Private Cold Winds on Naboo

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes​

Seven days elapsed since the Trinity incident, and now Lysander was back in Naboo’s verdant sphere. Dominique Vexx kept her word; the transition proceeded without incident. No public humiliation. Though he’d returned to familiar surroundings, parts of his meticulous regimen were still disrupted. Even his hands were preparing meals his mind did not register. The physical form might’ve inhabited Theed, but often his thoughts strayed into a nebulous space between his former self and a version that the Covenant required.

The Triumvirate’s communication had been sparse; a few transmissions that contained nothing substantial. He wondered if they were just giving him space, or if they’d already written off diplomatic efforts as futile. Beyond his quarters, watchers remained. Their surveillance was unobtrusive.. though he sensed their presence more often than he cared to admit.

By midday, he’d vanished into the Royal Archives, perched at the head of a long table. A familiar sanctuary was established with countless holotexts glowing and even a few physical volumes spread out. He noticed the archivists' whispers, and a few sideways glances. Of course they'd talk; some of those texts weren't meant for public eyes.

The deeper he read and reflected, the more the material reaffirmed what he already knew. Two very different philosophical systems, fundamentally opposed, now beginning to strain against each other. It was impractical. The Sith Code claimed peace was a lie, but Lysander, at times, found that.. oversimplified. Even in his Padawan days, he'd seen through it. Sure, conflict drove growth.. but not in the crude way most Sith interpreted it. The truth had subtleties his brethren rarely explored. Perhaps one could embrace stability without rejecting the concept of peace entirely.. just its false promises. It might’ve simply been a search for equilibrium today, and the digging only muddied his thoughts more.

Navigating the Legislative Record Compendium, he skipped past the opening salutations with a flick of his finger. The holotext shifted as he dropped right into the closed session debates. For the most part he followed it smoothly, only pausing when a phrasing or some particular procedural note caught his attention. He’d rewind those lines a few times, absorb what he could, then move on.

Beyond the threshold, there were two Republic personnel speaking.

"The Convenant envoy is still in the Archives."

"He's been in there for five hours."

"Should we rotate the escort?"

"No. The Chancellor's orders are to keep a distance unless requested."

The corner of his mouth twitched upward. He'd likely spend the entire day here. Something in him craved this. Whether it was the Jedi Archives on Coruscant during his Padawan years, House Derriphan's collection on Korriban, or the few hours spent in the compy of Srina Talon on Jutrand searching for information.. archives were one of the few constants.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Lysander von Ascania

"You always did prefer archives over people."

The words slipped into the quiet before Sibylla could call them back, the door sealing behind her with a soft hiss that left the vast stillness of the Archives pressing in around them.

"Though I suppose," she added more quietly, a faint dryness returning, "...they argue less."

She stood there a few seconds longer, bedecked in the regalia of the Voice of Naboo but no longer wearing the bright vibrant colors of her youth. And while the jewels of her headdress caught the low light against the dark waves of her hair, it was not the finery that marked the difference.

It was the scars, the three faint lines that traced over her left eye and along her cheek. A quiet testament to everything the last year had taken from her… and everything it had forced her to become.

A year.

Since Voss. Since the Kaggath. Since the sterile stillness of a medical bed and the fragile promise that things might yet hold together.

It had not.

That hazel gaze found him then, and despite everything, there was a flicker of something almost familiar in the way her expression softened into a faint, wry note edged with something bittersweet, as if Lysander looked the same... and not.

Oh his blonde hair was longer than she remembered, framing a presence that felt more controlled. The boy who once fought not to be a pawn had not disappeared, it seemed, but had simply learned how to play. Shiraya had a cruel sense of timing. One friend had fallen to the dark, and yet another stood before her again.

Ever so slowly, Sibylla stepped forward but each step felt heavier than it should have in the wake of everything. The choices he made, everything she never said before he left, and all the things that could not be undone.

Then there was Ace. The Covenant. The revelation of Lysander's involvement. The attacks on Gendaris. Her conversation with Cora. The intelligence Ace had delivered to her regarding a deliberate plot against the Republic by a noble aligned with the Covenant. Coruscant burning and falling. Ace's fall. Quinn.

