Private Grasslands

[Aiden Porte]

Sven Halestorm
​

The Naboo plains stretched wide beneath the pale morning sky, dew clinging to the tall grasses like a scattering of stars against emerald. Aiden Porte moved through them with steady breath, each stride purposeful, each motion flowing from one stance into another. His lightsaber was ignited but dialed to a low training intensity, the blade a humming thread of blue that cut through the cool air. The rhythm of his practice was measured, almost meditative, spins, arcs, and parries punctuated by a pause as he shifted into a new form, grounding his feet in the soil.

The plains responded to him. Birds startled from nests as his saber cut a broad sweep; the grass bent in waves where the energy hummed close. The scent of damp earth and wildflowers mingled with the ozone tang of plasma. Aiden welcomed the solitude, the openness of the plains reminding him of his youth on Naboo, of mornings spent working the soil at the Porte homestead. Here, the Force flowed gently, a balance between cultivated land and the unshaped wild, grounding him in its quiet constancy.

But solitude rarely lasted long for a Jedi.

A subtle shift in the currents of the Force rippled across his awareness, like a faint note struck on a distant string. Aiden slowed, letting the saber dip to his side as his senses stretched outward. The grass moved against the breeze in an unnatural rhythm, a presence drawing closer, steady but deliberate. When the figure emerged from the golden sweep of plains, the sight made him smile faintly.

Another Jedi...

The robes marked them before the face came into clarity, but it was the cadence of their steps, the confidence in the way they carried themselves, that truly confirmed it. They approached with the kind of focus born of training, yet tempered with the ease of one who knew these lands offered no threat.

"Not often I find another fellow Jedi so far from Theed," Aiden called across the distance, deactivating his saber. His tone was warm, Nabooan lilt carrying across the open air. "You've chosen a fine place for the morning. The plains don't give you their secrets quickly, but they do reward patience."

He clipped his hilt to his belt and stepped forward, brushing stray grass from his tunic as he studied his fellow Knight, or perhaps Padawan, though the calm in their aura suggested otherwise. The Force pulsed gently between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of shared path and discipline.

"What brings you here, my friend?" he asked, not as challenge, but as welcome. The plains of Naboo had always felt like home, but with another Jedi walking them, the air seemed richer, carrying the promise of new purpose.

 

[Sven Halestorm]

H O M E​

TAG: Aiden Porte

Footsteps settled into the path as the man walked, his feet planting themselves into ground like they had known each other for their whole lives. The scent in the air came to him like a pet greeting its owner after finally making it home. The warmth of the sun cradling him like an infant, the man took in all these feelings with nostalgia, of familiarity. The sounds of animals and birds rode the breeze as they stirred in the early morning.

Waves of nostalgia continued to hit Sven as his feet took him down the path he had known a lifetime ago, in his heart he was glad that the place he had called home was untouched by the wars that plagued the galaxy year after year, planets having been wiped from existence families forever torn apart, yet he was still able to walk through the plains as if there was no strife in existence.

But with familiarity hit a wave of something new, the sensation budded against the corners of perception as his stride continued down his path. With each stride the sensation rose with presence, something... new... familiar... but still unknown to him. Finally his stride brough him over the cusp of the plains and his eyes landed on the presence he had noticed for a good while,

Another Jedi.

Sven raised in hand in greeting to the other man, his voice calling out over the fields, "It is not often I find those who wander far from Theed to the place I once called home." The man continued to draw near to Aiden as he found a nice stone to place his boot on, resting against his knee as he looked across the plains before the pair as the words flew on the breeze that surrounded the two.

Extending his arm toward Aiden he spoke once more, "Why is it when a man has done all he can he reflects towards his roots? Why does a son not wish to visit those who had nurtured him into the man he becomes?" The questions soon carried away by the winds as the the robes the man wore resisted against its pull, his brow raised in question.

A gentle smile escaped from the corner of his lips, "But you are right, there is not a place in this galaxy that is finer in the morning then these plains. Makes a man remember what all the sacrifices are for, doesn't it?"

There's no Place Like Home.​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sven Halestorm
​

Aiden's gaze followed the horizon before it turned toward the figure approaching across the plains. He'd felt the ripple in the Force some distance off not a threat, but a presence steeped in familiarity, like a memory half-remembered. When the man came into view, Aiden then inclined his head in greeting.

