Private A Place of Safety

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY

​

News of the New Jedi Order's scattering in the wake of the collapse of the Galactic Alliance weighed heavily on Sela Basran, even though she had parted ways with that particular Order some few years ago. It had not been a dramatic parting of the ways: no fits, no fights, no feuds, merely an acknowledgment that they had grown apart. Rather, that Sela had grown away from the Order and the Code to which they held. The occasional frustration with fellow Jedi who sheltered behind doctrine and dogma did not dampen the grief she felt each time she received word that another friend, another colleague, another former student had become one with the Force during and after the catastrophic events at Coruscant and Atrisia.

It was moments like this that the Master leaned against the Shirayan Code. The Code did not chastise her grief as a consequence of an inappropriate attachment. Still, she kept a close eye upon it, spent more of her free time meditating on it. That was her obligation, as she understood it, to the Force, to the light side. Attachment was a danger, not an evil. It must be examined and understood n order to limit the danger. And so she did.

Grief was not the only emotion that lay heavy these days. There was anxiety, too, and fear. The galaxy was precarious these days, and events seemed coiled, waiting for a reason to spring. Sela tried not to let it show or manifest, something she had to recommit to after flying off the handle and snapping at a Knight making a ruckus in the archives earlier in the week. Not her finest moment. The Knight had, in Sela's defense, dribbled mustard on an ancient scroll which would require months of rehabilitation. Still, it had not been appropriate for Sela to threaten to return them to Corellia by way of a very, very small crate.

Apologies had been rendered, of course, but she hadn't seen the Knight in the archives since then.

All this to say when she came across a young Padawan wandering alone down a hallway, humming leisurely to herself, during the time set aside for morning lessons, Sela took herself in hand to check her emotional status, confirmed that she was not on the edge of a fraying nerve, and approached serenely. "Have you not got somewhere to be, Padawan Toranor?"

Lilya Toranor was a Zabrak of about nine years old, a waiflike, dreamy kind of girl. It was not unusual for her to be out during class hours. But Sela did not wish to jump to conclusions. It could well be that Lilya was on some sort of errand for the instructor. Lilya turned toward Sela and then lowered her head in a short bow. "Master Basran. Er -- yes, Master, I'm on my way now. I had to go back for my other shoe." She must have seen the quirking of Sela's brow, because she went on: "I -- I forgot one of them in the meditating garden."

"I see," said Sela, her eyes drifting down to see that she indeed had one shoe on. The other was in her hand. She tried -- and failed -- not to smile despite herself. "Perhaps you would like to put the other one on now? That way you can arrive back to class fully prepared." She smiled fondly. The girl was one after Sela's own heart, for she, too, liked to take her shoes off to meditate. The Zabrak girl nodded and then leaned over and tugged her little boot on, wriggling her foot on the flag of the flooring to get it fully seated. "Have you heard from home recently, Lilya?" Iridonia was far-flung, now, but still home.

"Yes, Master Basran, I had a note from my parents last week."

"And all is well?" Sela asked.

Lilya looked up at her, quizzical. "Yes, Master Basran."

Sela nodded, thoughtful, and gave the little Zabrak on the shoulder. "I think you should be well-prepared for class now, hm? Off you go." She watched as the Zabrak nodded and scampered off, no longer humming, no longer wandering, but with purpose and perhaps a little chagrin. Sela kept watching until the girl rounded a corner, then turned and let herself into her small office. She left the door open, as was her wont, because she looked to be a source of guidance or knowledge or comfort or whatever she could offer to whoever needed it, and sometimes a closed door was enough to make one hesitate.

In these trying times, Sela did not wish for anyone to hesitate.

She put the kettle on first -- as usual -- and then settled herself at her desk, pulling an leatherbound tome toward her, an envelope tucked into it, and she pulled it open at that stage. Her research on Jedi Codes -- historical Codes, recent Codes, well-known Codes, obscure Codes -- was progressing slowly. War didn't make things easy, certainly. But she rather enjoyed the challenge. It gave her mind things to turn over and investigate. Work to do and meaning to seek, which was a comfort in these difficult days.

Aiden Porte


​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden Porte did not hurry down the Sanctuary corridor, even though the news in his head urged speed.

