.

A foot caught behind her knee and the world tumbled.

Tara found herself on the floor, tasting the smell of sour beer and sweat. Her ears rang with the sound of the Force’s screams.

“Now that was silly,” Saelyra murmured in her ear as she knelt down next to her. Tara curled tighter into herself, as if that would help keep out the fiery pain and the burnt embers of long-held grief. “So much anger for one so determined to be rid of the world.”

Tara felt something soft and feather-like brush across her mind and slowly the noise of the Force subsided. So did the anger. Tara blinked rapidly, as tears streamed down her face. She shivered; her rain drenched clothes suddenly unbearably cold against her flushed skin.

Saelyra was talking quietly as she pulled Tara upright, but Tara barely registered what she was saying. Saelyra asked a question but all Tara managed in response was a confused mutter. There was a sharp exhale and then Saelyra pushed a fresh glass into her hand.

“Finish this,” she commanded and Tara complied, gulping down the drink until she coughed.

“I’m sorry,” Tara managed eventually. Guilt and shame washed through her. She’d almost done the unmentionable. Almost given into her anger. Almost… she shuddered, as the lightsaber sat heavy and sullen against her hip.

Inside her head the Force still called to her, taking turns to scream and whimper in wordless fury. She ached.

“What did you do to me?” Tara asked quietly. She felt shaky and wrong, as if the cage that held the ferocious beast was breaking and she was standing right in its path.

“The archivist has locked herself in a box,” Saelyra said quietly. “ Hidden the key. She thinks anger is the only way to find our Master and to get the archivst back to where she started.” Saelyra snorted. “But anger isn’t the only way. The archivist just needs to learn trust. Trust me, trust herself, trust that everything will, eventually, be alright.”

Saelyra stood in a rustle of loose fabric and tapped the bar. Tara could hear the slow, steady thump of Roosey’s footfalls.

“A bottle of Hinkley’s please, Roosey,” Saelyra said and Tara heard the tinkle of coins followed by the thump of a bottle.

“Think your friend might have already had enough,” the barkeep said quietly.

“That wasn’t alcohol, Roosey. The archivist found the anger she’d misfiled.” Saelyra said. “Plus we’re still waiting on that friend you told me about.”

The barkeep sighed. “Fine. Just don’t break too much of my bar, Lyra getting what you want. Not like last time. No lightsabers.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Saelyra said, sweetly. “My little librarian friend abhors lightsabers. Wouldn’t even dream of using one. Says they don’t know how.”

Tara grimaced at the fresh jibe but the barkeep gave a non-committal grunt and moved away. She was tired again, too tired for Saelyra’s games and cryptic messages.

“You’ll get your answers soon,” Saelyra said as if reading her mind. “But first we need a couple more drinks. Somewhere quieter.”

Tara struggled to her feet. The anger had left a bitter taste in her mouth. “I don’t want to,” Tara tried as Saelyra walked away from her. “You aren’t my-”

Instantly Saelyra was beside her. Tara felt the cold chill of the glass bottle against her bare skin and Saelyra’s free hand wrapped around her upper arm, holding her close as she steered her across the room.

“Stop thinking you have a choice in this, archivist,” Saelyra growled. “This is the only way that we will get Davin back. If you want him back, that is. If you want him back with all his ridiculous shirts and romance books and story-telling, then you need to come with me now. Trust that I know what I’m doing. Trust that if I didn’t need you here, if I didn’t think that you could do this, if his life didn’t depend on you, then I would have left you in the damn archives to grow old among your precious words.”

Tara’s body flushed with heat again. She kept her mouth closed, her nostrils flaring as the anger burned bright again and her hand slid towards the hilt of the borrowed lightsaber. The Force shrieked as more cracks appeared in the cage, warning her of danger as it fed on the anger in her belly.

“You would not win against me,” Saelyra said calmly as she steered her across the room. “You might one day, but this isn’t it.”

Tara’s hand moved away from the lightsaber and she allowed herself to be led across the room.

“Sit,” Saelyra said, pushing her into a seat towards the back of the pub. She sat. There was the gurgle of liquid and then another glass was pushed into her hand.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” Tara asked, pushing past the noise of the Force that threatened to overwhelm her. The anger seemed to help with that. Made the feelings, the memories, the pain that was seeping out of the cage more bearable than it ought to be. “You can’t get-” she paused, and then realised that she didn’t care about Saelyra’s warning not to advertise that she was a Jedi, “a Jedi drunk. We have the Force, so your plan fails on that point.” She gave her most feral grin, even though she knew Saelyra couldn’t see it.

“Ah, the archivist is right for once. If she had the Force then she would be able to avoid the effects of the alcohol. Release it into the Force and all that,” Saelyra said and Tara noticed the edge to her voice. “But you don’t have it, remember? You lack that key ability to stop the effects of the alcohol. You keep telling me it’s why you can’t help yourself to be anything other than miserable. It’s why your apartment is full of empty glasses and your bin is filled with empty bottles. You’ve used alcohol to tamp down the anger and the hurt before, many times. How is that work-” She stopped as if catching herself on what she had been about to say and Tara heard her pour another glass. The woman took a swig and put it down so it clinked loudly on the table. “No archivist. This is to make what happens next easier.”