"The plains have a way of calling us back," he said softly, voice carrying over the wind. "Perhaps the roots remember us better than we remember them."

He stepped closer, closing the gap between them until the scent of Naboo's morning dew lingered between the two Jedi. His hand came to rest briefly over his heart not a formal salute, but a gesture of respect. "I've often wondered the same," Aiden admitted. "When the noise of the galaxy fades, a man can hear what truly endures. The land… the wind… the people who raised us."

The Knight's eyes returned to the rolling fields, the golden grasses bending gently under the sun's first touch. "It humbles me that these plains remain untouched. So much has burned, yet this place still breathes peace."

A faint smile warmed his features as he looked back to Sven. "You're right. Every morning I stand here, I remember why we fight. Not for victory. But so places like this, and the people who love them, can still wake to another dawn."

He extended a hand, palm open in camaraderie. "I am Aiden Porte. And it seems the Force thought our paths should cross."

 

[Sven Halestorm]

Y E A R N​

Tag: Aiden Porte

The man extended his hand back towards Aiden, his grip strong from years abroad, clear that countless hardships had forged the man into something that this land resembled, but not recognized as it was once before. Creases on his face deeper than those of his age, resembling one who had lived a life decades longer than his own, one would notice from up close a few hints of gray mottled in his beard.

Sven let his grey eyes look over the Jedi across from him, "If you continue to speak as such, one might confuse you for someone who has not held their own fair bit of hardship and strife in this life." A sly smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth as he let out a hearty chuckle.

Bringing his attention back to the present, he gestured past the man, "I do not mean to interrupt your morning, but it has been a good while since I have eaten, and I hope to have the food of our people, something I have not tasted since I was just a small boy."

His thoughts wandered to the days he used to spend outside the bakery, smelling the scents of pastries and other delicious items being baked in their stone ovens. The wind seemed to tease Sven as he could almost smell the bakery at the cusp of his imagination, just threatening to come into existence.

Sven's focus returned to reality as he looked back towards Aiden, "It is everyone's own reason why they fight, whether it be for good or bad, for others or oneself. You can teach worlds the same lesson, and somehow everyone would interpret the lesson differently, because the way in which we experience life is different for everyone."

Why do We Fight?​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sven Halestorm
​

Aiden clasped Sven's hand firmly, the weathered strength in the man's grip meeting his own with quiet respect. There was no challenge in it, only recognition. The sort of understanding that passed between those who had seen too much, carried too long, and yet still stood in the light of another morning. When their hands parted, Aiden studied the man for a moment longer, taking in the gray woven through his beard, the lines carved deep by time and distance. Not all scars were visible.

"You're right," he said, voice low, edged with warmth. "The land might fool one into thinking peace is simple. But nothing this gentle survives without struggle."

His gaze followed Sven's gesture toward the horizon, and beyond it, Theed's distant rooftops glimmering under the rising sun. The memory of fresh bread and sweet pastries drifted faintly on the wind, as though Naboo herself had heard the old longing in Sven's words. Aiden smiled, small and genuine. "There's a place still standing just off the eastern road. They bake as those before them did, soft rolls with cream, fruit folded into dough before dawn. I stop there each week when I come into town."

He started forward, motioning gently for Sven to follow. "Come. I'd be honored to share a meal with you. A morning like this deserves more than solitude."

As they walked, Aiden listened to the man's reflection, his eyes softening at the truth within it. "That's the burden and the grace of the galaxy, isn't it?" he mused. "The same light touches every world, but each soul bends it differently."

He cast a sidelong glance at Sven, a faint spark of curiosity glinting beneath his calm. "Tell me friend, when you left this place, what did you think you'd find out there?"

 

[Sven Halestorm]

R E M E M B E R​

Tag: Aiden Porte

Sven clasped Aiden’s words as though they were an echo of his own thoughts, letting them rest a moment in silence before giving them shape. His eyes lingered on the horizon, where the roofs of Theed glimmered like jewels scattered by the sun, and for an instant, he seemed far younger than the lines on his face betrayed.

“When I left,” he said at last, his tone quiet but steady, “I thought the galaxy was waiting with answers. That beyond Naboo’s rivers and meadows, I would find truths too vast to learn in the comfort of home. And in a way, I did. Worlds scarred by war, people broken and rebuilt by it, the endless tide of conflict that shapes us, whether we resist or surrender. But… I also found that no matter how far one wanders, the same questions linger. The same hungers, the same longings.”

