Private Through the Fire and Flames

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre felt like she had lost so much in her life, and then she had walked away from both her friend and Master because she hadn't wanted to pick a side to root for. Now that the fight was long over, there had been the chance she might still have lost her friend, and the old soul travelled once again down to Bastion.

She didn't know what to bring, but she knew it had to mean something. Rubbing her chin as it itched, she had half an hour to decide what gift she would have for Zara.

Throwing out the idea of flowers, she wondered if the blonde wouldn't appreciate a good, strong coffee more. There, she figured out exactly what the wounded warrior would need. Stopping at the same street vendor they had several weeks ago, she bought drinks for both of them.

Her only exposure to the Crucible had been her short time there watching the duel. Luckily, everybody knew where Zara was being held. Arriving before the caf could get cold, Iandre did not bother knocking and instead opened the door to the private quarters she was recovering in.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara didn't hear the door open over the quiet hiss of her pain.

The medics said the worst had passed. That the rebar had missed anything truly vital. That with enough rest and treatment and boredom, she'd be back to full strength soon. "Soon" felt like a curse. "Rest" felt like punishment. And "boredom" was slowly peeling the skin from her soul.

She sat upright in the wide bed, propped up by an absurd number of pillows, one arm folded tightly around her midsection. The bandages beneath her robes tugged every time she shifted, sending a sharp spike of pain straight through her ribs and spine. A datapad rested on her lap, untouched for the last twenty minutes. She hadn't read a word.

She stared blankly at the door when it opened. She expected a medic. Or a guard. Or another member of the Chancellorete delivering a "gently-worded cautionary tale dressed as a wellness check."

What she didn't expect was Iandre.

Her brow lifted. "You're real," she said, blinking in disbelief, voice scratchy from too many days of yelling at nurses. "You didn't get vaporized in the stands or disappear into the mountains like some cryptic Force monk."

She tried to sit straighter and immediately winced, clutching at her ribs with a hiss. Her braid was half-undone, blonde hair tangled at her temple. The gauze peeking through the collar of her robe was stained faint pink.

Still, she smiled. Soft. Awkward.

"…You brought caf?"

That did something to her. It wasn't a dramatic shift, Zara wasn't good at those when she was being vulnerable. But something in her shoulders eased, some wire deep inside of her unwound by just a hair. Her eyes flicked to the cups in Iandre's hands, and the corner of her mouth twitched upward.

"You remembered my order?" she asked, suddenly shy, like the memory of better days stung more than the pain in her side. She motioned weakly toward the chair by the bed. "Don't just stand there like a ghost. Sit. Before I start crying from the smell of caffeine and abandonment."

She let out a breath and glanced sideways.

"I wasn't sure you'd come. After… you know." Her voice dropped, bitter at the edges. "After he did what he did. I figured it'd be hard for you to look at me. Since I was stupid enough to get myself nearly…"

She stopped herself. Swallowed.

"…Anyway."

She glanced down, fiddling with the hem of her blanket, then forced herself to meet Iandre's eyes.

"I'm glad you're here."

It was soft. Unvarnished. And real. More than Zara usually gave.

And as she held that fragile quiet between them, her voice dipped low, almost teasing, almost a plea:

"…Is the caf still hot?"

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

If Iandre hadn't had her hands full holding the caf, she would have rubbed at her chin again. She wondered if she was forming some rash or something. Maybe she's been bitten by a bug of some kind. Not giving it further thought, the former Jedi took several steps in as she looked and listened to Zara.

Silently nodding her head when Zara mentioned she hadn't disappeared into the mountains. She took another step closer.

"I did. I also brought some sugar and cream, in case you decided you wanted any. Otherwise, it's strong enough to strip paint off a starship."

There was a slight hitch in her voice, a tiny crack of potential tears, but they didn't break. Didn't fully come to the surface. Iandre accepted them but didn't allow them to control her.

At the invitation, she finished closing the distance and handed her friend the caf. Taking the seat, she looked at the drink before returning her gaze to Zara.

"It is still very hot. I wasn't sure if you would want to have a visitor, I'm pleased you are glad."

She wasn't a sychphant or the kind of person that tried to get close to people for her own gain. No, she was here for Zara, to give her help and support when she needed it. It is what a friend did, and she was learning how to be on.

