Private The Invitation

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

As Ivalyn read the message from her cousin Lucette, a small, indulgent smile softened her usually composed expression. Lucette, ever the eager historian, had clearly been captivated by Madelyn Lowe. The teenager's fascination with the past—particularly the storied chapters of the First Order—was well known in their family. Lowe, a living relic of that tumultuous era, was a natural object of admiration for someone like Lucette.

She imagined Lucette's excitement, practically bursting with the thought of meeting the Madelyn Lowe, who had governed during the First Order's collapse. The year 856 lingered in Ivalyn's memory as a painful chapter for many, a turning point marked by devastation. The subsequent years leading to 862 brought her mother, Ariel Yvarro, to power, yet even Ariel's resolve couldn't sustain the First Order past 868. Its ambitions, though noble in vision, crumbled under their own weight.

Her thoughts wandered to her mother's devotion to the Commonwealth Imperial National Cemetery in Victoria, Dosuun's solemn tribute to the fallen. Among its markers stood the names of ships like the FIV Archon, Frontrunner, and Wrath, alongside legendary figures like Rae Sloane. She remembered how the FIV Archon, under Lowe's command—or was it the Frontrunner?—had been among the ships that held the line during evacuations, their bravery immortalized in stone.

The idea of hosting Lowe carried a strange gravity for Ivalyn. Lucette, in her enthusiastic descriptions, had called Lowe "just as she's pictured in the textbooks," a living image of history. Yet Ivalyn couldn't shake the thought that something unnatural had preserved her longevity. Sith sorcery, perhaps. It wouldn't be the first time such forces shaped history; her grandmother had more than meddled with the dark arts, and without hesitation.

"It would be my honor to host the Lady Madelyn Lowe," Ivalyn had reassured Lucette, her voice calm, though her thoughts lingered on the whispers of Lowe's new appointment within the Order. Rumors of her ascension carried the weight of intrigue and caution.

The invitation was sent with all the formality befitting such a figure. Lowe would be welcomed not in the Commonwealth's historical capital, Avalonia, but in its new political heart: Qosantyra.

The newly designated capital of the Imperial Commonwealth of Dosuun, was a city of grander, ambition and renewal. It had become Ivalyn's chosen seat of power, a departure from the historic Avalonia on the Western hemisphere. Here Ivalyn sought progress, unity, and cultural sophisitication. Qosantrya's location at the meeting point of two vast seas – the Sea of Saffron and the Golden Strands – offers unparalleled access to both land and maritime routes. This strategic geography made it a prime location for trade and military defense for decades. The city divided into several distinct districts, each one distinct in character yet all contributing to the city's collective identity. To the north and south of the city, the land gently slopes into fertile plains, while to the east, majestic mountain ranges frame the horizon.

Ivalyn would be meeting with Madelyn in Qosantyra's Imperial District. The district exuded grandeur and authority, blending architectural beauty with a profound sense of purpose. The Imperial District, situated near the center of Qosantrya, occupied a commanding position between the Golden Strands waterfront and the vibrant urban sprawl of the Sapphire Promenade. Grand avenues radiate outward from the district, connecting it to key parts of the city, symbolizing its role as the heart of the Commonwealth.

There in the Imperial District, at the Hyacinth Palace, Ivalyn's official residence although she scarcely occupied it personally. There Ivalyn awaited a woman she had only known of from textbooks and dissertations, Madelyn Lowe .

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Location: Qosantyra, Dosuun
With: Ivalyn Yvarro

The historical city of Qosantyra, the newly elevated capital of Dosuun, was a shining gem. Madelyn had elected to walk from where her shuttle had dropped her at the edge of the Imperial District, meandering over the course of an hour or two through the spotless streeting, chatting with her aides about this historical structure or that, even stopping occasionally to read a plaque or admire a statue, which were numerous, displaying heroic figures of the First Order and the Commonwealth both. The sun was shining, and a beautiful sea breeze kept the air cool and pleasant. It was a day that encapsulated Qosantyra, a city that did not bear the dark weight of history that burdened Avalonia.

"Marvellous." Madelyn remarked.

