Private ...I'll Never Collect

[Natasi Fortan]

​

A Year Ago
Coruscant​

Promise whatever you like
I'll never collect​

It wasn't going to be what she had imagined.

Natasi Fortan, favored daughter of Galidraan, onetime Countess of Herevan, not being married out of the church her father had built for her mother in the village seemed -- sacrilegious, somehow. She had always expected to marry there, as her parents had. It would have been most appropriate for her first wedding, to a Galidraani nobleman from a neighboring province, and yet her wedding to Talbot had been a small affair at the Temple of the Balance in Avalonia, sparsely attended by her cousin Pierce and one or two other witnesses.

Natasi Fortan, Supreme Leader of the First Order-in-Exile and the Renascent Republic, not being married in a thrilling state wedding in New Sterandel seemed equally -- wrong, somehow. Never a woman to overlook a sense of occasion, she had once imagined herself standing with Dyrn before the great and good of Renascent society in the Temple of the Enlightened Balance, the pair of them basking in the adoration of the crowds that reliably turned out any time she so much as set foot on the River Palace balcony would have been quite something. She was not so ignorant of herself to think it her primary concern, but it did seem rather a shame to deprive the people of the holiday atmosphere, the chance to be part of things.

Natasi Fortan, bride of a Keshian soldier, not being married in his tradition seemed -- ill-fated, somehow. The rich tapestry of Dyrn's upbringing had informed their relationship just as much as the hidebound traditionalism of her own Galidraani one. Dyrn's presence was solid and warm, substantial, and yet there was no question that between the pair of them, Natasi's was the more recognizable name and face, a relic -- literally, she had to ruefully confess, and figuratively -- of decades in the public eye. Natasi had desperately wanted to honor the man and his heritage in their nuptials, even going so far as to float the idea of marrying on Keshi.

But time and tide waited for no man, and with the galaxy falling to pieces and war looking ever larger on the horizon, Natasi and Dyrn didn't want to wait any longer.

And so instead of a long white gown and train, it was a simple, pale ivory, knee-length sheath dress that Natasi Fortan smoothed as she stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom of her penthouse. Instead of the Fortan tiara -- worn by dozens of her forebears -- a simple matching hat perched atop her chestnut hair. "You don't think it's -- " she began, but her voice faltered as she took herself in in the mirror.

Charlotte Reed approached from behind, setting aside a glass of champagne on the dresser before coming into view behind Natasi in the mirror. Charlotte -- Charlie, to friends like Natasi -- had not the benefit of being resurrected into a fresh clone body and spending a significant amount of time in the Netherworld and, thus, had aged, her black hair gone entirely to silver. "What?" she prompted Natasi before tugging the high-necked blazer down a bit. Natasi chewed the inside of her cheek briefly, not sure what exactly. Plain? Casual? But hadn't that been the point of it?

"I feel like he deserves... more," Natasi said uncertainly. The dress and coat were, of course, incredibly well-made and expensive, however plain they might be compared to the garb of a Galidraani society wedding.

"Hm," Charlie said briefly, her eyes trailing down Natasi's form in the mirror. "Oh, I understand."

"What's the matter?" Natasi asked anxiously, her eyes following Charlotte's down her slender frame, subtly adjusting the coat.

Charlotte met her gaze in the mirror and tutted. "Nothing's the matter, Natasi. You're just nervous."

"Nervous? Me?" The onetime Grand Moff who had spoken before crowds of hundreds of thousands -- millions on the holo -- and who now represented her government to the Galactic Alliance Senate -- nervous? The suppressed laughter in her voice made it clear that the suggestion was almost too absurd for words, except that as soon as Charlotte said it, Natasi recognized that it was entirely true. "Oh -- by the Balance -- why? Dyrn is -- "

"Perfect," Charlotte interjected as she went to retrieve her champagne.

"Perfect," Natasi agreed with a smirk. "And -- we know each other so well. I can't imagine life without him. Why would I be nervous?"

