Private Requiem For a Ducha

[Ben Khal]

Moonmist Palace, Harterra
Hapes Cluster

The funeral of a Hapan Ducha is always a spectacle, and Ducha Secciah Khal's was no different. Far from a somber and intimate affair, the ceremony held at Moonmist Palace was full of pomp and pageantry. The guests numbered in the hundreds, crammed into the great hall's vast arena, their mourning finery rustling like leaves. A live orchestra performed a requiem composed just for the occasion, the music swelling grandly.

Seated in the front row alongside other members of his family, Ben tugged on the too-tight collar of his suit. His grandmother's death had been sudden, too quick for a new tailored suit to be made, so he was forced to don an old one. Apparently he had grown significantly in the past six months.

He glanced over at his mother, seated on the end of the pew closest to the aisle. She looked almost unrecognizable to him, decked out in his grandmother's jewels, with the Ducha's moonstone ring gleaming on her finger. He knew that things would be different once she became the Ducha of Harterra, but he hadn't expected the change to happen so quickly.

The ceremony finally ended, and the attendees began filing out. It was time for the funeral luncheon. That, at least, would be a more toned down and private event, with only members of the family and a few close friends invited. Ben walked closely behind his mother, his head bowed respectfully as they headed for the dining hall.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Once the ceremony was over Arlessa stood and moved through the halls of Moonmist Palace with the steady, measured grace that had been drilled into her since childhood. The weight of Secciah Khal’s jewels rested against her throat and wrists, cool and heavy, as if they had never belonged to anyone else. The moonstone ring on her finger gleamed faintly beneath the chandeliers.

It already felt inevitable.

Servants parted for her. Distant relatives dipped their heads as she passed. Some offered condolences in hushed voices, others merely watched. The death of a Ducha was a tragedy; the rise of another was a matter of great interest. Arlessa acknowledged them all with the same restrained inclination of her head.

Her gaze then drifted briefly over her shoulder. Ben followed just behind her, taller than she remembered. Broader as well. The suit he wore strained slightly at the shoulders, and the collar sat too tight against his neck. Six months away and he had grown like a sapling after rain. She wondered when that had happened.

They reached the entrance to the dining hall, where attendants held the doors open for the family. The soft murmur of conversation already spilled from within. Arlessa slowed, allowing the rest of the relatives ahead of them to pass inside before she stopped completely. For a moment she said nothing, simply studying her son with the cool, distant scrutiny that had unsettled many people throughout her life. Yet there was no judgment in it; only quiet calculation. “You have grown,” she said at last. Her voice was calm, almost clinical. “It seems the Jedi keep you well.” Her eyes lingered briefly on the collar tugging at his throat before she added, with the faintest trace of dry observation, “Though perhaps not well-tailored.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned again and stepped into the dining hall. She had important things to discuss with him. But the conversation could wait. There would be time enough for it.

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

As they headed to lunch, Arlessa turned to look at him. Ben felt her gaze keenly. With everything that had been going on, he hadn't had the opportunity to speak to his mother one on one yet. Even now she could spare him only a few words regarding his appearance. But her remarks were far from superficial. As she commented on his growth, Ben self-consciously reached up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous tic he did whenever he was nervous or embarrassed. In this case, it was the latter.

"Yes, M--Your Grace," he replied, stopping himself from calling her Mother. Now that she was the Ducha, he would have to address her the same way he had Secciah. In public, anyway. Private was a different matter. "There wasn't time to get a new suit."

He didn't think she would begrudge him that. After all, she knew that he was busy. He kept up a steady correspondence with her, writing once a week. Neither of them were usually available to holocall, so messaging was the next best thing.

Upon entering the dining room, Ben quickly surveyed those present. Just four guests in total. It was a shockingly small turnout, the empty chairs a sad reminder of recent losses. Whole branches of the family tree had been wiped out within the past two years. Arlessa and Ben were among the last surviving members of their house. The only other Khal here was Cedrin, Ben's cousin through his Aunt Mirella. The two had grown up together, but it had been a long time since they had seen each other.

