Private Crowned By The Sun

[Isobel Serraris]

CROWNED BY THE SUN​

LOCATION — Zardossa Stix
TAGS — Lysander von Ascania

The warmth upon her face was a sensation long lost, akin to a flower planted in the shade, , , never quite managing to blossom without. And the mere feel of flowing silks and satins upon her skin, not being limited to the confines of her armour no more--and yes it made her vulnerable. . . Though must one live in fear of the blade for all of eternity? Or could one prosper and rediscover the beauties she had thought lost by the corruption of men. Bel's decision had long been made among the icy ruins of Ilum, whether it was by will or no. . . The memory of his offer--a place where she might don a gown rather than armour--echoed sweetly and melodiously within her thoughts as she paced through the cobbled streets of the warmly coloured city.

The invitation had been written with ink and fountain pen, countless times, for her crowded lodgings had become littered with countless inked vela; papers whose execution. . . failed to encapture the message she longed to convey. Dear, sweet, even his name seemed too formal or entirely wrong! For what if he presumed it to be the work of a shapeshifter, or some other foe merely copying her name? Even after reading the letters tens of times, she doubted whether he would find where she was... or trust that she was truly here- Mayhaps he would not come. . . Oh, , , she had been here for days already, and what good came of endlessly fussing over wrong and right and how she may shatter the frail bond they had begun to mend so carefully.

Though her heart knew he would find the meaning. . . Even more when Isobel had attached a single light pink rose to the note, its petals were many and the picture of elegance. Great Maiden's Blush, a moniker she was not entirely fond of, but its meaning was all that resonated with her. If you love me you will find out. The realisation that this veiled message may not register within his mind never manifested itself, though mayhaps the sheer beauty and grandeur of the rose was enough to leave a mark. She wished.

Lys,
Part of me had long sought yearned for the warmth you promised on Ilum, and now that I've felt found it I find myself reluctant to part from it. If you would want to spare me a mere sliver of your time, I would not be opposed to see you again. Meet me here. . .
Yours,
Bel

The young Nabooan moved akin to a mirage through the narrow paths of the city, her flowing gown held the shades of a Barelia flower with a handful of roses, orchids and the like stitched onto its bodice. The brown curls of her hair were not leashed into a tight braid, they were loose and plentiful, the picture of this little cradle of peace and serenity--even while the galaxy may tear one another to shreds.

The slanted paths gradually guided her to the coordinates in the note, toward the serene gardens hidden in the bustle of the city centre. With the hum of insects and the whisper of the wind slippingthrough the green leaves of the trees, it... reminded her of a home she could not revisit. Of gardens far too organised to ever truly depict life and its wild and untamed nature. There were paths running through the gardens, indicated by the few stones thrown on the ground. But most of its reins had been given away--be it through neglect or truly the admiration for flora. And though one might not anticipate it, Isobel had not, even amid the warm and dry climate of the planet this place seemed to flourish. . . And it brought her more delight than even the light of Ashla had ever granted her~

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

Long ago, footsteps left that massive frozen monolith behind, an unseen script guiding each stride.. walking within a stanza once dismissed as nothing more than myth. And so he'd come to understand, that Bel embodies destiny itself; encountering her on Ilum was like rediscovering a lost verse, no stray note in the cosmos. Suddenly the legend of fire once fragmented became coherent. How could any doubt have remain when melodies buried in ancient words suddenly sang so true?

The Covenant's pull upon the emissary was indeed relentless, tugging him toward those distant horizons. A dragon's wings that beat within the chest. Byss's orbit never fully let go. This world consumed him most of all. From there, journeys led to Brentaal IV, where schemes unfurled upon the galaxy's most important trade routes. Alderaan's ever slow transformation whispered dread. Lysander, truthful to all, lied only to himself, saying that this was his path, his burden.. the need to be everywhere and witness everything. This left the feeling of belonging nowhere, stuck in the familiar void between stars, between Light and Dark.

A letter's arrival shattered the expected. Delicate and fragile amid a life forged deeper into Darkness, where death and conquest reigned. Paper that murmured softness. Nostalgia bloomed at the sight of handwriting. He turned the missive over in his palms; the memory of a youth once intoxicated by the belief that words could change destinies. How far he had drifted from that hopeful boy. Foolish, perhaps.. yet utterly irresistible.. the emblem of a rose, folded gently into petals of confession, sent by the Rose of Naboo herself. Surely a truth that required no further speech. As days pulled him toward Zardossa Stix, the letter turned restlessly in his hands.

The Tapani sector was but a tombstone etched across light years; whole houses vanished, names reduced to cinders. Darkness's icy fingers reached often for the heart. Paradoxically, distance from the Core became freedom.. and the cruel grasp began to loosen. Heat at Zardossa Stix was akin to a flame when compared to Ilum's unforgiving chill. Draped in black tunic and leggings, the hue transcended fashion, becoming a vow of allegiance. This was a Golden Age Sith, ascending steadfastly. Why question the need for shadow's cloak now? Desert winds kissed a scarf at the throat, an echo of prophets and wanderers alike. More than a Sith emissary, he appeared a man adrift, guided not by true north but by the radiant compass of her Light.