"Darling Natasi. I fear we haven't the time to explore the entire tapestry of your neuroses," said Charlotte dismissively. "But if I know you (and luckily for us both, I do) there's a bit of you that is afraid of failing at this. You view your first marriage as not being the success you would have wished but that's largely because the poor man died very soon into it, and just between you and I, I'm not sure our men are capable of supporting a powerful woman. For them, a woman's place is in the home, remember? But what I am sure of is that Talbot didn't even try." Natasi gave her a withering look and Charlotte met it with a steely look. "I knew you don't like to speak ill of the dead and usually I can respect that, but this is more important than that. Even if your first marriage was a failure (which, by the way, is a point I do not concede) it takes two people to make a marriage a failure."

Natasi busied herself with affixing a small enamel pin to her coat collar, bearing the insignia of the Enlightened Balance.

"Dyrn isn't Talbot, and isn't it a blessed relief," Charlotte gently reminded Natasi. "And you aren't the same woman you were back then. Life and death -- that war and every war since -- it's changed you as much as it's changed any of us."

"For the better, right?" Natasi straightened the pin before locking it in place. The Supreme Leader had meant it as a joke, but when Charlotte didn't respond, she glanced over at her friend and confidant. "For the better, right?"

Charlie looked up from her communicator, where she had been furiously texting George F Vitalis . Any word on R? "Oh -- of course," Charlotte said tartly, then smiled playfully. "Now. We haven't got time for you to go to pieces. Get your hat pin in and let's go, or you'll be late. These registry office clerks are officious little twits and they won't care that you're a Senator or a Supreme Leader if you show up late. Give these little people a taste of power and it goes to their power like strong drink."

"You sound like granny," Natasi said. She tucked the hatpin carefully in place, to secure her hat in case of a strong breeze, and collected her handbag.

"The Dowager Countess was a stalwart figure," Charlotte said, briefly distracted by the buzzing of her commlink. A message from George: Nothing yet. ETA?

"Who is that?" Natasi asked.

"The caterer. I'm afraid they're out of the beef you requested and wanted to know if you'd take dianoga eels instead. Now mind your own business and let's go," Charlotte said, pointing stiff-armed toward the waiting airspeeder.

Dyrn Grav | George F Vitalis | Reima Vitalis​

​

 

[Dyrn Grav]

It was everything he could have imagined.

Dyrn had lived a hard life. Training, injury, combat and more training. He had been forged into a weapon, one tasked with a singular purpose: to protect the Supreme Leader of the First Order. He had dedicated his life to that purpose, to live for someone more important than himself, with little regard for what he wanted. In doing so, he had become Captain, leader of the Guardsmen, and the appointment was not without peril or danger... but he faced those, gladly, as was his duty. Yet, in a strange manner, it was those trials and tribulations, the many moments of adventure, survival and coaction that had manifested a deep care - later to become love - toward and for Natasi, his charge. Given hindsight, perhaps it was destined to be, or simply that together both Natasi and he had found someone that brought some peace to a chaotic galaxy. Dyrn felt every bit humbled and relieved to have those feelings shared and returned.

Lately he had pondered on that path, how things had led to today, and he found a mixture of pure happiness and mild disbelief. The former came from the opportunity to finally marry Natasi, to be her husband and she his wife; while the latter seemed to associate with the underlying complexity of a Guardsman and Governmental leader falling in love. Not that Dyrn was unsure or hesitant, not even for a second, as he felt Natasi was everything he could have hoped for in a partner - strong-willed, dedicated, honorable and courageous. And it also helped Natasi was beautiful, of course.

"Today is the day."

Dressed in a simple yet elegant morning suit, with a black jacket, gray three-button vest and white shirt combination, complete with black slacks and dress shoes, Dyrn looked every bit suitable for his station as Duke. He spoke to himself in the mirror, as he adjusted the tie for the seventh time, before deciding that enough was enough and turned to the doorway.

"Are you ready, George?" Dyrn called to the adjoining room. He glanced down to his chrono. "We should leave soon, to avoid being late due to traffic lanes."