Madelyn passed through a stone gate, yellow banners snapping in the wind, the crest of the Commonwealth flying high. This part of the Galaxy had come a long way in the past few years. Passing through the gate, Madelyn caught sight of the Hyacinth Palace with it's grand domes and towering spires. It was a welcome sight. The Sith tended to see-saw between bland utilitarianism and needless luxury, and Madelyn's own homeworld on Varonat favoured squat, hut-like buildings that blended into the jungle, even in its seats of power. The architecture of the palace evoked the power and sophistication the First Order had always sought to represent, but without the red banners and huddles of stormtroopers running about. After all, the Commonwealth was not at war, whereas the Order had never been without it.

As Madelyn passed through the great entrance door, a Commonwealth staffer was there to greet her, promptly showing her into a private room. Madelyn stepped in, catching sight of Ivalyn Yvarro , Madelyn inclined her head respectfully.

"Grand Vizier." Madelyn said, voice full of warmth. "It is a pleasure to be hosted here in the Commonwealth's new capital." She looked around the finely appointed room. "I never imagined this city could look so grand."

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn offered a gracious smile as she extended her hand in greeting. "Minister Lowe, it is my absolute honor," she said with practiced ease, her tone warm yet restrained, a hallmark of her political finesse. Her words carried the weight of respect without betraying too much intention, a skill she had perfected in her years of navigating diplomacy. "Welcome to Qosantyra. Please, come with me. We can enjoy some tea on the terrace."

As Ivalyn turned, she gestured subtly for Lowe to follow, their steps falling into a synchronized rhythm. "It has been a great privilege," Ivalyn began, her gaze briefly scanning the grandeur of the Vizierial Palace, "to witness Qosantyra, and indeed much of the Eastern Hemisphere, rise to match the pace of the West."

She glanced over at Lowe, her expression light but her words intentional. "Of course, this progress is a testament to the remarkable governance of Qamirah and her father before her. The administrators here have done tremendous work, and their commitment has ensured that this region thrives."

The marble flooring beneath them gleamed in the soft afternoon light, a quiet testament to the precision and elegance that defined Qosantyra. As they reached the terrace, a servant opened the doors with a practiced bow, revealing an expansive view of the city. The terrace was adorned with potted native flora, their vibrant colors contrasting against the pristine white stone.

"My cousin Lucette is quite taken with you," Ivalyn remarked with a small, knowing smile as she gestured for Lowe to take a seat. "Then again, who can fault her for harboring admiration for a living legend of the First Order? Your service and resilience have left an indelible mark, not just on the Commonwealth but on the galaxy's history."

Ivalyn allowed a brief pause, offering Lowe a moment to respond before continuing. Her tone softened, though her words still carried an undercurrent of purpose. "It's not often that one has the opportunity to sit with someone who has witnessed so much—who has shaped so much. I hope this meeting can be a space for us to reflect on what has been and to consider what might yet be."

The servants brought forth a tray of tea, the gentle clinking of porcelain providing a backdrop to the moment. Ivalyn poured a cup for herself and offered one to Lowe, her hands steady, her movements unhurried. Though her demeanor was calm, her mind worked quickly, considering the possibilities of what an alliance or partnership with Lowe might yield.

"You've undoubtedly seen the best and worst of leadership," Ivalyn continued after taking a sip of tea. "I'm curious to hear your thoughts on how we can balance the weight of history with the demands of the present. It's a question I find myself grappling with often."

Her gaze met Lowe's, a spark of genuine interest flickering behind her composed exterior. Ivalyn's words were carefully chosen, an invitation to engage without revealing too much of her own hand—yet. This conversation, she knew, was the first step in something potentially much larger.

Madelyn Lowe ​

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Location: Qosantyra, Dosuun
With: Ivalyn Yvarro

"It's truly a marvel." Madelyn agreed, her gaze flitting across the room as if admiring the architecture. Truthfully, her mind was elsewhere. Travelling to Dosuun had knocked loose memories that Madelyn had not considered in many years. Memories of her first time visiting her Commissioner's office on Edgefields, her first patrol with the home fleet, her first battle against the Alliance. Since her sojourn to Lord Carnifex's Genesis Pool, she looked far more like that young officer in the First Order than she ever had in the Sith. Every wrinkle, line, and blemish had been scrubbed away. She was as fresh as she had been the day she graduated from the Imperial Academy.

Even so, the Madelyn Lowe that existed then may as well have been a completely different person to the one that now sat in the Vizierial Palace. She missed that person. Even if she looked like her, Madelyn was now nothing but an imitation.

