Private Snowburst

[Corazona von Ascania]

"How long will the repairs take?"

Barton IV was a testament to the adaptive nature of humans when faced with an inhospitable environment. They were stubborn creatures, having carved cities of stone into the frigid landscape. On the outskirts of one such borough, Cora spoke with a starship repair technician. His garage, she'd been informed, did good work on a budget.

The man let out a gruff sigh, idly scratching at his beard while reading the diagnostic report on his datapad. "One of your capacitors is shot. The others picked up the slack, but the strain can cause a rough ride. Wear 'em out quicker, too. I'd say you're looking at a few days, a week at most. Parts won't come in until my next drop."

Cora's focus shifted from the mechanic to the pair of droids flittering about the outside of her ship. One of them was busy installing a sorely needed update to her navigation system.

Even when inside, the cold still found a way to creep into her bones. Cora pulled her cloak a little tighter to her body. How anyone could make a life out such a frozen wasteland, she did not know.

"That would be…suitable," she murmured. "I will find accommodation until then."

The wait was unexpected roadblock in her journey back to the core, but no sense of frustration touched her. It was odd, feeling no rising tide of irritation to have to tamp down.

Snow crunched beneath her boots as she exited the garage. Squinting, her gaze fixed itself on the frozen skyline. Cora estimated that she could've made it as far as Lothal before needing to stop for repairs, but the flow of the Force had shifted her path to Barton IV.

Now that she was planetside, she could hear the gentle song of its call. Soft and unobtrusive, but inevitable all the same.

Galahad D'Argent

 

[Galahad D'Argent]

The flurries of Barton IV had grown listless.

From the veranda of the D'Argent estate, Galahad regarded the skyline with a practiced eye. The frostbitten horizon blurred against the jagged outline of distant stone boroughs. Yet even amidst the monochrome desolation of Barton IV, he had learned to recognize disruption when it occurred.

A foreign vessel. Well-kept. Not a trader, and not of the usual models that landed in a isolated Outer Rim planet.

He lowered the monocular and adjusted his gloves. Beneath layers of sable wool and tailored synthleather, the cold no longer reached him. A lifetime on Barton IV had made him resistant to the harshness of the snows.

"Lady Cora," he murmured, testing the name that had filtered through the settlement's whisper chain and, inevitably, found its way to the halls of the D'Argent manse.

She had arrived only hours ago, but already, the threads of her presence tugged at the quiet rhythm of Barton. The local mechanics spoke of a starship in need of minor repairs, navigation issues, delays. Galahad knew she would be waiting several days for replacement parts. It was his business to know. The D'Argents were, after all, the most prominent merchant family in the settlement.

But it was not the vessel that drew his attention.

It was something else, something deeper, buried. The same sensation that had, since childhood, whispered of things before they occurred, when someone was about to enter a room, or when violence would erupt nearby keeping him one step ahead. That sense had been the only reason he'd activated his network of informants in the nearby borough, requesting the woman's name and origin.

He had made certain his parents knew nothing of it. Ships stopping for repairs were a common enough occurrence, and they would demand justification for his sudden interest. They would not be pleased to learn it stemmed from that from the strange sixth sense they had long refused to acknowledge, treating it more as affliction than gift.

With a motion as fluid as it was habitual, Galahad turned from the rail and descended the stairwell, his black cloak trailing like a shadow behind him. There would be time for formal introductions soon enough. For now, he would intercept her path ,with grace, and courtesy as the situation demanded.

After all, it was only proper to greet travelers.

Corazona von Ascania ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora lingered at the threshold of the garage's entrance and the icebound plane that spanned before her. A little too long, as it happened.

"Ma'am?" the mechanic called, a thread of concern lacing his tone. "Town's that way."

The blonde glanced over her shoulder to watch him gesture over his shoulder, pointing with his thumb. She offered him a faint smile.

