Acquaintance - KOTOR II
Title: Acquaintance
Fandom: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II
Characters: Brianna (Handmaiden), Yusanis, Handmaiden sisters
Rating: G
Summary: General Yusanis brings something to his youngest daughter.
Author's Note: None.
After the Battle of Malachor V, General Yusanis returned to his household.
His wife said nothing when he came into the door. She looked him up and down, noting the weary lines of his walk, the signs of healed and healing injuries to the body, the stiffness and hesitation to move his limbs freely. And there was something deeper that she could perceive: a wound more grievous than anything physical. This one would never heal, but she felt no sympathy for his pain... her own internal injuries flared up in anger and resentment, betrayal and bitterness. Beckoning a servant with a hand, she took his quarterstaff and weapons belt but did not touch him as he walked to his own bedroom.
His daughters heard his footsteps from their places in the house, but they had heard no welcoming words from their mother and so gave none themselves. They watched him with the ice-blue eyes they had inherited from him, not knowing what to say or do. His glance passed over them, lingering as he clutched a bundle wrapped in a durasheet. Finally he stopped when he saw his youngest emerge from the training room.
"Father?"
The word seemed to echo around the corridor, the first one that had been spoken since Yusanis had opened the door. He gestured her to follow without speaking, leading her into her bedroom and sitting crosslegged on the floor. She sat across from him, worry etched on her fifteen-year-old face. She, too, could see the open and nameless wound he carried.
Gently, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal a set of worn, greyed clothing: Jedi robes. "Brianna," he said in a soft, hoarse voice, holding them out to her. She tried to master her hands, but could not keep them from trembling as she took them. Her fingers tightened in the heavy cloth as the shakiness spread over her entire body, unable to take her eyes from the robes. But there were no tears; she had never cried and did not start now, even knowing what this meant.
When she could finally bring herself to lift her face, her father was staring ahead at nothing. "She is dead," she said, forcing out the words.
He nodded.
Brianna could think of nothing more to say. There were no words that could possibly have been adequate, neither for her father's comfort nor her own. She had questions--had she died in battle? Died on her feet in a final stand against the enemy, or in space by the Republic superweapon that had claimed so many of their own ships as well as the enemy's? Had they stood together on the surface of that forbidden world? Had they defended the great Jedi Revan, that she had followed? All of them jostled in her mind and crowded each other out, leaving her unable to speak.
He rose suddenly, wincing as his many aches protested the movement, and walked out. Brianna shut the door after him. A soft white light on the panel came on as she held the button down, locking it--feeling as though there was more than a door separating them. She could never ask him those questions, not without wounding him further. Silently she knelt on the floor and laid out the robes on her futon: tunic, overtunic, trousers, cloak. Whatever their original colors had been, age and use had reduced them to shades of grey. Running her hands over them, Brianna felt over half a dozen places where the seams had been stitched back together, patches on the inside and out where weapons had pierced it, the remnants of stains from blood and sweat. Curiously she could find nothing recent--no new threads or recently-laundered rusty patches that one would expect to find on the clothes of a fallen warrior. Bringing a sleeve of the cloak to her face, Brianna inhaled deeply. Perspiration, ozone, metal, an undefinable smell that came from traveling through the atmosphere of dozens of planets.
This, then, was the scent of Arren Kae, and the closest she would ever come to knowing her mother.
Fandom: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic II
Characters: Brianna (Handmaiden), Yusanis, Handmaiden sisters
Rating: G
Summary: General Yusanis brings something to his youngest daughter.
Author's Note: None.
After the Battle of Malachor V, General Yusanis returned to his household.
His wife said nothing when he came into the door. She looked him up and down, noting the weary lines of his walk, the signs of healed and healing injuries to the body, the stiffness and hesitation to move his limbs freely. And there was something deeper that she could perceive: a wound more grievous than anything physical. This one would never heal, but she felt no sympathy for his pain... her own internal injuries flared up in anger and resentment, betrayal and bitterness. Beckoning a servant with a hand, she took his quarterstaff and weapons belt but did not touch him as he walked to his own bedroom.
His daughters heard his footsteps from their places in the house, but they had heard no welcoming words from their mother and so gave none themselves. They watched him with the ice-blue eyes they had inherited from him, not knowing what to say or do. His glance passed over them, lingering as he clutched a bundle wrapped in a durasheet. Finally he stopped when he saw his youngest emerge from the training room.
"Father?"
The word seemed to echo around the corridor, the first one that had been spoken since Yusanis had opened the door. He gestured her to follow without speaking, leading her into her bedroom and sitting crosslegged on the floor. She sat across from him, worry etched on her fifteen-year-old face. She, too, could see the open and nameless wound he carried.
Gently, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal a set of worn, greyed clothing: Jedi robes. "Brianna," he said in a soft, hoarse voice, holding them out to her. She tried to master her hands, but could not keep them from trembling as she took them. Her fingers tightened in the heavy cloth as the shakiness spread over her entire body, unable to take her eyes from the robes. But there were no tears; she had never cried and did not start now, even knowing what this meant.
When she could finally bring herself to lift her face, her father was staring ahead at nothing. "She is dead," she said, forcing out the words.
He nodded.
Brianna could think of nothing more to say. There were no words that could possibly have been adequate, neither for her father's comfort nor her own. She had questions--had she died in battle? Died on her feet in a final stand against the enemy, or in space by the Republic superweapon that had claimed so many of their own ships as well as the enemy's? Had they stood together on the surface of that forbidden world? Had they defended the great Jedi Revan, that she had followed? All of them jostled in her mind and crowded each other out, leaving her unable to speak.
He rose suddenly, wincing as his many aches protested the movement, and walked out. Brianna shut the door after him. A soft white light on the panel came on as she held the button down, locking it--feeling as though there was more than a door separating them. She could never ask him those questions, not without wounding him further. Silently she knelt on the floor and laid out the robes on her futon: tunic, overtunic, trousers, cloak. Whatever their original colors had been, age and use had reduced them to shades of grey. Running her hands over them, Brianna felt over half a dozen places where the seams had been stitched back together, patches on the inside and out where weapons had pierced it, the remnants of stains from blood and sweat. Curiously she could find nothing recent--no new threads or recently-laundered rusty patches that one would expect to find on the clothes of a fallen warrior. Bringing a sleeve of the cloak to her face, Brianna inhaled deeply. Perspiration, ozone, metal, an undefinable smell that came from traveling through the atmosphere of dozens of planets.
This, then, was the scent of Arren Kae, and the closest she would ever come to knowing her mother.