Saelyra leaned across the table, close enough that Tara could smell the alcohol on her breath and the damp emanating from her clothes.

“No more comments. No more trying to push people away with your words. Sit. Listen. Do what Davin taught us and listen to the stories.”

Tara frowned at the word ‘us’, noting that Saelyra had also used ‘our’ when talking about Davin but did as she was told, her arm still hurting from where Saelyra had grabbed her earlier.

She sat silent as the anger burned brighter and thought. The woman made her feel uncomfortable, each verbal stoush spreading larger cracks through the cage that she was now all too aware of. Saelyra had threatened her with the Council, but two could play at that game. She wondered how she could approach Yoda and Healer Leona on her return.

Maybe she could argue that Saelyra was dangerous. She was definitely edging away from standard Jedi behaviour. No-one would think it was right to bring a padawan down to the lower levels and ply them with alcohol. The Council would have to be informed too, of what Saelyra had said and what she’d done. The idea of making the other Jedi just as uncomfortable as she had been, gave her a kind of guilt-laden pleasure that fed the anger in her belly.

She took another sip of the drink, scrunching her nose up as it burned down her throat. It wasn’t the same as what they’d had when they’d arrived. This was far coarser, the cloying scent filling her mouth and nose and fuelling the anger. Her hand clenched on the table. The anger was burning again, After months of feeling numb, it seemed that Saelyra’s prodding had unlocked something, letting out the emotions that she’d so long held on to. She swallowed hard, feeling the way her shoulders tensed as she fought to release the emotions to the Force, almost impossible when it was still screaming inside her carefully constructed cage.

“Be careful archivist. Too much anger leads to the Darkside,” Saelyra said softly. She heard the slosh of alcohol as the woman refilled Tara’s glass. “All I’m asking you to do is listen.”

Tara didn’t say anything, but her fingers twitched. A growl escaped her throat before she could stop herself, the sound of her own voice startling her. The woman chuckled at her reaction, the sound like ice in her ears. “So angry,” Saelyra whispered, placing a comforting hand on Tara’s own. Tara pulled her hand away and snatched the glass up, downing the rest of the contents. She put it back on the table and reached for the bottle, sloshing some over the side as she filled it.

"Careful,” Saelyra warned with a half laugh. “Believe it not that Roosey's homebrew. Powerful stuff, but sought after."

"As a paint stripper?" Tara growled. She could feel the alcohol working now, loosening her muscles enough for her hands to stop shaking, her breathing even and calm. The pain in her head receded slowly, the screams of the Force dulled into a wordless roar. The anger still raged inside, seeping into her bones. She felt another brush of a mind probe and she set the glass down with a soft thunk.

“Get out of my head,” she muttered, the words coming out in a hiss through gritted teeth.

“Ahh, little archivist you are so close to the edge. That mental block you’ve built yourself, the part that protected yourself when you were being tortured is breaking. You’re right on the precipice. I can imagine that the breaks, the splintering hurts more each time. The Force is louder. It hurts. It screams. It’s been doing it since you left the Temple, but it’s getting worse.”

Tara said nothing, just took another gulp of her drink.

“I’ve been there when mental walls like that have collapsed,” Saelyra continued. “It’s never pretty. For ones like us. If we’re ever taken from the Force and then returned to it suddenly, then it always ends the same. Blood. Unconsciousness. Maybe you wake up. Maybe you don’t.”

“And so the alcohol,” Tara muttered.

“It helps,” Saelyra snorted. “So does a gentle touch to strengthen that wall, letting it break little by little. That’s what I’m doing and no more.”

Saelyra settled back in her chair and Tara got the feeling that was the end of the woman was willing to share. She opened her mouth but the Force screamed again, and she winced, her shoulders tensing with the effort not to curl up and sob.

“Now I just want you to listen to the conversations,” Saelyra said softly, “because this is how we get Davin back.”

Tara shook her head, and closed her eyes clenching her jaw as she became aware of the instinctual action. She couldn't see anyway, the permanent dark was the same regardless of whether she opened or closed her eyes, but somehow doing so still made it easier to concentrate.

She felt Saelyra leaned across the table. A gentle pressure of the woman’s fingers against her temple.

“Open up Archivist,” the voice whispered in her ear, and Tara shuddered, her body relaxing. The touch was light, but there was no mistaking the power of it.

Her hand clenched into a fist, desperate to keep the anger burning even as she listened. The screams of the Force momentarily quietened, becoming the whispers she had almost forgotten. Her awareness spread out. Slowly the cantina came alive; Roosey serving drinks, the bubbling noise from the old pipes as he poured alcohol into a thick glass; a woman having a conversation with a friend about her awful date; two twi’leks organising a tryst. The Force whispered gently to wait and then she heard it, the drag of a chair nearby and the heavy thump of someone large sitting down.