Apart from family, there was one unrelated guest. Ben's eyes lingered on Mara Aurelai . She had suddenly appeared on the scene a year prior, the Ducha of a jungle world of little importance, the last of a noble house no one had ever heard of. Yet she swiftly inserted herself into their lives, befriending Arlessa. Even the late Secciah had liked her - she was even present when the old Ducha died. The only one present, in fact...

Mara caught his eye and gave him a friendly yet appropriately sorrowful little smile. He nodded to her, but didn't smile back. Something about her didn't sit right with him, though he could find no fault in her apart from her mysterious origins.

The guests gathered around the table, waiting for the new Ducha to give a toast to her predecessor.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa took her place at the head of the table without hesitation. The chair that had once belonged to Secciah Khal had been subtly altered in the past hour; it's cushions replaced, the crest of House Khal freshly polished until the silver moon emblem gleamed beneath the chandeliers. The transition of power on Harterra was rarely announced with trumpets. It was simply accepted.

She rested her fingertips lightly against the back of the chair for a moment before sitting, allowing the room to settle into silence. Servants moved with careful precision around the perimeter, pouring wine the color of dark rubies into crystal glasses. The soft clink of glass and silverware faded quickly. Arlessa’s gaze moved over those assembled.

Cedrin first. Older than Ben by a few years, though grief had carved deeper lines into his face than age alone should have allowed. A survivor of a branch of the family that had nearly vanished.

Then Ben. Her son sat straighter than she remembered, the posture of the Jedi evident even when he tried to relax. The years had sharpened his features, though the nervous gesture she had just witnessed - rubbing the back of his neck - reminded her that some things did not change so easily.

Finally, her attention settled on Mara Aurelai. Arlessa regarded her for a fraction longer than the others. Not suspicion. Merely observation. Then she reached for her glass. The room stilled immediately. “For generations,” Arlessa began, her voice carrying easily across the length of the table, calm and perfectly measured, “House Khal has served Harterra with loyalty, restraint, and an unwavering devotion to its people.” She lifted the glass slightly. “My predecessor, Secciah Khal, embodied those virtues for nearly half a century. Her wisdom guided this house through war, through loss, and through the many quiet trials that history seldom records.” A pause followed that was brief, but deliberate.

Those who knew Arlessa well would recognize the space she had created: a moment not for herself, but for the weight of what had been lost. “When the galaxy grows uncertain,” she continued softly, “it is the duty of those who remain to endure.” Her eyes passed briefly across the empty chairs. “And so we do.” She raised the glass a final inch. “To Secciah Khal.”

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

Four glasses raised in unison, toasting to the late Ducha. Ben took only a small sip of his, finding the taste of wine bitter. He was a little young to be drinking liquor anyway, and only did it because tradition demanded it.

Meanwhile Cedrin drained his entire glass, setting it back on the table with an audible clink and immediately gesturing for a servant to refill it. While they poured, Ben noticed the tension in his cousin's shoulders. Cedrin was on edge. But why?

"I hope you don't mind me asking, Your Grace, but do you intend to keep the same servants here at Moonmist?" Mara asked suddenly, her lyrical voice flitting gently through the silence. "I know Secciah preferred a completely organic staff, but if you'd rather replace them with droids..."

"Why do you care?" Cedrin muttered.

If Mara was offended by his gruff tone, she didn't show it. "Oh, I was thinking I might hire some for my own palace. Droids are excellent for mundane and unpleasant tasks, but they're subpar as chefs or stylists. I'm sure the servants here have plenty of skill and experience, so I wouldn't have to train them."

Ben glanced at his mother. He had also been wondering just what kind of changes to expect now that Arlessa was in charge, though he didn't think it was his place to ask.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa did not answer immediately. She allowed the servant to finish pouring Cedrin’s wine, the faint sound of liquid filling crystal lingering in the quiet. Only when the servant stepped back did she speak. “House Khal has never viewed those who serve within these halls as… replaceable instruments.” Her tone remained gentle, though something firmer rested beneath it. “These men and women have served this house faithfully for many years. Many of them served my predecessor before I was born.” Her gaze drifted briefly toward the servants moving along the walls, each of them suddenly very aware that the new duchess had noticed them. “Continuity has its value.”

