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Chapter 20 - The Dance, Part II
"Jaris."
It was said reverently, lovingly, and the sound of her voice around his name brought memories flooding back. He made a hoarse noise in the back of his throat as he suddenly reached out and pulled her to him, crushing her body in his arms.
“Little sister,” Jaris cried into her hair, holding her tight, “Oh, Goddess, I never thought I’d see you again.”
Alia hugged him tightly, close to crying herself. Jaris had been the one person in her life who had never gone away, the one person who had come close to making her change her mind about leaving Dysis. She clutched him close for a few more minutes, before pulling away.
Blinking away tears, she shook her head at him, saying wisely, “Believing in the impossible is the only way to make it possible, Jaris.”
He looked at her, uncomprehending for a moment, then spotted the glint in her blue eyes. She was teasing him. Eight years of hardly any word, and even then it was something scribbled on a telescript without a return address…and she was teasing him. He threw his head back, laughing that Alia had not changed one bit. Placing one hand on his stomach to keep his insides from spilling out and the other on Alia’s shoulder, tears again formed at the corners of his eyes.
“I’ve missed you, Alia.”
“And I’ve missed you, Jaris; more than you'll ever know.”
He quirked an eyebrow at her, and Alia schooled her face into a scowl, saying, “Every time I hold those damn sticks I’m reminded of you and your damned sadistic teaching.”
He chuckled, and replied, “Sadistic but necessary.”
“Ha!” she crowed, spinning around and nearly hitting a pair of dancers, “So you admit to being a depraved brute when it comes to climbing trees and innocent little sisters.”
He snorted.
“When the innocent little sister in question,” he retorted, “Has managed to fall out of said tree three times, pretended to break her leg to get out of climbing practice, and then thrown all my clothes out the window onto passing strangers when it didn’t work, all in the same day, then yes, I enjoyed seeing you fall on your ass when you wouldn’t listen to me.”
“Well,” Alia sniffed, jutting her nose into the air, “If that’s how you speak to your long-lost little sister, I’m going to where I know I’ll be appreciated.”
She turned abruptly, catching him off guard as she shook his hand from her shoulder, and stormed off in the direction of the Naboo. Alarmed, Jaris hurried to catch up with her, struggling to keep her in his sights as she wove in and out of dancing couples and triples; finally, he was able to catch her in an open space, and took hold of her hand.
He was worried at the mulish set of her jaw and the stubborn way she refused to look at him. Until he caught sight of that damned twinkle. Reluctant to drop her hand, he pulled her around forcefully, where he saw the frown melt into an irrepressible grin. Damnit, she was teasing him again. Laying an arm across her shoulders, he squeezed gently.
“Let’s not poke fun anymore,” he said quietly, glad to be with her again, “I’d like to meet your friends.”
Alia smiled, nodding her head, and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm.
“This way, my gullible escort,” she said teasingly, maneuvering them around the dancers.
“Lead on, insufferable brat,” Jaris replied, happy to once more fall into their youthful bantering.
He grew apprehensive, however, as they drew closer to the group of Naboo surrounding Amidala. To his relief, Alia merely bowed her head in respect as they passed the Queen, and led to him to the far side of the dais, where a boy and his companion were standing, looking woefully out of place. The alien wasn’t the strangest creature he’d ever seen, but it came close. Startled from his thoughts, he realized that Alia was speaking.
“…dances back on Dysis. Jaris, I’d like you to meet my friends, Jar Jar Binks and Anakin Skywalker,” she said, gesturing first to the alien then the boy, “Anakin, Jar Jar, this is my brother, Jaris.”
He saw the boy’s eyes widen.
“You mean you’re Qui-Gon’s s-” he began before Alia quickly bent down to put a hand over his mouth.
“My foster-brother, Anakin,” she said, staring into his eyes for a moment before pulling her hand away.
Jaris, however, was intrigued, his interest sharpening at his sister’s action, and wondered who or what a Qui-Gon was.
“It is an honor,” he said, bowing his head to them, “To meet you both.”
The boy stared at him, and Jaris noticed that his blue eyes were measuring him, weighing what they saw, and felt a moment’s uneasiness at their intensity.
“You don’t look like Matis.”
Surprised, Jaris looked at the boy again.
“And how do you know my aunt?”
“The mirrorpool, Jaris.”
