"Stalwart, I will stand, until mountains turn to sand."
Shiraya's Temple
Outskirts of Theed
Two weeks prior to the coronation...
Of all the places he could go in Theed, of all the places in all of Naboo, it was upon the grasses where his very soul seemed to have cracked, and the temple those grasses surrounded; where, within, expecting to find no-one, he had found Chiara Viren instead, and his life shifted course more sharply than he could have known by that association. He had never been one to run from anything, but flee he had, fled the scene of his heart shattering, abruptly departing Naboo several months prior in the company of a woman, a Jedi he had just met. It was a pain with which he didn't know how to cope and maintain his composure in front of everyone he knew for very long, but easier to push down in the company of a stranger. Until she became somewhat familiar. Until she asked about it, when the cracks in his hard-won composure had begun to show.
The inside of Shiraya's temple was a quiet, solemn place. Few believed in the old gods, himself included, but he'd always come here to think ever since he had become old enough to see the use of introspection. To sort out his mind. He was unlikely to be disturbed, and he had sworn the dockmaster to secrecy about his presence on-world, so no-one would come looking for him; he wanted it to be a surprise, to present himself to family, unannounced, he had told the man, and had done the best he could to slip away to the temple, unseen, for needed time before he would surely be swept up in the politic of Naboo, and all the responsibilities he'd left behind on the premise of the Jedi calling. So there he sat, on a bench within the ancient construct, elbows perched on knees, fingers knit together underneath his chin, his gaze unfocused on the dias where he met his Jedi companion as she lit incense that day, as he began to tease apart his personal reality.
His heart still ached, this much was certain, the once-sure path that wound far into his future had gone up in smoke, much like the wisps streaming from the incense, leaving him to grasp at what he could to not drown. Throwing himself into Jedi work, flitting from one planet to the next to support the cause, did much to distract him from it all, and give him distance, but didn't deal with the pain so much as mask it. It was only Chiara's perception, her ability to step beyond propriety and ask after his well being, that had truly begun the process of his healing.
And that? That marked another shift. One he couldn't have noticed in the moment, but became more clear after Peace Station, where they aided refugees. Admiring the flame-haired healer had been easy to do, her dedication was a thing to aspire to, but she had begun to make him pause, as if the light around her had changed... and this was problematic. For this, her absence to continue her training was a small blessing, for he couldn't well entertain the notion of her being more than good, strong company, when so much of his being was still so tied to what was, and would never be again. Even if Evette were to ask, he couldn't go back. Even then, when his life was more of the very thing she feared, that he would have to choose, and not choose her.
Duty was a heavy thing to bear.
Kyyrk
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