Private Mutually Assured Diplomacy

[Dominic Praxon]

The Volaris Estate shimmered like a promise above Nabat's canyon winds. Lanterns hung from marble terraces, their gold light reflecting in the glass of the upper halls, where the banners of House Avaron swayed in rhythmic counterpoint to the music drifting from within. It was said that when the suns set over this ridge, the estate itself seemed to breathe, the white stone warming with color, as if to remind all assembled that Ryloth's beauty was born of hardship and flame.

Dominic Praxon had arrived at sunset. He was not late, the Senate frowned on tardiness, and his father despised it, but neither was he early. Punctuality, like most virtues, was a matter of optics. His father had made that clear on the last encrypted holo-call from Brentaal. House Avaron must be kept friendly, the elder Praxon had said, their mining concessions are critical for Trozky Holdings' transport initiative. You will finalize the arrangement personally.

It was always personally.

Dominic's mouth twitched faintly at the thought. His father was likely pacing the estate's balcony right now, surrounded by Imperial banners and too many eyes that weren't servants. The occupation had changed Brentaal, stripped it of pride but not of expectation. And so, here he was, halfway across the Rim, expected to smile for trade stability while pretending his parents weren't living under someone else's flag.

The senator's reflection glimmered in the mirrored walls of the ballroom, sharp suit, neatly folded cuffs, expression unreadable. Around him, conversation rose like the hum of insects. Nobles preened, offworld envoys laughed too loudly, Twi'lek dignitaries stood at careful ease. It was all performance. He had long ago learned that diplomacy was less about truth than about endurance.

When the steward announced the entrance of House Avaron, the music softened. Dominic's attention shifted instinctively toward the marble stair where the hosts descended.

He inclined his head as Lady Avaron approached. "Lady Avaron," Dominic greeted, voice level but edged with the clipped precision of Core Worlds diplomacy. "Dominic Praxon of Naboo. My father sends his compliments...and, regrettably, his instructions. I have spared you the latter."

A faint smile. Controlled, but real enough to soften the words.

"I understand you're overseeing much of tonight's proceedings," he continued. "That may make you the only soul here who knows precisely how thin the ice beneath our feet is."

His gaze flicked briefly to the hall's chandeliers, where the lights trembled with the estate's aging power grid. A murmur of static rippled through the ambient hum of the orchestra. He dismissed it, though unease lingered in the periphery of thought, a diplomat's intuition rather than a Jedi's, but sharp all the same. Something was off.

"If I might impose upon you later," he said quietly, "I would value your insight. Naboo teaches us to gild our troubles. Ryloth, it seems, endures them."

Seris Travin-Avaron​

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris' gaze lingered on him with a careful precision, noting the faint tension beneath the polished composure of his posture. A Junior Senatorial Advisor, yes—but one who carried himself as if every move were already under scrutiny. The faintest curve touched her lips, measured, deliberate.

"Advisor Praxon," she said, voice calm but edged with something keen, almost teasing. "Your arrival is punctual, as expected. And composed—though I suspect that is easier to maintain when one is aware of every eye in the room."

Her eyes flicked briefly across the clusters of dignitaries, the polite smiles and subtle bows, before returning to him. "Ryloth endures, yes—but those who glance only at its surface often miss the currents beneath. Observation and patience reveal far more than ceremony ever can."

She allowed a pause, letting her gaze meet his with quiet appraisal. "I imagine your lessons on Naboo are proving…useful here. Though I would caution you—even the most polished of advisors can stumble if they forget where the thin ice lies."

A subtle arch of her brow accompanied the words, a challenge wrapped in civility. "Shall we proceed, or do you prefer to explore the hall first? I am curious to see how well your practiced diplomacy fares against Ryloth's more…spirited guests."

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic’s expression did not tighten at her words. If anything, it eased, the faintest softening at the corners of his mouth as though she had confirmed a suspicion rather than delivered a warning.

“Senator, actually,” he said gently, the correction offered with the same quiet courtesy as a poured drink set within easy reach. There was no edge to it, no insistence, only the fact, placed where it belonged. “Advisor is a habit I have yet to fully shed. The Senate, however, has been kind enough to promote my burdens along with my title.”