He moved the way a Guardian was meant to move, present, deliberate, anchored, because rushing into someone else's grief only scattered it further. The stone beneath his boots held the morning cool, and the air carried the soft hum of lessons beginning in distant rooms. Shiraya's Sanctuary was alive with routine, but beneath it the Force felt tense in places, like thread pulled too tight.

Master Sela Basran's presence was one of those places.

Not dark. Not fractured. Simply…weighted. Like a lantern shielded in both hands against wind.

Aiden paused a few paces from her office and let his awareness widen, careful not to intrude. He had learned, through war, through loss, through the thousand small ways people tried to stay functional, that checking on someone was not the same as stepping into them. The Force offered impressions: a kettle warming, steady breath, the focus of ink and old pages, and a grief folded neatly enough to pass as composure.

He knocked once on the open doorframe, a gentle sound that asked permission rather than announced authority.

"Master Basran," he said, voice low and even. "May I come in?"

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S OFFICE
​

The steady presence in the Force announced itself before Aiden Porte did. He was thoughtful that way. Sela looked up when knuckles rapped wood and she offered a kindly smile. "Aiden Porte," she said, her voice a tone of quiet surprise and delight. Sela set her pen down, pushing to her feet. It gave her a moment to work her feet back into her shoes under her desk where no one could see. "Of course, yes, come in. Please, make yourself comfortable -- sit, if you would like." Sela did not like to make demands, however solicitous, for it was just as likely that he had stopped for a quick word and would need to be on his way as that he was here for something that would take time enough to sit.

As if on cue, the kettle whistled, its low moan in danger of becoming shrill if she did not attend to it.

"Time and tide," Sela said with a momentary chagrin. Crossing to the sideboard, she took the kettle off the small hot plate and turned the hot plate off. "Would you like a cup?" she asked over her shoulder as she poured the gently boiling water into a weathered teapot. "It is Deychin this morning, if that makes a difference." Sela sprinkled a few tablespoons of the dark, vaguely cinnamon-smelling tea mixture into the pot and closed the lid to allow it to steep.

When the question of tea was settled, she carried a tray with the pot, a strainer, the appropriate number of cups and a little bowl of sugar and a little jug of milk -- earthenware that matched neither themselves nor the teapot. It would be a few moments before the tea had steeped enough to pour.

"Are you well, Knight Porte?" Sela asked. Her tone was light, inviting him to take what he needed from the question, to delve as deeply as was required in his answer.

Aiden Porte


​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden stepped fully into the office only after she'd welcomed him, the way he always did, measured, respectful, careful not to bring his own weight into someone else's quiet unless invited. The scent of the tea rose as she moved, cinnamon-dark and grounding, and the kettle's whistle fading into silence felt like the room exhaled with her.

He inclined his head in greeting, a small, genuine curve to his mouth at her use of his name. "Master Basran," he said softly, and if there was relief in it, it was the kind he didn't make a habit of displaying.

When she offered the cup, Aiden nodded once. "Yes, thank you. Deychin sounds perfect."

He set himself where she indicated, never sprawling, never taking up more space than necessary, hands resting loosely together as his awareness settled. Not probing, just present. The Force around Sela felt steady, but taut in places, like a cord drawn tight for too long. He kept that observation to himself. Some things were better offered as patience than as words.

At her question, his gaze lifted to meet hers, calm and unguarded.

"I'm well enough," Aiden answered, honest without being heavy. "Tired, but…steady."

He let a breath out, slow. The words that followed were chosen with the same care as his steps.

"I came to check on you, Master," he said simply. "With everything happening beyond Naboo, I didn't want you carrying anything alone just because you can."

His tone stayed gentle, the Guardian in him more evident in the way he offered support than in any posture of command.

"If there's anything you need, help in the archives, an extra set of hands, someone to run messages, tell me." A faint, dry warmth touched his voice, brief as a flicker of sunlight. "And if what you need is only company while the tea steeps… I can manage that too."

He paused, giving her the room to choose how far the conversation went.

"And," he added, quiet, "I'm here because I trust you. If you're not well, you don't have to polish it for me."

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S OFFICE

​

Sela's eyebrows knitted together, the only outward concession to the surprise she felt at Aiden's observations, though he would feel notes of alarm and regret and relief and a certain easing in the Force in succession. She cleared her throat and busied herself straightening the components of the tea tray as she considered what he said, and what she could rightly say -- in her own defense or otherwise.