"I've spent far too long cramped aboard that ship. Stretching my legs would do me some good."

Space was cold, too. There was a sort of stillness to it that teetered on a knife's edge of being both calming and frightening.

There was life to Barton IV, though. Quiet, but not silent.

Cora's focus returned to the horizon once more. In the distance, she could spy the blurred form of a structure - even squinting couldn't quite bring out the details, but it didn't shake the sensation of being observed. Not in a hostile way, her senses told her, but with notes of curiosity and caution.

A sentiment that she reflected back, perhaps unknowingly.

Slow strides carried her forward. It felt good to move again, to fill her lungs with fresh air despite the bitter chill. It was invigorating in a way that the stale, recycled air aboard her vessel could never be.

Galahad D'Argent

 

[Galahad D'Argent]

The D'Argent garage was a vault of polished machinery. Among the rows of speeders. sleek, elegant, unmistakably Chandrilan, Galahad selected a silver one, its finish catching the dim estate lights like moonlight on glass.

Before he left, he paused by the wall mirror just long enough to don a tailored shirt bearing the family crest. A stylized argent falcon poised in mid-flight wings flared, talons ready. He let the fabric settle, then drew his long black cloak over it. The insignia remained concealed, present only if circumstance called for it.

Outside, the cold met him like an old adversary, but he no longer flinched. Galahad mounted the speeder and turned it toward the low hills that hemmed the basin. The sky above was the usual swirl of iron-gray clouds, streaked with the pale shimmer of daylight refracted through snow.

There was nothing to guide him no coordinates, no transmission.

And yet, he could feel her. An impression in all but words. Not spoken, only felt, through that strange sixth sense at the edge of awareness.

The journey into town took no more than ten minutes. The speeder cut through the frozen wasteland in silence, skimming over frost-bitten plains and brittle ice-veined ridges. As the first outlying structures came into view, round stone dwellings half-swallowed by snow—he brought the vehicle to a gentle stop on the outskirts, parking somewhere hidden. It was unlikely that someone would rob a speeder that so clearly belonged to his family but he'd been taught caution from early on in his life.

He stepped off without haste, boots crunching against the snow.

His steps left precise impressions, each one deliberate. Strangely he found her not in town but at the edge of the ice plains, almost as if she'd been waiting for his arrival. When she drew close enough, he stepped into view.

"Lady Cora," he greeted, voice clear and refined, with a respectful incline of his head. "Forgive the intrusion, I did not wish to startle you."

He studied her, calmly, trying his best to look amicable. The blonde woman had the distinct air of a aristocrat about her, but her movements were precise and tense, like those of a veteran soldier, filled with quiet strength.

Now that he was near her what had previously been a faint awareness of her presence had become a thrum deep-set in his brain.

"You're welcome to walk in peace, if that is your wish. But should you prefer company, I'd be honored to offer mine."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Steadily, the presence she'd followed to Barton IV like a thread began to grow. Cora stopped at the edge of a frozen lake, peering down into the clouded sheets of ice below. Meditation didn't necessarily need to be done with eyes closed, seated on the floor of a quiet room.

The heat of her breath curled beneath her nose as she sank into a few minutes of quiet reflection. In this, she could feel minute shifts in the Force as Galahad drew close.

Then, he appeared.

A young man genteel in his stature, with a shock of snow white hair and equally pale skin. Beautiful and elegant, he looked as though he'd been carved from the land itself like an ethereal specter.

Cora smiled politely. One finely manicured blonde brow ticked upward when he addressed her by name. If his regal bearing hadn't spoke of some higher position on this world, then the use of her name did.

"Were you expecting me, then?"

Notes of cautious amusement wove their way into her tone. She returned the tilt of his head with one of her own before her gaze swept over his form, more curious than scrutinizing. Cora was surprised to find this situation feeling a little familiar; a pair of aristocrats sizing one another up, only this time, they were not at some grand gala, and neither seemed immediately intent on ripping the other to shreds.