“Den told me you were in the market for something special.” The voice sounded strangely familiar and a shiver ran down her spine. The Force’s whispers turned into howls and she shuddered as her mind focused on the back of the human who sat near her, his twitchy gestures as he played with the sloppily wrapped package clearly betraying his nerves. Across from him sat his companion, a Twi'lek, heavily scarred, who seemed bored with the entire situation.

“And if I am?” The second voice, the Twi’lek’s, drawled.

“Well, uh…I got something special for you. Real special like. Something you’re not going to get anywhere else.”

There was the sound of something being unrolled and then two soft metallic clinks on the table top. Tara’s breath caught in her throat. She knew that sound, just as she knew the man’s voice. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as her brain buzzed. She knew that voice, that metallic noise but she couldn’t place them. Across from her she heard Saelyra hiss and a hand folded over her own as if to anchor her to the table.

“That’s an interesting find,” the Twi’lek said. There were another couple of clinks as the artefacts were picked up and examined. “Not something that would be easy to sell.”

“But there is a market?” The man’s voice sounded too eager. Tara’s skin prickled at every word. There was a long pause and then the Twi’lek spoke again.

“There’s a market for everything. I can think of a few people who would pay good money for something like this.” Another pause and then. “Mind telling me how you came by them? Just want to make sure that their original owners aren’t going to come for them.”

There was a nervous chuckle and then the man spoke again. “Unlikely. They are both dead.”

“Dead? You killed a Jedi for these lightsabers?”

Lightsabers. The word felt like a punch in the stomach, driving the wind from her lungs. Lightsabers. Two of them. The familiar clink was hers. Its sound heard so often during her apprenticeship that it had faded into the background of her life. Lightsabers. Two of them. Hers and -

The Force roared, snapping the bars of the cage that she had constructed to keep herself safe. Tara clutched at the table, so hard that it shifted and glasses sloshed their contents over the long worn wood. Sweat beaded on her lip. Tara brushed it away and her hand came away sticky with blood. Her nose was bleeding.

The Force screamed again. Wanting blood. Wanting vengeance.

Saelyra’s warning about the people whose walls broke open, sprang to mind. She didn’t care anymore. Not about her own safety, not about Saelyra, not about anything but the lightsabers on the table and how the man had come by them.

She felt the brush of cold glass against the back of her hand, as Saelyra pushed a refilled glass towards her, but she shook her head, trying desperately to focus on what he was saying.

“I need to know,” she whispered. Saelyra’s fingertips brushed hers briefly and she heard a ripple of discord through the overwhelming roar of noise that made her head spin. Saelyra was using the Force, but the noise was so loud in her head that she couldn't understand why.

“Tell me how you came by them,” the Twi’lek grunted and Tara could hear his confusion as he spoke words that were not his own. Saelyra’s words.

The Force screamed so loud that pain rippled through her. Tara could hear everything to now, people’s emotions, the life signatures of those who stood or sat around the bar. She could hear where the tables were, how the lights buzzed in their sockets, the groan of the old pipes under the floor, even the rush of the water that still cascaded past the door. Everything, every life force, every item combined into a cacophony of noise that threatened to carry her away in its tide.

The brush of Saelyra’s hand again and Tara found herself reaching for the proffered glass, throwing back the alcohol in a desperate quest to deaden it all.

“I…” the man started and there was that ripple in the noise again. His next words were a rush and Tara struggled to hear over the constant thrum in her head.

“I worked for a Doc, some sort of genius. Did all sorts of experiments,” the man said, fumbling for words. “Two of the people were Jedi. Master and apprentice. Apprentice got loose on my watch…”

Tara tasted bile in her mouth. Now she knew where she’d heard that voice before. Tara took a deep breath, the Force screaming in her ears. He said something else she couldn’t quite make out and suddenly she was back there. His body pressed against her, the knife at her throat. She could smell him too, the sweat and bravado as he pressed himself against her. She could feel the sharp piece of metal in her hand, the one she’d smuggled earlier that day. She could feel his hands all over her, tugging at her clothes, his mouth at her neck.

She could feel the piece of metal slide into him over and over again.

He was supposed to be dead. She was supposed to have killed him when she made her escape.

“Archivist.” The word was accompanied by another feather light touch of the Force.

Tara blinked, strangely surprised at finding herself back at the table, in the cantina and not in a laboratory in some far distant world. Saelyra was holding her hand tightly, but it wasn’t enough to stop the flames of anger flickering into life, fueled by the hurt and grief and the omnipresent screaming of the Force.

The man was still talking.

“How do you know the padawan isn’t dead?” The Twi’leks’ voice was a low growl.

“Nothing more than a pitiful whelp,” the man said and Tara gritted her teeth. “No sight you see, would have died in the desert. Doctor let me go then moved. Doubt the Master survived. No-one ever survived long. Pity really, she was a very sweet piece.”

Tara’s anger exploded into flames, consuming the last remnants of the cage she bound herself in. The one she’d thought would keep herself safe. The one she’d thought would last forever. She leapt for him, her fist connecting with his cheekbones. The skin on her knuckles split with the impact and she grinned as the pain sliced through the noise. He half-fell, half-staggered from the chair.