"A living legend of the First Order. Mmm" Madelyn absentmindedly drummed her fingers against her temple. "I was thinking about that on the way here, actually. The Order, our legacy." Madelyn had heard enough about the Commonwealth to understand that she walked a tightrope when it came to the legacy of the Red Maw. By her reckoning, it seemed like the Commonwealth was, much like Madelyn herself, facing a sort of turning point. She hoped that Ivalyn was not as directionless as Madelyn found herself. "I can't fault your cousin for her admiration. The war is remembered these times as an era of glory, of triumph. So few of us are still alive to dispute that, and many care not to."

Madelyn was glad Ivalyn was here to reflect. Lately she'd couldn't help but feel that this place's past, her past, was begging to be examined. What she was supposed to find, she did not know yet.

"I wonder, what is the First Order to you, Grand Vizier?"

"I'm curious to hear your thoughts on how we can balance the weight of history with the demands of the present.

"These days I find myself burdened by history more than anything." said Madelyn. The First Order and its collapse. The years rotting aboard the Hydian Bastion, the arrival of Ryssa and the creation of the Presfbelt Authority, her ascension in the Sith. Her capture, the Alliance, her humiliation. All of it swirled around her brain constantly, tormenting her, chaining her down. Madelyn often found herself wishing she was someone else. She could be, could just wake up and disappear to some quiet corner of the Galaxy, if if weren't for her history. "Is it a question that troubles you and the Commonwealth?"

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

That was a loaded question.

Ivalyn's carefully curated smile remained in place, though something behind her eyes flickered—an ember of contemplation, of memory. Lowe's question was not one posed lightly. It was a question of legacy, of identity, of the weight that history imposed on those who came after.

"For a long time," she began, her voice steady but carrying the weight of years unspoken, "I ran from it." The words were not an admission of shame, but of a truth she had long since accepted. Her gaze drifted for a moment, not unfocused, but searching. "I knew what its failures had done to my mother, Ariel. Balance rest her soul."

The name lingered in the air between them, carrying more meaning than mere memory. "She wanted so much to restore it all—the legacy of her beloved cousin, the nation she had grown up in." Ivalyn inhaled deeply, though she kept it subtle. "She saw the First Order's fall as a wound, one she thought she could mend." And perhaps, in some way, she had. Ariel had tried, clawed her way through the ashes of a shattered empire, "but in the end, when it came time to choose, she had chosen differently. She had chosen her family."

"That is where she and my grandmother differed," Ivalyn continued, her tone still even, but edged with the quiet understanding that history had imparted upon her. "My grandmother, Fiolette, made her choice long before I was ever born. And it was not family." The legacy of empire and war had been a cycle, one that spanned generations, binding them in duty and ambition. But cycles could be broken.

She tilted her head slightly, eyes flickering back to Lowe. "To me, the First Order is a tool, one I have been careful to use." The phrasing was deliberate, and somewhere in it was the ghost of her father's influence. "History will paint it in broad strokes, grandiose narratives of triumph and tragedy, of heroes and villains." She exhaled softly, a nearly imperceptible gesture. "But in the end, it was exactly what all great nations are—an instrument of power. One that was built by my family… and one that was ultimately destroyed by them."

She let the silence linger for a moment, before finishing, "Now, it is simply history." She hesitated, not out of uncertainty, but because there was no singular word to encapsulate it. It was a past that still echoed, a foundation upon which new things had been built, and a presence that, though diminished, had never truly vanished. Instead of finishing the thought, she let it dissipate into the evening air.

The former governor's words carried on, revealing glimpses of a past filled with ruin and rebirth, of chains both metaphorical and very real. "Is it a question that troubles you and the Commonwealth?"

Ivalyn considered her response for a moment, then spoke with a quiet certainty. "It does not trouble us, but it shapes us." Her gaze sharpened slightly. "We are not untouched by history, nor do we ignore its weight. The Commonwealth stands because we chose to acknowledge where we came from and use it to define where we are going."

She studied Lowe, searching for something—perhaps recognition, perhaps understanding. "That is what separates us from the First Order of old. We do not seek to resurrect ghosts, nor do we pretend they never existed. We learn. We adapt. And we move forward."

A pause, then, ever so slightly, she leaned in just a fraction. "But tell me, Minister Lowe… are you looking to unburden yourself of history, or to wield it?" The question was gentle, yet pointed, an invitation rather than an interrogation.

Because in the end, the past never truly left those who carried it. It was merely a question of whether they let it weigh them down—or used it to forge something new.

