Private In Quiet Lines of Devotion

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

My dearest Duncan,

I hope this message finds you well and not too burdened by the many responsibilities that seem determined to follow you wherever you go.

I wanted to write to you while yesterday is still close in my thoughts, before its feelings fade into memory and formality. Our meeting meant more to me than I think I managed to say in the moment. There was comfort in it. Familiarity, even in its newness. It felt… right, in a way I had not fully allowed myself to expect.

Spending time with you reminded me why this path matters. Not only for our Houses, or for duty, or for tradition, but for the quiet promise of building something honest and steady together. I find myself thinking often about how fortunate we are to have been given this chance, not merely to fulfill an obligation, but to grow into it with care.

I want you to know that I am committed to doing this well. To honor both our families with grace and sincerity. To learning you properly, beyond titles and expectations. And to allowing us the space to become partners in more than name.

I look forward to seeing you again more than I expected to admit. There is so much still to share, and so much still to discover about one another. That thought brings me comfort.

Until then, know that you are in my thoughts.

With affection and resolve,
Seris

Duncan Avaron

 

[Duncan Avaron]

​

My Seris,

Your message reached me in the middle of a long day, and I found myself setting everything else aside to read it properly. I am grateful that you wrote, and even more grateful for the honesty and tenderness you shared.

Yesterday has stayed with me as well. I felt the same sense of ease in your presence, that rare feeling of familiarity that does not rush or demand, but simply settles in. It surprised me in the best way. There was comfort there, and clarity too. I walked away from our meeting steadier than I arrived.

You spoke of building something honest and steady, and I could not agree more. Duty brought us to this moment, but choice is what will carry us forward. I do not take that lightly. I want this to be more than ceremony or expectation. I want it to be rooted in trust, in patience, and in genuine partnership.

Please know that I share your commitment. I intend to honor our families, yes, but also to honor you as your own person. I want to learn you beyond titles and responsibilities, to understand your hopes as much as your strengths, and to give you the same space you have so graciously offered me.

I, too, find myself looking forward to seeing you again more than I anticipated. There is a quiet excitement in realizing how much there still is to discover, and a deep reassurance in knowing we will do so together, one step at a time.

Until then, know that you are very much in my thoughts as well.

With deep affection,

Duncan

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

My dearest Duncan,

Your letter found me at exactly the right moment. I read it once, and then again, more slowly, as if I could hold the steadiness in your words a little longer by doing so. Thank you for setting the day aside for me, even briefly. I feel the care in that, as clearly as I felt it when we stood together.

I am glad you sensed the same ease I did. Familiarity is a rare gift, and rarer still when it comes without pressure or expectation. Knowing that you left our meeting steadier than you arrived brings me a quiet comfort I did not realize I would need so soon.

And yes, one step at a time. I want that as well. Not hurried, not forced into an ideal that looks right on paper, but built deliberately, with patience and sincerity. I would rather we learn about each other slowly and truly than rush toward a version of us that only exists to satisfy tradition. If duty brought us to the threshold, then I am grateful that it seems we both intend to cross it by choice.

You wrote of a partnership rooted in trust, and it struck me how rare it is to hear that spoken plainly, without performance. I do not take it lightly either. I want to honor our families, but I also want to honor what is forming between us, something that feels quietly real already, even in its early days.

If we are going to learn about one another beyond titles and responsibilities, then I would like to begin simply, with something that belongs to you alone.

What is your favorite way to spend a day when no one is asking anything of you? What activity makes you feel most like yourself when there is no audience and no obligation?

As for me, if you are curious, I have always loved riding. On Naboo, there is nothing quite like taking a bridle-beast out beyond the manicured roads and into open country, where the air is clean, and the world feels uncomplicated. I have a particular fondness for kelpmares, steady-tempered and surefooted, with a patience that makes them feel like old friends rather than animals meant to be directed. There is a peace in it that I have never been able to replicate indoors.

I look forward to the next time we meet, and to the quiet discovery of all the small truths that will shape what comes after.

Until then, you remain in my thoughts.

With affection and resolve,
Seris

Duncan Avaron

 

[Duncan Avaron]

Seris Travin-Avaron
​

My dearest Seris,

Your letter arrived like a pause in the world, and I welcomed it more than I can properly put into words. I read it slowly, the way one does with something meant to be felt rather than rushed through. Thank you for trusting me with such thoughtful honesty.

I am glad my words reached you when they were needed. Knowing that they brought you even a measure of steadiness feels like a small victory in a day otherwise filled with obligations.

I agree with you completely. Familiarity without pressure is rare, and I find myself grateful for it. What we are beginning does not feel like something imposed. It feels chosen, and that matters more to me than any formality ever could be.

You asked how I spend a day when no one is asking anything of me.

It is a simple answer.

I go out and help.