"Would you like me to fix your hair?"

It might be approaching a creep zone, but she wanted Zara to feel better, and looking better might play a role with that.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara blinked down at the caf in her hands like it was a relic from a forgotten religion. She cradled it with both palms, lifting it toward her nose to breathe in the sharp, blessedly brutal scent of roast and heat and memory. Her lashes fluttered.

"You weren't lying," she muttered, voice hoarse. "This could kill a small moon."

She took a careful sip, then hissed through her teeth as the heat singed her tongue, but didn't stop. She kept sipping, savoring the burn like a punishment she didn't quite regret.

The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It wasn't comfortable, either. It just was. The sort of quiet that only existed between people who'd seen each other shattered and still showed up the next day anyway.

Her fingers curled tighter around the cup.

"I didn't want anyone to see me like this," she murmured. "Laid out. Quiet. I'm supposed to be… I don't know. Flame and steel. Sharp edges and bad decisions."

She didn't look at Iandre when she said it. She looked at the caf. Or maybe the way her hands trembled slightly, despite the heat.

"But you came," she added, softer.

When Iandre asked about her hair, Zara's eyes flicked up, startled for a second.

She hesitated.

Then nodded, once, small.

"…Yeah. Okay."

She didn't explain why. Didn't need to. She just shifted slightly, letting her caf rest in her lap, and turned so Iandre could sit behind her. Her voice was quieter now, but more honest than it had been in days.

"Everyone keeps telling me how lucky I was. Like I didn't almost die from my own stupidity. Like it doesn't still hurt to breathe."

She closed her eyes, letting Iandre's hands begin to gently detangle the mess that had once been a braid.

"I wasn't trying to die. I was just trying to prove… something."

Her jaw clenched for a moment. Then relaxed.

"I don't know what I expected to find under all that fire in him. But I found it. And I think it found me, too."

Her voice cracked on the last word, just slightly.

But she didn't apologize.

She just sat there, still, quietly letting someone else take care of her for once.

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

She gave Zara a quiet smile when she commented on the taste and temperature of the coffee. While she didn't comment on the heat, the hiss was enough of one. After that, they were comfortably silent until Zara spoke again. She admitted that she didn't want anyone to see her in the condition she was in. Iandre still kept quiet until she heard the softer tone of her friend.

"I'm pretty sure if we had known each other when I first arrived, you might have visited me."

Then again, maybe she wouldn't have. Setting her caf down, she picked up the brush to sit behind Zara. Iandre undid the braid that had mainly fallen apart and gently started brushing the tangles out of the blonde tresses. Listening to Zara speak and getting some of her troubles off her mind probably helped her friend more than she expected.

She was lucky, but she was also a fighter and survivor. In a way, she was like Iandre but far more prickly. Not right now, though, and Zara was something closer to a hedgehog instead of a porcupine.

"What do you think you were trying to prove? Laphisto is an ancient soul and person. Older even than me and should have been pushing daisies long ago. I'm glad I'm not."

Running the brush over and through the hair had an additional calming effect on Iandre that she didn't know she needed. There was no judgment in her voice. What was there was curiosity and care. Once she was happy with her work, she began the braid. Making sure each part was as thick as she wanted, she put the plaits together in a firm braid.

"Try not to argue with the old dragon again, okay? Not that like, at least. I don't want to lose you any more than I want to lose him. You're like my first friend. Also, who says I didn't break when I first woke up? He's a time traveller too, and that helped me. Zinayn also helped. You have as well. Thank you."

Once she finished, she would put the brush next to the bed and retake her seat.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara leaned into the brushstrokes more than she meant to. Her whole body softened as Iandre worked through the tangles, the rhythm slow and sure. She could feel the precise fingers at the base of her scalp, dividing strands like it was a sacred act. It made her feel... human. Fragile. Not just flame and posture and knives tucked in boots.

Her eyes closed as Iandre spoke. She didn't answer right away.

Then, slowly: "I wasn't trying to prove anything."

Her voice was quiet. A little brittle. "I know how old he is. I know what he's seen. What he carries. I respect it, even when I want to throw it off a cliff."

She let the weight of that settle before continuing, lashes still resting against her cheeks.