George placed his hands on the top of the table as he leaned over the velvet-lined tray. Inside were two pairs of cufflinks. One set, dark cerulean enamel with a gold crest of the Renascent Heirate. Another, older, with an antique patina. A mythical Galidraani creature embossed on the platinum. His father's cufflinks, and Talbot's father's, and George's great-uncle's before that, passed down from Duke of Foxfield to Duke of Foxfield, Vitalis to Vitalis. Why had he brought these? He often wore them for formal occasions, but -- something about them embarrassed him now. Had he indulged an impulsive act of rebellion against Dyrn Grav's usurpation of George's father's role? A silent rebuke to Natasi, who had been accused by his father's shade in the Netherworld of emasculating Talbot, of eclipsing him, of erasing him?

"Stupid," George chastised himself. His fingers brushed over the Vitalis cufflinks, and he recoiled as if they were red-hot. "Stupid boy." He picked up the other cufflinks, worked them into his cuffs, and then set about getting his necktie on.

Then Dyrn called from the other room.

There was a brief pause from the other room as the younger man glared at his reflection in frustration while his fingers fiddled with his necktie. He made a clicking noise with his tongue and unraveled the thing to start over. To buy some time, he called out: "You know it's not too late to call this off and elope to Hologram Fun World. Mother will hate it, but I'm almost certain that she finds you so endearing she would probably agree." Fingers twisting, tucking, pulling. "Probably," he hedged again. Finally the tie was more or less presentable, he glanced past himself in the mirror to see Dyrn in the doorway. "How is it fair that I -- born and bred to this monkey suit business like a shark to water -- look like a demented toddler in this get-up and you, who never set foot on Galidraan until you were a fully grown adult, look like you just walked out of a fashion magazine spread? It's actually unfair. Someone should do something." He half-turned, smoothed his tails over his rear self-consciously, then went to Dyrn, picking up the pair of top hats from the sideboard on the way.

"But yes," he said, offering Dyrn his hat as he came within range. "I'm ready. The question is, are you?" His hand now free of Dyrn's hat, he reached over, put it on the older man's shoulder. "Listen. Not to get mushy -- we'll save that for the toasts -- but I wanted to say. Just while we're here. I couldn't be happier for you. And mummy. Neither of you need my blessing, but I want you to know you have it. Unreservedly given. Now, this would ordinarily be where I say if you hurt her you'll answer to me, right?" He adopted a stern look for a moment, then broke out into a self-deprecating smile, unable to keep a straight face at the thought that George (however fit, however well-trained) could so much as direct Dyrn Grav, possibly the most lethal bodyguard in the known universe, to the men's room, let alone fight him. "Can you imagine? Besides, I don't think that's at all necessary."

He squeezed Dyrn's shoulder, then released him. "Let's get out of here before I say something silly, hm?"

Dyrn smiled, despite himself, as he looked at the young man before him.

"We wouldn't want that, no."

George had become like a son, and soon to be legally so, and Dyrn felt that the pair had bonded as friends and - dare it be said - family. It had been many a year the pair had known one another, filled with memories that Dyrn recalled fondly; though, there were others that cast a dark cloud on certain times, where their relationship had come down to life or death choices and consequences. Still, in Dyrn's mind, the good outweighed the bad, and the bad had simply been his duty to protect Natasi and her children - and would as of today, as it happened, become more than simply duty.

"Oh. Are you certain about the socks?" Dyrn raised an eyebrow, as he tugged up the slacks. Brightly colored and patterned socks were revealed, hidden otherwise. "I'm skeptical that your mother will see the humor as we do... yet, finding out could be fun."

George examined the socks, then tugged his own trousers up to show his matched set. "I don't know if I'd say I'm sure about them," George said, then smiled cheerfully. "At a Temple wedding, perhaps not -- though it has been known to happen -- but this. Listen, if she makes a fuss, you can claim you don't know what color they are because of your special eyes, hm? And, impish trickster that I am, I swore to you they were just plain socks." George smoothed down his trousers again, brushed a bit of lint from his knee.

