Calavar City,
Galidraan
Ten Minutes into the Victory Parade....
Giving his best oratory, (which, in all fairness was far exceeding most of his predecessors in recent-centuries) Lord Willan would speak of the sacrifice, the glory and all the Free-State had to endure on their way home. It would be a life-affirming experience for all in attendance, for all in support watching from their Holonet terminals, and most of all, for all the loyal wounded soldiers tuning in from the comfort of Fort Imperator's Obsidian-Heart hospital. Hearts stirred, as one and one soul in magnetised movement with the words of their Lord-Protector, and when Lord Willan said,
"Galidraan lives - and marches on!", all of the people bearing witness felt it in the depths of their souls. Their beloved star-system, all they'd ever thought about, and whether it was in exile or bleeding for control of the streets, the very word,
"Galidraan.", had stirred an entire host of emotions before VG-Day, but none quite so strong as the elation they felt in that moment.
'Ready?'
Standing with all his captains, his Lord-Protector's staffers and the lower-Leftenant caste of both, Barran understood that while it was a good turnout of surviving officers in comparison to the lesser that was expected by the time Calavar had been reclaimed, they'd sacrificed enough that Lord Erskine could see for himself how few there had been since their part in the NIO's victory-parade on Bastion. Even the replacement captains among them looked like they'd been brought through the ringer a few times along the way, proving their right to be there by the looks in their eyes alone as Erskine responded to the most-prominent of them all, looking Phillip Brand's parade-uniform up and down as he replied,
'For things like this, never. But we brave it all the same, Padre. You can take drillmaster-duties for this one, an honour you've more than earned by now.', with hand extending out in congratulatory kindness. Eagerly met in the middle, Brand would nod his silence before disengaging, pivoting then approaching the appropriate formation-leaders of the Blue-Hearts, the Wildcats and the Fighting First to get everyone on the move.
<"All units, this is Brand. All vehicles will move and keep-pace on my mark.... QUIIIIIIICK - MARCH!!!">
Leading the parade-column, the officers' speeder-motorcade would drive out in front of the relic-refit of ACV One they affectionately named,
"The Saga.", but in a slow, considerate pace as the other command-vehicles followed; and behind them, in successive order, would be the XT-62s, Scout-AFVs and mobile artillery-pieces would be accompanied on all-sides by the rifle-toting thousands serving within the Fighting First and Blue-Heart Brigade. To the front and right of the MLVs would be none other than the Guardian and Scope units, with the petty officers representing from the other integral companies or battalions who served with Lord Erskine during the course of their journey home, the moving procession (as far as Barran's eye could see) was finally headed off in the right direction; with Commoner-Captain Brand as drillmaster, the pacing and calmly coordination on their part would surely go off without a hitch.
At least some of their memories can pass on in peace.... But as for the rest? Soon, brothers. Soon.
Weston-on-Thames, Calavar Province,
Galidraan
14 Hours Before the Victory Parade....
'Not the sort o' lights you expected to be seeing over Calavar, is it? Can't deny you're not alone in that.'
Calavar's cloudy skies had been alive with activity all night, giving off a violently beautiful array of bright, fiery and war-like flashes from aimless skyward blaster-trails, fireworks and floodlights of celebratory fervour; and all of it, from the moment the first of it lit the skies in the moments following the sunset blackout, would be enjoyed by the Blue-Hearts in drunken observation from almost 20km west of the celebrations' ground-zero. Lord Erskine himself would be shacked up overnight in a cosy boarding-house with his wife, happy to wait out the process from the very penthouse suite they were staying in as her husband ventured to dealing with the military parade matters the next day, lounging around with the full spa treatment as she waited for her husband's return. But the time they'd be spending together on the eve of the parade, in all it's revelry, would be spent devotedly; enjoying time together for the first time in months, and without interval but for occasional distractions provided by the bright lights of the world outside.
'You're not wrong, m'dear. Vjun changed everything, even the way you caress me now.... New scars ti trace yer nails across, a new lease of life for oor journey - hmph! Oor journey home.'
'I know, feels weird saying that word, but it's a new kind of weird, isn't it?', Lady Carla responded, before being cut short on account of her husband's scars, and particularly of how he incurred them in the first place. Gazing on the freshly-healed slashes and stab-wounds to his chest, the loving wife looked on her husband's abdominal form, occasionally lit up by the fanfare in the distant city of Calavar as he smoked his Fortaner cigar by the bedroom window, and swore silent, bloody vengeance on the woman who dared draw blood from her soulmate's flesh. After scowling at the dagger-scars for a little longer, Carla's expression softened before her eyes wandered back up to Erskine's, continuing,
'I did tell you not to mess around with the,"Girls who collect porcelain-dolls.". But I suppose some can't be avoided in a war with the Sith.', in her usual leisurely drawl. Though she was no doubt a beauty, even in her late-fifties, that fire in her eyes left no illusions as to what great family she had married off from; the fire of warrior-philosophers, the fire of a clan that was every part as old as her husband's, the burning light of the Thrast clan.
'Those days will soon be a thing of the past, Carla. If Lord Willan goes as big an' bold as I think he will, then the hardest part truly has been endeavoured already - even if the Zambrano-loyalist scum attempt a resurgence, the next generations of Galidraanis an' Woads will be ready for every last one o' them. But enough o' that borin' chite! Can't be talkin' shop wae the wife, no after seein' the way she's lookin' at me the-night, an' certainly not when she appears more alluring now than ever before.'