"But he made a fool of me," she said, more sharply now. "In front of the Mandalorians. In front of our people. He didn't stand up for me. Not when it counted."

Zara opened her eyes, staring at the far wall like it was a battlefield she hadn't quite finished conquering. Her voice was steady, but it carried the edge of an old wound being poked.

"I rose through the Diarchy because I don't let men tell me what I am. What I can or can't say. What price I should or shouldn't pay for being louder than they are. I'm not about to start now because a winged relic thinks being nice will win us the stars."

Her hand gripped the caf a little tighter, then loosened.

"It's the principle, Iandre. Not the duel. Not the audience. Not even the pain. It's that he needs to know I won't take his shit. No matter how glowing and ancient it is."

Zara's voice quieted again.

"We're not here to make friends. We're here to bring peace. Prosperity. Order. And yeah, that means getting rid of anyone who'd rather watch the galaxy burn than give up their throne."

Then... ping.

Her holopad lit up beside her with a soft blue flash, and she blinked, startled from her seriousness.

"...Oh for..."

She picked it up, eyes scanning the reminder. Then, unexpectedly, she let out a soft snort and passed it to Iandre without looking.

"We've got a wedding."

She shifted, arching a brow in Iandre's direction.

"Will I see you there? Do you even own a dress?"

Her lips twitched at the corners, amusement creeping in like sunlight after a storm.

"Because I swear to the Force, if you show up in armor or a temple robe, I'll exile you from the reception seating chart myself."

She paused, then added slyly:

"I've got some in the closet. Plenty that would look good on you. Or scandalous. Or both. Want to pick one out?"

And just like that, the tension in the room was lighter. The pain hadn't gone. But Zara was still Zara.

And somehow, that mattered more.

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

They had grown up in different times and had had different lives. Iandre had grown up with the Jedi and learned from them. Zara had grown up in this world, and Iandre didn't know what it had been like. She imagined it had been hard as Zara was closed and prickly most of the time. Only now, when she was down, was Iandre seeing a slightly softer side. Lifting an eyebrow at her answer, she had just said she was trying to prove something. She couldn't say precisely what it had been. Not pushing that any further, the former Jedi was quiet and listened to Zara.

Taking a drink of her caf, she sat in thought on how to address what the blonde was saying. Trying to put herself into the situation, she could understand why Zara did what she did. Looking up from her cup, she sighed a little before speaking. As much as she wasn't trying to upset Zara, she felt she needed to explain something.

"He was trying to defuse the hostile situation that was caused. I'm pretty sure he would have had your back if it came to shooting. He would not have let you get killed. I think you should take lessons on reading the room before you start another war.

"It's got nothing to do with making friends. It is about getting along with the other governments."

At that point, the holpad lit up, and she took it from Zara when she handed it to her.

"What? Oh."

Glancing at her clothes and listening to the threat that was made, her eyes widened, and she shook her head silently.

"I don't! Really? You'd do that?"

Tossing down the last of her caf, she stood up and went to the closet. When her back was to Zara, she couldn't help but smile and pull open the doors. Various colors stood out, and most of the outfits were not intended for formal occasions. She leafed through the clothes, and near one of the ends, she found something that would work for her perfectly.

Pulling it out, she held it out to look at. The off-the-shoulders and low-cut front would still cover her where she needed to be. The sleeves were long and flowing, and the skirt would go just above her ankles. Holding it up to show Zara, the color would look ideal on her darker skin.

"Will this work?"

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara watched Iandre cross the room, the caf now cooling in her lap. She rolled her eyes, affectionately, when Iandre made her way to the closet like someone poking around a high-security vault.

"We don't need to get along with all the governments," she called after her, a dry bite in her voice. "That's not the mission. The Diarchy isn't some galactic club trying to collect trading partners and merit badges."

She shifted slightly, wincing as her side reminded her of reality. Still, the words came easy, sharp-edged, deliberate.

"The Mandalorians would be better off serving the Diarchy. Standing with it. They want strength? Fine. We are strength. But they don't get to dictate the terms. That cantina? That wasn't a threat. It was a promise, that we'll protect our people. Taris is our world. The Diarchs birthright."

Her fingers traced the rim of her cup as she stared across the room, eyes distant for a moment.