What lay in the Sith's hands was no simple tomb; nay, 'twas fragments of his past, a witness even, to all his struggles and affirmations, the only thing capable of prying open old truth entombed within. A relic inked during those sleepless nights on Korriban.

Insect hums blend with whispering winds as distant city murmurs fade. Sweet blossoms mingle with warm earth, fragrances riding upon the breeze.

Sunlight caught the dress before it found her, petals of warm hues blooming in welcome as though the garden itself had chosen this woman to stand as an emissary of its own, a living emblem. Curls soft as though no longer fighting the wind; there was no reason for a woman to apologize for being alive. And the absence of armor, those of plates of war, only made her true. The end of exile. Here was the verse fulfilled. And at long last, Isobel waiting for him.

Step by step, she became more real. "Your letter asked for little, and it carried a summons I could never ignore. I crossed half the galaxy with the rose in my pocket and your words in my hands, and still the moment feels.. well, I don't really know how to explain what it felt like to finally land here. Bigger than I thought it would, somehow. I don't know if that makes sense. I'm just here because you called.. and because I was always going to."

He had rehearsed something longer on the way here, and suddenly it all felt like too much. "I was away longer than I had any right to be, I knew it, and yeah.. I kept going anyway. I'm sorry for that." Crinkles formed at the corners of Lysander's gaze. "You look like you belong in this garden, you know that?" Warmth spilled outward, followed by the slow rising curve of his mouth. "You're beautiful, Bel. I don't need a prophecy to tell me that."

 

[Isobel Serraris]

CROWNED BY THE SUN​

LOCATION — Zardossa Stix
TAGS — Lysander von Ascania

Serenity; one might argue it had never truly existed, for the forces of the galaxy were eternally condemned or destined to collide in one conflict or another--however small those battles may yet be. Yet, mayhaps serenity was never meant to be the absence of war altogether, but instead the comfort of belonging somewhere among the countless star systems and nebulae. To breathe without fear of poison filling one's lungs, without anticipating a blade in one's back. Or merely a soothing hand reassuring you that, for a fleeting instance, you were safe. Peace. Peace. Was it truly a lie, or merely a flower too delicate for mortal hands to preserve for long?

Though her heart ached with the burdensome truth that his presence nudged the white poppy within her soul into bloom, she could not yet permit its roots to settle . For what if his deeds might still wound it in time? Hm, though Bel believed--firmly--that he had sworn himself to his whispered vows, to be there when the fates allowed their paths to converge. . . The shadows of her own melancholy dissolved rapidly beneath the familiarity of an echo in the Force, a mark that haunted her very dreams. More than she would prefer to confess--even to her plants. "Lys," drew itself from her lips akin to a breath, muttered before her eyes had even found him.

In spite of the soft press of the boots on the path, she would not turn toward him yet, walking along the path toward the thorny bushes with numerous different roses. From the light pink species she had attached to the letter, to the dark red of the Malreaux and the white river roses that blossomed by the small pond behind the foliage. Her travels had guided her across numerous systems, some riddled by hostile flora whilst others lacked life altogether, though she thoroughly regretted not slipping into the Ottega system in search of an Ithorian Rose. . . A pursuit for another time. . .

A faint blush graced her cheeks as he reminisced about carrying her gift with him across half the galaxy. . . Her mind longed to insist such efforts had not been her intent, and yet her heart could not deny the delight the mental image provoked. To know he treasured the flowers she had gifted him, felt more meaningful than any grand declaration or lavish gifts ever could. Her touch brushed lightly along the stems of the Great Maiden's Blush, when one of its few thorns caught the tip of her finger, drawing forth the faintest trail of crimson.

"You do not know how pleased it makes me to hear you say that. . . I had picked it for a reason," Softspoken and carefully crafted, as though she feared speaking too quickly might cause her thoughts to crumble apart before him. "My family taught me the beauty of roses, its rather complicated language, its growth, its weakness--one might think such time was better reserved for learning the Force, though it was not fated." Her gaze did not depart from the numerous petals of the blushing rose, inspecting the anatomy and its growth in these secluded gardens.

A moment of silence lingered between them, before she finally turned to face him, her eyes darting over and just beyond his face--unable to gaze upon him for too long without fear of her heart becoming the embodiment of Chaos itself. "So I have been told, always more a gardener or a botanist, rather than a well-mannered lady or Jedi." A timid smile presented itself on her sun-kissed visage, softening the faint tension around her eyes. Her steps brought them nearer with each breath, before her fingers wrapped around the floral gift in his palm.