Madelyn Lowe ​

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Madelyn sat, and took a sip of tea. It really was a fine cup. Though that was to be expected in Qosantyra. Imperials of Ivalyn's breed knew the importance of such a thing. In this part of the Galaxy, they had retained a certain polish and sophistication that their Sith-Imperial neighbours, and those toward the Galactic center had lost. Perhaps it was because in the past decades this region had been spared the brunt of the brutality that had stripped the pretense of decency from the other Imperial regimes. Perhaps it was leaders like Ivalyn and her late mother, who lived as stalwart examples of proper morals and leadership. Madelyn didn't know, but it was a breath of fresh air.

Was it with them that the secret lay? That elusive purpose which she had begun to crave so much since she had woken from the stupor of her last years on Malsheem. She had expected to emerge from those years of reflection with some sort of answer. She had not. In fact, the Galaxy had moved on without her. Madelyn no longer knew her place.

"My grandmother, Fiolette, made her choice long before I was ever born. And it was not family."

"Your grandmother is a brave woman." said Madelyn. "But, I know how these things can leave scars. I am childless for a reason." Madelyn had never longed for family. When she was young, she had been dedicated purely to the mission, to her vision. When the mission had changed, she had changed with it. Even when the Sith had fallen and Madelyn had found herself settled within the Alliance, she had still held herself back from creating a family. Though, when Yves had been alive, she'd been tempted once or twice. Deep down, Madelyn knew if she'd had a child, she'd have wrecked it.

"But in the end, it was exactly what all great nations are—an instrument of power."

"I agree with your analysis." Madelyn said softly. Ivalyn was so interesting, unlike anyone else Madelyn had met from her noble family. Maybe it was that she was so pragmatic, so grounded? Seemingly without hubris. Madelyn nodded approvingly, and went on. "I can see that the crown you wear is heavy." she said. "But, it is clear enough to me that you are the right ruler for these people."

Madelyn leaned back in her chair. She hoped that Ivalyn wouldn't mistake her compliment for needless flattery, or even diplomacy. For whatever reason, she found herself beyond that these days. There were precious few things, few people, that interested her these days. But Ivalyn did, the Commonwealth did. She wondered if they had the answer that she sought, or at least a part of it?

"But tell me, Minister Lowe… are you looking to unburden yourself of history, or to wield it?"

"I suppose that is question of desire vs intention." said Madelyn. "Sometimes, I wake and wish that I were a different person, without the weight of my history." She sighed. "But I am not. I carry it, even if I do not wear it on my skin."

She straightened up and shrugged.

"I guess then I wish to wield it- but into what? That is the question I am struggling with. I am of the old guard. A dying breed, and yet my body is strong and vital. What do I become now?"

Perhaps it wasn't quite what Ivalyn had been asking, but Madelyn was interested to know what she thought nonetheless.

Ivalyn Yvarro ​

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Selfish. Ivalyn's grandmother had been selfish, but she did not say it aloud.

Her expression remained composed, but something in her gaze softened at Lowe's admission. There were few in the galaxy who could truly understand the weight of legacy as she did, and fewer still who would admit—without embellishment or self-pity—that they had been shaped, and perhaps broken, by it.

"My grandmother was many things," Ivalyn said at last, her voice measured. "Brave, yes. Cunning. Relentless. But above all, she was a woman who understood sacrifice." Her fingers traced the edge of her cup, the warmth grounding her thoughts. "I suspect she would have understood your reasoning."

She considered Lowe carefully. There was no judgment in her words, only observation. "The galaxy has little patience for those of us who belong to something greater than ourselves. It demands everything. And we… we give it willingly, until there is nothing left but duty and expectation."

It was an understanding that transcended titles or borders—an unspoken acknowledgment of what it meant to shape history rather than simply exist within it. "But you are not wreckage, Minister Lowe," she added, quiet but firm. "No more than I am. We were simply made for something different."

Ivalyn's voice remained poised, but beneath it lay a knowing edge. "That does not mean we are without choice," she continued. "Only that we have learned to weigh them carefully."

She observed Lowe with quiet scrutiny, her expression betraying neither surprise nor humility at the compliment. Praise was a tool, like power, like history—it could be wielded with intention. And yet, something in Lowe's tone, in the weariness beneath her words, made Ivalyn believe this was not idle flattery.