Only then did her eyes return to Mara. “If you wish to know whether Moonmist will be filled with machines, Lady Aurelai,” she said, lifting her glass slightly, “the answer is no. Not while I hold this seat.” A faint pause followed, deliberate but not unfriendly. “But should any among them ever wish to pursue opportunities elsewhere, I would not deny them that choice.” She gave a small inclination of her head. “And if that day comes, I will be certain to send you the names of those whose talents you admire.”

Then her gaze shifted. “Cedrin.” She said his name quietly, yet the room seemed to still around it. “You appear troubled.”
There was no accusation in her voice; only calm observation. “If something weighs upon you, this table is a safer place to speak of it than the corridors.”

For a brief moment her eyes flicked toward Ben. He had been watching the exchange carefully, the alert stillness of a Jedi difficult to disguise even at a family table. Arlessa wondered; not for the first time, whether he saw more in this room than the rest of them did.

Then her attention returned to Cedrin, and she waited.

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

Ben raised an eyebrow. The more he thought about it, the more bizarre Mara's question seemed. His grandmother was barely in her tomb, and this other Ducha was already looking to poach her servants?

Mara seemed to realize how she sounded too. "I would not have asked if I were not aware of your interest in droids, Your Grace," she elaborated. "I had heard you extoll the benefits of relegating menial labor to machines, freeing people from the burdens of mundane minutiae..."

"Didn't Secciah treat her servants like slaves?" Cedrin grumbled under his breath.

"Cousin," Ben said sharply. "Why do you speak ill of the dead?"

Cedrin met his gaze, then looked away, his lips tightly pursed. Only when Arlessa spoke to him did he say anything more - though Ben soon wished he had never opened his mouth.

"You're the new Ducha," Cedrin said to Arlessa. "Your mother and your sisters are gone. House Khal must have a female heir. You could take a consort and try for a daughter, but that's risky. It would be easier and safer to marry Ben off."

Ben paled, rendered speechless by his words. The thought had crossed his mind that his mother would eventually make a match for him - but another part of him thought the day for that would never come. To hear it coming from Cedrin made the notion seem simultaneously surreal and jarringly imminent.

"So who will you pick to be his consort? Will it be her?" Cedrin jabbed an accusatory finger at Mara. "She's already wormed her way into your good graces. I'm sure she'd love to inherit more than just your staff, if she had the chance."

Mara's eyes widened. "I-What?" she blurted. If she was faking her surprise, she was a very good actress. "What are you saying?..." She trailed off, turning to stare at Arlessa, perhaps wondering if there was any truth in Cedrin's words.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa did not move at first. The words lingered in the air like something fragile - and dangerous - waiting to see who would mishandle them. Only after a measured breath did she set her glass down. “House Khal,” she began softly, “is not so fragile that it must arrange it's future in the space of a single meal.”

Her gaze shifted. Not to Cedrin immediately, but to Ben. There was no pity in her expression. No apology. Only a quiet steadiness, as though anchoring the moment before it could carry him away with it.

Then, at last, her attention turned to Cedrin. “Your concern for the continuation of this house is… noted,” she said, the gentleness of her tone unchanged. “Though your timing leaves something to be desired.” She made a deliberate pause. “My mother has not been gone so long that we should speak of replacements as though we were discussing furnishings.” The words were not sharp; but they settled with weight.

Only then did her gaze shift to Mara, softening by a fraction. “As for Lady Aurelai,” Arlessa continued, “she has asked questions of governance, not made bids for position.” She inclined her head slightly toward her. “I would ask that she not be burdened with implications she has neither spoken, nor earned.”

Another pause before she then continued calmly: “And as for Ben’s future...” her voice remained even and unhurried, “it will be decided with care, in it's proper time, and not as the subject of speculation across a dinner table.”

Her fingers came to rest lightly against the stem of her glass once more. “For now,” she added, almost gently, “we will allow this evening to remain what it was intended to be.” A faint glance moved across the table that was subtle, but unmistakably directive. “Peaceful.”