Her eyes studied the biology of the plant, whether it was not accursed with wilt or decolouring, and whether its stem had not grown weak. . . Its condition was adequate, no more no less. "Great Maiden's Blush. Many proclaim it to be one of the prettiest flowers in the galaxy. . ." Gentler than before, Isobel offered him a sliver of the floriography--nigh on stumbling over her next thought. She bit down upon her lip as if it were her worst foe before bringing a voice to her ramblings. "It holds a meaning--If you love me, you will find out."

Her thoughtscape had transformed into battlefield, preparing to yield to the overwhelming forces of madness as she avoided his gaze as if it were the plague. Had she been too forward? Was the meaning of the flower correct? And if it were incorrect. . . would he shun gift aside because of it?

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

Chaos; Sith might argue it was the only honest creed, for the galaxy had never once ceased its churning.. stars dancing among stars. The strong consume the weak as naturally as a sun devours its own fuel. Perhaps he had always known, somewhere beneath the armor of that conviction, that chaos was not a destination but a current.. and currents, however violent, must eventually find still water. To burn without consuming everything. Planets, entire sectors, he'd witness to many terrible things. To strike without the intent to ruin. Selfishly so one might desire a pair of eyes that did not flinch from the fire that'd been known to burn intensely within the blonde.. that looked instead as though they had been.. waiting for it. Peace. He called it cowardice for so long the very word calcified in his being. Yet what if it was not surrender but something more dangerous.. an opponent he had never learned to fight? Every instinct imaginable sharpened against the admission; Isobel's presence may have even disturbed something ancient and banked within him. Could he truly afford the kindling? But the Force did not ask such permission, as it never had.. only pulled, as tides of the great oceans are pulled. The echo of her reached him before she did. Before he made a single turn.

Stillness; Lysander chased it across star systems and through the fields of a dozen meaningless wars, and still it eluded him like light bending around something darker. Perhaps it was not a destination at all. Perhaps it was only ever this.. a garden, a certain quality of air, the smell of something green and ever alive. Fingers brushed the stem of a flower he could not name, and he let them rest there. To be somewhere without calculating every single exit. To stand in a patch of dying light and feel, for once.. no pull toward the horizon. He had told himself repeatedly that wandering was freedom. He was no longer was certain. There was something here that unsettled him in ways no battlefield ever had. Different from Ilum. Chest tightening, he exhaled slowly.. and turned.. only to hear his name already already spoken, as though she had known before looking.

Along a stone path he stepped closer. The garden around them stirred gently in the breeze, but he paid it little mind.. his focus was entirely on her, on whatever implications there may be behind every single word. A poet, an emissary, a Sith; clearly a mosaic of faces. "I know that bloom scares you," came the gentle confession. Roots needed time to find soil, did they not? Scattered as they'd become, thoughts began to slow, drawn inward to possibilities long dismissed.

Afternoon light cast a glow as he looked on; a thoughtful crease deepened by one eye. "Roses are more than just flowers, aren't they?" Lysander mused, stepping just a tad closer until brushing against a shoulder. "They're like people.. complicated, strong, sometimes sharp, beautiful in their own way." As fingers traced the flower, he shifted. He watched.. no, he admired the careful way she tended to the plants, the pinch of pain when a thorn caught her skin. "It's good to see you still bring that careful touch to everything you do. It's part of what makes you.. well, you."

And so emerald traced another color, the delicate crimson welled where skin was nicked, barely visible.. but there nonetheless. The softest crease of concern crossed his brow, and without thinking too much, he shifted the flower and tome into one hand before leaning in, allowing his other to rise until it cupped hers. A thumb brushed lightly over the trace of red; the sheen was noticed as lips met that curve, out of reverence. Naturally, there'd always been this feeling of wanting her to feel safe.. and seen. Easier to enact than to speechify, that much was understood.

Then, more thoughtful, "I'm glad you taught me about it, because.. it helps me see a little more of you in this place." Focus took in the landscape's lush embrace before settling back on her face. "And I think you're far more than just a gardener, Bel." A bridge spanning old chasms. Garden scents deepened around them. "It's more than a flower to me, Isobel. It's a story you started telling.. one I want to hear, to understand.."

Roses, people, wounds, beauty.. those parallels were almost too obvious. "Somewhere between your war of bravery and doubt.. hope or fear.. you've always left me enchanted and humbled, Isobel. Your fears are sacred to me. I wish to meet you there, beyond words. Teach me.. the language of the Maiden's Blush. Not just the outside beauty.. but the secrets beneath the petals. The terrain of your heart.. "

Warmth, blessed by Zardossa Stix, softened the edge of his mouth. "We need not rush to uncover all the answers.." After all, the city had so much to offer, and away from the Covenant's more pressing issues, there was nothing to stop him here.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

CROWNED BY THE SUN​

LOCATION — Zardossa Stix
TAGS — Lysander von Ascania

The sweet scent of roses under the bright rays of the sun blossomed the numerous memories from Naboo, of the foolish nobility she had once been forced to entertain. For the sake of alliances and prestige alike. They had all vexed her in one manner or another, with their endless disinterest toward anything beyond their own egos. She had been expected to play Shah-tezh against opponents infinitely more skilled than she, or dance--if one could even call it that--until she could not walk for days. . . Not to mention, the endless discussions of battles and military strategies, all these hollow conversations pursued only because such things were supposed to delight the bachelors. While all Bel could do was smile and yearn that one soul among them might ask after her own interests instead.