She exhaled softly, shifting her gaze momentarily toward the horizon beyond Qosantyra's skyline before returning it to Lowe. "The crown is heavy," she admitted, voice steady but touched with rare candor. "Perhaps because I never intended to wear it. I spent much of my life resisting the idea that I was meant for this." A small, knowing smile ghosted across her lips. "It seems the galaxy had other plans."

She studied Lowe more intently now. "But the weight is one I choose to bear because it must be borne. The Commonwealth is not merely a nation—it is a testament to survival, to adaptation. I have come to understand that leadership is not about legacy alone, but about what we do with it."

There was something in Lowe's demeanor, in the way she spoke, that piqued Ivalyn's curiosity. The former governor had seen the rise and fall of so much—had endured, had adapted. And now she was here, questioning, searching.

Ivalyn let the silence stretch for a moment before adding, "And what of you, Minister? You have witnessed the weight of crowns before. Does it still interest you, or do you simply seek to understand why others choose to carry it?"

A pause, then, more deliberately: "Or is it more than that? You led Prefsbelt, if my Imperial History classes were correct." She let the statement settle, before continuing, "Governor of Varonat—you know as well as I do the burden of a crown."

Ivalyn folded the thought neatly into the quiet spaces of her mind. Lowe's confession carried a raw honesty—one that spoke of restless nights and the inescapable weight of a life lived in service to something greater than oneself.

She tilted her head slightly, considering. "You say you are of a dying breed," she murmured, "but I think you are simply in transition. A creature of history, yes, but also of survival. You have outlasted the tides that swallowed so many others." Her gaze was unwavering. "That, Minister, is not a weakness. It is an opportunity."

It was strength.

She reached for her tea, allowing the warmth to linger against her fingertips before taking a measured sip. "You wish to wield your legacy—but into what?" Ivalyn set her cup down, fingers brushing against the rim of the saucer. "Perhaps the better question is—what do you wish to build? Power, when stripped of its grand ambitions, is simply the ability to shape the world around us. So tell me, what shape does the future take in your mind?"

There was no judgment in her voice, only curiosity. Ivalyn had spent much of her life defining what she would not become, only to realize that such avoidance was not the same as carving one's own path. If Madelyn Lowe was searching, then perhaps she was not as lost as she believed herself to be.

Because unlike Ivalyn's grandmother, Madelyn Lowe still served. She still focused on serving the Imperial cause, and that—that was far more intriguing. Perhaps, in some way, even inspiring.

Madelyn Lowe ​

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Madelyn reclined in her chair, leaning on her hand, thoughtful as she listened to Ivalyn speak. The pair of them were similar in many ways, it seemed. Ivalyn understood implicitly what wearied her, and while Madelyn's own outlook on her situation was bleak, Ivalyn's held a spark of hope. She was not wreckage, not a broken thing. Madelyn was a sharpened implement, built for a higher purpose. But, a tool without a target was rather pointless, and Madelyn didn't really know what to do with herself.

She supposed that she could go through the motions. Accrue power, undermine her enemies, further the objectives of her master. Maybe the why of it would come later. At the very least, it might entertain her awhile. Maybe she could bother that Dark-haired, brooding Sith, Malum. Their little correspondence had certainly roused some interest, and Madelyn figured it couldn't hurt to become a thorn in someone's side again. She so enjoyed being an irritation.

Anything to distract her, really. Anything to keep her moving while she figured out her place in all this. Madelyn looked back up at Ivalyn, realising she hadn't spoken for a while. She pursed her lips.

"I think you're right, Ivalyn." she said eventually.

"It seems the galaxy had other plans."

"That is often how these things go." said Madelyn, some sympathy in her voice. Those with the motivation to seek the crown were rarely the same people with the wherewithal to rule. Take her, for example. Madelyn cocked her head as Ivalyn went on, asking about her time in Prefsbelt, and on Varonat.

"And Governor of Castell, in the Alliance." said Madelyn. "But a crown is a tool that no longer suits me." There were many reasons for that, not least of which that every time Madelyn had ascended to the political apex, she had inevitably tumbled ungracefully downward within a few years. A slow climb of two steps forward, one step back. It was exhausting, so she would try experimenting with other forms of power. Madelyn had always had the most success when playing the part of the loyal servant.

Madelyn considered the rest of Ivalyn's words about adaptation, and survival. The Galaxy burned fast and hot these days. It was rare a single polity survived as long as the Commonwealth had in any form, rarer still if one counted the previous Orders as iterations of a single entity. And that made Madelyn rare too, in a way. She had been there from the beginning after all, and as Ivalyn had so rightly pointed out, she was still here.

