#post-chapter 3

I know this was supposed to be a drabble but uh i think we all know i’m incapable of drabbles.

Shae, her arm wrapped around Praven’s, looks around the salon as they step through the transparisteel doors, nearly gawking at the rows and rows of brightly colored and embroidered cloth.  Every shade in the rainbow seems to be here, in every sort of material.  “I cannot believe you managed to talk me into this,” she murmurs, leaning close enough for him to hear her.

“The evening out?  Or that it’s in Kaas City?”  Mischief sparkles in Praven’s eyes.  He knows exactly what she means, of course.  She’s been voicing her doubts about this entire outing since they ventured into the Scarlet District, though always obliquely.  “Or did you mean shopping for something that isn’t armor?  You can’t mean the jewelry or shoes because I haven’t mentioned those stops yet.”

Her eyes narrow.  “You certainly haven’t.  I don’t know what kind of stipend you think Jedi get, but it certainly isn’t enough to afford -”  She waves her hand in the general direction of the yards of cloth.  “Anything like this, let alone shoes and jewelry.”

“I know.”  He kisses her cheek, pleased when the annoyed expression melts off her face.  “It’s my gift, if that’s all right.”

A slim, graceful Pureblood is on her way over, and Shae realizes there’s no polite way out of it at this point.  She nods, determined to be gracious.  “In that case, thank you.  But nothing extravagant.”

He’s just going to pretend he didn’t hear that last part.  She’ll forgive him.

“Good afternoon, my lords.”  The Pureblood inclines her head, then eyes Shae.  “I am Biqat.  Welcome to my salon.  Do you have color or material preferences, Lord ….?”

“Dzirin,” Shae says, the name still unfamiliar in her mouth.  “And no, I don’t.”

“Shae has always been inclined toward armor.”  Praven smiles.  “But I’ve finally convinced her to add a few dresses to her closet.”

Is she a Jedi?

Shae doesn’t know.  

A Jedi shouldn’t be on Dromund Kaas on the arm of a man who has haunted her dreams, because Jedi eschew attachments, but here she is, clad in finer fabric than she’s ever worn in her life, gold jewelry of her own choosing adorning her arms and neck and face, strolling through the cultural district as though she’s lived here her whole life.

A Jedi shouldn’t have spent the last year questioning everything the Order ever taught her, but how could she not after learning the truth about how she came to the Jedi?  About who she is, where she comes from, the life that was taken from her before she knew it was hers?

A Jedi shouldn’t look at the man next to her, who has spent the last year patiently cultivating her affections according to cultural traditions she never had the chance to learn, explaining each of them in the process, and find she’s short of breath and nearly giddy.

A Jedi shouldn’t have spent months painstakingly learning a particular phrase in a language she should have been taught from her earliest moments.

But she’s always been a Jedi.  If she isn’t one, then what is she?  She’s feared the answer for months.  Maybe it’s time to stop running scared, to finally accept that her life doesn’t fit into the neat box she’s planned for it.

Shae tugs on Praven’s arm, and they stop in the shadow of the opera house, bas relief sculptures acting out scenes above them.  She recognizes some of the more famous ones, though others remain a mystery.  “I’m still figuring out who I am if not, well.”  She looks around.  “You know.  But while I’m unsure of a lot of things, I do know that I ….”  

She falls silent.

This is ridiculous.  She’s faced down weapons of mass destruction.  Sith lords bent on killing her.  Irritated Alderaanian nobles.  Interrogators and torturers.  The Emperor himself.  

She will not be defeated by something so simple.

He’s still watching her, nothing but curiosity on his face, and she loops her arms around his neck, the hem of her blaze-orange dress swirling around his ankles and hers.  “Rutsair, razir nu zain.”  A pause, a beat as she studies him.  “I hope I didn’t massacre that too badly.”  When he still doesn’t speak, she winces.  “I did, didn’t I?  I should have just -”

“Shae.”  He cups her face, his hands warm on her skin, eyes wide.  “Say it again.”

She draws close enough that she’s a scarce breath away from him, and this time the words are more sure, lingering and sweet, quietly emphatic even as butterflies explode in her chest, as she becomes acutely aware of how close they are, aware of the fact they’re in a public square and standing by one of the most eyecatching buildings she’s seen in Kaas City.

“Razir nu zain.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”  A hint of a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.  “Are you simply demonstrating newfound language skills at a very pleasurable distance?  Or dare I hope you’re making a declaration?”

“Both.”  Shae can’t help herself, leaning the scant distance between them to kiss him as mischief surfaces in her amber eyes.  “Don’t ask me to say anything else, though.  That’s all I know.”