There was no iron fist to dictate what she could and could not speak of, there was only the gentlest of offers to bear witness to all she had loved. And may yet grow to love. Lysander's questions did not sting with the false politeness that most would bring forth, sincerity beamed from his words and deeds. It made her heart flutter to know he had taken care of her rose, or well.. his, to know he had not dismissed her letter as a mere petty demand to be left on the never-ending stack of petitions. Even with all the conflict and demands raging around them, he had found the path toward her and begged to know more about her.

The feel of his shoulder brushing against hers startled her only for an instance, before her muscles relaxed again. "Roses are truly no different than them," She began, offering a gentle affirmation of what he dared tell. "Some aim high, whilst others thrive better in the shade. And well, some bear many thorns and others less. . ." Her gaze dropped toward the crimson droplet trailing down her finger, the sting so faint it could almost be dismissed entirely. It provoked no anger within her, for it was merely the nature of the flower itself; to repel against those wishing to tear apart its beauty.

A bewildered gasp escaped her lips as she stared wide-eyed as he leaned down to her hand. . . The small wound inflicted by the stem was veiled by the nigh on reverently press of his lips against her tan skin. "Lysander--" Rolled off her tongue flusteredly before she could stop herself. The crimson departed from her finger only to flood across her entire face, her teeth lightly grazing against her lower lip as she gazed upon him. . . unable to move, unable to do anything but stare at the mesmerising cascade of silver hair.

There were no glimpses of abstract visions nor embarrassing memories haunting her mind; there was only the present, no past nor future to worry her still, only the strange comfort that this was what mattered. . .

When his lips at last left her hand, she remained a statue for moments to follow, the redness on her face dimming only barely as she desperately attempted to centre her thoughts on any folly other than his gesture. It was for naught, as her brown eyes remained fixed on the contours of his visage, and on the calm that sung in his emerald green eyes. . . His voice was akin to the still waters after a stormy night, of the merriment one may find at the end of a classic holotale--daring her to do the one thing she had never acquired the permission for in her youth. To ramble to her heart's desire about the flora within this vast galaxy. ..

A shy sound, almost akin to laughter or a giggle left her as she stumbled over what she wished to tell him. Her eyes sparkled like the starry sky on a serene night as they refused to withdraw or yield to the suppressed anxiety within her. . . If he so deeply yearned to see her, to truly know her, then perhaps an equal devotion was demanded of her in turn, one she would gladly oblige. "There is much to be told, and frankly I do not know where to start," A shy confession left her first, as her focus at last darted from the countless flowers within the gardens.

A quieted 'hm' left her, as she took hold of his free arm and nudged him along the fragmented path. "Floriography," Bel excitedly begun, fuelled by her own excitement and perhaps another factor. "It is the language of flowers. Some people use it to correspond in secret, like lovers on opposite sides of conlict--from the books about love. . . That I...definitely did not read." A bright, flustered smile graced her features as she looked upon him, devoid of doubt or any lingering shadow of negativity. In that moment, the only song was that of adoration; for the flowers she so dearly loved, and for him alongside them.

"Roses for example mean a hundred things, it is. . . oft the colour that defines it, or the assortment of flowers. If one has a very fervent meaning, and the other for example defines sorrow or desire, then its meaning changes." She found it difficult to explain the art of it, and gestured with her hands to the bush with white river roses and the dark red malreaux pair. "White means 'I am worthy of you', I think. . . And Red often means love, or passion. Placing them together it becomes unity." Isobel stopped for a second to smile at him, trying to read whether he understood what she intended.

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris
​

For as long as he could remember, visitors came to him with minds already sculpted and sealed.. certain of what they'd find. They carried their conclusions like banners, and he only had to stand still for them to drape those convictions about him. It wasn't unpleasant, but a man could feel terribly alone inside a portrait painted by himself.

Back on Naboo and even on Ukaits they first met, the beginning of transformation had taken root, etched by the Kaggath brush after near death's whispers. Fully there and somehow distant. Tongues faltered on fences of speech; questions spun circles in one's mind, seeking any path to voice their allusiveness.

But now, clarity had dawned.

That cautious youth was not entirely gone. He was still in there somewhere, still drawn to the qualities she seemed to exude.. still arrested by them. But the hesitation.. that ever long hush between wanting and reaching.. that was gone. Zardossa Stix was no whim or chance. Nay, destiny breathed in her nearness. Because his truth was born on Ilum's frosty breath. He meant it, and found he was still meaning it.