The Jedi's gaze settled onto his eyes. Yellow, but devoid of the sulfuric corruption associated with the dark side of the Force.

"I had some trouble with my ship while passing through this system. It appears I'll be planet-side for at least a few days."

Yes, this was the one she'd sensed. From his approach, she guessed that he'd followed his gut toward her. Untrained, but capable. No malice that she could detect.

"I wouldn't mind some company. I'd be grateful to learn more about Barton IV."

Galahad D'Argent

 

[Galahad D'Argent]

Galahad's lips curved in the faintest suggestion of a smile.

"Let us say," he replied, stepping closer with measured grace, "that I was made aware of your arrival… and felt compelled to ensure Barton IV gave a proper first impression."

He stopped a polite distance from her, his hands clasped loosely behind his back beneath the cloak. The cloak shifted faintly in the wind, revealing a brief glimmer of silver embroidery at his chest: the crest of House D'Argent, though half-concealed, as though the name was offered only if necessary. She was indeed an aristocrat, no doubt about it, but she had not offered her House name, and so neither did he.

Lady Cora was beautiful, regal in bearing, with a kind of quiet confidence that needed no announcement. But what drew his eye, if only for a heartbeat, was the glint of something metallic at her wrist.

A prosthetic. Seamless in design, but unmistakable once seen.

He did not ask. But he tucked the detail away, somehow, it felt important. What kind of noble bore an injury more often seen in veteran soldiers?

"It is rare," he continued, "for our planet to receive visitors who don't come chasing mineral contracts or transport routes. Tell me, if it's not too forward of me, what is it that you do?"

His golden eyes met her blue ones again. Then he turned, with the faintest inclination of his head, and gestured toward the lake path, where the ice shimmered beneath a powdering of snow.

"If you'd allow me the honor, I can walk with you."

They walked a few paces in companionable silence, the snow crunching beneath their steps, the cold brushing softly at the edges of their cloaks.

"Barton IV is not kind," Galahad said at last, his voice low, almost thoughtful. "It has a way of stripping things down. Pretenses, assumptions… even intentions. I presume that is why my family was sent here...to reflect."

He stopped then, the soft hiss of his breath curling into the air, only to vanish into the wind.

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora listened quietly, patiently. A subtle tilt of her head and the focus of her gaze signaled her engagement as Galahad spoke.

He revealed a little bit more of himself, careful to let his words draw what he'd left unsaid. There were no threats - not yet - but expectations. Cora was, after all, a visitor who'd shown up unannounced on a far- flung planet at the veritable edge of the galaxy. Ship trouble could be a common excuse among smugglers, slavers, and scouts.

A cold wind shifted the fabric of his cloak just enough to reveal a glint of silver thread, but she couldn't discern the shape of the embellishment just yet.

"I'd be remiss if I did not offer a proper introduction."

With her right hand over her abdomen and the left behind her back, Cora bowed gently at the waist. It was a masculine gesture; on her home planet, women curtsied.

"Jedi Knight Corazona von Ascania of Ukatis. I was traveling to Tython from Midvinter when I encountered some unexpected turbulence."

Cora straightened out. The smile she wore was an easy one, but she was scrutinizing Galahad's reaction. There were many places in the galaxy where Jedi were not welcome.

"Your good men at the garage there were able to diagnose the problem quickly - but I'm afraid that I'll be in your hair for at least a few days. I've no intention on disturbing things on Barton IV."

As she spoke, Cora waved toward the mechanic's shop in the distance.

The muffled crunching of snow beneath boots paused. A pensive frown tugged at the corners of her lips.

"How long has your family lived here for? I'd have guessed a great while, given how comfortable you seem in the cold."

Galahad D'Argent

 

[Galahad D'Argent]

Galahad inclined his head slightly, the faintest trace of a smile lingering at the edge of his lips.