"You will die a good-for-nothing idealist in a Galaxy full of your ilk. You will join the countless other fruitless attempts to rein in the Force. You and I only live so long. The Empire, the Order, the ideas that sustain them, they too will die. The Sith? We are forever.”

"Yes. Rather short-sighted of me to say I suppose. My enemies used to say I was a dying breed too. But they are dead and I yet live. Best I avoid falling into the same trap they did." Madelyn gave Ivalyn a small smile. All those hotheaded New Imperials, they were old like her now. Their flame had burnt out, and while they laid in the dust, she and Ivalyn struggled on. It was worth some appreciation, even if Madelyn sometimes wondered what the point was.

So tell me, what shape does the future take in your mind?"

"I have no idea" Madelyn admitted. The truth, again. Madelyn no longer had any patience for lying, not that she really cared. "But, the start is usually the same, so perhaps I will begin by dealing in practicalities." Madelyn placed a finger on her palm, as if she were pointing to dot points on a sheet. "I have scant supporters beyond the Kainites and Lady Raaf. Though I know of a value I may yet provide to the Eternalists and the Empire writ large, I require certain things to accomplish that. Military backing, a political bloc, grants." Her eyes flicked to Ivalyn. "Credits."

Ivalyn Yvarro ​

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Ivalyn saw her opportunity. Varonat. It was a prize worth claiming, both in its historical value and for its position in the Ison Corridor. A chance to expand the Commonwealth's influence in a way that aligned seamlessly with her vision. Yet, to move too quickly, to press without fully understanding Madelyn Lowe's intentions, would be a miscalculation.

So, she studied her—quietly, intently—the unwavering gaze of a Bline, the precision of a Yvarro guiding her next words.

"I see." A simple acknowledgment, measured and deliberate. The crown, Lowe had said, no longer suited her. A legend who had outgrown the very titles that would have been an apex for so many. But then, what was longevity without purpose?

For her grandmother, Fiolette, that purpose had been wound tightly around a significant other. But Madelyn Lowe? Ivalyn tilted her head slightly, thumb running along the edge of her knuckles, considering.

The Kainates. She knew them well enough. Her grandmother had aligned with them, and history ran deep between the Zambranos, Yvarros, Raafs, and Fortans. After all it was the Kainates that Ivalyn consulted when it came to the Epicanthix residing in her nation's borders. It was they who she made sure would always have a cultural presence with their people.

"Eternalists." She let the word sit between them, weighted with the heat of memory—of what Lord Marr had demanded of the Commonwealth, of what it meant to navigate their kind. To push such a destructive religion into her nation's borders, tsk, tsk.

"I suppose there is value in their use." A casual afterthought, like one weighing the merits of a piece on a dejarik board. "After all, their own mantra makes them predictable. Their eternal strife against themselves? Easily… directed." Which, in turn, made them easy to isolate, easy to remove when the time was right.

Then, Lowe gave her something far more valuable—something Ivalyn had been waiting for.

"A military backing?" Ivalyn's eyes gleamed with interest now, her head tilting just so, intrigue curling around the edges of her voice. "How fascinating."

It was the tone of a woman who had been waiting—patiently, deliberately—for an opportunity such as this.

Then came the smirk, slow and deliberate, the kind of expression worn by the women of her family when they had already decided on the path ahead. "Credits." A single word, spoken with a glimmer of amusement. "Now, that might be something I can do."

She shifted in her seat, letting her gaze drift toward Qosantyra—her city, her capital, the very heart of the Commonwealth's ambitions. There was much the Commonwealth had retained from the First Order, technologies and secrets that had not been forgotten, merely… kept. Preserved for the right moment.

A moment such as this.

"This meeting might be fruitful yet," she mused, voice smooth as silk, before lifting a hand to summon a servant. She leaned in, whispering something quietly—an instruction, perhaps an invitation—before turning back to Lowe with a poised smile.

"Not that I do not enjoy the company of a legend such as yourself, Minister," Ivalyn said, her tone gracious, yet threaded with something deeper, something purposeful.

She leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to suggest the shift in conversation. "But perhaps you and I might come to an accord. A quid pro quo."

It was not a question.

It was an opening move.

Madelyn Lowe ​

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

"Eternalists."