His pace slowed as they walked the road toward the promise of bread and morning warmth. He tilted his head toward Aiden, studying the man with a gaze tempered by years. “Perhaps that is why I returned. To see if the light I carried from this place still burns the same. To know if the man I became still has a place among the fields that first taught him peace.”

A faint smile touched his lips then, softened by the memories Naboo’s air carried on the breeze. “And maybe… to be reminded that sharing a meal with a friend is sometimes the only answer the galaxy can offer.”

And Maybe, to Just Remember.​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sven Halestorm
​

Aiden's steps slowed with Sven's, the quiet between them stretching not as emptiness, but as understanding. The kind of silence born between souls who had walked too long among storms and now stood beneath the stillness of home. The road before them gleamed with morning dew, a living thread leading back toward Theed, where laughter and ovens waited to be woken.


"You sought truths," Aiden said softly, his tone carrying a trace of reflection, "And found the same questions that haunt us all. Perhaps that is what wisdom truly is, not finding new answers, but seeing old ones more clearly."

He looked toward the fields they had left behind. The wind rolled through the grass in waves, and for a fleeting moment, he imagined the echoes of the young they once were running through those same plains, lightsabers made of sticks, hearts unscarred. "I used to think peace was something you built." he murmured. "Something you could carve into the galaxy if only you were steadfast enough. But standing here… I think it's something you remember. Something that remembers you."

As they resumed their walk, Aiden added, quieter now, "The galaxy may never answer us, Sven. But perhaps Naboo doesn't need to. Sometimes, being able to ask the question again here, where it first took root is enough."

 

[Sven Halestorm]

H E A D E R​

Tag: Aiden Porte

Sven’s gaze followed the wind as it rippled through the fields, his eyes tracing the invisible currents as though they carried the weight of Aiden’s words. He let the silence linger again, not as hesitation, but as a gesture of reverence for what had just been spoken. When he finally answered, his voice was low, carved with the gravity of memory.

“You’re right,” he said, almost to the air itself. “Peace isn’t built, not truly. We mistake it for walls, for treaties, for the quiet after battle. But those things… they fade. What endures is what you said, what we remember. The way a mother’s song can outlast the empire that silenced her. The way a morning like this can outlive every war waged beneath its sky.”

He turned his eyes toward Aiden, the other knight, his expression touched with something between pride and sorrow. “Perhaps wisdom is not holding the answers, but holding the questions without letting them break us. You carry them well, my friend. Better than I did when I first left these fields.”

The city’s spires glimmered closer with each step, and the scent of bread grew stronger on the breeze. Sven’s voice softened, threaded with a rare warmth. “So let us ask the questions again, together. Over bread, over laughter, over the kind of peace that lingers not in stone or decree, but in the memory of those who choose to keep it alive.”

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sven Halestorm
​

Aiden's chest rose with a slow breath, the words settling into him like seeds into rich soil. He held Sven's gaze, and for a moment, the Knight's pride and sorrow reflected back at him as though in a still pool. Naboo's light gilded the edges of Sven's weathered face, and Aiden thought how often the galaxy mistook scars for weakness, when in truth they were simply the maps of where strength had been drawn.

"You honor me with that." Aiden said at last, voice steady but touched with quiet humility. "If I carry the questions well, it's only because others carried me when I was not strong enough. My master, my friends, even strangers who gave more than they had to spare. Peace endures because it is passed hand to hand, life to life. No one holds it alone."

The wind shifted, bringing with it the unmistakable sweetness of rising loaves, of fruit folded into soft dough and cream warmed by stone ovens. Theed's music began to stir faintly too the hum of carts on cobblestones, the laughter of children chasing the dawn.

The bakery doors opened to warmth and the soft glow of morning light. The air was thick with the scent of rising bread, fruit glaze, and sugar. Stone ovens crackled quietly, their heat spilling into the room as trays of fresh loaves were drawn out.

Aiden stepped aside for Sven, a faint smile on his lips. "Here it is." he said. "Exactly as I remember."

They found a table by the window, the sounds of Theed waking drifting in faintly from the street. A plate was set before them golden rolls, sweet pastries, still warm to the touch.