"Jedi Knight" he repeated thoughtfully, letting the weight of her title settle between them. "I've heard of the Jedi, read about them too. I am much too educated to believe the rumours spread by deep space pilots of laser sword wielding warmongers, but you would do well to hide you title here. This far from the Core you will find that people are not so warm to the galactic alliance and its protectors."

At least now he had an answer to her mysterious injuries and rigid posture. Jedi fought in several wars to keep the Alliance safe.

His gaze drifted momentarily toward the distant garage, then returned to her with measured sincerity.

"As for my family," he began, voice smooth and composed, "the D'Argents have called Barton IV home for more than a century now, exile, as you might well understand, does not always come with choice or ease."

He paused, the cold air visible in his breath as it curled softly in the wind. He found his thoughts drifting back to her origin, focusing on the name now.

"Von Ascania… yes, I've come across the name before. Likely in one of the compendiums on Core World dynasties my tutors insisted I memorize. The details escape me, I admit. Perhaps I can search for the tome when I'm back in the estate."

Galahad thought that his parents would soon know that he'd left the estate to meet with a mysterious woman. Even if he'd asked the servants to keep it silent they would not do so for long. He needed an excuse to avoid his parents ire. Thankfully her heritage provided just what he needed.

"If you require accommodation during your stay, I would be remiss not to offer the hospitality of House D'Argent. Our manor lies just beyond the far ridge, secluded, but comfortable. I daresay it would provide more warmth than a mechanic's storeroom."

He hesitated, then offered a wry smile, carefully measured.

"However, a word of caution. My parents… are staunch traditionalists. They value decorum and bloodlines above most things. If you do accept, I would advise greeting them with a curtsy rather than a bow, and, if you'll forgive the suggestion, refraining from mention of your Jedi affiliation."

He met her gaze evenly, not unkind, but clear in his meaning.

"They are not cruel, but their views are shaped by their exile from the Core. I will, of course, make the introductions myself. You will be treated with the respect your station commands. And I believe my mother has not had cause to set the tea service in some time. There's also the matter of you position as a Jedi. I have a...condition that I believe you might be able to help with."

Corazona von Ascania

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

With hands clasped behind her back, Cora listened as Galahad spoke. His mention of a lack of warmth had one corner of her lips almost tugging into a knowing smile. One did not have to travel far beyond the Alliance's borders to be met with a lack of hospitality.

A flicker of interest sparked in her eyes at the mention of his surname. D'Argent rang a bell, but she wasn't sure which bell, exactly. Exile to this harsh ice storm of a world didn't exactly paint a positive picture, but perhaps she'd connect the dots of a distant memory soon.

"Ukatis is not a particularly rich world in credits nor resources. I'm surprised that you've heard of my family."

Cora tilted her head back a fraction as a snowflake drifted to the tip of her nose. It took only a few moments for the cold crystal to melt into a droplet. She hummed softly, considering his generous offer and the temperament of his parents.

"I do suppose a heated manor would be far more comfortable than a dirty duracrete floor," she mused. "I've parents just the same. Four years of finishing school will not go to waste, and no mention of my Alliance or Jedi affiliation."

Slowly, the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place. The picture they formed, though, was still out of focus.

"For what reasons do people visit Barton IV, then? I will need a cover story. Noblewomen from Ukatis don't go traipsing around the galaxy without an escort. Oh, the scandal."

Her lips tilted into a wry little smile.

"I'll have to find a way to thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps I can help you to better understand your condition?"

Cora paused, lingering before Galahad for a few quiet moments. Her countenance, bordering on amused, had quickly sunk into something more firm. It was as though she were looking both at and through the D'Argent scion at the same time. Slowly, her hands raised to retrieve the pendant from her neck – a rustic trinket from her homeworld, but one that had been imbued with the Light of the Force.

"Can you tell me," she began, her voice soft and stern, "what you feel when you hold this?"

Galahad D'Argent