George doubted his mother would make a fuss. She was a different woman than she had been even immediately after her resurrection. Dyrn had brought something to her that George wasn't really able to put his finger on. From all George knew, Natasi had never been lacking in courage, but she seemed to have a new kind now. The willingness to divert from convention and tradition, to subject herself to the discomfort of new experiences that would never have occurred to a Galidraani aristocrat.

"We'll never know if we don't go, though," George said, gesturing toward the door to the landing pad.

"There is only one way to find out." Dyrn nodded.

Outside, a private speeder had arrived. It waited for the pair. Dyrn did a quick check over George, making a farce of giving a critical once over and tutting, before he reached out and brushed off the younger man's jacket shoulder. Dyrn smirked and motioned with his head.

"Shall we?"

Dyrn walked in silence for the most part, as he thought of the wedding. It would be a simple affair, nothing outrageous at a castle or minimalist in a Keshi jungle. For what was planned, it seemed... appropriate, conservative but meaningful, pragmatic but considered. And at the end of it all, all Dyrn truly cared about was being joined with Natasi.

The speeder door opened, Dyrn let George enter first.

"How are you feeling?" Dyrn asked, as he followed the other into the vehicle interior. He sat in the plush cushions. "I can understand if there might be hesitation about the marriage, about how our relationship might change in that regard... but, I would ask your honest opinion, as always."

George settled into the car, balancing his top hat on his knees, and glanced over at Dyrn carefully. "Hesitation? Dyrn -- " He drummed his fingers lightly on the top of his top hat. "No hesitation here. As I said, I couldn't be happier. If I thought you were not trustworthy, perhaps, but... I mean, who could think that of you? When my mother marched into the Netherworld to get me, you were right there with her. You didn't know me. But it was important to her, so it was important to you. You clearly don't have an eye to the main chance."

In other words, George had no suspicion that Dyrn was after his mother for her fortune or her position. In fact, their life would be simpler -- probably happier, too -- if Natasi were just Natasi. Not Supreme Leader of a fallen state and a rising one. Not burdened with the prejudices and privileges of aristocratic traditions. That Dyrn was willing to take it on for Natasi's sake, even after watching Natasi labor under it for so long, spoke highly of him. Dyrn knew from experience that this life wasn't all champagne wishes and caviar dreams, and he was signing up to it anyway.

"I won't insult you by denying that I am a little uneasy, though," George said, glancing down briefly before returning his attention to his soon-to-be stepfather. "But it's not about you. I'm worried that Reima is going to use this occasion as a means of punishing my mother. And I don't think she realizes what that would mean. It could well be a permanent resolution to what I hope is a temporary problem." He glanced at his communicator, tapped back a message to Charlotte Reed, then turned his gaze back to Dyrn.

"Enough about all that. Today is about you, not Reima and definitely not me. And now that I really look at you, you look a little pale," said the young prince, eyebrows furrowing a little. "Is it possible that Dyrn Grav is -- unsettled? Apprehensive?" George adapted a scandalized look and leaned closer to whisper, as if diagnosing Dyrn with a highly contagious and deeply embarrassing affliction. "Dare I say... nervous?"

Dyrn cleared his throat.

"Nervous? Yes," Dyrn said with a smile, as he looked out the window. He stared at the lights of Coruscant, catching glints and beams of multitudes of colors. "As nervous as I have ever been. Yet, also excited beyond words. This is everything I could have hoped for, truly, and in my life there was scarcely time for that - for dreams or wants. And somehow I have exceeded those hopes--"

Dyrn raised an eyebrow, as he looked to George.

"--what is that saying: Reach for the moons and you might catch a star? Well, I feel as though I have caught the sun."

"Who knew you were such a poet?" George said dryly and he turned back to the window, watching Coruscant go by. "I'm not sure any woman would love being compared to an enormous ball of gas so massive it can keep entire planets in orbit around it, so maybe we keep it... metaphorical ...if you want to put that in your toast, hm?" He tugged at his sleeve, fingers touching the cufflinks as if to be sure they were still there. He glanced down at them. They were still dark cerulean and gold.