“You.” It was a grunt more than anything.

She grinned at him as the Force swirled around her, offering enticements to use its power. To make him suffer as he had done to her, to force him to answer for what he had done, for what he had made her. The words buzzed through her head, so loud that she could barely focus on anything, but the pain that radiated through her knuckles and the fact the man was still standing.

“Me,” she replied. She leapt for him again, trying to let the Force guide her, but the words were screams of outrage or twisted nonsense and she missed, falling awkwardly as she brushed past him, barely connecting.

The room spun and the Force surged through her body in an effort to protect her. It wasn’t enough though, she didn’t have the control she once had and its wild and unpredictable behaviour left her struggling for breath, as blood trickled over her knuckles.

She scrambled to get up but he kicked out and sent her crashing onto her back again. Something cracked as she landed and she drew a sharp, shuddering breath. She could hear the screams and yells of the other patrons. The Force yammered that Saelyra was fighting the Twi'lek, trading blows on the other side of the table.

"Should have killed you," the man growled. He kicked her again. "That's what the doc sent me for. To kill you because you weren't needed.”

His boot came down hard on her chest and there was a sharp crack as another rib gave way. The physical pain mirrored the words repeating themselves in her head. Her Master was dead. There was nothing else to live for. She heard the man lift his leg again, and the Force whispered that his boot was aimed for her head.

She rolled, feeling the impact through the floor as the foot came down. Anger bubbled inside her and the Force howled that she should just give into it, that it would give her everything she wanted. She kicked out, her foot guided by the screams and grinned as it connected with something hard. The man grunted and she used the few seconds to pull herself upright.

He swore at her and lunged, but she sidestepped, bringing the edge of her hand down onto his neck.

He swore at her again as he staggered upright. Tara grinned, feeling more in control as the anger, long kept hidden, surged in her veins.

The man laughed, half choking on the blood in his mouth. “Should have killed you like I did your Master."

The words were like being plunged into a bath of icy water. She stopped dead for a second, and he punched her. The ripple of pain sent her staggering back.

“Didn’t manage to kill you then,” the man snarled. “But better late than never.”

The cold was replaced by fiery anger. The Force screamed that she should just give into its embrace, that it would make everything alright again. The anger burned brighter, and the Force whispered that it could make him pay, that it would all be so simple if she just gave into her anger and let her body become the will of the Force.

“He died, sniveling and begging me for mercy,” the man spat.

Tara took a shuddering breath, balled both hands into fists and, as her thoughts crystallised into white hot fury, Tara gave herself completely over to the Force.

She didn’t feel it as her fist caught him on the jaw, her foot came down on his knee cap, or her elbow into his solar plexus. All she could focus on was the white hot rage, and how good it made her feel.

 

WOW to finally meet the man who tortured her. What will happen next?

 

Yeah, not the best way to meet someone in the world. As for your question - your wish is my command.

 

“Tara!” There was a voice calling her name. It sounded like it was coming from very far away. It also sounded like Davin, but it couldn’t be. It could never be again. Davin was dead.

“Tara.”

Not Davin. A different voice. Still familiar. Still so desperate to get her attention. She blinked, her fists slowing from where they had mindlessly hitting the thing on the ground in front of her.

“Tara.” Strong hands gripped her shoulders and she surfaced enough to smell the stink of sour beer and taste the coppery-iron of blood.

“Come on archivist. Come back.”

She breathed. Great lungfuls of air, desperate for more despite the smell.

Everything hurt.

The Force murmured and talked in her ear, telling her about the room, the terrified people, the smell of rain blowing in from outside and the men from the Coruscant Security Force at the door.

Tara could feel strong hands on her shoulders, trying to pull her off something. The world came back piece by piece. She was sore, her knuckles, wrists and shoulders ached. Her chest felt like someone had stomped on it, and every breath brought spears of pain that coursed like lightning. Blood ran down her fingertips, but it wasn’t- her mind skipped a beat- it wasn’t just her blood. She had been angry. So very, very angry.

Suddenly she was acutely aware of the body underneath her. She was kneeling over their chest and she could smell the blood that was oozing from their head and mouth. She realised that she couldn’t hear them breathing.

“Come away, Tara,” Saelyra said softly and Tara blinked again. Part of her brain registered that it was the first time Saelyra had called her by anything other than Archivist. Dazedly she let Saelyra pull her gently to her feet, as the blood continued to drip from her knuckles. She wiped her hand across her swollen and split lip, wincing at the pain. Her head was spinning, but the screams of the Force had disappeared, replaced by the soft whispers and murmurs she had grown up with.

“It was him,” she said softly, and then she was sobbing, great gulping noises that speared her chest with pain. “He tried to…He’s one of them…one of the Doctor’s…he had our lightsabers…Davin’s lightsaber.” The words spilt out of her mouth in a rush, as if it was the last lock to come undone. She pushed herself off Saelyra, wiping her tears away with bloody fists that left sticky smears across each cheek.