"I am -- perfectly well," Sela said.

It was true.

And it wasn't true.

She swallowed and looked up from the tray, her fingers latticing at her waist as her eyes met his, a flush of color darkening her cheekbones. "Physically," she clarified. "The truth is, Aiden, that the torrent of dark tidings that has been pouring out of the Core and elsewhere in our fractured galaxy these last several months -- it is beginning to catch up to me. And no amount of work or study or teaching will allow me to keep ahead of its shadow."

Her hands spread as if to indicate a generalized helplessness in the face of this problem, then flapped vaguely, which said No, helplessness is stupid in this context. "I am generally of the view that we must all carry what we can, and I have broad shoulders." A delicate pause, and then Sela gave a chagrined smile. "Metaphorically, of course."

The fragrance emanating from the teapot told Sela, an elite scholar of tea blends if ever there was one, that it had steeped enough, and so she made herself busy, laying the strainer across one cup, pouring tea through it, then repeating the process with the other cup.

"Do you know," she said conversationally as she set the teapot down and laid the strainer on a clean towel on the tray. "When I first came to Naboo -- oh, years ago now -- everything about it irritated me. The waterfalls. The birds. Even the weather. And now I cannot imagine living and working anywhere else. Here you are, Aiden," Sela said, gesturing toward his teacup before stepping out of the way of the tray, gesturing for Aiden to help himself to milk and sugar if he liked. "But you are as incisive as ever. Your instincts do you credit. There is a thought that has been troubling me, hovering above all this mess. Whether there was more I could have done to convince some of my colleagues of the flaws of the Code they swore themselves to. Whether if I had the integrity -- the courage -- to challenge them more robustly, more of them might be alive today."

Beneath the tranquil surface of the Jedi Master's composure, storm clouds of grief and guilt and regret roiled within her. "So you see it is not a burden I can easily put down. I find myself -- convicted, for want of a better phrase -- by my interpretation of the Shirayan Code. Ironic -- no zeal, they say, like a convert."

Aiden Porte

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden listened without interrupting, letting Sela's words run their full course, truth and contradiction braided together, the practiced composure giving way in small, honest seams. He didn't move to contradict her when she claimed she was perfectly well. He'd learned that pushing against a defensive truth only made it harden. Instead, he waited, and when she clarified, physically, something in him softened in recognition.

As she poured the tea, Aiden watched the careful ritual, the way she made herself busy in order to stay steady. When she gestured to his cup, he accepted it with a slight bow of his head, cradling the warmth between his hands.

"Thank you," he said simply.

He took a small sip, more for grounding than taste, and the spice of Deychin settled him into the moment. When he spoke again, his voice was gentle, but sure, Guardian-quiet, the kind of steadiness that didn't demand anything from her.

"No matter how fast you work, the shadow follows. Not because you're failing, because you're alive, and you're paying attention."

He let that stand for a beat, then continued, eyes on her, not the tea tray.

"And this thought that's been troubling you, the 'what if' , it's a cruel shape of responsibility," he said. "It tells you that if you'd found the perfect words, the perfect moment, you could have changed choices that weren't yours to make."

Aiden set his cup down carefully on the tray's edge, deliberate as if the motion itself was a vow to be steady.

"You didn't lack integrity," he said, firmer now, without sharpness. "And you didn't lack courage. You left without rancor, and you kept your principles without turning your life into a crusade. That isn't lesser. That's restraint. That's wisdom."

He paused, searching her face, measuring how much more he could say.

"Even if you'd challenged them more openly," Aiden added, "You can't know it would have saved them. The galaxy didn't break because you weren't loud enough."

There was a faint, rueful warmth in his expression when she spoke of converts and zeal, but he didn't smile at her discomfort, only with her humanity. And she mentioned the Shiraya Code and he nodded.

"I think it's doing what it was meant to do, bringing what's in you to the surface so it can be understood, not buried But grief…grief is proof you saw people clearly."

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S OFFICE
​

The Jedi Master approached the tray and stirred half a spoon of sugar into her tea, then a splash of milk, careful not to make a racket with spoon against mug. She gave her spoon a single flick and then laid it on the tray, off to the side, and then lifted her cup to her lips for a little sip. Ah, Deychin. Delightful of a morning.