Alia had grown quiet, and as he looked at her, he wondered what had happened to make her become so serious. The Alia-child he had known as a youngling was grown, no longer tortured by her visions and the echoes of her birth mother. Or at least, the scars were no longer visible. He was surprised that she had consented to create a projection: as a child once her gift had been discovered, she had always been in demand to tell a story, but always claimed that it hurt too much. He wondered how long she had known these friends of hers. Jaris watched as his foster sister shook off her melancholy, and bent down to the boy.
“Care to dance?” she asked, offering a hand.
The boy’s blue eyes looked downward, suddenly shy.
“I don’t know how,” he said softly.
“I’ll teach you.”
Anakin looked up and smiled at her, taking her hand. Alia looked up over his head at Jaris, her gaze pleading. She had just been reunited with him, so of course she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, but Anakin needed help. Jaris simply nodded his head, smiling genially down at her. He'd found his sister...there would be plenty of time for questions later.
Jaris stood beside the tall, amphibious alien, watching his sister lead the boy, Anakin was his name, to the center of the dance floor. Looking over to comment to the creature, he was surprised to find that it had somehow been replaced by a man, not as tall as…Jar Jar, he had to remember that…but still towering over his own average frame. The man was older-looking, his brown hair worn long but tied back with a sensible thong.
His profile fascinated Jaris, its features seeming to convey a sense of strength, and despite the broken nose that spoke of battle, there was a dignity about this man, a sense of nobility that teased Jaris with its familiarity. He knew this man, somehow, though he had never seen him before. Without saying a word, without lifting a finger, he had won the usually taciturn Dysean’s respect.
“Alia is a surprising young woman,” the man said, turning his head slightly toward Jaris, “With many secrets.”
“More, I think, than even she knows,” Jaris replied, watching as his sister threw her head back in laughter at something the boy said.
The man inclined his head in acknowledgement when Jaris turned his eyes to him completely, and the Dysean thought he could see the barest hint of a smile on the older man’s lips.
“How do you know my sister?”
The man seemed to think a moment, then turned his head back to Alia.
“I met her when I was on Naboo; she traveled with my companions and aided in the Queen’s escape.”
“What was she doing on Naboo?”
The question was out before Jaris could stop it, and he nearly bit his tongue in frustration. Now the man would wonder why he hadn’t known where his own sister was when she apparently helped save a Queen. A chuckle sounded next to him, and he looked up incredulous at the man beside him.
“You needn’t worry,” the man said, giving him that small smile that seemed so familiar to him, “I know your sister’s history.”
/ I’ll bet. There were some things Alia would never tell me, let alone a stranger. And how did he know I was thinking that? /
“As you will, sir,” Jaris replied, bowing his head slightly in respect. On Dysis, even those who were mistaken were given credit to their honor. It was highly valued on his world, and ingrained into their children from birth.
The man sent a glance his way, apparently seeing through the courtesy response and amused by his gesture.
“You may believe me, young man. Alia’s abilities have made her far different from other beings, enough so that I brought her before the Council.”
With sudden insight, Jaris looked more openly at the man beside him, taking into account the man’s long cloak, his clean and pressed tunics and pants, and catching sight at last of the lightsaber that hung from his belt within easy reach.
“You’re a Jedi,” Jaris said, shocked that he had not seen it before.
The man bowed his head.
“I am called Qui-Gon Jinn.”
/ So, this is Qui-Gon. Rather makes the ‘what’ question a moot point. I wonder how Alia knows him. /
“Jaris endon Despin, Master Jinn, of the Beroe Sector. Forgive me, but have you ever been to the Dysis system before?”
“Once, a long time ago.”
“That’s it, then.”
The Jedi looked blankly at him as the music around them changed, becoming a softer, more romantic tune.
“Where I must’ve seen you; forgive me if I’m being presumptuous, but I feel as if I’ve met you before.”
Instead of shrugging away his apology, the Jedi appeared thoughtful.
“Perhaps you have, when you were younger.”
Suddenly, Jaris was pierced with the Jedi Master’s grey-blue eyes, their depths penetrating his unprepared mind.
“You are of the Despin Clan on Dysis, then?”
Jaris nodded dumbly, surprised that a stranger would know of Dysean kin lines.
“And would you be familiar, then, with the Despin Trade Corporation?”
At that, Jaris had to smile, albeit bittersweet.
“Too familiar, some might say. If you know anything about how things are done on Dysis, you’ll know that Destra is a blood-run company. Trade is the family business, though what with the growing Trade Federation monopoly, our profits aren’t as high as they used to be. But that’s probably for the best.”