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

For a few moments, everyone waited with bated breath to see how Arlessa would react - much like they had all hung onto every word uttered by her predecessor, knowing that Secciah could have changed their fate in an instant. My grandmother may be dead, Ben thought, but some things never change.

Arlessa hesitated at first, then spoke. It was apparent from her first sentence that she didn't want to deal with... whatever was going on here. Understandably so. But her refusal to answer his questions didn't have the tranquilizing effect she presumably intended. Rather, it gave Cedrin's accusations an unexpected weight. Ben's future will be decided, she had said. Her words echoed in Ben's head, making it hard to breathe.

But Cedrin couldn't seem to help himself. "If I were in Ben's position, I'd rather know what your plans are now," he said. "I've already spent my whole life subjected to Secciah's whims. Everyone in this family felt her hand, moving us like pawns in a game of dejarik. And look where it got us." He gestured to the few people left at the table. "Are you going to do the same thing now that she's gone? Control our lives, plot our course?"

The atmosphere in the room had become stifling. Ben tugged violently on his tight collar, then abruptly rose to his feet. "Excuse me," he mumbled, before walking briskly out of the room. As soon as the door slid shut behind him, he quickened his pace, all but running down the hallway.

By the time he reached his quarters, he was panting for breath. He tore off the jacket of his suit and unclasped his collar. When that failed to calm the pounding of his pulse or the sweat gathering on his skin, he went to the 'fresher and splashed water on his face. You are the son of a Ducha, he kept telling himself. This is to be expected. You know this.

Except his mother was never supposed to be Ducha, and he wasn't supposed to be the son of one. Mirella should have been next in line - would have been, if she were still here. But things hadn't gone as planned, and now Ben, who had been sheltered from all this, was being forced to accept his new fate.

He sensed his mother approaching the door to his quarters. He expected she would rebuke him for leaving dinner so abruptly... or maybe she just wanted to make sure he was okay. Either way, after drying his face with a towel he went out to face her.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa did not rise when Ben left. The sound of the door closing echoed faintly through the chamber, and for a brief moment, she allowed the silence to settle in it's wake. Not fractured. Not uncertain. But contained.

Only then did she lift her gaze to Cedrin. There was no sharpness in her expression. No visible anger. Which, perhaps, made what followed all the more decisive. “You presume much,” she said quietly. Her fingers stilled against the stem of her glass. “Not only of my intentions,” she continued, “but of your place in questioning them.” The words were not raised. They did not need to be. “In another time, such familiarity might have been… indulged.” A slight pause. “But we are no longer afforded the luxury of forgetting what remains of us... and what does not.” Her gaze held his now, steady and unyielding. “You speak of being moved like a piece on a board,” Arlessa went on, her tone still measured. “And yet you would have me lay out every move in advance, as though strategy were something to be performed for your comfort.” A faint tilt of her head. “That is not governance. That is appeasement.”

Only then did she reach for her glass again; but she did not drink. “As for my son,” she added, more quietly now, though no less firm, “he will not be handled in the manner you suggest. Nor will his future be shaped by fear dressed as urgency.”

A final pause before she resumed gently; “This discussion is concluded.” The words settled with quiet finality. She brought the glass to her lips and finished her wine before setting the glass onto the table once more.

Arlessa then rose. Not abruptly. Not with haste. But with a deliberate grace that made it clear the matter required no further debate. “Mara,” she said, her tone softening just slightly as her attention shifted, “your presence this evening is appreciated. I trust it will not be overshadowed by… misjudgment.” A subtle inclination of her head was given that was both acknowledgment and dismissal.

Then she turned. By the time she reached the doorway, her composure had not shifted but something in her pace had. Purpose, now....Ben. Arlessa followed him down the corridor, keeping her pace measured. She did not call out, did not announce herself. This was not a public lesson, but a quiet presence meant to bridge the distance between command and care. She stopped just outside his door, knocking softly. “Ben,” she said, voice gentle yet firm. “May I enter?”