"Of course," Dyrn muttered. "This is why I keep things simple, I might add."

"Dyrn -- while we're on the subject of poetry -- " His voice faltered a moment and he couldn't bring himself to look at the man at first, so he watched as a taxi drove past on his side of the speeder. What did one man say to another in this situation? Dyrn had been in Natasi's life for years, and in an intimate way long before their romance had blossomed. George remembered breakfasts aboard his mother's stealth corvette with the Guardsman indulging the slings and arrows of a pompous teenaged boy and a sullen teenaged girl. He half-remembered the hundreds of conversations, the shared meals, the training sessions, the bruised feelings, the graduations and the funerals and the Netherworld. Not all the details, not every word, but the broad shape of things, the kind of picture one got when hundreds of small pictures made up a mosaic in such a way as to form a recognizable picture in the aggregate. And when George stood back to see the mosaic as its whole, the picture he had of Dyrn was one of guardian and mentor in equal measure. A parent. George swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. "Dyrn -- I've never called you 'Father' and it's possible that I'm too old to change my ways now. But that doesn't mean you aren't one to me. And Reima, whether she cares to admit it or not." He glanced at Dyrn, his eyes red-rimmed, and he dared not to blink.

Natasi had chosen Dyrn. And now Dyrn knew that the rest of the family did, too. But that would be no excuse for George to shed a tear. That would be -- un-Galidraani.

Dyrn nodded.

He understood, nothing else needed to be said.

So, as the speeder neared the place of the ceremony, Dyrn continued to smile, as he tapped a single finger against the leather of the vehicle armrest, displaying perhaps the very first sign of his nervousness ever. It was going to be a good day, a wonderful day, and Dyrn knew that the nerves weren't for anything other than anticipation...

Natasi Fortan | George F Vitalis | Reima Vitalis​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Natasi's speeder arrived at the registry office first, and she emerged into the hazy Coruscanti midmorning on the landing pad. She had never quite gotten used to the ecunmenopolis that was Coruscant. It smacked of something like hubris for nature to be completely subsumed by the architectural works of man. She let her eyes scan the canyon made up of durasteel and glass rising along either side, stretching so far up and down that it disappeared into the haze above and the warrens of buildings and tunnels and plazas below.

The whole thing made Natasi feel something like vertigo if she looked too closely, so she didn't.

Charlie joined her on the platform and drew a little metallic ball from her handbag. She gave it a little toss into the air, as if it was a stress ball to be played with, but the drone didn't come back down to the Galidraani woman's manicured hands. Instead, it whirred almost silently and hovered, directing its photoreceptor and camera lens toward the two women. The drone would capture photographs of the event for posterity, and it quite dutifully followed Natasi and Charlotte into the building.

There were a handful of guests invited and a handful had gathered. Among them, Natasi greeted Loris and Karthen each with an enthusiastic kiss on each cheek. She had particularly warm feelings for the two Keshians who had raised her intended, though -- and perhaps it was projection on her part -- she had a slight niggle in the back of her mind that they might view her as a corrupting influence on their son. Dyrn was solid and strong and lovely. He would have made an outstanding soldier (and, in fact, he had, before being selected for Natasi's royal guard). That was good, honest work, Natasi could almost hear Karthen think.

Being a prince consort to a decadent Galidraani aristocrat-turned-monarch, on the other hand -- well, Natasi couldn't be sure, but she had to confess if the roles were reversed she might be concerned.

Yet their interactions were pleasant, as one would expect two groups who did not know each other well, but whose lives would be forever linked. They seemed particularly delighted when Faroe, Dyrn's sister, exclaimed about a particular detail on Natasi's wedding ensemble. Natasi put a delicate finger to her lips and tugged her gloves more firmly into place. "Promise you'll say nothing to Dyrn? It's meant to be a surprise."

Faroe agreed, and Natasi embraced the trio one by one once more.