Qui-Gon found himself raising an eyebrow in interest at the young man’s comment. This Jaris was no fool; his mind was sharp and his insight served him well. He had seen Qui-Gon before: Alia carried his features, though they were softened and more delicate in his daughter’s face. The Jedi Master only hoped that despite the young man’s intelligence, for Alia's sake, Jaris would remain blind to just where he remembered the Jedi’s face.
“How so?” asked Qui-Gon, beginning to enjoy himself. He hoped Obi-wan found someone to talk to as well, though Force help him if it turned out to be one of the nobility, or worse yet, a politician. Qui-Gon nearly chuckled aloud at his Padawan’s distaste of politicians, and the look on his face if he had to converse politely with what he considered the greatest of evils. The young man at his side merely shrugged.
“With great power comes great responsibility, a philosopher once said. Less power means less of a chance to become corrupted by it,” replied Jaris, “For the people working for you to become nameless faces. That’s why Destra is a family-only business; it’s harder to turn your back on family wherever you go, but on Dysis, family is what makes you who you are. You are never allowed to forget who is blood and who is not.”
Qui-Gon noted that Jaris lowered his voice at that last part, resentment long buried resurfacing through his words. Probing the man’s mind slightly, he found that Jaris was remembering old taunts and insults, not directed at him, but at Alia. / So even when she was loved, she has been the outsider. / At that moment, while retreating from the Dysean’s mind, Qui-Gon felt a moment of compassion for the child he had never known, and suddenly felt the urge to look for her.
His eyes cast around the dance floor, looking for her tall form with Anakin, and failed to find them. A slight tug at his hand brought his gaze downward, where he was surprised to meet Anakin’s gaze.
“Master Qui-Gon, sir,” the boy began, his eyes trusting and open, “Do you know when the party’s gonna end? My feet hurt.”
Qui-Gon smiled both at the boy’s honesty and his blatant attempt to disguise his weariness.
“I don’t know, Anakin; from my experience, these things take time, sometimes lasting long after sunrise.”
Anakin groaned, and both Qui-Gon and Jaris laughed.
“Perhaps you might ask the Queen to excuse you early, Ani.”
But the boy shook his head, stubbornly refusing to give in to his weariness. Suddenly, a laugh carried across the room to where they stood, and Qui-Gon quickly turned his head. Alia was dancing now with Senator Palpatine, the politician whirling her around the floor to the apparent disappointment of a group of young men on the far side of the room. Jaris shook his head.
“Some things never change. A war could break out, the Republic might crumble, and Alia would still turn every head.”
Qui-Gon said nothing, thinking instead that she had many qualities that would turn someone’s head: her loyalty, her beauty, her strength, and her courage.
X X X X
She hadn’t felt so free since the last time she’d been on Naboo, and Jar Jar was teaching her the ways of the swamp. In return, she had tried to teach him how to walk in the trees, until finally, while doubled up with laughter, they both had to admit that Gungans were better suited to the marshy terrain than the leafy trees for a reason. Alia smiled fondly in remembrance, and her partner mistook her meaning.
He tightened his hand around her waist, saying in a low voice, “I am coming to find that the Queen’s taste in friends quite outdoes her taste in music.”
Startled, Alia quickly brought her mind from her memories, chastising herself silently for losing track of the conversation.
“Forgive me, Lavik,” she said, her smile apologetic, “My mind must’ve wandered. What did you say?”
Slightly put out, her partner nevertheless persevered, smiling wide to show off his perfect teeth.
“I was just admiring your dancing; do you know many dances, little songbird?”
She laughed loudly, her smile contagious and bright.
“Yes, but at least half of them wouldn’t be appropriate for this kind of party.”
He was entranced at the slight giggle she gave as he twirled her around the floor, adding flamboyance to their turns, exaggerating the dips and spins. Pulling her close suddenly, he made her aware of their intimate positions by making a slight grinding motion with his hips.
“I know an inappropriate dance I’d like to practice with you, songbird.”
His smooth voice deepened as they whirled once more around the floor, the hand on her waist sliding to just beneath the small of her back. Her body stiffened and relaxed all at once, and he was satisfied that he’d made his point. Suddenly her eyes narrowed, and his mind was surrounded by a fog smelling faintly of leia flowers.
You are an arrogant pig.
“An arrogant pig,” he agreed, his mind going strangely numb as he led them into another turn.
You will remove your hand from my backside.
His wandering fingers slid back up to her hip.
When the dance is finished, you will find another partner and won’t think of me again.