When he opened the door, she stepped inside. The room was cool and dim, the air heavy with the remnants of his panic. She waited, letting him settle before speaking further. “I understand,” she began carefully, seating herself at the edge of the desk, hands folded lightly before her. “You did not ask for this life. None of us do. I did not ask to be placed here; at the head of House Khal, in the position of Ducha, carrying the weight of what remains... But duty is not something we choose. It chooses us, and it will not wait for comfort, nor for readiness.” Her gaze softened, but her posture remained straight, deliberate. “I will not ask you to accept it blindly. But I will ask you to trust that I will do my best… for you, and for the house. Not because it is easy, but because it must be done.” She paused, letting the words sink in, letting the room breathe with the quiet acknowledgment of shared burden. “You are not alone in this,” she added, a faint edge of something maternal threading through the firmness. “And while your path is yours to walk, I will remain close enough to guide, to protect, to help you find the balance between what is asked of you… and who you are.”

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

In the dining room after Ben and Arlessa left, there was a brief period of silence. Mara watched and listened for any sign that mother and son might return, before she rose from her chair. "I think it would be best if you left before they came back," she said quietly.

Cedrin stood as well. "I agree," he murmured, appearing suitably chastened as he avoided meeting her eyes, instead looking up and around. He was, in actuality, searching the room for hidden cameras. There were cameras and microphones scattered all over the Palace, artifacts left over from Secciah's rule. She liked to keep an eye on everything that happened in her house. Arlessa might not be so zealous in her surveillance, but they couldn't take the risk of any conversation between them being overheard.

Before he made his exit, he and Mara exchanged meaningful glances. She bowed her head politely, a hint of a smile indicating her approval. The ruse had worked. Arlessa may not have been fazed, but clearly Cedrin's outburst had gotten under Ben's skin. The boy was their main target.

Bowing in return, Cedrin gathered his things and went out. Mara remained where she was seated, folding her hands in front of her. Everything had gone according to plan. Now it remained to be seen what the fruits of her labor would be...

---

"Come in."

For a long moment, Ben simply stared at his mother. Part of him wanted to say something about her role in deciding his future, but what good would it do? He couldn't defy her. It wasn't his place to control his own fate. It never had been, really.

There had been an illusion of control, he realized. Her sending him to join the Jedi Order was something he had wanted too. They were in agreement then about what he should do, who he should be. But what happened when she decided to rule against his wishes? He had been sheltered for so long, he didn't know how to fight back. Didn't even consider it an option he could take.

Her speech made it clear that while she would continue to offer her guidance, she wouldn't coddle him or hide the truth from him any longer. Ben nodded once in silent acceptance. "I know that I must fulfill my duty to our house," he said. "But I... don't feel like I'm ready for what you're asking of me." He paused, then closed his eyes and sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter how I feel. I must do what needs to be done." And quickly. The state of House Khal was dire enough that they couldn't afford to wait.

"When you decide who I will marry, I only ask that you tell me first."

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Ben’s words lingered in the space between them. Not as defiance, but as something far more difficult to answer; acceptance without conviction. It settled heavily; and for a moment, Arlessa allowed herself to feel the weight of it fully. He believes he has no choice. The realization was quiet, but it struck deeper than Cedrin’s earlier presumption ever had. That, more than anything, gave her pause.

Her gaze lowered briefly, not in retreat, but in thought. How easily it would be to let this continue… to allow duty to become something imposed rather than understood. It would be simpler and cleaner.

It would also be a mistake.

When she looked at him again, there was no less authority in her posture, but something in her expression had shifted. Not softened, exactly. But opened, if only slightly. “It matters,” she said quietly. The words came without hesitation, though they carried more weight than volume. “How you feel… it matters. Do not mistake necessity for indifference.” She rose then from the edge of the desk, taking a slow step forward; not closing the distance entirely, but no longer holding herself apart from him either. “I will not have you enter into something of this magnitude believing you are nothing more than a piece to be placed,” she continued, her tone measured but firm. “That is not what I intend for you. Nor is it what this house requires.” A brief pause followed, her thoughts turning inevitably to the conversation that had preceded this one. To Cedrin. To Mara. To the timing of it all.

It was too soon.