The heat of this world never troubled him before. Today it wrapped around him differently. He was aware of it now, the warmth pressing in at his collar, at the lines at the backs of his hands. It wasn't just the sun's fire this time to blame; there was a shift weaving around them, flirting with the air's edge.

The Sith's lips lifted into that small smile, a crescent moon solely for her.. a soft glow hiding behind twilight's clouds. A curious flutter in his own chest stuttered. Had he ever known teasing could taste so intoxicatingly sweet? "Pardon me, mi'lady, if my kiss startled you," breathed softly. "It was only an excuse.. to bask in your warmth. I.." Words found themselves trapped between hesitation and truth. ".. I cannot recall another across the galaxy where I've been so utterly at peace."

But amusement too curled in that revelation.. the secret joy of sparking Bel's bashful confusion. Was it torture? Surely not. More like an effortless game where she was his willing, if slightly blushing, opponent. Or perhaps here, in her sanctuary, happiness chose to dwell. Affection wished for her recognition.. but maybe wishing was another foolish endeavor. Besides.. opportunities like this were precious and few; after the relentless gulf of time that once kept them apart, none would slip away unclaimed..

Would fate have decided to weave a different thread entirely if she'd been part of his life before he embarking on the conquest of the Core? Endless what-ifs surfaced, each sparking deep cascades of wonder. But these mushing were gently set aside. Though, perhaps the path forged was meant to be.. that some things are better left as they are.

"I think that's exactly what draws me to them," curiosity kindled the next time their gazes intertwined. "You said some thrive in shade.. which kind are you, then?"

Lysander allowed her to slip her hand into the crook of his arm. Together, they began to stroll along the uneven path.. not with her trailing or leading, but perfectly by his side, just as he had imagined.. countless times before.

"Opposite sides of conflict, you say?" The riddle was clearly meant to invite reflection. A sideways glance revealed a touch of sheepishness crossing his youthful visage. "Sounds suspiciously familiar. I admit, I'm rather fond of such literature myself. Though HoloDramas tend to be my guilty pleasure, perhaps a tale for another day." Inside, he felt a surprising lightness. Confessing these little quirks to her brought neither shame nor vulnerability.

Attention drew to the weathered tome cradled. "I even brought some of my own writing."

The gentle breeze coaxed the petals into an elegant ballet, and an attentive ear was poised to catch such whispered secrets within their folds. Warmth in his gaze might've hinted at deep contemplation sparked by her thoughtful explanation. "So, a single rose can tell a whole story, like a secret message just waiting to be understood?" spilled in a murmur accompanied with his radiant curve that danced like dawn's first light. "If white proclaims, 'I am worthy of you,' does that imply it's given before love's bloom?"

Before asking the next question floated forth, an arm moved naturally, enveloping around her shoulders with protective grace. "Or maybe after, when you want to remind someone how deeply they are cherished?"

A head tilted in curious wonder, mirth interlacing the tones. "Alright.. and who decided all this? Was this the hand of one heart, or did it just.. happen, over time, the way words do? Who set all these rules to carry across generations?"

 

[Isobel Serraris]

CROWNED BY THE SUN​

LOCATION — Zardossa Stix
TAGS — Lysander von Ascania

Though the chains of the Sith bound the planet to its whims, one could not deny the beauty it manifested. . . Zardossa Stix was as warm and serene as his allusions had painted it to be, there was not the burden of expectation to pin her down, nor the lifelessness to make her soul wither and die. With its sun-kissed shades, narrow passages and hidden treasures, it had admittedly shaped to be the closest concept to Home. Nay, 'twas not Naboo, not as green or as diverse. There may be naught that could compare to the fonder memories of that place, but one could forge new ones here. . . With him, with whomever may yet bloom within the garden of her life.

Peace, a word uneasily uttered upon a board of war, and yet he had dared say it. . . Peace, and she had been its origin, its wellspring. The white petals of the poppy she had refused to let blossom, but how could she? Corruption clung to the edges of her psyche, taunting her with each encounter within the galaxy--begging her to indulge in darkness. And yet, the passion with which it was spoken forced her to believe it to be true. Bel had been blinded to other sides of him, to sides clouded in darkness or furor, was that the serenity he referenced?

"I. . . am charmed, Lys," her nerves steeled lightly as she spoke her words, whilst they wandered the pathway--refusing to diminish his gestures to mere folly. . . for they made her heart thrum so loudly and left warmth blooming across her skin akin to sunlight. "It is merely that most nobles barely spared me the time of day. I have not a clue what I am doing to make you feel at peace, or. . . this way." The confession was not a refusal, merely the quiet admission of her inexperience or a lack of understanding in this elaborate game. . . well, beyond the petty holodramas she had often entertained in her time before the Jedi.