Her blue eyes burned into his own, and he felt an itching begin behind them, tears forming at their lids. The leia-smelling fog was suffocating him, smothering him with its subtle sweetness. Executing a spin, Alia could feel her control slipping, and hurriedly broke their connection.
“You were saying, Lavik?” she asked quietly, noting his clammy hands and dilated eyes.
“What?”
He felt strange, confused: something was dancing at the edge of his mind, a word, a smell, something he couldn’t for the life of him remember. His partner’s voice jarred him from his thoughts, and as he looked into her concerned eyes, he thought he heard a slight sound in his head, something important that he couldn’t grasp. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, his usual arrogance returned, and he gave her another glimpse of his white teeth.
“Beg pardon?” he rephrased the question, this time sounding more composed. But his partner merely shook her head, the sparkle returning to her blue eyes.
“I guess both our minds wandered, then.”
His attraction for her had returned along with his arrogance, but this time it was accompanied by something darker, a taste that felt sweeter and more dangerous. A sound teased his mind, and it was laced with the same dark sweetness. He was about to speak when he heard a throat clear loudly behind them.
“Forgive me, young Taraal, but may I cut in?”
Unseen by Lavik, Alia threw a grateful look at the very welcome politician.
“Senator Palpatine! How are you?” she asked brightly, quickly letting go of Lavik’s hand to curtsy.
The politician smiled knowingly at her.
“Very well, Lady Alia. Pardon my intrusion, but I feared that if I did not take this opportunity, you would be taken for every dance.”
“I am flattered, Senator. Thank you for your company, Lavik; it was most enjoyable.”
Outraged, her jilted would-be suitor watched her twirl away in the Senator’s arms, leaving him alone in the middle of the dance floor. Alia could feel his eyes burning into her back as she danced with the senator from Naboo, before their intensity faded as her mental suggestions took hold.
“I don’t think he appreciated how eager I was to abandon him,” she sighed, refusing to meet Palpatine’s gaze. A slight uneasiness wormed its way into her mind, casting a shade upon her relief at escape.
“I doubt that Lavik Taraal appreciates eagerness in anything but himself.”
Alia looked up at her partner’s dry response, and stared at him in surprise. Once his meaning sank in, however, she threw her head back in laughter. Heads turned in their direction, but Alia didn’t care. The senator had begun asking questions about Dysis, which she answered happily. No one except the Jedi, Jaris, and Anakin knew of her true homeworld.
He appeared interested in her stories, and seemed genuinely curious about Dysis, asking questions about the land, the people, and the religion. They spun and whirled around the floor, Palpatine being the perfect partner, never stepping on her toes or making uncomfortable remarks. Not once did he pull a Lavik and try something below the waist. As the song ended, Alia looked into his eyes, her skin flushed with exertion and a playful smile on her lips.
“I've discovered your greatest secret, Senator.”
Palpatine smiled at her, his grey eyes indulgently amused.
"And what would that be, my lady?"
Looking around furtively, Alia spoke in a dramatic whisper:, “Beneath the politics, you’re really a Dance Master in disguise.”
He gave a small chuckle, and brought her hand to his lips. She felt him press a light kiss to her knuckles, and giggled slightly. Instantly a swarm of young nobles, minus her previous partner, gathered around them.
“You see, Lady Alia,” Palpatine said to her, “I was right to catch you when I did.”
She laughed with him, and smiled brightly at the requests for her to dance.
“I’m sorry,” Alia said apologetically, fanning herself, “But I’m a little tired. I think I need some air.”
She was immediately offered a dozen invitations to take a walk in the garden, to which she internally sighed. Alia had always hated the public dances on Dysis; there was never any time for her to be alone. Forcing a smile, she laughed cheerfully, waving away the many requests as one would an irritating insect.
“No, no, you stay and dance; if you all come with me, there’ll be no one left to keep this party going.”
With a wave of her hand, she sent them back to the floor, propelling them forward with a slight Suggestion. Turning away from the glittering room, Alia fled through a side door to avoid the sudden rush to the popular garden spots, escaping to the less popular terrace. Once outside, she sighed as she felt a cool breeze kiss her brow, and she turned her head instinctively toward the stars, sagging in relief against the balustrade.
Looking down, the blue-eyed brunette watched as couples began to make their way through the garden maze, the paths lit softly by tree-lights. Alia suddenly felt a strong, familiar presence make itself known, and she welcomed its unseen yet unmistakable warmth.
“Are my eyes deceived or is the great Qui-Gon Jinn running away from a little political get-together?” Alia said without turning around. There was no need for preamble. She had felt his presence inside her all her life.