She sat and gave Aiden her full attention. He wasn't telling her anything she hadn't considered already. The difference, of course, was that the Knight wasn't coming at the fact pattern with a preconceived notion, a predetermined outcome. Her fingers cradled the cup gently, enjoying the sensation of warmth. "I am not convinced," she began gently, a core of humor in her voice -- not covering up her sorrow, but walking alongside it, "that that caliber of wisdom is not contraband in the hands of a Knight. If you persist on wielding it, sooner than late someone will try to make you a Jedi Master."

She lifted the cup and took a long drink, allowing the tea to warm her from within, inviting the caffeine to infiltrate her bloodstream.

"You are correct, of course. I need not tell you, of all people, that understanding these things on an intellectual level is no bar to feeling the conviction -- deeply -- here." A hand separated from the cup and touched at her middle, then moved to her chest. "And here. I cannot know that I could have saved them. Nor, even, that surviving what took them from us recently would constitute saving them. But these are calculations, performed here." The hand touched her temple, where a streak of silver-white began its winsome curl.

She studied Aiden, her dark eyes considering. The ache -- the one that came with certainty of her own failures, her own guilt -- eased within her. "What do you suppose a solution is?" she asked him, her Socratic approach emerging like a green shoot of plant growth. She adopted a wry smile. "And you cannot say meditate on it -- I have been teaching young Jedi for some years now, I know that trick well."

Aiden Porte


​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden's mouth tilted at her first line, brief, genuine amusement that didn't dismiss the weight beneath it. In the Force, he felt the shift, subtle but real: the tightness easing, the guilt no longer quite so sharp at the edges.

He didn't rush to fill the space after she asked him her question. He let it land the way she intended, Socratic, precise, inviting him to think rather than soothe.

When he spoke, it was measured.

"I won't say meditate," Aiden promised, dry warmth threading his voice. "Though I'm tempted." He rested his hands loosely around his cup, eyes steady on her. "A solution," he said, "Isn't to erase the feeling. And it isn't to argue it into submission. It's to give it a purpose that doesn't turn inward."

He took a small sip, then continued.

"You can't save the past. But you can decide what it asks of you now. Not penance, practice." Aiden's gaze flicked, briefly, to the open door, to the way her office remained a threshold rather than a barrier. "You already do it, in how you keep your door open."

He paused, choosing the next words carefully.


"If the conviction is telling you, 'I should have spoken more,' then speak now, in our council" he said. "Not at ghosts. At the living. Put into words, clearly, plainly, what you saw in that Code's flaws. Teach it without rancor, without turning it into a crusade. Make it usable. Make it something that keeps the next Knight from hiding behind doctrine when compassion is required."

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S OFFICE

​

Sela listened to what Aiden said and the way he said it. The Knight was possessed of a wisdom beyond his years. His way was not to offer absolution or condemnation, which Sela appreciated. A Jedi -- especially a Jedi Master -- had to be the center of their own moral universe, she thought, now more than ever. It was the thought that had brought her to the Shirayan Code after her study of it years ago. Not that it freed her hands to do as she pleased -- a dangerous idea when dealing with beings of extraordinary power -- but rather the opposite.

A Code could not stand before a lost child and decree to it. A Code could not listen to two sides of a story and discern an unspoken truth somewhere between them. A Code could not lift a lightsaber in defense of life, or use the Force to redirect a falling structure, or put out a fire, or fight a Sith. A Code could not do any of the hundreds of things that Jedi needed to do in order to fulfill their mandate. It could only give the Jedi the tools, the framework, the guidance. Helpful. Inspiring. But useless without a human brain to provide context and a human heart to provide compassion.

"Perhaps I spent too much time under the old Order and its Code," Sela confessed after a momentary consideration. "I seek ways to remediate what I consider failures, thinking that it is the only way to avoid future harm. Always focusing on the past harm and future prevention of harm robs one of the opportunity to do the work we are called to do here, in the present." She smiled faintly. "I have my work cut out for me in that regard. A former colleague of mine -- really, a friend -- who recently became one with the Force has dispatched his Padawan here, to Naboo, in hopes that I will take him as a Padawan learner. It will be a good way to rise to the challenge you have set me."