The sweetest of fantasies had plagued her in her youth, kept her thoroughly distracted--if not properly amused--amid her days in the gardens. She could spend hours picturing herself with some prince, or a rogue as some of the tales sometimes picked, rehearsing the scripts of an elegant waltz or a quieter night in a grand palace. Once, Isobel may have believed that to be her fate, only for the passage of time to tear it asunder with each moon, with each rotation of the sun. Though for once, a feeling equal to her adoring imagination settled deep within her core, a promise of a destiny even better than what she could once fathom.

His question left her wondering, was it truly the sun or the shade which she preferred. . . Or what preferred her? "The sun is wonderful, I had sorely missed it after Ilum. . ." The cold upon her skin had been a sensation hard to dismiss, akin to shackles of frost that shunned all feeling from her skin. Her brown eyes lingered on him, twinkling brightly with feelings she refused to admit. "But the shade," him. . . "It is calmer, gentler. It means the warmth of the sun is not too bright, yet still present," Foolish thoughts rushed through her head, before Bel dismissed them.

The feel of him near banished all other thoughts from her mind; there was only the rhythm of their footsteps matching, and the tenderness of his arm nestled with hers before it shifted toward her shoulders. . . drawing her closer against him. The smile upon her lips met no restraint, brightening instantly within Lysander's presence. "I fear I may have entertained a novel or two whenever I managed to sneak them in." The remark echoed of a light playfulness, touched by the innocence of days spent concealing holotale disks within the narrow space of her bodice or amongst bouquets of flowers of tall flowers. For had her family ever discovered the indulgences, the consequences would surely be grave.

Her eyes briefly drifted toward the tome he had brought with him, its pages filled with the writings he had spoken of. . . He had once 'blessed' her with his poetry, well she could not help but believe that he was capable of far lovelier things than that verse, with the way he wove his words now around her so dearly. . . so romantically.

The pace slowed akin to the rain after a fervent storm, making more room for her to rest her head against his shoulder, the dark brown curls lapping gently against the dark of his tunic. "Myths and legends shaped it I think, storytellers and poets all had a hand in the symbolism of these roses. White roses are given as a declaration, a. . . new beginning of sorts," The Nabooan softly instructed him, wishing she had taken her Flora Symbolica with her when she left the Order. "It is like a dialect or... language in general, it occurs over time and constantly changes meaning. Everyone interprets it differently and its meaning changes."

"It is a language of poets," Isobel mused quieter than before, subconsciously wishing it may make more sense to him that way.

A contented sigh slipped from her lips as she ambled beside him, unwilling to witness the moment change, unwilling to allow the reality of their lives to come crashing down upon them. To remain here, upon Zardossa Stix, for however long their lives might permit such peace to endure. "I could remain here beside you for all eternity, if you so wish it. To let the galaxy forget about us for as long as the fates would allow. . ."

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris​

Lysander stretched his neck against the mosaic of Zardossa's bleeding stones, shadowing folding into shadows where Light so often dared not trespass. An oppressive grandeur siphoning warmth from the air. Even in her presence, the whispers of Sith scars pressed close, more ink spilled across the page of fate unwritten. And so he listened, not with ears, but with the pulse beneath the chest; a rhythm half dragon, half lament.

Words were trailed long moth wing prayers against the abyss he carried; how to explain the weight in those veins he bore before notes of warmth found its way there? Before peace was a fractured dream. Only hunger beneath the blonde's calm, a darker chorus lurking. Petals pressed against scales, that was the only flower that threatened to still burn. Still, he would never repulse this. Surely a fire remembers its own flame. Each breath drawn while she spoke tasted less of the poison curling on his tongue, bitterness retreating before her innocent candor. Mayhaps.. a tempest contained within frozen glass, patiently waiting..

Steps would remain slow and sure beside her; the crunch of earth beneath his boots felt quiet against the honesty spilling from Isobel's lips. The voice wove itself around him like a whispered incantation. To be charmed, she said; it was a thing rare as a star fallen to ruin.

How cruel, he thought, that she spoke of being passed over.. a ghost in noble halls, unseen, unheard, her worth left unreckoned. The thought kindled a low burn within Lysander, a fierce, silent bell tolling against the blindness of those fools. But the Sith, disciplined as he may be, held that flame carefully. "Isobel.. that nobles failed to see you.. it's a grave injustice.. a cruel lie etched upon their hearts. You posses strength unseen by many. And I, by some twist of fortune, have finally come to witness. I can't help but wonder why I've been granted the chance to walk beside you."

Curiosity sparked when thoughts dared to wonder if any other soul had paused in awe of her quiet power. His Chest tightened to think of the aristocrats who had never paused to know the Rose of Naboo's name; so a cold anger coiled in his chest at their myopia. It was possible, she may even feel that thread in the currents surrounding them. Inexperience, he reminded himself, was not emptiness.. but purity.. something untouched by cynicism. Furthermore.. something he had no right to touch, but could not resist drawing closer to.