Aiden broke a piece of bread and offered it across the table. "Some truths," he said softly, "Are best found here, shared simply."

 

[Sven Halestorm]

T O A S T​

Tag: Aiden Porte

Sven accepted the bread with hands that had once known the weight of battle, now grateful for the lighter burden of a simple offering. He turned it once in his palm, feeling the warmth seep into his skin, before breaking it in two. The steam that rose carried more than the scent of fruit and sugar; it carried memory, the kind that spoke not in words but in the marrow of one’s bones.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice quieter now, softened by the comfort of the moment. “Peace endures because it is shared, not claimed, not conquered, but given, again and again, until it roots itself where no war can tear it out. My own strength… it faltered more times than I’d ever admit aloud. Yet here I am, fed not by victory, but by the grace of others.”

His gaze shifted to the window, where the morning unfolded with the easy certainty of children’s laughter and the sound of life unafraid. He let the sight rest in him for a long breath before returning his eyes to Aiden. “The galaxy forgets too quickly that this is what it fights for, not banners, not thrones. Just mornings like this. A table. A friend.”

He raised the broken piece of bread as though in a quiet toast. A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth, weathered yet undeniably present. “Then let this be one of those truths we keep, Aiden. For as long as we can, and as often as we must.”

A Toast to Peace.​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sven Halestorm ​

Aiden lifted his own piece in kind, the faintest nod sealing the unspoken vow between them. The morning light caught on the steam as they shared the first bite, and for a moment, it was as if time itself paused to listen.

"You've said it true." Aiden murmured, a rare warmth threading his tone. "All we can do is keep passing it forward a little light, a little grace. It's never ours to own, only to offer."

Outside, the laughter of children echoed off cobblestone streets. The scent of fresh loaves and fruit lingered in the air. Aiden leaned back slightly, gaze softening as it drifted toward the window.

"If the galaxy forgets," he added quietly, "Then we'll remember for it."

He raised his bread once more, meeting Sven's eyes. "To peace however small, however fleeting. May we always find our way back to it."

"So what do you plan to do now that you are back?"

 

[Sven Halestorm]

F O R W A R D​

Tag: Aiden Porte

Sven lifted his own piece of bread once more, mirroring the gesture with a quiet gravity. The weight of Aiden’s words lingered between them, not heavy, but grounding, like the roots of an old tree drawing deep into the soil. He took the bite slowly, savoring it not merely for its taste but for the meaning it carried, that simple sustenance could bind wounds the galaxy had left untended. Steam curled upward, caught by the sun as if the morning itself sought to consecrate the moment.

For a time, he said nothing, only listened to the ovens crackling, to the hum of carts rolling into Theed’s heart, to the unburdened laughter of children who had yet to learn the meaning of scars. His gaze followed those sounds outward, to the rooftops gilded by dawn, to the distant spires that rose like sentinels over a world that still dared to believe in gentleness. When he finally spoke, his words carried the same cadence as the city itself, slow, steady, enduring.

“Peace,” Sven began, his tone low, “was always painted to me as something fragile, fleeting. And perhaps it is. But I look at this...” he gestured faintly toward the window, toward the bakery’s warmth, toward the simple act of bread between friends “and I think fragility does not mean weakness. A flower is fragile, yet it can split stone. A memory is fragile, yet it can outlast empires. So what do I plan to do, now that I’ve come home?”

He set the bread down, leaning his forearms onto the table, and his eyes, lined by years of wandering, yet sharpened now with purpose, settled on Aiden. “I plan to remember. To remember what was almost lost to me out there. To give back what was given to me when I had nothing left but the will to keep walking. Perhaps I’ll take to teaching again, whether the young who wish to wield a blade, or the farmer who only wishes his crops to stand against storms. Perhaps I’ll walk the old roads of Naboo, so that when others return weary and scarred, they’ll find someone waiting, reminding them that this place has not forgotten them.”

His voice softened then, nearly a whisper, though no less firm for it. “I’ve seen too many men spend their lives chasing what lies beyond the stars, only to die never knowing they had already held everything they sought. I will not make that mistake again. I will live here, not in solitude, but in the company of mornings like this. And should the galaxy call me once more to fight… I’ll go, but I will not forget what I fight for.”