An official came in and announced that the groom's speeder had been spotted. Natasi's stomach dropped with the thrill of an accelerating spacecraft. "I'll just go and be sure my lippy is just right," she told Faroe and Loris, and she made her way to the small room off the officiant's hall. Charlotte -- her eyes and thumb dancing across the screen of her comlink, followed, leaving the drone to capture footage and candid snaps in the officiant's hall -- and, of course, await the arrival of the groom.

"I'm sorry you'll have to sit all on your own on my side of the aisle," Natasi told Charlotte, her attempt at dark humor falling rather flat when the light of the joke didn't reach her eyes. Her second wedding, and her parents and brother were still dead. She had seen hide nor hair of them during her time in the Netheworld -- in fact, she was sure that even the only other 'person' there with her had been not Talbot himself but some fiendish facsimile of her late husband -- which led her to wonder whether everyone went there in death. It was a mystery of the cosmos that Natasi had had neither the time nor the courage to explore: was it possible to bring everyone back? And if she could: should she?

"I've sat on your side of things for decades, Natasi, oftentimes alone," Charlotte quipped distractedly before looking up from her phone. "What was all that business about in there? I didn't see anything new. Was it your bracelet?"

Natasi settled on the tiny pouf in front of a little vanity and looked at her friend in the mirror, an enigmatic smile there. "Never you mind. It's -- not for your eyes. Or mine, really." She briefly explained to Charlotte while touching up her mascara.

"You can't even see it? But -- what if it says something like -- I don't know -- this end up? Or no ragrets?" Natasi's eyebrow arched quizzically and she turned on the pouf. "No, no, nevermind," said Charlotte, and her comlink buzzed. "It's -- the caterer again. I've got to take this." And she excused herself before the Supreme Leader could get another word in edgeways.

Dyrn Grav | George F Vitalis | Reima Vitalis​

 

[Dyrn Grav]

The speeder arrived at the designated office landing pad without trouble, to which it landed. Dyrn noted that a familiar vehicle was already present on the same pad, one that he knew Natasi had been flown in, and there was a pang of irritation. Not at anyone or anything in particular, but more that he was late, in the sense that he was on time. Nonetheless, the ceremony was less conventional than other weddings - insofar as the entirety of a galaxy filled with billions of customs - so his not being at the office before his bride-to-be shouldn't have worried him.

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about whether your mother has cold feet," Dyrn said wryly, as he moved past George from within the speeder, with a happy clap on the younger man's shoulder, and stepped out. "I did not expect as such, but you can never know until the moment arrives."

Despite himself, Dyrn peered around and looked at several locations of importance in his mind; he felt that familiar need for observational scan in the back of his mind, as he held the door for his future family member, and it was both amusing but also prudent to complete. Coruscant was a vast swath of city buildings, bustling crowds, alleyways and shadows, with all manner of anything within them... and despite having lived on the planet for a time, that natural unease had failed to fade.

There were no dangers, not within typical parameters anyway.

Dyrn cleared his throat and straightened his jacket. He started to walk toward the office entry, as he glanced over to George and smirked:

"Give Charlotte my regards for watching Natasi."

Yet he paused.

"Wait... am I supposed to avoid seeing your mother until the ceremony begins?"

A curious moment of uncertainty, as Dyrn couldn't quite recall if the couple had, well, planned anything like that. Between the flurry of Coruscant living and travel and government occupations, it seemed to have been a small - or not so small, depending - factor that eluded Dyrn... and that was something he didn't wish to do incorrectly, so he stopped outside the office.

"Perhaps it is prudent to ask now?"

Dyrn looked to the comm with raised eyebrows, suspecting Charlotte would have the answer.

George dutifully tapped away at his communicator, taking a minor detour from inquiring about his sister. Never having attended a Galidraani wedding -- or any other kind of wedding -- George wasn't completely sure what protocol dictated, and he couldn't remember reading anything about it in the etiquette guide he had bought on the subject of weddings. What he received back from Charlotte Reed, Dowager Duchess of Sterandel, would have made a longshoreman blush. He tilted his commlink away from Dyrn and offered a weak smile. "The Duchess suggests that for the good of all parties involved, including and especially you, that you -- ahem -- exercise a bit of patience," George advised. "There's a little room off to the side there if you'd like to get a drink and freshen up."