All these thoughts churned in her mind even as her gaze drifted over the holotexts, only to linger on the Senate debates. How curious. Once, he had favored music, poetry, and discipline. Now… this.

The very work he had often teased her about. Calling it boring. And yet... he was here. On a world he had relayed to her before that he wouldn't return to.

So why was he here?

The question plagued her as much as tugged at her heart, forcing her to try and not get caught up in the swell of emotions that clashed against one another. Worry about his presence. Relief that he was still alive. Wariness at his position within the Covenant. Concern over wondering if Cora knew? Guilt that she had yet to respond to his last letter. Suspicion in the wake of Ace's fall and the Covenant's confirmed attack on Republic assets.

"You have been busy, it seems…" she said, coming to a stop a few paces from him, her gaze lingering on the Senate session before adding quietly. "In more ways than one."

Only then did Sibylla lift her eyes to his.

She studied him quietly with care, trying to reconcile the man before her with the one she remembered, even as doubt lingered at the edges. For a moment, Sibylla simply wondered which version of him stood before her now -- the one who had written those holomessages to her or the Sith… and whether she still knew how to reach him.

Or, in the wake of everything with Ace, heed Aurelian's warnings regarding the Sith, wonder if she should not try at all.

"Hello… Lysander."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Sibylla Abrantes​

The holotext flickered as he watched the Senate proceedings. There was conscious repetition from replaying the same exchanges over and over. The same objections. Some outrages appeared practiced, or objections that were well calculated. The performances were flawless, as expected, from those who'd clawed their way into power. As predictable as sunrise. Perhaps what he was more curious about, was their inner landscapes, where ambition warred with conscience. Policy, after all, was just syllables strung together.

A finger hovered over the screen, and that was when the doors opened. Pupils reduced to pinpoints, ice crystallizing through his bloodstream, as if someone poured bacta straight onto an open nerve.

Unbidden memories he hadn't invited shivered in awareness. The chime of her messages arriving, back when Korriban's atmosphere seemed determined to crush his chest cavity. The way their conversations stretched just long enough to potentially carry some sort of significance, before interruption always claimed them in one way or another. He was pathetically predictable back then, chasing a ghost across the stars, desperate for anything familiar in an unforgiving landscape. How quaint that Lysander once convinced himself those truncated exchanges were meaningful.

Only a single grind of his jaw would betray him; the next breath was an even slower concession.

The Dark offered no answers to such folly. And yet, sitting there in silence, confronting the younger man he'd been, all he saw was a failure outgrown. Incomplete and past usefulness. Perhaps that piece had been cauterized by necessity. Or maybe from a Sith's perspective, this was just another test, to see if old wounds would still bleed.

His gaze snagged on the three scars down her cheek next. While they did not dominate Sibylla’s face, they surely shattered his reverie all the same. But those too, were viewed differently these days. Just leadership etched in flesh. Lysander bore a twin badge, a souvenir from Genarius that stretched across his cheek. Something to commemorate the strike that sank Edic Bar, throbbing every time he would muster a smile.

The blonde looked back down at the holotext and paused the debate.

"People argue endlessly," he began, voice flat. "They circle the same point until they finally believe it's true. But listening.." twin emeralds darted from screen to visitor, "that is something few ever master."

The silence that began to stretch felt like a third presence. "Archives, at least, are honest in their.. limitations." Lysander then held her gaze as she stepped closer. "People rarely offer the same grace."

Fingertips pressed together, forming a tent beneath his chin. "Whether I'm busy would depend on who's keeping the record, I suppose. The galaxy's shifting faster than ever these days. I've just been keeping pace, even when it forced my hand," punctuated with a tilt of the head. "You can decide what that implies, if you haven't already."

One hand started to indicate the empty chair, until his wrist stilled.

A whisper of a smile touched one corner of his mouth. "Hello, Sibylla. I gather your work has.. evolved since our last correspondence, though I suspect you didn't come here seeking validation."