Sven picked up the bread again, raising it slightly as if sealing the vow with his companion. A rare, almost boyish smile touched his lips, warming his weathered face. “So that’s my plan, Aiden. To guard this peace, however small, however fleeting, so that when you or I return from storms, there is always a table, a loaf, and a friend waiting.”

A Place for All to Call Home.​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Sven Halestorm
​

Aiden listened in stillness, the glow of the ovens tracing a soft amber across his features. Each word Sven spoke settled like the crackle of firewood slow, sure, carrying the weight of something finally set down. When the older Knight finished, Aiden let the silence hold for a moment longer, as if to give the vow space to take root.

Then, with a quiet reverence, he raised his own piece of bread in answer. "There are few vows the Force asks of us," he said, his voice low but steady. "But the truest among them is remembrance. Not of victory, but of meaning. To remember that peace is not a gift from the stars it is made by hands, shared at tables like this, guarded by those willing to see it endure."

He took a slow bite, eyes lifting toward the light spilling through the window. Theed's streets had grown livelier merchants calling to one another, a musician tuning her instrument beneath a nearby arch, a cluster of children running past with fresh loaves clutched in laughter. The sound of life, vibrant and ordinary, washed over them both.

"You speak of teaching." Aiden continued, turning back to Sven. "That is how peace multiplies not in decrees, but in stories, gestures, the way one man shows another that gentleness can still prevail. If you walk the roads again, let them see that. Let them know the Jedi remember not just how to fight, but how to live."

Aiden lifted his gaze once more, a soft, knowing smile crossing his face. "And should the storms call again, we'll answer. But when they pass… we'll come back here. To bread. To light. To the peace we built, and the friendship that keeps it alive. This place is lucky to have you my friend."

 

[Sven Halestorm]

R E S T​

Tag: Aiden Porte

Sven sat in the hush of Aiden’s words, letting them weave into him with the same steady rhythm as the ovens crackling behind them. He felt the truth of them settle in his chest, not sharp, not searing, but gentle, like a cloak laid across tired shoulders. He lifted his gaze to the window again, where the city had begun to stir in earnest, and for a moment he let himself simply watch. The laughter of children, the cadence of merchants calling out, the faint tuning of a musician’s strings, all of it played like a symphony he had once forgotten, and now returned to as if it had been waiting for him all along.

He raised his own bread once more in quiet echo, the gesture carrying the solemnity of a vow and the simplicity of shared gratitude. “Remembrance,” he repeated, his voice low, reverent. “A vow without banners, without fanfare, and yet heavier than any I swore in youth. You are right, Aiden. Victory fades. Monuments crumble. But what we remember, what we choose to pass hand to hand, as you said, that is what the Force holds fast to. The smallest kindness can echo longer than the loudest triumph.”

He tore another piece of bread, the crust breaking beneath his fingers, steam curling upward like incense. “You speak of teaching,” Sven went on, his eyes softening, their lines carved deeper by the pull of memory. “It was once the first duty I was given, before I thought myself wise, before I mistook battle scars for wisdom. The young will not remember my victories, nor should they. But if they remember that a Jedi shared his table with them, that he listened, that he showed them gentleness could survive the long night, then perhaps that will endure longer than any battle I fought.”

The light spilled further into the bakery now, catching the dust in golden motes that seemed to dance between the two of them. Outside, a cart rumbled past, its wheels creaking, followed by the sweet sound of a child singing some half-remembered folk tune. Sven let the moment wash over him, then leaned forward slightly, his expression sharpening with something like resolve. “You say this place is lucky to have me. No, Aiden, I am lucky to have returned to it. To have found it still here, still alive, still offering me the chance to be more than the sum of the battles I survived. Perhaps that is what Naboo teaches best, not how to fight, but how to forgive, even oneself.”

He paused, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his weathered mouth. He raised his bread once more, this time less as a vow and more as a simple acknowledgment of the life before them. “So let it be as you say. When storms rise, we will answer. But when they pass, we will return here. To bread. To laughter. To mornings that remind us why we return at all. That is enough for me. More than enough.”

Sven leaned back then, letting the chair creak under his weight, the warmth of the ovens at his back, and the company of a friend across from him. For the first time in years, perhaps decades, he felt not like a man between wars, but a man home.

Finally Some Rest.​