Not because it is required of me, and not because anyone expects it. It is simply something I choose to do. I volunteer where I can, lend my hands to whatever work needs doing. I like to be among the people I will one day fight for, to stand beside them rather than above them. There is something honest in getting my hands dirty, in working shoulder to shoulder, in understanding their lives not from reports or speeches, but from shared effort.

There is something grounding in that for me. No expectations, nor performances. Just movement, stillness, and the chance to let my thoughts arrange themselves. It reminds me who I am beneath the titles and responsibilities.

Your riding sounds much the same in spirit. I can almost picture you in open country, steady with the reins, letting the rhythm of the Gualaar set the pace of your breathing. There is a quiet poetry in that. I like knowing that about you. It feels like exactly the kind of truth worth sharing.

I look forward to learning more of these small, personal things. They feel far more important than any formal introduction ever could be.

Until we meet again, know that you are very much in my thoughts, and that I carry our conversation with me in quieter moments.

With affection and sincerity,
Duncan

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

My dearest Duncan,

Your letter felt like exactly what you described as a pause in the world. I read it once for the meaning, and then again simply to feel it. There is something deeply reassuring in the way you express yourself, steady and deliberate, as though you are placing each word with care rather than letting them fall where they may.

I admire that you choose to serve even when you are not required. There is a humility in that which cannot be taught. To stand beside your people rather than above them speaks more clearly of your character than any speech or decree ever could. It tells me that when the time comes for greater responsibility, you will not approach it as a crown to wear, but as a weight to carry with intention.

You asked nothing directly of me this time, and yet your answer invited one in return.

When no one is asking anything of me, when the schedules are quiet and expectations set aside, I find myself drawn to open spaces. I ride, as you imagined, though perhaps not as gracefully as you pictured. There is something about the rhythm of a Gualaar beneath me and the steady cadence of its stride, the wind against my face. That is what clears my thoughts in a way meditation sometimes cannot. Out there, titles fall away. I am not a daughter of a House, nor a future wife, nor a representative of anything at all. I am simply myself, moving forward, feeling the world as it is rather than as it is discussed.

On quieter evenings, I tend to small, ordinary things. Reading near a window. Helping in the kitchens when I can persuade them to let me. Simple acts that remind me life isn't meant to be lived entirely in grand gestures.

I think perhaps we are similar in that way. Drawn to service and simplicity, not out of obligation, but because it steadies us.

May I ask you something in return?

When you imagine the years ahead, not in terms of duty or expectation, but in terms of the life you wish to build. What does contentment look like to you? Not success, not achievement. Contentment.

It feels important to know what that shape is, for both of us.

Until we meet again, I will carry your words with me as well. They have a way of lingering, in the best sense.

With affection and quiet anticipation,
Seris

Duncan Avaron

 

[Duncan Avaron]

​

My dearest Seris,

Your letter stayed with me long after I finished reading it. I found myself returning to it in the spaces between meetings, carrying your words with me the way one carries something fragile and meaningful. There is a gentleness in how you speak of the world, and I feel it more each time you write.

Thank you for trusting me with such thoughtful reflections. Your description of riding, of shedding titles and expectations in open country, feels deeply familiar to me in spirit. I understand that need to become simply oneself, even if only for a little while. It is a rare kind of freedom.

You asked what contentment looks like to me.

I have thought carefully about that.

Contentment, for me, is not grandeur, and it is not ambition fulfilled. It is waking up knowing that the people I care about are safe, and that the work I do serves something larger than myself. It is having a place that feels like home, even if it is modest. It is sharing quiet meals, unremarkable mornings, and evenings where conversation comes easily because there is nothing to perform.

It looks like being able to walk through a village or a city and recognize faces, knowing that I belong there, not because of rank, but because I have shown up consistently and honestly. It looks like service that does not hollow me out, and responsibility that does not erase who I am.

More personally, contentment is partnership. It is building a life alongside someone who understands both my strengths and my silences. It is knowing that at the end of difficult days there is someone who sees me not as a title or a symbol, but simply as Duncan. It is laughter in small moments, shared decisions, and the steady knowledge that neither of us carries the weight alone.

I do not need perfection. I do not need a storybook future.

I need something real, and something patient. Something built over time through trust, mutual respect, and the quiet choice to keep showing up for one another.

If I am honest, that vision feels closer now than it did before we met.

Your words about tending small, ordinary things moved me more than you might expect. There is wisdom in that. Life is not meant to be lived entirely in grand gestures. It is shaped in kitchens, by windows, in open fields, and in moments that do not announce themselves as important until much later.

I am grateful that we are learning these truths about each other already.

Would I be too forward, if I asked to see you again. Perhaps I arrange trip for you to come to Ryloth? If you would have me? I look forward to your response milady.

With deep affection,

Duncan