The Jedi acknowledged her teasing with a nod of his head. Even though she stood facing away from him, he knew she would somehow understand it.
“Your eyes may deceive you, Alia; don’t trust them.”
“And how about what I feel?” Alia replied, her voice so soft that he needed to strain to make out her words.
Taking leave of the shadows, Qui-Gon stood beside her, mimicking her pose by placing his elbows on the concrete barrier. It was one of his favorites when he had things to think about and meditate.
“What do you feel?”
Alia had never heard his voice when she was a child, had never been able to feel the comfort of his arms when she was hurt or angry or afraid. At that moment, Alia hated her mother and what she’d done, what she’d condemned her daughter to: craving what she could never have, the slightest taste of it enough to drive her mad with want.
Struggling to regain her control, Alia viciously cut off her ties to her anger; she’d pay for it later, but Alia refused to allow Qui-Gon see her weak. Breathing softly, she thought of how to answer his question.
“That after this, I’ll never see you again,” she said at last, allowing herself to speak part of the truth.
Qui-Gon sensed her hesitation, and decided to push her.
“Why do you think that?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Alia still refused to look at him as she struggled to control her flaring temper. “When this is over, I’ll go my way, and you’ll go yours. A Jedi can’t love. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t make you leave the Order. It’s what you are, what you’ve always been.”
“And you?”
“Me?” she said in a slightly-shrill voice, her eyes staring at the sky and her hands clenching and unclenching themselves on the garden wall, “I’ll manage somehow, travel like I always have, make new friends, have adventures. Who wouldn’t want a life like that?”
“Would you not return to Dysis?”
She gave a bitter laugh at his question, for a moment her eyes growing hard at her memories.
“I left for a reason, Qui-Gon,” Alia said in a harsh voice, “No matter how hard I tried, I was never one of them. No matter how many loved me, I was always the outsider. They even tried to give me a Clan name, to prove I was born one of them, I guess. But it didn’t matter. I was never Cadis, and could never be Cadis.
“My name was the one word my mother ever spoke,” Alia said, her breath sticking for a moment in her throat, “And it’s all I am. I can’t escape it...I can't escape her...no matter where I go or how far I run."
Ducking her head, Alia continued on, whispering as she stared intently at the stars above them, her brilliant gaze frightening in its intensity.
"She's inside me...in my blood...inside my head...she's always whispering, always singing...."
He was silent during her tirade, following the tenuous psychic thread he had discovered in her rooms, until he came upon one of her barriers. She stopped suddenly, looking sharply in his direction. Qui-Gon was surprised to find fear in her eyes. As well as outrage.
“Do Jedi make it a habit to invade a person’s privacy behind their back?”
“When that person gives answers that only produce more questions, then yes. I have felt this before,” he said, switching the topic, “This thread between us. What does it mean?”
Alia felt her breath catch, and swallowed hard.
“It’s what ties us together,” she whispered, tears burning her eyes, her heart aching, “The bond my mother left behind so that we’d know each other, if we ever met.”
Alia's emotions were difficult for even Qui-Gon to read. She was elated and despairing all at once, her spirit seemingly whole yet lying broken at his feet. He brought a hand to her face, turning her eyes to meet his own. They were a desolate, roiling blue like the storm-tossed waters of Manaan, yet they sparkled brightly in the soft lantern light.
“Tell me, Alia,” he whispered gently, wanting nothing more than to take her in his arms and shelter her, “Let it go.”
Alia let out a strangled cry, unable to stop herself from wrapping her arms around his waist. Qui-Gon held her as she wept, rubbing small circles across her shoulders as her sobs were muffled by the thickness of his tunics. At last, Alia rested her head gently against his broad chest, her red-rimmed eyes looking out at the glittering city of Coruscant. They stood together for a few moments, listening to the soft strains of music coming from the ballroom.
“I Feel you, Alia," Qui-Gon said quietly, his chest rumbling as he spoke, "I can Feel your presence within my mind. Only, it's as if you have always been with me, and I'm only seeing it now.”
He felt her nod into his chest.
“I’ve always Felt you,” Alia said quietly, breathing in his scent, trying to memorize everything about this moment, “Your grief, your anger, your love, because I’ve always known you to be my father. Mother could feel both of us because…because…I don’t know why, not for sure; maybe because she was tied to both of us. But you…you never felt me because you didn’t remember me...you didn’t believe you had a daughter.”
“And now?”