George's face darkened when a priority signal interrupted his conversation with Charlotte. He frowned and glanced at Dyrn apologetically before accessing the alert. His eyebrows shot up immediately. The message was a cryptic one from one of his friends that he had pressganged into service surveilling Coruscant for Reima. 'Eyes on the skies' -- now just what fresh hell could that mean? He turned surreptitiously, glancing back the way they had come, eyes sweeping the skyline. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. He turned back to Dyrn. "Chin up, Dyrn, it'll all be over soon enough."

With a final, reassuring and nerve-relaxing sigh, Dyrn stepped through the doors. He was greeted by a small assemblage of known faces, including his own family. His parents - Karthen and Loris - had made the trip from Keshi especially, while his sister - Faroe - had made the commute across Coruscant to attend. Both efforts were appreciated. The taller Grav looked to George and motioned to his onlooking family--

"A moment, if you would, George?"

--to which Dyrn walked over and smiled at the gathering of Gravs.

"Father," Dyrn said with a nod, as he looked to Karthen. He offered a brief salute, which the older Keshian returned with a nod.

"Son," Karthen said, though he remained tight-lipped and at ease. He was a rough man, someone who looked like a lifelong soldier, with several scars of his own across his bald head. He was older but physically fit, despite being shorter than his son. Dyrn's father had been an Imperial since before his eldest had been born, one that had served his military with distinction and honor, and had paved the way for Dyrn's own path in the First Order. "You look good. At least giving up military service has not softened you."

"You can be assured that I maintain my training and conditioning," Dyrn's left eye might have twitched, but he nodded curtly. "Thank you for making the trip from Keshi. I understand if you had reservations about leaving extended family on our homeworld to be here... yet, Natasi and I both appreciate it."

"Of course, Dyrn," Loris said with a smile as she stepped forward into a hug. She was shorter still, but with flowing black hair, which was braided with ultraviolet cord. Like her husband, Loris was used to the rough military life, she was soft featured but held an edge of awareness and preparedness that had not eased despite her age. "We wouldn't dare miss our son's wedding. Or our daughter's, of course--"

Beside the three, Faroe cleared her throat and shrugged, despite her mother glancing over.

"--and we understand that your lives are incredibly busy. It made sense for us to come to you, as we could see both our children."

"And attend the wedding." Faroe added as she smiled and stepped over to offer Dyrn a brief hug. "Hello, brother."

"Faroe, it is good to see you," Dyrn said simply, as he returned the hug. His sister looked every bit like their mother, save younger and dressed in more Coruscanti custom. "I apologise that we haven't been able to meet up more."

The younger sibling dismissed the comment with a wave.

"I've been busy, anyway. Development contracts and infrastructure expansion on Coruscant is no small thing," she said as she glanced over to the other guests. "Besides, we've never been like that. Service first and all."

Dyrn glanced to his father, as Karthen made to say something in retort, however his son held out a hand.

Not now.

Karthen paused, stopped.

"How is the farm, father?" Dyrn asked, by way of changing subject.

"We maintain a tight schedule and our yields are well within limits considered above-average. A successful endeavor for our retirement years."

"We do well for ourselves," Loris nodded and smiled as she agreed with Karthen's assessment.

Dyrn considered how maintaining a farm to the extent they did could be considered retirement... but far be it for him to question his parents on how they wished to spend their twilight years.

"The ceremony will begin shortly, I had better greet some others and make ready. Thank you again, I will see you after the wedding."

There was a part of Dyrn that knew his family were very atypical. His parents, in particular, were very focused, disciplined and emotionally controlled. Perhaps to the same, or even higher, extent that Natasi's relatives could be; yet, where Natasi had the traditional Galidraan customs that were a fabric of culture and society in which she grew... but for Dyrn, his parents had believed in tough love, where such traits and approaches to loved ones had not eased over years. Faroe, in comparison, had avoided a lot of that by leaving in her early 20s and living on Coruscant. Personality, expression, nature had all followed that course; and as a result, Dyrn's sister was vastly different from the other three Gravs. Yet, Dyrn couldn't help but feel that maybe - after many years experiencing a different kind of love, by way of Natasi and her family - the approach of his parents might have been a tad... strong.