His gaze followed hers briefly, skimming the room not as a guest might but as a man accustomed to counting exits. He did not linger long. Lingering invited interpretation.

“You are quite right about observation,” he continued, tone business-forward, unruffled by her instruction. “On Naboo, we learn early that ceremony is a language all it's own. Here, I suspect it is more of a dialect — one best understood before it is spoken aloud.”

“As for thin ice,” he added, eyes returning to her with composed candor, “I find it is safest when acknowledged openly. My purpose today is no secret. House Avaron’s cooperation matters to my family, and to the transport lanes that bind half a dozen systems besides. I would prefer to conduct that discussion with clarity rather than flourish.”

The lights overhead flickered again, subtle but undeniable. Dominic noticed. He always noticed. He did not comment.

“That said,” he went on, inclining his head just enough to concede her home field without surrendering ground, “business conducted without context tends to disaster. If Ryloth’s currents run beneath the surface, then I would be remiss not to feel their pull before we speak of contracts and concessions.”

He gestured lightly to the hall, not an invitation so much as an alignment. “We may walk. I am content to listen first. When we do sit, it will be with fewer misunderstandings between us — and fewer surprises.”

There was no impatience in him, no bristling pride. Only the steady presence of someone accustomed to rooms where words carried weight long after they were spoken.

“Lead on, Lady Travin-Avaron,” Dominic concluded softly. “I assure you, I did not come all this way to mistake the ice for solid ground.”

Seris Travin-Avaron​

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris inclined her head immediately, the motion precise and unforced, a courtesy offered without diminishing herself.

"My apologies, Senator." There was no hesitation in it, no defensiveness, only acknowledgment. "Titles carry weight here. I should have given yours its proper due."

Her gaze lifted again, steady and attentive, noting the way he watched the room without seeming to watch it at all. The exits. The lighting. The subtle shift when the fixtures flickered. She did not comment either, but the recognition was there, quiet and mutual.

"You are correct," she continued, walking as he did, pace measured so that neither led nor followed too sharply. "Ceremony on Ryloth is less performance than survival. It changes from district to district, sometimes from street to street."

Her eyes tracked the hall as they moved, the Force brushing gently against the space, reading tension and listening for echoes of unrest that had not yet learned to speak.

"Clarity is welcome," Seris said, tone neither approving nor suspicious. "But context is necessary. Too many here have learned that clean words can still leave dirty consequences."

At his mention of House Avaron's cooperation, she did not bristle. She had expected as much. Instead, she nodded once, accepting the reality without conceding ground.

"Our cooperation has always been rooted in stability," she replied. "For trade lanes, yes. But more importantly for the people who live beneath them."

They passed beneath another archway, light shifting across stone worn smooth by generations of passage.

"If you are willing to listen first," Seris said softly, "then you will hear more than unrest. You will hear why it persists."

She slowed slightly, just enough to ensure he was fully alongside her when she spoke next.

"And if there is ice beneath our feet," she added, "it will reveal itself soon enough. Ryloth has never been kind to those who mistake stillness for safety."

Her gaze met his again, calm, open, unflinching.

"Come," Seris concluded, gesturing ahead with quiet confidence. "Walk with me. We will begin where the currents are strongest, and where misunderstandings tend to surface on their own."

She turned then, setting their course not toward the formal chambers, but toward the older corridors of the estate, places where Ryloth's truths had a habit of lingering.

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

He only gave his surrounds partial attention, but rather kept his eyes and attention focused purely on the lady of the house. "Despite my title, I come to you today not as a representative of the Republic..."

A pause lingered as he collected thoughts for the words ahead. "...but of my family, the Trozky-Praxons."

"My families business flourished under Alliance rule, but since the arrival of the Galactic Empire in the Brentaal system, things have not been as well. Understandably my concern lies most with my parents, not the business. However, they seek to care for those in their employ, some for decades...no small number their entire careers, loyal to our family."

He looked over at his host, hoping to be able to gauge her mindset. She did not give much away.