"Yes." Madelyn acknowledged. "They all have their uses." The idea was that Madelyn remained palatable to as many of the fractious Sith disciplines in the Empire. She had already made a necessary but regrettable false step with the Tsis'kaar. That wasn't something Madelyn was interested in repeating. They were a dangerous potential enemy, as were all of the overlapping loyalties. That was one of the complicated things about navigating a system run by selfish, powerful beings. As Ivalyn had surely experienced, one often had to moderate their behaviour to avoid an untimely end.

That at least, was a skill at which Madelyn was practiced. She was the Sith's unsquishable little bug. Clever and resilient, but ultimately harmless. How she wished it could be different. Perhaps that was part of why Madelyn and Ivalyn seemed to be gravitating towards a partnership. They both shared the same... Frustrations. But this was careful work. She needed to see if Ivalyn was the cautious woman she seemed to be. Imperials of her ilk tended to offer their word, but they also often sought more than they could give. She would have to consider any terms carefully.

Madelyn's communicator buzzed and she checked it by habit. It was not her main device, but the slimmer unmarked one she reserved for her wayward agent. Emerald eyes flicked across the screen and despite herself a small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, quickly suppressed.

"Sorry." said Madelyn. "Work."

"But perhaps you and I might come to an accord. A quid pro quo."

Madelyn nodded and drummed her fingers on her thigh habitually. Yes. Socialising was pleasant, but Ivalyn was right that it was time to get to business. Admittedly, negotiating was not her favourite part of these kinds of talks, especially when she couldn't bring herself to care much about anything, like Ivalyn though she might. Well, at least the consequences of some misstep wouldn't be too severe.

"So then." said Madelyn. "As a start, you can arrange credits for me." said Madelyn. She cocked her head and gave Ivalyn a curious look. "What is it I can give to you? An assurance of some kind?"

Ivalyn Yvarro | Allyson Locke (mentioned)

 

[Ivalyn Yvarro]

Madelyn Lowe​

Ivalyn laughed, lightly, but with true amusement, the sort of laughter that warmed a room without ever softening its edges. "Credits?" she echoed, the word rolling off her tongue with a sort of bemused incredulity. "Dear Minister, I do hope you haven't arrived on my soil expecting to be paid for gracing it with your presence."

She turned slightly, allowing the hem of her tailored coat to trail behind her as she began to walk, every movement deliberate, graceful—a woman well aware of how to command a moment without ever raising her voice.

"No," she continued, with a glance over her shoulder to Madelyn, her expression composed but unmistakably wry. "Surely not you. I had imagined you far too shrewd to posture as a common thug in a well-cut coat."

Her tone was not cruel, merely cool, edged in that fine, silver line of aristocratic condescension that could either be flirtation or warning—depending on how the next words fell.

She gestured for the former Governor of Varonat to join her, the subtle invitation woven between step and tone. "Come. It's a beautiful day, and I find things are best discussed in motion, particularly with those who come bearing knives and kind intentions alike."

A pause, just long enough to let the air between them settle into something watchful.

"I've no doubt that by the end of it all, you and I shall arrive at a… mutually beneficial understanding. A quid pro quo, as mentioned."

There was something in the way Ivalyn said it—an elegance to the rhythm, yes, but also the faintest shimmer of danger beneath the civility. Like fine porcelain, beautiful and brittle all at once.

"You and I," Ivalyn began, her voice measured and sure, "are not like the rest."

She inclined her head slightly as she stepped ahead, her tone neither boastful nor grand, but rather the quiet acknowledgment of two women shaped by empire, burdened by legacy. With the faint click of polished heels upon the promenade, she led Minister Lowe out into the heart of Qosantyra's Imperial District. The city's grandeur unfurled before them, wide boulevards flanked by towering marble columns, the soft hum of speeders, and the glow of lanterns just beginning to awaken as dusk flirted with the skyline. The Belisarius Guard flanked them at a courteous distance, discreet yet unmistakable in their silent vigilance.

"We have been raised—both of us—in climates that demand foresight," she continued, eyes ahead, expression composed as ever. "Where decisions are not made for the moment, but for the century."

A pause.

"So forgive me," Ivalyn added, tilting her head ever so slightly toward Madelyn, "but your... direct request for credits caught me rather off guard." She searched for the right phrase and found it with just enough polish to temper any sting. "One is not often accosted by a living legend, Minister Lowe. At least, not so early in the conversation."

The rebuke was gentle, more an observation wrapped in wit than anything sharper, but her meaning was clear.