Still, without that, would Dyrn have been the same man? Or been where he currently was?

A voice was heard near him, a question from a familiar face.

Dyrn blinked and realized he had reached the aforementioned 'little room off to the side'. And it was, certainly, small. That didn't bother Dyrn too much, he had lived in smaller - sadly. He looked at George, and nodded with a smile. "A drink to freshen up? Yes, that would be pleasant," he said with another nod, as he took the drink and swallowed a mouthful. "And not to... ruin that pleasantness, but has there been word about your sister?"

Reima had not been a face Dyrn recalled in the crowd, as he had moved between handshakes and curt nods, while in thought...

Natasi Fortan | George F Vitalis | Reima Vitalis​

 

[George F Vitalis]

George followed Dyrn into the little room, let the door shut behind them. The room was certainly small, but it seemed comfortable enough. A couple of chairs for the inevitable heart-to-heart to talk nervous grooms off the ledge when he got cold feet. George didn't suppose he would have that problem with Dyrn, thank goodness. A sideboard with a pitcher of water and some glasses stood against one wall, under a mirror, which George availed himself of to smooth his hair and critically study his appearance.

"Frustratingly little," he told Dyrn, glancing at the older man in the mirror. "Look for yourself," he said, turning and drawing his commlink out of his inside coat pocket and offering it to Dyrn. "Eyes on the skies. What the devil do you think that means? Whatever Reima's feelings, it seems unlikely that she would strafe the wedding." He paused a beat to consider. "No, no. She wouldn't."

The younger man frowned and took his phone back, repeating the demand he had made to his friend to explain himself, and he stared at the glass screen as if willing a response to appear, but to no avail. He sighed and was about to send another text message when there came a knock at the door, and the registry clerk looked in.

"Places, please, gentlemen."

George turned back to Dyrn and shrugged. "Showtime, hm? After you, Your Grace."

Natasi Fortan | Dyrn Grav | Reima Vitalis​

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Charlotte was speaking in hushed tones on her comlink when the registry clerk made eye contact from across the room before knocking on the groom's room door and looking in. The clock over the podium where the officiant would stand showed that they were just a minute or so from the scheduled start of the ceremony. Charlotte nodded at the clerk and quickly wrapped up her call before turning back to the bride's room and letting herself in.

"It's about that time, Natasi," Charlotte said gently.

"Dyrn actually came?" Natasi said, an understated smirk in her tone. "Balance bless him."

"It seems so," Charlotte answered dryly.

"And you resolved whatever that was?" Natasi said nodding toward the comlink in her friend's hand. "The... caterer?"

Charlotte smiled and tucked her comlink away into her handbag. "All settled," Charlotte said. "Now if you're ready, I'll go take my place." She rose and went to Natasi, taking her hands in both of hers, and leaned over to kiss her on both cheeks. "Such good luck, my dear."

Natasi watched her friend depart. Charlotte went to take her seat on the bride's side of the aisle. Natasi turned back to the mirror for one last look before she stood and went to the door. There would be no trumpet voluntary -- another concession to the circumstances -- and no one to walk her down the aisle. In fact, she approached the podium from the side, just as Dyrn would. Natasi decided as she entered that she preferred it. There were precious few moments that Natasi and Dyrn would be perceived as equals, despite her feeling that he was her equal in almost every way and oftentimes her better, and here, as they crossed the room to meet in front of the unassuming registry official, equals they were: alike in dignity, alike in ceremony, alike in the eyes of the law.

She smiled at the thought and as she came to a halt in front of the podium, she found that all her anxiety had evaporated, replaced with certainty.

Dyrn Grav | George F Vitalis | Reima Vitalis​