A question arose; did she crave the sun's fierce kiss or shadow's gentle lull? Perhaps neither, or both entwined in some forbidden tapestry. Indeed, it left him wondering.. spinning like an unsteady quill. "If I offer you even a shadow of that, it is you who bring warmth into my life.. that I would not trade for sun or starfire. Walk with me, then, not as the warrior of war's merciless blade, nor some dutiful noble performing in the Great Play. Simply.. be the sanctuary where your heart can rest; truth alone should be your armor."

Lysander closed his eyes against the swirl of feeling her words awakened. Everything one might say found its truth there. "Then let me learn every lesson you share," whispered into the air, "and speak it back to you in verses only you can translate."

Zardossa itself held its breath. A black heart swelled until he began to fear it might spill its longing into the air. Instead he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head and breathed back, "If loyalty is yours to give, I'll dedicate each dawn proving I'm worthy."

A pale blossom, ethereal as moonlight, detached from the overhanging branch, or perhaps somewhere else.. and began a gentle descent between them. Without haste, Lysander raises his hand, fingers outstretched, and the petal alighted softly on his palm. He turned a hand toward her, offering it. "Come. Let us see what awaits." And together, they would soon step into the soft glow of the street beyond.

Bathing in coral dusk, the street before glowed with lost fountains. Walls of stone bore scars from a viper's tongue. Stallholders hawked fruits and figs, weaved into drums and distant laughter. Gusts carried the tang of honeyed wine and hot sand. Lanterns hung at window ledges. So he stepped onto the cobbles, a firefly of destiny.

 

[Isobel Serraris]

CROWNED BY THE SUN​

LOCATION — Zardossa Stix
TAGS — Lysander von Ascania

Eternity spent upon a planet; weaving memories, fairytales to her heart's content whilst dismissing all the shadows tainting this accursed galaxy they lived in. She wished not to spend a moment away from this sanctuary, from the warmth of the sun upon her skin and the even warmer embraces--and kisses--he had graced her with. It was more than she envisioned herself ever achieving--for the tale had always meant to play out as an arranged marriage, an unhappy wife, a disgruntled husband. . . not the sweetness of this adoration--not the intoxicating presence in which she longed to remain.

A new home could be built upon this planet, not within territory where even her own kin had rejected her. . , but here on Zardossa Stix~ Needless to say, should the call of duty not result in her untimely demise--as it did many who had or will tread that treacherous thought. But it was naught to burden Lysander with now, not when bliss had graced their path here and now. That confession shall wait for its proper time, for not even the threads of her vision had fully unravelled into imagery beyond a mere blur or colour.

His sweetened words were akin to a lullaby to her, nudging her further into his gentle embrace, declaring it to be an injustice for them to look past her shy self--in favour of the more prestigious and studious ladies. They had the name, the wealth of their kin, and the intellect to baffle even the smartest of bachelors. The ideal asset to be acquired for one house or the other. Matters she had scarcely lacked, if not for her personal qualities, for who would be content with a wife so vexingly fixated on the various properties of flora? And so haunted by the whispers of the future. . .

"I am eternally grateful that the fates allowed our paths to cross in Theed, Lys. . . You need never doubt that--" She trailed off and let out a bemused huff. "Though. . . as grave as it is, I must confess, there were definitely others who needed those flowers more," Her words--soft as a whisper--had haunted her persistently since their fated encounter upon that rainy day, , ,

No other confessions, words or even thoughts needed to be voiced, there existed only this haven. . . a fairytale come to life within the graden, where even the Force appeared weary of its eternal war between light and dark. Bel bore witness to his words, and hummed in accordance with them, her presence within his arms answer enough for her. There would not be an end to this, even when the duties may force them astray; for a part of her heart had already been sworn to him, long before her words had dared proclaim it as such. And within the Force, their presences intertwined into one elaborate bouquet, unable to be separated from one another. . . at least, 'twas that way for her.

"Our paths are intertwined--Ilum, Naboo. . . Ukatis, whatever it may be that draws us to one another is a force to be reckoned with. I would not dare battle it..." There was a lightness in her voice, a playfulness that arose from her comfort, then her fingers ran over his free arm. "There are plenty of holobooks that detail all one needs to know about flowers, I can be persuaded to loan you some," Isobel teased softly, mostly intending to learn more the most curious looking tome he held near--likely with all his little poetry experiments within. . . Endearing.

The pale white bloom landed in their midst, and she gracefully accepted it from him thereafter. "A moonflower. . . they have chosen a most peculiar place to bloom," Bel mused softly to herself as her fingers tucked the white blossom in the curls of her hair. "Dreaming of love," she recalled its meaning, it was overly romantic--even when the flower was hardly that spectacular. But it was the only explanation she provided before slipping from his grasp in a graceful twirl.