“Now? Now you See the colors, don’t you? You See them on things I've touched, places I've been?”
“Yes.”
At the sound of his voice, Alia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“You believe me,” she whispered, relief overwhelming her to the point where she had to struggle to breathe, “You could only See them if you believed, if you acknowledged that I was your daughter, that Mother exchanged your spirits, everything.”
Sighing, Alia lifted her head from its resting place, reluctantly leaving her father’s warm embrace to once again lean her elbows atop the balustrade. There was something, however, that Qui-Gon needed answered.
“What do you remember of your mother, Alia?”
Alia closed her eyes at his question, thinking hard, casting her mind back in memory.
“She was beautiful…kind, but…sad. Her presence was so bright, so bright that at times even my eyes hurt from looking too long. She was warm, peaceful, and gentle as a spring rain or summer breeze. I remember her laughter; it was so pure, like virgin sunlight, and it always made me feel loved.
"But there were times when she would grow angry or sad, and it would baffle the others. They couldn’t understand that she was feeling you...that she was feeling your emotions. Not even when they were dying did they understand.”
“Understand what?”
Alia was silent. She sensed his need to know more, to know what had happened to Mala, but it was killing her to tell him. The pain of her mother's death was still as raw as it had been fifteen years before.
“They died because of your link with them," Alia said finally, "The betrayal of your Padawan was too much for them, too powerful for my mother to soothe. But she knew; she’d always known, I think, that it would be your grief that killed her.”
Qui-Gon watched his daughter lift her head skyward, her Angel-blue eyes staring fixedly at a point in space, though whether she was looking at the stars or the blackness in between them he couldn't say.
“What do you remember?” she asked suddenly.
She heard him sigh, and mimic her stance again, their heads now level as they stood together on the terrace.
“Before I met you,” he began, his voice quiet, “I would say that I hardly remember anything about her; we were on course to Jabiim when I met your mother. The Force brought us together, Alia, of that I am certain, now.”
“But at the time?”
“At the time I didn’t really give it much thought; I didn’t remember anything more than that I felt different, changed. Xanatos thought of it as just another adventure, something to amaze his year-mates. I chose to do the same, except for the last part.”
“Because of course, Jedi don’t brag.”
He smiled slightly at her sarcastic words.
“Because what skills I have were given to me by the Force and I am grateful for them; to use them wrongly would mean to lose them. I have no need to parade my talents when my faults are just as obvious.”
A curious thing was happening to her, she could feel it. Alia had always known her love for her father came from her mother, but now, just this once, she felt she was able to judge him for herself. This was why her mother had loved him, or at least part of it. He was humble and confident, respectful yet aware of his own worth; he was everything that a Jedi was supposed to be, and still human.
On her mother’s moon, on Dysis, on every planet or ship she had lived, Alia had felt his insecurity, his anger, the emotions he bottled inside to deal with at a later time. But being in his presence was like a new awakening for Alia; his life-force burned brilliantly, its bright warmth drawing her close. She loved this man, her father, now more than ever.
“I think I know now why my mother loved you; partially, anyway.”
Qui-Gon had felt her acceptance, had felt her drawing in within herself even as she turned and smiled ruefully at him.
“I don’t understand it, but I know it. I'll miss you, Father, when this is over.”
She took his hand and brought it to her lips to press a kiss to its roughened knuckles.
“And now, if you’ll excuse me,” she made a mock bow, causing a small smile to form at his lips, “I think I must return to the dance.”
As Alia turned to walk away, she thought she heard a whisper on the wind, a voice that made her heart ache in memory. Qui-Gon sensed her steel her heart against her pain, yet now that he was able to distinguish her emotions from his own, he somehow felt even more entangled. His body turned away from her retreating form, facing the garden spread beneath the terrace. He knew her pain, knew where it began, but they both knew that it could never be remedied.
Restraining himself from turning around and reaching out to her, he allowed himself to give her all that he could, damning the consequences.
“May the Force be with you, my daughter,” he said quietly, in a voice so soft that Alia could not hear his parting gift.
X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X X
From the Author - -
"In case you haven't noticed, I absolutely adore Qui-Gon. So, for those who don't like him, don't read anymore of my story. I know, I know, a little late, but better late than never, right?"
Author's Notes
Telescript SW-equivalent of a letter.
Endon lit. translation "of the Clan."
Destra As I've mentioned before, Destra is the Despin Trading Corporation, a lesser competitor of the Trade Federation. Its base is on Dysis, and is controlled by the Despin Clan.