“I killed him,” Tara said. “I gave into the anger. It felt so good.” She sunk down towards the floor, feeling Saelyra move with her. She had been so angry. She’d given into it too; letting the fury guide her fists. She could no longer be a Jedi, the Darkside had called her and she had answered willingly. “I failed.”

Saelyra said nothing, just wrapped her arms around her and pulled her tight as Tara sobbed. Eventually Tara pulled herself out of the grip; aching with every movement. She didn’t deserve any of this. Not when she’d killed him and destroyed everything. “I killed him and he could have led us to where Davin was.”

“We’ll find Davin,” Saelyra said quietly. She let go of Tara for a second to cradle Tara’s face. “But you didn’t kill him. You stopped yourself just in time.”

Tara turned back towards where the man was lying on the floor. The Force told her that was Saelyra had said was true and that he was still alive, but barely. Part of her felt strangely disappointed. That was the second time she’d tried to kill him, and the second time she’d failed.

She took a shuddering breath, feeling the way her ribs grated as the memories of his boot connecting with her ribs, of her fist hitting soft flesh, of the spray of blood against her skin. She shuddered.

“Breathe,” Saelyra said quietly. “Just breathe.”

“I messed it up,” Tara said softly.

Saelyra snorted. “Hardly.” There was a movement and then something was being pressed against her head. “Hold still, I think this will stop the bleeding.”

“What is it?” Tara asked.

Another snort. “My outer robe. It’s ruined anyway, the damn Twi’lek had a knife.”

Tara closed her eyes as Saelyra mopped her face. This way it was strangely easier to concentrate on the delicate pressure that Saelyra was applying to her injuries. The robes were definitely softer than anything she’d ever seen a Master or a knight wear, and the Force spoke of dark green, black and grey.

Saelyra said nothing, just held the ruined robes to the worst of the wounds. Tara could hear people talking around them and the sound of the ambulances outside. Soon she knew she’d have to give a statement. Soon she’d have to answer for what she had done. But for the moment, they sat in a quiet bubble, as more tears, so long held at bay, slid down her face.

“I gave into the darkside. I let my emotions rule me. I can no longer be a Jedi.” Tara managed eventually, the words choking her.

“Oh my little dogmatic archivist,” Saelyra said with a chuckle. “You came nowhere near the darkside.”

Tara frowned, the comfort of a moment before swept away in frustration. Why was it that Saelyra always had an answer to everything? “How do you know?”

Saelyra sighed. “I just do. I spend a lot of my time hunting people who have fallen, and trust me you are not one of them.”

Tara frowned again, the puzzle pieces finally clicking into place. “You’re a Shadow.”

Saelyra chuckled. “Good work, Tarindae. What gave me away?”

“Your robes, the way you speak about everything as if the Code doesn’t apply to you.”

There was a pause and the Force spoke of the bemused grin on Saelyra’s face. “Ahh, the immutable Jedi Code. Such simple rules that bring so much heartache to the galaxy. The world is not black and white, Tara. That should have been the first thing our Master taught you.”

“Our?” Tara asked. That was the third time Saelyra had referred to Davin in that way.

“Ours, Tara. Master Davin is my Master too.”

Tara shook her head, not quite believing it. “But Master Dor only had one padawan before me, and she died.”

Saelyra laughed but it had no humour in it. “Is that what he told you? I suppose it’s easier in some ways. A shadow has no ties, nothing to bind them or blind them.” She gave another mirthless laugh. “So I suppose it’s easier to avoid the questions with a lie.”

“But he doesn’t talk about you.” Part of her brain, the only bit that wasn’t concerned with pain, was struggling with the idea that the padawan she’d believed was dead was alive and sitting beside her.

“Say-say,” Saelyra whispered as she took the cloth from Tara’s head. Tara’s head flashed with memories of her Master talking about having to meet Say-say. She’d always assumed that it was some kind of girlfriend, not his former padawan. Her face flushed with heat at being so wrong.

“Oh.” It was all she could manage.

“That’s why I took you on. We will work together to find him. I promise you Tara, we will find him.”

Tara nodded as she clenched her fists, feeling the way the cuts on her knuckles reopened and the fabric pulled and stretched between her fingers.

“Promise?” she asked, choking back tears.

“Promise. I -” There was a ripple of noise through the Force and Saelyra stopped abruptly.

“Can I help you, Officer?” Saelyra asked, letting go of Tara and twisting slightly.

“I’m going to need to ask you both a few questions. Preferably at the station.”

“Sure, Officer.” Saelyra shifted slightly and Tara heard the click of a blaster.

“Leave your hands where they are.” The Security Officer’s voice was overly loud as the bravado and the overwhelming scent of cologne rolled off him.

“Just wanted to show you my identification,” Saelyra said, her voice overly cheerful.