Her jaw tightened, just slightly. “There are those,” she said carefully, “who would prefer that decisions be made quickly. Publicly. Without the benefit of reflection.” Her gaze held his now, steady, deliberate. “I do not share that preference.”

She turned then, pacing a short distance before coming to a stop, her back partially to him as she considered her next words. So many things had happened in a brief amount of time, and already the vultures were circling. Something had to be done about that.

When she spoke again, Arlessa's tone had shifted. It was quieter, but no less resolute. “Your grandmother has only just been laid to rest.” The words carried something deeper than formality. Something personal. “It would be… inappropriate,” she continued, “for this house to move forward as though nothing has changed. There will be a period of mourning. Not as ceremony alone, but as necessity.” Only then did she look back to him. “It will give us both time,” she added, more gently now. “To consider what comes next, without the weight of expectation pressing quite so closely.” There was a pause, and in it, something more maternal surfaced that was subtle, but unmistakable. “And when that time comes,” she said, “you will not be the last to know.”

A faint breath passed before she continued, her gaze studying him more closely now; not as Ducha, but as his mother. “You spent some time amongst the Jedi,” she said, the shift in topic deliberate, but not abrupt. “You were not isolated there, despite their discipline.” A slight tilt of her head, thoughtful. “Was there someone,” she asked quietly, “that you found yourself drawn to?” The question was not accusatory. Nor was it idle. It was careful… and, perhaps, more revealing than anything she had said before.

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

He still had time. Ben felt a little relief knowing that he wasn't rushing headlong into things, but the knot in his stomach didn't completely go away. She wouldn't grant him the dignity of being the first to know who he would marry, but at least he wouldn't be the last person to find out.

His mother's question took him off guard. Face flushing with embarrassment, he quickly replied, "No. There's no one." At least, he knew of nobody who had returned his interest, and he'd made no attempts at courtship. Which should work in his favor, as he wouldn't have to end an existing relationship for the sake of an arranged marriage.

He thought of Cedrin's words and stiffened at their sting. "I know what I am," he said, straightening his posture even as his voice remained soft. "I am a dukat of House Khal, the son of the Ducha of Harterra. Not a pawn in someone else's game. It's just that... Such privilege comes with a price."

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa studied him, noting the flush to his cheeks, the quickness with which he straightened. He claimed his place with words, but there was something beneath them. Something quieter and more fragile, that he had not intended to show. She allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible nod. He understands the weight of his name, but not yet the burden of expectation that comes with it, she thought. And that is precisely why this cannot be rushed. “You are correct,” she said softly, her tone firm yet imbued with warmth. “Privilege and duty often travel hand in hand. And the price you pay for both is not always immediately visible, even to those who bear it willingly.” Her gaze held his, steady but not unyielding. “I am not blind to your awareness, nor to the care you take in measuring your steps. That, too, is part of what makes you ready to assume what is required of you. But readiness is not the same as inevitability.”

Arlessa’s thoughts flickered to the calendar, to the whispers about alliances, engagements, and influence. Let them circle and wait. Let them presume. We are not bound to their timeline, but to ours. She drew a quiet, measured breath. “I ask only that you remember this, Ben: you are not a piece to be placed. You are the son of this house, and your understanding of it matters at every turn. Do not underestimate the value of your voice or the discretion of timing.” She stepped closer, the movement unhurried, her presence steadying the air between them. “And the heart,” she added, her voice softening, almost confiding, “must be allowed it's own course. Not dictated by convenience, nor by ceremony. That is something even I cannot determine for you.”

A faint pause followed. She looked away for a moment, thinking - not as a Ducha, not as a mother; but as someone who had watched many weigh duty against desire and falter. Let him breathe. Let him feel that there is choice here, even if it is circumscribed. It will serve him better than any lecture could.

When she looked back at him, her expression was calm, warm, yet still framed with authority. “Take this time,” she said quietly, “to consider not only the expectations placed upon you, but of those you wish to honor of your own accord. The house, your own heart - both deserve that reflection.”

