Private River's Echo

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

Ukatis, his home, always brought a sense of gratitude each time he set foot upon its soil. The Wyndvane river lay ahead, unchanged. Three years had slipped by, leaving behind no sign of his departure. Returning to this familiar spot tugged at place he'd long since buried, making him feel as though he returned late.

The teen stood at its bank where the forest thinned just enough to allow light. Boots were planted in damp earth, just watching the water move. Black, as usual, but tailored for the outdoors today. A thermal layer hugged his lithe frame beneath a worn jacket. Trousers were designed for easy movement.

As he inhaled, crisp air filled his lungs; each breath was a reminder that winter was settling upon Ukatis.

Recently, an idea had come to him unexpectedly.. awakened by a moment of carelessness in some ways. Digging through old files on his datapad, he’d uncovered an old photograph from Naboo. That discovery.. it hurt, realizing how simple things had once been. The smiles and shared experience. A team they were, supposedly. Now, it was just another cruel reminder of whatever complexity that dared to consume him. The innocence of youth.. gone.

Perhaps, that was what stirred yet another memory, this river where he had first learned to fish. It was here, along this very stretch, where Roman had helped him cast his first line.

A rod rested in Lysander's hands as he carefully threaded the line through the guides. After that, he attached the lure, tied the knot, and gave it a tug to check. Then another out of habit. Once happy with it, he locked it, brushed his fingers over the line, and finally shifted his gaze to the water.

Stepping forward with the pole, he let it fly with a snap of the wrist; the surface ahead answered with a plop.

No quiet afternoon would ever erase the massacre across the Tapani Sector. But fishing slowed him down enough to stay present, instead of sinking into dark places he knew too well.

 

[Roman Vossari]

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TAGS: Lysander von Ascania

Roman slowed the horse as the river came into view, the familiar pull settling in his chest before he could argue with it. Same stupid gravity as always. Ukatis did that to him. The Force hummed low and constant beneath the snow, patient, like it had all the time in the galaxy and Roman was the one running late. Again.

He dismounted near the bank and loosened the reins, guiding the horse down to drink. Snow clung to the animal's coat, already melting. Roman rested a gloved hand against its neck and exhaled. The cold bit cleanly, sharp enough to keep his head where his body was. That was the trick. Stay here. Don't drift.

Across the river, movement caught his eye. A lone figure, rod arcing over black water. Roman squinted, then stilled. White hair. Too familiar. His chest tightened before he could stop it.

You've got to be kidding me.

Three years. Three quiet absences that had stretched longer than intended. Roman had known Lysander came back sometimes. He had just been very good at missing him. Or avoiding him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

He tied the reins to a low branch and started down the bank, boots crunching softly through snow. The Force stirred as he moved, warmer now, almost curious. Roman pulled his hood lower against the cold until he reached the opposite stretch of river. Close enough to see the line ripple. Close enough to be certain.

Memories crowded in, unwelcome and sharp. Naboo. Laughter. Teaching a kid to fish who pretended not to care but absolutely did. Roman swallowed and pushed it down. He was older now. Rougher. At least more tired.

He stopped at the water's edge and watched the line for a moment before speaking. Gave himself time to breathe.

"Catch anything good?"

Roman pushed his hood back, letting the cold hit his face. His breath fogged the air as he offered a small, crooked smile that didn't quite cover the weight behind his eyes.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Roman Vossari​

While bringing the line in, Lysander listened to the whisper of the reel beneath his thumb. That, with the river itself, was something of a sweet symphony. Keeping the rod at an angle, he felt the tug of water.. a connection between himself and nature. Interesting, really.. he carried the same pole from Naboo through all his travels. It even made an appearance on Jutrand, down in the Sadow district, using a handmade lure. That was where he met another Covenant Sith, Kirie, shortly before the band of marauders coalesced on Desevro, starving for vengeance.

Nothing tugged back yet.. no sign of life on the other end. And that was fine.

As he lifted the same old lure from the water’s surface, he let it hang there for a moment, and drew a deep breath. In those few seconds, his thoughts drifted back to the massacre on Pelagon. It wasn’t like he’d truly been an architect in its grand design. But.. his Master shaped it.. Mercy.

Before those thoughts dared to stretch too far, Lysander snapped his wrist and cast once more.

The line unfurled. Rings spread outward from the landing. So, he began to track the line again..

..until he heard it.

Barely worth acknowledging, the crunch of snow registered. And it paled in comparison to the shifting Force suddenly at the edge of his senses. Strangely warm. Well, it easy probably easy to surpass the biting cold of Ukatis' winter.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a figure on a horse, but didn’t think much of it.

A threat could be anywhere. Or.. maybe he didn’t take the Mid Rim as seriously as he once had, after so much time spent in the Outer Rim. Or perhaps that was the Sith arrogance people liked to talk about? Who was to say. Either way.. nothing felt out of place.

Returning to the river, it carried his focus.

Then the voice came.

Lysander’s breath caught abruptly.. freezing mid chest. Fingers clenched tighter around the rod. Somehow, the river's murmurs became a rushing torrent in his ears.

Roman?

Three years returned without warning.

Lysander stood rooted in place rather than turning right away. He couldn’t. There was another ripple across the water. Gradually, his head rotated, taking in details he hadn’t realized he’d memorized once upon a time.

The grip on the rod loosened, but for another moment, he said nothing. In truth, it kind of surprised him that recognition came at all. Sure, the cursed hair color was the same, with a face still undeniably youthful, even if marked by a scar over one brow, and the newer, longer cut along his cheekbone.. earned on Genarius. Apparently, black was his favorite color too.

“Only the cold. Ukatis hasn’t changed much.”

That familiar, Loth-cat-approved grin surfaced; it didn’t feel like it belonged anymore, so he erased it.

“I wasn’t expecting this.. not how I pictured today” came on the exhale. "Not that I pictured anything at all, really."

“So,” searching for footing.. A crease formed at the brows and would not leave, bracing for something he did not even fully understand.

“Um..” The next breath failed him.

"Yeah.. how have you been.. Roman? Didn't think you'd ever speak to me again. Or.. that I'd hear your voice again."