Her gaze lingered upon him with a newfound playfulness and lightness, inspired and challenged by his words. . . and a bit flustered by the kiss on the crown of her head. Akin to a Tooka-cat prepared to dart away at the sight of a human, she was tensed up to vanish in seconds. "There are many corners in this city left to uncover, Lys. . . Best keep your pace." A--terribly awkward--wink followed thereafter, before the short Nabooan vanished into the numerous cobbled passageways of the port city itself, weaving swiftly past its human and alien inhabitants, as she vanished from sight.

The older streets and buildings were slanted, with cracks and crevices in just about every place one looked. It was a hassle on its own to navigate the narrow pathways, let alone not lose one's footing in it.

Isobel's trail led her eastbound, toward the bustling markets by the sandy beaches of Zardossa. . .

​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Isobel Serraris
​

It was nice to watch the fragile bloom of Isobel open in the harsh daylight; her shyness was a delicate mist at the edges of grace. He wondered how such untroubled purity endured amid the galaxy’s countless scars. The haunting of his own past wrapped intimately tight in Sith teachings and hunger.. far heavier than the sun’s gaze. Lysander’s calm was a cage built of shadow and fire, a darkness that had learned to bend but never submit. And yet her light..no, not fragility but something fiercer.. shone brighter than this planet’s blinding sky.

Now, there was a rare ache inside him.. a wound opened by soft fingers. Did she not see the stains on his soul? Did she not fear they might smother her brightness, or dim the radiance she carried like a hymn? He dared not ask, dared not voice such doubt, that foreign whisper telling him he was unworthy of this gentle star amid his presence.

“Theed..” A hush, soft as twilight weaving through leaves; now, between them. Memory surfaced like a breeze tracing the edges of a dream. “How dare you speak as if I could ever forget that day.” A subtle fold at the corners of lips.. neither smile nor sorrow, but a little place where tenderness might dwell. “The way you handed me those flowers, the cafe.. the rain on the windows.. I remember all of it. Nothing has been lost to time.”

Her confession drew a hum out of him. “Others may have needed them,” a tilt of the head punctuated the thought, “yet perhaps it was the one time selfishness was not a sin..” Others shrugged at a single sin; he carried them all like bruises. Fingers traced a sacred map upon her shoulder along their shared journey. “For had I not taken them, I would never have known you..”

Secret havens basked her inquisitive gaze. “Persuade, you say?” came the tender murmur, "I believe that some of the best lessons often come from the most unexpected teachers.."

Calibrated emeralds softened in surrender, following the spiral of her twirl.. a dance spun from starlit whispers and moonflower dreams nestled gently in her hair. Another secret garden came into being near the corners of a guarded heart. And even as she faded into the twilight.. the echo of her connection lingered like an ember pressed against frost discipline.. a secret fire untouched. “Then mayhaps,” the voice murmured once more, tender as a petal’s sigh, “the flowers themselves hold wisdom beyond my grasp.. waiting patiently for you.. as so many wonders seem to do.”

Boots echoed against the cobblestones with more purpose. The Jedi challenged someone trained to hunt shadows, and furthermore, one that rather enjoyed the chase, like fire chasing the night's cloak. Around the bend, her silhouette vanished; he followed immediately. If there were recesses left to uncover, that was fine.. he'd lost her once to the winds of fate.. and since their reunion upon Ilum, he promised that no fragment of this vast galaxy could ever conceal her from his spirit again.

Not quite fear.. but close enough to name silence. Gilmpses pulled Lysander ever forward.. the bounce of curls, the glow of her new moonflower. Those visions were a steady magnet, pulling him ahead like tides of inevitability. Along that periphery of thought, the Force answered. The drifting shade obeyed like servants, bending at will and weaving paths where footsteps faded into nothing. Those old teachings hummed, and silence transformed into a road; the spaces between stone and light beckoned. A shift that was sure carried him beyond sight.. effortless, but a ripple in still water.

From the market’s edge, arms curled gently around her waist. A rogue strand of her hair brushed against his jaw, carrying some delicate scent.. an intoxicating sweetness even made time hesitate.. to savor that quiet breath.

Ahead, the market gave way to an expanse of untouched sand, pale beneath a sky brushed with strokes of apricot. The horizon stretched, where waves pirouetted in daylight; much like Bel, sparkling like jewels kissed by the sun’s mellowness; it too was an invitation, in a language of colors and.. light.

Guiding her carefully, hands were akin to compass in their embrace; he steered her steps closer to the shores edge. A moment unfolded when his head found hers; a feather against the curve of her diadem. How he yearned to see every inch of her face right then, so that he might commit beauty to memory.

“Best keep my pace, was it?” Breath trailed near her ear, laced with amusement. “The shadows might be my home, but you were never going to lose me.”

Lysander traced the shores ahead. "Come then.. the beach waits for us. And.. I'm.. excited to discover where you'll take us..” The Sith's mouth softened, bright with a pearly gleam. “And, I want to see how the dusk lays its crown upon you, Princess Bel.”