"That man, Mandalor, he didn't want a conversation. He wanted submission. Like everyone else who sees a blonde woman with a sharp tongue and assumes she's easier to dismiss than to debate."

She blinked, shook her head, and her tone softened as Iandre pulled out a dress from the far end of the wardrobe. The moment her friend held it up, Zara's face lit up, not smug, not mocking, just genuinely pleased.

"Perfect," she said, grinning slightly, her voice warm. "Honestly, it never quite fit me. The sleeves don't scream 'casually threatening.' But on you?"

She gave a small nod of approval, tilting her head.

"You'll look like someone they should be afraid to underestimate."

Then, leaning back a little with a wince, she gestured with her chin.

"Go on. Try it on. If you're going to suffer through a wedding with me, might as well do it looking like a dream someone would risk a blaster bolt for."

Her smirk returned, faint but sincere.

"And no, you can't give it back. It's yours now. Consider it a gift."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

"Of course not, I agree with you there. However, we shouldn't go stirring up a hornet's nest when the chance comes up. I missed the first part of your conversation with the Mand'Alor. What did you even say to him?"

They had walked in somewhere after it started and before the stun shots were fired. Glancing at Zara as she pulled open the closet and started leafing through the outfits.

"No, I don't think so, Zara. The Mandalorians are a strong and prideful people. They have ruled themselves longer than I have been around. I don't think it's our place to make them serve anybody. On the other hand, I feel they could have been staunch allies. Now I don't think that is going to happen. The Diarchs were born there and it is their homeworld but they moved beyond thier past and have made themselves a new future. Here, on Bastion and all the other worlds we control."

Pulling the dress out, she looked at Zara over the hanger and smiled since they started this conversation. Lifting a brow at the request to try it on, Iandre shrugged her shoulders. Setting the dress on the bed, she slipped out of the many layers she liked wearing and stepped into the formal.

Turning to allow her friend to zip up the back, she looked down and then went carefully to look in a mirror.

"I don't think I'll be wearing the bracelet. It doesn't match."

Touching the secret weapon Zara had gotten for her, she took it off and moved back to the bed.

"How do I look?"

Would it impress Diarch Rellik?

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara watched Iandre move with a kind of quiet amusement, the way someone might watch a well-behaved wampa suddenly decide to wear silk. Her smirk deepened as her friend stepped into the dress, the elegance of it draping beautifully across her frame.

When Iandre turned her back for the zipper, Zara struggled upright with a breathy curse and slowly reached forward, fingers deft but slow thanks to the ache in her side. She zipped the dress closed, tugging it just enough to cinch it perfectly, then leaned back against the pillows, breath shallow but satisfied.

"Okay, okay," Zara murmured, eyes roving in clear approval as Iandre crossed the room. "I see it now. You're officially the most dangerous woman at any formal function."

She took another sip of caf, though her eyes stayed fixed on Iandre's reflection in the mirror. When the bracelet came off, Zara raised one brow.

"Shame," she said, nodding toward the hidden blade. "That little thing would've gone perfectly with the whole 'I'm elegant but I could gut you between courses' look."

But her voice had softened, her posture just a little easier. She let herself look for a long moment. Not just at the dress or the cut or how Iandre carried it. But the woman wearing it, her calm, her quiet strength, her presence in a room that had been mostly pain and ghosts until she'd stepped in.

Then, setting her cup aside, Zara tilted her head slightly and asked, not with her usual teasing lilt, but with genuine curiosity:

"So… are you trying to impress anybody?"

The question hung in the air, uncharacteristically gentle.

Zara wasn't just asking about the dress.

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

"One wouldn't normally wear weapons to a wedding, would they? Thank you."

Remembering the reason she was visiting, Ian felt a bit of a sympathy pang for Zara when she moved to zip up the dress. Looking over her shoulder at her friend, she lowered her arms and turned around to glance down at the dress.

Smiling, she frilled out the skirt and did a mock bow to an imaginary dance partner and met the eyes of Zara in the mirror. Her grey eyes sparkled, and she shook her head a little.

"But I don't want to gut anybody between courses, Zara. Is that all you think about? The murdering of people."