Most of the time Jedi didn’t carry the standard identification cards, the robes were enough. Tara realised they probably didn’t look like Jedi at the moment. No reputable Jedi would be caught as they had been, bedraggled, battered, and bruised in a cantina on the underlevels of Coruscant. Then again, from where she was sitting they weren’t reputable Jedi. A Shadow and her failed Archivist - not what people thought of when they pictured the perfect Jedi. The blaster remained where it was, but the rustle from next to her declared that Saelyra had gone back to looking through her pockets.

There were a few moments of silence as Saelyra handed the card to the officer. Tara breathed as much as she could through her cracked ribs and tried to process everything that had happened.

“Hey Lyra,” another voice, another cologne although this one far less powerful, and then a sigh. “Give it back to her Officer Br’nen, Lyra’s one of the good ones.”

Tara giggled at the thought of Saelyra and herself, sitting on the floor of the cantina covered in blood being considered ‘good ones’. It was all too much as different emotions ran through like the storm water that still ran down the gutters outside the cantina. The giggles became louder and she shoved both hands over her mouth, desperate to stop them.

“Shock,” Saelyra said, grasping her by the shoulder. “I think there is some Hinkley’s left in the bottle. Marcellin, could you get me it, please?”

The cheap alcohol burnt away the pain that seemed to drench every part of her, as she finished the last of it. Saelyra let go of her shoulder and took the bottle off her.

“Better?” she asked and Tara nodded. There was movement beside her and the smell of the second cologne became stronger.

“I take it your little friend here, isn’t used to so much blood?” the second man, the one that Saelyra had referred to as Marcellin said. There was a pregnant pause and then he started again. “You’ll have to excuse Br’nen, he’s just a rookie. Straight out of the academy. Don't know about what you do for us.”

“Don’t think many people know what I do for you Marcellin,” Saelyra said. “Don’t think most people would want to either.”

“True. Doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it though. Can we get a statement from you later?” Marcellin seemed far more relaxed than most people did when talking to a Jedi.

“Sure,” Saelyra’s response was calm, “let me get my…” She paused.

“Padawan,” Tara put in. Suddenly she wanted to stick with Saelyra, the irritation and frustration the woman seemed to cause disappearing with the return of the Force and the promise that had been made. Saelyra’s Force signature chortled briefly with joy.

“Let me get my padawan cleaned up and to the healers and we’ll both come by to give you statements tomorrow.”

“Usual place?”

“Usual place.”

There was a grunt as Marcellin straightened. He didn’t move off though.

“I'm sure you have lots of questions,” Saelyra said, quietly standing up before helping Tara up also. Tara nodded. She was suddenly so tired and so sore that she couldn’t think. The day had spun out of control and she didn’t feel quite like she could get it back.

Tara stood slowly, wincing as her broken ribs grated against each other. As she let go of the table edge, the world spun. She sagged, her legs going out from underneath her.

Saelyra and Officer Marcellin caught her, gentle hands catching her arms and around her torso. Tara bit hard on her bottom lip to stifle the shriek as pain coursed through her. She flushed first hot then cold. Tara was vaguely aware of the growing buzz in her ears.

The world spun harder as she tried again to get both legs under her. They wouldn’t obey. Tara could hear Saelyra saying something, but it was soft and indistinct. There was the taste of metal and the world spun slowly into nothingness.

 

I hope Tara will be alright and great to see a friendly Marcellin caring for them

 

There wasn’t, Saelyra mused, much in the world that couldn’t be fixed by a comfortable sofa and a pot of fresh tea.

The apartment was tidier now, the bottles gathered and emptied into the recycling bin. The cups and dishes that littered the countertops, the ones that spoke of how far Tara had sunk into depression, were washed and put away. The girl was asleep now in her bedroom down the hall, the bone knitters and bacta compresses fixing her wounds while the sleeping pills that Saelyra had slipped into her drink did the rest.

Tara had almost had a panic attack when she’d awoken in the healer’s hall. Her fear, running clear and cold through the Force, hadn’t lessened until Leona and Saelyra had promised that she could go home. Saelyra had ended up sitting beside her as the young woman had finally let the healers tend to her wounds. That had taken the rest of the day, with Healer Leona promising to check in on her in the morning if she went home and rested. Saelyra had bothered trying to get Tara to eat something, instead pouring her into bed and staying with her until the sleeping tablets did their work.

Now it was time for tea and to read the books that Davin had stashed in the alcove of one of the bookshelves. The books contained the raised lettering that all Miralukas learnt. She’d shaken her head in silent bemusement when she’d found them, dusty and forgotten . Davin could never get rid of books, even the ones he couldn't read.

She grinned, as she heard the distant tap, tap, tap in the corridor.

“The light switch is on your left,” Saelyra said as the door slid open. The Force ran warm for a second as her visitor used kinesis and then she could hear the buzzing of the lights. “Show off,” Saelyra mumurmed but there was no menace in it.

“Done, it is?” Yoda asked, as he walked into the lounge room.

“Done,” Saelyra said with a smile. “Took some effort, and it’s not over yet, but the cage she’d built up in her head has gone. Not without ramifications.”