She waved a hand with practiced ease, gesturing toward the city. "There is a restaurant just beyond the gardens. Lunarlight Terrace. Their lamb and lentil stew is divine, and the citrus blossom tea is rumored to work wonders on an overburdened conscience. Shall we?"

With the elegance of someone long accustomed to diplomacy draped in silk, she stepped toward the waiting speeder—its glided accents catching the light like fine jewelry.

"My aim, Minister, is the reunification of the First Imperial worlds, every last one, should providence permit. I would see them restored, reintegrated, secure once more beneath a singular banner. That is the mandate entrusted to me, and I do not intend to fail in it."

She allowed a beat to pass before continuing, her tone shifting with the weight of clarity.

"But the Commonwealth," she said, with the subtle authority of a woman who knew precisely what lines she would not cross, "does not operate in galactic credits. That age, and its volatility, was left behind long ago. It was my mother's design—her triumph, truly, that freed our people from economic dependency on foreign markets."

She gestured gently toward the speeder, a subtle invitation to climb aboard.

"We deal in Sovereigns now. A currency backed not by blind faith in broken systems, but by productivity, infrastructure, and trust. That, Minister Lowe, is the value we bring to the table."

A beat passed. Her eyes, pale and discerning, lingered a moment longer on Madelyn's face, gauging her reaction with that same quiet precision she brought to every negotiation.

"Now," Ivalyn said softly, her voice dipped in velvet but with steel beneath it, "let my intent be clear, I want Varonat, the historic value of bringing a world that had endured the siege, the nationalistic pride alone. Yet, I understand that like any world it has needs. I, as Grand Vizier in the Commonwealth am prepared to help Varonat in as much as my position affords me. But, we should procede with caution I suspect the Sith Order might disagree with the Commonwealth on whose banner should fly over your world."

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

"Surely not you. I had imagined you far too shrewd to posture as a common thug in a well-cut coat."

Well, she was definitely an Yvarro.

Grand Vizier, I do not deal in platitudes." said Madelyn. "Forgive me if I have been too direct." Madelyn raised an eyebrow at Ivalyn. "We are here to broker a deal, no? Let us discuss it plainly." Even though these days Madelyn had all the time in the world, in many ways she was still the impatient young Imperial she had been back in the Order

"Come. It's a beautiful day, and I find things are best discussed in motion, particularly with those who come bearing knives and kind intentions alike."

Madelyn nodded her assent and followed Ivalyn to the speeder. If Ivalyn deemed to necessary to spirit Madelyn around Qosantyra to see this through, then so be it, at least it seemed she'd get a fine meal out of it. But why the sudden change in tone? Madelyn had thought things had been going along rather pleasantly. She supposed Ivalyn had reason to be wary of the Sith, then. But Madelyn was no regular Sith. Indeed, Ivalyn should have counted herself lucky to have another friendly face with whom to work.

It was no matter, she wouldn't hold her words against her. The pressures of ruling effected everyone. Perhaps Ivalyn was feeling the heat from somewhere.

Ivalyn went on to talk about how they were not like the others. Madelyn agreed with her for the most part. A First Imperial pedigree was a unique one. They shared cultural qualities and values, even with the gradual changes in values in this part of the Galaxy. Madelyn ignored the comment about 'accosting' Ivalyn. Why was she trying to get under her skin all of a sudden? She listened quietly as they took their place in the back of the speeder, watching the sights of the city flash by on the way to the restaurant. It would not be productive to bicker, so she shrugged it off.

"Sovereigns, then." said Madelyn with a placating nod. "It all goes into the same coinpurse." Really, that was a small victory for Ivalyn in and of itself, dealing in the fiat of the diminutive neighbour, rather than the larger beast of the Empire. Still it was no big thing, and Madelyn didn't care how much Ivalyn dragged out of her provided she played ball. The West of the Empire was hers to dominate, but its most influential resident needed to be onside.

"You want Varonat." repeated Madelyn, nodding slowly. "How interesting." Madelyn pursed her lips and looked out the window in silence, thinking the proposal through, moving the little pieces around in her head as she always did. "Well, I would not be opposed, but there are other considerations. Obviously even if it were mine to rule, I couldn't just give it to you, and I am afraid we both understand the Assembly would never allow another Commonwealth acquisition within Sith borders. So what arrangement then? A trade agreement, a port?"

Ivalyn Yvarro ​