Arlessa understood the pressures well enough; for there were many burdens and responsibilities placed upon her too. Their lives were never intended to be this way. But they had to make the best of it.

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

Rather than the calm serenity he was trying so hard to project, Ben was finding it more and more difficult to maintain his composure the longer this conversation dragged on. Were he more mature and wise beyond his seventeen years he might have recognized the paradox in Arlessa’s contradictory teachings. But he was a teenager, and his patience was wearing thin with her mixed messages.

He had been conditioned to never interrupt a woman, let alone a Ducha. But as soon as there was a break in his mother’s speech, he blurted, “Is my acceptance not enough?”

Frustration and discomfort had crept into his voice. He didn’t want to discuss his private life with her. He’d rather not be talking about any of this at all. “I swear that I will marry whoever you choose for me, and do my duty to ensure the continuation of our house,” he said.

But what I do beyond that is none of your concern, he thought, keeping it to himself.

“We should go back,” he said, voice lowered. After his brief outburst, he was left feeling deflated. “The Ducha of Stalsinek is waiting.” He referred to Mara by her formal title out of deference, but also in an effort to put some emotional distance between them. Ever since Cedrin had connected them as a potential match, he felt his stomach twist just thinking about her.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa did not move to stop him. For a moment, she simply watched him; taking in the tension that had finally surfaced, and the way that his composure had fractured just enough to reveal the strain beneath it. It was not unexpected. If anything, it had been inevitable.

His question lingered. Is my acceptance not enough? She let the silence answer first; not as avoidance, but as consideration. “It is,” Arlessa said at last. Her voice was calm and steady. There was no reprimand in it. “It is more than many would offer in your position.” She stepped forward then, though not to close the distance entirely. Just enough to remain present, without pressing further into the space he was already trying to reclaim. “And I do not take that lightly.” Her gaze held his; not unkind, but clear. “But acceptance,” she continued, “is not the same as understanding.”

A faint pause followed, her expression softening only slightly. “You are offering obedience, Ben,” she said, not as criticism, but as truth. “And while that may satisfy expectation; it does not prepare you for what comes after it.” Her eyes flickered, briefly with something quieter passing through them before it was set aside. “Marriage, in our position, is not a single moment of duty fulfilled. It is a sustained one.” Her tone remained even and measured. “It will ask more of you than agreement. More than endurance.” She did not elaborate further. He would understand that in time. Or he would not.

When he spoke of returning, her gaze shifted briefly toward the direction of the gathering, then back to him. “Yes,” she said softly. “We should.” But she did not move just yet. “There is one thing that you should understand before we do.” Her voice lowered then; not in secrecy, but in quiet certainty. “You are not the only one being asked to choose carefully.” A subtle breath passed as she weighed her own thoughts on the situation that they both were in. “The responsibility that you carry…” she added, “is mirrored by my own.” Her gaze held his, both steady and composed. “The woman who stands beside you will shape not only your future; but the stability of everything that follows after us. That is not a decision that I will make carelessly. Nor one that I will make without regard for you, regardless of how it may seem.” There was no apology in it. Only clarity. Regardless of how it may seem; they were both in this together.

“Come,” Arlessa said, her tone returning to its composed neutrality. “We will not keep the Ducha waiting.” And this time, she turned; not expecting him to follow, but knowing that he would.

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Ben Khal]

Mara was still sitting at the table when Arlessa and Ben returned. She rose from her chair as they entered, delicate hands emerging from the long sleeves of her dark funeral garb as she clasped them in front of her.

"Your Grace," she said, her tone and manner subdued but dignified. "Lord Cedrin left the Palace not long after you went out of the room. I am sorry for the trouble his outburst has caused you during this time of mourning."

Her attention shifted from Arlessa to Ben. He avoided looking at her, keeping his gaze lowered.

"I also wish to make one thing clear," Mara continued. As she spoke, her eyes grew glassy with tears and her voice hitched with emotion. "My friendship with the late Ducha Secciah and with Your Grace are not mercenary attempts at self-promotion. But if you do not believe me to be a true friend, then I beg of you, do not feign your trust. Send me away now."