"It is those people that are our greatest commodity. The ships. The product. The factories. All of that can be replaced...but the people...my parents are looking to get them off world."

And there was the drop.

Seris Travin-Avaron​

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris did not look away when he spoke of his family. If anything, her attention sharpened, narrowing not into suspicion, but into focus. She listened without interruption, allowing the weight of his words to land fully before responding.

For a long moment after he finished, she said nothing at all.

When she did speak, her voice was even, measured, and quietly grounded.

"You are right about one thing," Seris said calmly. "Ships, factories, and contracts are instruments. They can be rebuilt, renegotiated, or abandoned entirely. People cannot."

Her green eyes remained on him, not searching for weakness, but for sincerity.

"Loyalty measured in decades is not a commodity," she continued. "It is a responsibility, one that does not dissolve simply because circumstances grow dangerous."

She folded her hands loosely in front of her, posture composed, signaling that she had heard him clearly, and that she understood the gravity of what he was asking without yet answering it.

"The Empire does not take kindly to the quiet movement of populations," Seris said after a breath. "Especially not those tied to industry, logistics, or systems that once flourished under Alliance governance."

There was no accusation in her tone, only fact.

"Removing people from a world under Imperial scrutiny is not an act of charity in their eyes," she added. "It is an act that invites questions, attention, and consequences that rarely stop with those being moved."

Her gaze softened slightly then, not because the situation was easier, but because it was human.

"I will not fault your parents for wanting to protect the people who have given them their lives," Seris said quietly. "That instinct is not weakness. It is one of the few forms of leadership that still deserves the name."

She shifted her weight subtly, considering not just him, but the unseen families bound to his words.

"But if they are to be moved," she continued, "it must be done with care, discretion, and a clear understanding of what that choice places at risk, not only for them, but for any world that receives them."

Seris met his eyes again, steady and unflinching.

"Tell me," she asked, voice calm but intent, "how many people are we truly speaking of, and how visible would their absence be to those already watching your family?"

She did not rush him.

The silence she left behind was not pressure, but space for truth to surface.

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

They walked. He listened. And all the way he simply nodded. He let each pause linger for its full weight, and each word settle for a moment before he nodded in acknowledgement. When finally she came to the great question, he finally paused.

"The family has over one thousand in their employ."

It was not a large number among the hundreds of trillions of sentients in the galaxy, but it was a large enough number to be noticed. Like a single individual disappearing from a community of hundreds.

"All we desire from you is an initial destination. We will pay for their needs. Insure you are reimbursed. And organise transit to their final stop."

He looked at her, nervously. Wondering if he could trust her enough for this task. The risk was immense. But Ryloth was so far from any place that Brentaalians might holiday. "Small numbers at first. To insure our path is secure, and not to alert people due to a sudden drop in production. But there would come a day...that everyone else will have to go...all at once."

Seris Travin-Avaron​

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris slowed when he spoke the number.

Not because she was surprised, but because numbers like that deserved to be felt before they were acted upon. One thousand lives did not move quietly unless every step was chosen with care.

She resumed walking after a moment, at an unhurried pace, allowing the dust beneath their boots to mark time.

"One thousand," she said softly. "Large enough to be noticed. Small enough that people will convince themselves they imagined the absence, if it is handled correctly."

Her gaze remained forward, but her attention was entirely on him now.

"You are right to think in phases," Seris continued. "Movement that announces itself invites scrutiny. Movement that resembles ordinary labor transfer, medical relocation, or family resettlement is far easier to overlook."

She turned her head slightly toward him, green eyes steady, searching not for weakness, but for intent.

"An initial destination is not the same as a final refuge," she said. "It must be a place where arrivals are unremarkable, where questions are routine, and where patience is already part of daily life."

There was no romance in her voice, only realism shaped by experience.

"Ryloth can serve as that first step," Seris said after a measured pause. "Not as sanctuary, but as passage."

She lifted one hand slightly, palm open, as if setting boundaries in the air.

"Small numbers. Carefully documented. Legitimate reasons that withstand casual inspection," she continued. "Medical rotation. Skilled labor exchange. Family accompaniment. Nothing that suggests urgency."