She swirled her tea, freeing another subtle wafting of the scent of it from her cup. Breathing it in, she closed her eyes for a moment. "Something you said has struck a cord with me. 'Hiding behind doctrine.' Doctrine as a shield," Sela mused this last bit quietly, as if to herself, tapping the top of her teacup absentmindedly. "Doctrine as..." She quickly set the teacup down and, moving with less calm and more vigor than she typically showed, she rounded her desk and snatched up a piece of paper with one hand, groping for a pen with the other. She jotted a few notes down. "Now, how would you like to be cited should this academic exercise ever be published? It does seem rather a shame to make you anonymous, but then again if everyone knew how insightful you were, you may never have another moment of peace."

Aiden Porte


​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sela Basran​

Aiden's smile lingered for a moment, but it softened into something more earnest as Sela's pen hovered over the page. He shook his head once, gentle and unequivocal, as if to set the praise back down where it belonged, outside the room.

"You don't need to do that," he said quietly. "Truly. I'm not here for recognition."

He reached for his cup again, not to drink so much as to occupy his hands while he chose his words with care. The Force around him stayed calm, but there was a familiar discomfort whenever anyone tried to crown him with wisdom he didn't feel he'd earned.

"And I'm not as wise as people seem to believe," Aiden added, voice low, plain. "There are…times I think too many put faith in me. More than I deserve."

His gaze dropped briefly to the steam curling off the tea, as if the shapes there were easier to look at than his own history.

"I've made more mistakes than I can count," he admitted. "Some small. Some that still wake me up in the dark if I let them. I just…try to learn from them. Try not to let the next choice be made from pride or fear."

He lifted his eyes back to Sela, the sincerity there unguarded.

"But I am glad," he said, and the warmth in it was unmistakable, "That you're taking on a Padawan. That's not penance, that's hope, given form. It matters. Especially now. I'm more than sure you will do a great job."

Aiden stood a little straighter, as if anchoring the offer that followed.

"If you need anything, help settling them in, an extra hand, another voice to weigh a decision, seek me out," he said. "Not through formal channels. Just come."

"I'll be at my homestead," Aiden finished, "Out on the plains of Naboo. You know the way. And if you don't, ask anyone. They'll point you toward the place with too many tools, too much open sky, and a Jedi who's trying his best to be worthy of the faith people keep handing him."

 

[Sela Basran]

SHIRAYA'S SANCTUARY
MASTER BASRAN'S OFFICE

​

"Young man," Sela began, looking up briefly from her scribble, her tone grave but in a clearly playful way. "I have been a scholar and an ethicist for many, many years. I have never plagiarized -- not once -- and I am not going to begin now. But if you insist, I will simply refer to you as..." She tapped her pen against her bottom lip for a moment, then lifted it in a eureka! movement. "A Jedi whose wisdom is a matter of dispute." She paused a moment, looking unconvinced now that she'd said it out loud. "Well, I will workshop that a little. Make it more pithy."

Sela Basran was well-acquainted with the idea of feeling, for lack of a better word, too trusted. Like someone might arrive at any point and see through the facade, the reputation, of competence or wisdom or graciousness or any other positive attribute. As she had told Padawans, either in classroom settings or one-on-one meetings or the ones she had trained personally, feelings didn't always tell the whole story.

But then Aiden continued, and he said all the right things. There was no deception that she could sense in the Force. So Sela had no cause to offer anything to Aiden Porte in response to his confession of mistakes. So instead she merely smiled pleasantly and bowed to his wisdom -- whether he would name it so or not. "I tend to agree. It has been too long since I chased one of the youngsters around trying to keep them alive long enough to develop the wisdom and discipline of a Jedi Knight." She smiled fondly and rounded the desk to collect her teacup again. "It will do me good."

Aiden offered her his presence, his aid, his counsel, and the corners of Sela's eyes crinkled. Her gratitude was genuine. "You are very kind -- that much cannot be disputed -- and I am quite sure I will avail myself of your generous offer. I hope you will treat my door as open, even if you are at your homestead and cannot see it. The invitation is the same: come, for any reason, or send a note and I will come to you. I mean it, Aiden."

Aiden Porte



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