Ben looked up at her then, his brow furrowed. Rather than trying to weasel her way out of Cedrin's accusations, she responded with a heartfelt plea for honesty. No wonder she was known for her grace. But was she telling the truth?

He reached out with the Force, searching for any signs of falsehood - and found that he couldn't sense much of anything from her. She was a blank slate, utterly unreadable. Curious. But not necessarily a sign of deception. He looked at his mother to see how she would respond.

Arlessa Khal​

 

[Arlessa Khal]

Arlessa did not answer at once. Instead she allowed Mara’s words to settle into the room; just as she had done with Ben’s before, giving them space enough to reveal their weight, rather than reacting to their surface. Her gaze rested on Mara, steady and unhurried, taking in every detail: the careful posture, the measured tremor in her voice, the sheen of tears that had gathered but not yet fallen. It was a convincing display. Perhaps too convincing.

Arlessa stepped forward, though not abruptly. There was no sharpness in the movement, no outward sign of suspicion. To any observer, it would read as composure that was measured, dignified, and appropriate to the moment. But beneath that calm, her awareness shifted. The Force did not rush. It unfolded. And where there should have been something - grief, discomfort, even the faintest ripple of fear - there was nothing. Not control. Not discipline. There waa absence.

Her gaze sharpened, just slightly. “That is an interesting request,” Arlessa said at last, her voice even, and neither warm nor cold. Simply precise. “To ask for honesty while offering so little of it in return.” The words were not raised. They did not need to be. She let them rest between them. A breath passed before she continued, her eyes never leaving Mara’s. “Grief is rarely so composed,” she added quietly. “It lingers. It disrupts. It leaves traces, even when one wishes it would not.” A faint tilt of her head followed that was thoughtful rather than accusatory. “And yet, you stand before me untouched by it.” It was not an accusation, but merely an observation.

Arlessa closed the remaining distance between then; not enough to invade, but enough to make the space between them intentional and controlled. “You ask not to be feigned,” she said, her tone softening just a fraction. “That is a reasonable request. But understand this in turn: trust is not granted by plea.” Her gaze flickered, briefly, toward Ben; acknowledging his uncertainty, his attempt to read what could not be read before returning to Mara. “It is earned,” she finished.

Silence followed, but it was no longer passive. It carried weight now. And direction. “If you wish to remain,” Arlessa continued, “then you will do so without theatrics.” There was no cruelty in the word, only clarity. “Not because I doubt your grief…” A slight pause. “…but because I cannot see it.” And that, more than anything, was the truth she chose to offer.

Her posture eased then, just enough to signal that the moment had not yet tipped into dismissal. “For now,” she said, her voice returning to it's composed neutrality, “you may stay.” She paused for a well measured beat. “But you will understand that I will be watching more closely.” It was not a threat. But a promise.

Tag: Ben Khal

 

[Mara Aurelai]

At the sharpness of Arlessa's words, Mara lifted her chin. One of the tears which had gathered along her waterline fell from her left eye, trickling down her cheek.

Besides Cedrin's accusation, there was no proof that she was using her friendship with his late grandmother to advance herself. Indeed, Mara was counting on the lack of evidence to protect her.

“Your words are cold,” she said, reaching up to wipe away her tears. “But you must not be convinced by Cedrin’s accusations.”

Arlessa was merely annoyed that Mara’s feelings were unreadable even to her, a great Balzarg of the Sibsi. For Mara had confided in her a secret: she had no natural presence in the Force. She hid this fact by wearing a ring which created an illusionary aura around her. It was an imperfect solution. Normally a person’s aura would be influenced by their emotions, but the facsimile produced by the ring was static and unchanging. An unfeeling veneer.

Still, it helped her to accomplish her goal. Ben would remember this day. He would question his fate, his duty to his family, and the societal pressures being exerted upon him. If all went according to plan, eventually he would rebel against his mother and Hapan society at large. But until then, she would need to maintain a good relationship with House Khal. Right now, that meant placating Arlessa.

She bowed respectfully to the Ducha of Harterra. "I understand," she said. "For what it's worth, I do grieve. Even if you cannot see it."

Arlessa Khal​