“Read your initial report, I did.” Master Yoda continued. Saelyra didn’t invite him to sit down, nor did she move to pour the venerable Master a cup from the steaming teapot in front of her. “Gave into her anger, Padawan Tarindae did. Dabbled with the darkside, she has. Watch her, we must.”

Saelyra closed her eyes and breathed out, one long steady breath to calm the flash or irritation.

“No,” she said after a moment. “She had a normal human reaction to trauma. You can’t expect people to brush off what has happened to them because the Jedi Code is too inflexible to cope with normal human emotions.”

There was another flicker of warmth through the Force and she knew she’d needled him. She respected the old Master, but their relationship was a long and tumultuous one built on verbal sparring, a shared love of strange teas, and the fact that both had saved the other from embarrassment on more than one occasion.

“Trained well Tarindae has been,” Yoda continued. He climbed onto one of Davin’s comfier lounges and used the Force to pour himself a cup of tea into the spare mug. “Dealt with it better, she should have. Others have done so.”

“I doubt you’d find many who have been through what she has. I’ve read the healer’s reports and spoken to Leona. From what Tara said today, I doubt she’s told us half of what really happened while she was under the ‘care’ of the Doctor.”

“Hmm,” there was a long and drawn out silence. “Continue to work with her, you want to. Hear the decision in your voice, I can.”

Saelyra allowed herself a brief smile. “I think Tara has a lot to learn about herself, the Code and the Force. If I can do that and find Davin, then we all win. No-one wants a broken padawan, even one who thinks she’s only fit to be an archivist.” There was a long pause. “Especially one who thinks she can only be an archivist. I’ve always found librarians the most dangerous of people.”

There was another long and pregnant silence. Saelyra sipped her tea and let the idea of a broken and adrift Tarindae ferment in Master Yoda’s mind.

“Retrieved both lightsabers, have been…hmmm?” Yoda said eventually. “Lead you to Master Dor, they will.”

Saelyra’s attention wandered to the two long, dirty cylinders on the table. She could still smell the blood, dirt and grease that coated them. It had almost been impossible to prise them from Tara, who had clung to them like a child reunited with a long lost toy.

“They’ll give clues, but they’ll also help anchor Tarindae to the here and now.”

Yoda made a murmur of assent and they lapsed into a far more comfortable silence.

“Keep me in the loop you will,” Yoda said eventually. “Need to know about Tarindae’s progress.”

Saelyra grinned. “And our progress on finding Master Dor of course.”

There was a clink as the tea cup settled back on the saucer, and Saelyra felt herself being considered by the Jedi Master.

“Already know you will find him, I do.” Yoda said. There was a clink as the tea cup settled back on the saucer. “Once you set your mind to something, hard to undo it is. A similar trait Master Dor picked in his padawans… Hmmmm?”

She didn’t bother responding. She heard the Jedi Master climb down from the couch and then the familiar tapping of his cane as he made his way out of Davin’s apartment.

He paused at the door. “Also, expect, I do, a packet of that tea.”

Saelyra gave a soft snort of amusement and raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “By the end of this week,” she said quietly, “once my padawan is up and about.”

There was another grumble and then Jedi Master was gone, the door sliding closed behind him. Saelyra settled back into the couch, her fingers lightly tracing the words that graced the pages while outside, another storm thundered across the Coruscant sky.

 

There are dangerous archivists like Nu, Jerec.
Great to see both again safe but now they have to search for Master Dor

 

Sorry for missing a few updates. Great work! This was a very poignant, raw look into how Tara coped with the trauma of what she'd been through. It's a difficult enough thing for regular people to deal with, and I imagine combining attunement to the Force would both make it easier and worse for the victim, especially when they're also struggling to deal with the expectations of the inflexible Jedi Code as Tara is. She's had a very rough time of things, and I'm glad Saelyra was able to help her take some first steps toward healing.

Saelyra and Tara are going to make an interesting pair. Saelyra seems like she has a lot she can teach Tara if Tara will let her, and both being trained by Davin can provide common ground. I hope they're able to find Davin and rescue him.

It was really interesting to read this story from the perspective of characters who can't see in the biological sense. I tend to rely too heavily on visual descriptions and forget that there are other senses that can and should be imparting information. All of those senses got used here, and it made the story feel more complete.

Saelyra sounds like she's been around the block a few times and has quite a few stories to tell. I'm curious what she and Yoda got into in the past.

Great job!

 

I know it's been months since I told you that reviewing this story was on my priority list, and I apologise that it took me so long, but I'm here at long last and reading it a second time was just as enjoyable as the first!

First of all I love this concept of a Jedi master who's into trashy romance holonovels and his padawan who (among other things) acts as his secretary, but what I love even more is the twist you put on it. One would expect this premise to bring forth all sorts of crack!fic, but instead you've turned this unlikely pair into the protagonists of an angsty drama with quite a bit of mystery and intrigue.