Her expression softened only slightly when she spoke next.

"But you must understand this," Seris said quietly. "The final movement, when it comes, cannot be hidden. It can only be disguised long enough to succeed."

She stopped then and faced him fully, the weight of the decision settling into the space between them.

"If you trust us with the first step," she said, "then you must also trust that there will come a moment when hesitation becomes the greater danger."

Her gaze held his, calm, unflinching, but not unkind.

"We can give your people time," Seris finished. "We can give them a path. What we cannot give them is invisibility forever."

She inclined her head slightly, a gesture of respect rather than authority.

"If you are prepared to begin with one small step," she said, "then Ryloth will not turn them away."

The wind stirred the red dust around their feet, carrying it forward, away from the estate, toward the waiting stars. A beginning, not an end.

Dominic Praxon

 

[Dominic Praxon]

Dominic stopped, head dipping and shoulders relaxing. It was relief more than tiredness. It was a big thing he asked of this House, no small endeavour, especially for the newness of their relationship. But seeking paths outside the obvious was the only way that this could feasibly work. Should he have chosen someone that he already had long standing connections with, the route of his families employees would easily have been tracked.

"The woman that raised me...the handmaiden of our House. She and he family are the first I wish to see make the journey. It is a deeply personal choice. Idette is her name, a grandmother now, of 80 years of age. Her and her two sons, their spouses and children. The whole family works for us in some capacity."

For the first time, Dominic appeared as more a man, simple and uncomplicated. Not the politician, not the facade. His eyes were soft, and caring.

"If you would do me this favour, I should see them brought first to Ryloth under guise of a family holiday within Imperial space, but with a single hyperspace jump cut short, there is a smuggler's hyperlane that can be taken out of Imperial space, and from there a meeting at a rather unsavoury refuelling depot, possibly the most treacherous part of the journey, should they escape Imperial space. From there, Ryloth...then I will arrange them safe immigration to Naboo."

Seris Travin-Avaron​

 

[Seris Travin-Avaron]

Seris did not answer immediately. She let Dominic's words settle, not because they needed weighing, but because they deserved respect. When she did speak, her voice was calm, steady, and unmistakably present.

"That is not a small thing to ask," she said quietly, not as a refusal, but as recognition. "And it tells me exactly why you are asking it this way."

She turned fully toward him, her posture composed but unguarded, eyes attentive rather than assessing.

"Idette and her family will go first," Seris continued, her tone certain. "Caretakers are often invisible to history, yet they shape it more surely than most. If she raised you, then she has already given more to this House than any title ever could."

There was no judgment in her expression, only understanding.

"The route you describe is dangerous," she acknowledged evenly. "But it is also clever, and more importantly, quiet. Quiet is what keeps families alive when empires are listening."

She inclined her head slightly, already thinking several steps ahead.

"I will arrange the transport under civilian charter," Seris said. "No House markings, no political signatures, and no patterns that can be traced back to you. The holiday cover will hold through the first leg. After that, the jump alteration will be handled by pilots who understand discretion as survival, not as a favor."

Her gaze did not waver when she spoke of the refuelling depot.

"That stop concerns me the most," she admitted frankly. "So I will ensure they are met, escorted, and moved through without lingering. No delays. No conversations. No curiosity."

She softened then, just slightly, when she returned to the heart of his request.

"Eighty years is a long life," Seris said gently. "She should not spend her twilight looking over her shoulder. Nor should her grandchildren grow up learning fear as routine."

A brief pause, then a quiet certainty.

"They will arrive on Ryloth safely," she said. "Once there, they will be given time, stability, and the dignity of not being rushed into their next choice."

Seris held his gaze, not with reassurance alone, but with resolve.

"You trusted me with something personal," she finished. "I will treat it that way. This will be done carefully, deliberately, and without spectacle."

She drew a slow breath, then added, quieter still,

"And Dominic…you are not wrong to begin with those who raised you. That is not sentiment. It is wisdom."

She did not reach for him, did not crowd the moment. She simply stood there, steady and sure, already carrying the weight he had placed in her hands.

Dominic Praxon