I told you in my other reviews of this series that Saelyra is a favourite of mine among your OCs, but before I get to her I want to talk about Tara's arc in this story. When we first see her, hiding in the window alcove in the archives, I realised that she was already beginning to "see" without her eyes – that's how she found the alcove, after all – but her problem is that she doesn't allow herself to do it. As a matter of fact she doesn't allow herself to do anything or even to be anything; as Saelyra aptly puts it she's thinking of herself as a "list of adjectives", not as a person. Yet even as she's walling herself in, she can't help but begin to feel: when they reach the lower levels she reaches out with her other senses (smell, taste, touch) to understand where she is, and once she gets the lightsaber that Saelyra gives her the Force slowly comes back into focus. Your description of her sense of the Force throughout this story, from a screaming, raging beast caught in a cage, to the "murmurs" once she escapes from the mental prison she built for herself, was incredibly well done. We got to follow every step of her re-awakening, in a way that both made sense for the story and that was beautifully written.

One sign of how self-centered Tara is at the beginning of this story, and how indifferent she has made herself to the rest of the world, is how long it takes her to put the pieces of Saelyra's puzzle together. She needs to hear Saelyra's name to figure out that she's a Miraluka, even though Saelyra has mentioned the Miraluka already; she needs to eliminate all the functions of the Jedi in order to understand that Saelyra must be a Shadow; and it takes her time to react to the fact that Saelyra refers to Davin as "our" master. By defining herself as the "blind archivist who is Master Dor's padawan" she has made herself blind to everything she doesn't already know. I loved the moment when Saelyra told her that there's a life outside of books. It connected neatly to little Tara who kept quoting Master Yoda and enjoying the safety of already-acquired knowledge.

Saelyra's "tough love" approach is certainly unorthodox, and I can see why it would be so maddening for Tara that she wasn't forthcoming with any information at all (heck, Tara even had to ask for her name twice in order to get an answer) but as the story went on I realised that she was guiding Tara to find her own answers, to be Tara again and not the "archivist" – and it's only after that (glorious, btw) fight scene that she shifts to calling Tara by her name. She's such an intriguing character; she's just as comfortable in a seedy pub of the Underlevels as she is in the Jedi Temple, and she's just as cheeky in the Jedi Temple as she is in her interactions with the Coruscant constabulary. I don't know if you've ever written (or considered to write) her backstory as Davin's padawan, but that's certainly something I'd be interested in reading. If Davin thought of Tara as "Padawan Perseverance", I can't even begin to fathom what nickname he'd have for Saelyra – and reading li'l Saelyra's replies to romance novel publishers is something I need in my life.

Bottom line, this is a spectacular story, and while I've already read the rest of the fics that belong to this series (especially The Kammris Falcon, which I really, really enjoyed) I hope we'll see more of Saelyra and Tara investigating Davin's disappearance. I already know that he was ultimately rescued, but I'm exceedingly curious to know how his two padawans eventually got there!

 

Librarians are some of the most dangerous people around...It's not that they know everything...it's that they know how to find out everything they don't know.

Added to that is Tara's desire to follow the code, and although she is a loophole finder, she sees that more as practicality rather than say Namia (and eventually Kithera's) desire to cause chaos. So being attuned to everyone else's suffering and being powerless, and then trying to process trauma in an environment that doesn't (at least according to canon) do a good job of looking after mental health) is not ideal.

Eventually they will find him - and it is an eventually thing.

Yeah, I kinda did the thing I normally do and create a character for a one-off adventure that ends up being stupidly interesting and just invites more stories to be written about them.

It's all good. It apparently takes me forever to reply to the comments on my fics. Life gets in the way sometimes. I still really, really appreciate every comment I get

That is our Davin. Ever since his conception he's been the loud shirt wearing, day drinking, novel reading larrikin that he is. I think you're the second person whose described one of my stories as being along the lines of "crackfic treated seriously" in the last month, which I think is a massive compliment - I love these two (and Saelyra makes three) because they are so odd even in the vast array of personalities that make up the Temple.

I think the best thing about Saelyra is the way she just cuts straight to the heart of the matter. There is no gentleness (as you saw with her appearance in Snips and Snails), but just an insightful quip about what the person really is. It makes her rather scary if you're full of self-doubt or trying to be something that you're not (like Tara is here in trying to be anything except the hurt, scared and pain-filled padawan she is).

Thank you It was fun introducing each sense one by one and trying very hard to think about what it would be like if you couldn't see.

I love that because you've read Tara's arc in quick(ish) progression that you see stuff that I definitely was...uh...putting in there because...I wanted...to...uh....link it all together. Yeah! That's right - done on purpose and not entirely by accident!

I think the best adjective to describe Saelyra is unorthodox!

Like I said in an earlier comment - Saelyra was really only supposed to show up for this and then disappear into the shadows again (pun sorta intended), but she's so quickly slotted into the whole Kit'verse, that I am going to now go back and write her backstory - it just may take me some time.

Saelyra wouldn't have any truck with any of them. "No, you get it when you get it. You want to come and pick it up and battle your way through a horde of angry (insert random Star Wars creature here) then be my guest. Or you can wait for it to be done."

Forthright is probably what Davin would go for.

I will get there too - eventually. Need to finish Kit's long story first which is turning out to be very, very, very, very long.