Asking it with a smile, it was a serious question, but if it wasn't answered, it wasn't going to bother Ian in the slightest. Lifting her hand to quietly cough into her, she might have tried to hide the color in her cheeks at what Zara asked. When she felt the heat fade a bit, she turned and faced her friend.

Her back and shoulders were straight, her dark, braided hair appeared to be in order, and she did nod. Glancing at the bottom of the bed for a moment, she then met the blue eyes of Zara.

"Yes, our Diarch Rellik. What are you wearing? Will be trying to impress anybody too?"

In order to keep the dress as neat as it currently was, the former Jedi once again turned around to have Zara unzip it. Trying to make it easier on her, she sat down to give her the chance to reach it more easily.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara leaned forward, teeth biting into a slow, satisfied grin as Iandre did her little spin and bowed to a pretend partner. The movement, elegant and unassuming, paired with the way her friend blushed and tried to wave it all off, was enough to coax something warm out of Zara's ribs, even if the motion hurt like hell.

"Oh, come on," she croaked through a quiet laugh. "Everyone brings a blade to a wedding. It's just a matter of whether it's ornamental or literal."

Then, more gently, "And no, I'm sorry. I'm used to feeling the need to make everyone fear me. Some sort of defense mechanism or whatever my the shrink usually calls it."

She reached forward again, slower this time, and pulled down the zipper with a soft tug, careful not to crumple the fabric. Her fingertips brushed against Iandre's back, brief, impersonal, but steady. Then she leaned back again with a groan and shook her head at the ceiling like it had personally offended her.

She didn't answer right away about Rellik. Not directly.

Instead, she said, "No one's asked me to go, if that's what you're wondering. Not that I expected anyone to. I was a little busy getting impaled."

There was no bitterness to it. Just fact. "But I might have someone in mind. Someone I can drag along if I'm up to it."

Then her eyes narrowed, wicked amusement glittering beneath her lashes. "But you. You're really trying to impress that... baldy?"

She leaned in like she was conspiring with the universe, voice full of mock horror and curiosity.

"I mean, sure, he's tall and heroic and broody in the 'I-carry-three-millennia-of-tragedy' way, but Rellik? Really? I thought you were the subtle type."

Zara smirked, but her tone wasn't biting. Just teasing. Familiar. And when she looked at Iandre again, it was with a small, honest warmth.

"He's lucky," she added, softer. "If that's really who you're dressing up for."

Then she raised her brows and reached for her caf again.

"Now help me up. I need to see if I still own something scandalous enough to remind Bastion I'm not dead yet."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

"Aren't you glad I never feared you? I might have feared FOR you, but your intimidating natural aura didn't bother me. I didn't allow it to. You can be quite scary, and I'm so very glad we're not enemies."

Her friend made a good point about the blades. It wasn't a thought Iandre wanted to dwell on, and she shifted it away to be considered later. Hopefully, much later.

"What happened to make you that way?"

Gently taking the dress off, she replaced it on the hanger and put her clothes on again. Retaking her seat, the dress rested at the bottom of the bed, and she listened to Zara. Tilting her head slightly, she wondered who she had in mind. Then grinned widely at the very apt description of Rellik.

"He and I are the same height. Aren't I the one who carries that weight of tragedy? It might not be three millennia, but close to one. C'mon, it's the truth! Laphisto has had it longer."

Rubbing the back of her neck as Zara said he was lucky, her cheeks might have returned to having some of the blush again. This was new territory for her, and the whole feeling was unexpected. Did she love him? She didn't think so, but there wasn't anything stopping it from happening. Time would tell, and she was thankful when her friend changed the topic to figuring out something for her to wear.

"Are you sure it's a good thing for you to move yet? I could go over there and hold out different outfits that I like, and you can yay or nay them."

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara exhaled through her nose, something halfway between a laugh and a sigh as Iandre insisted she'd never feared her. "That makes one of you," she muttered, sipping her caf. "There are hardened warriors in the Brotherhood who duck behind blast doors when they hear my heels click."

The next question, though, what made you that way, hung in the air longer than she expected. Her fingers stilled around the cup. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, her eyes drifted out the window.

"…Nothing dramatic," she said, eventually. "No secret trauma, no Sith kidnapping, no parents vanishing into hyperspace. Just… a hundred little things. A thousand tiny slights. Men who talked over me. Officers who assumed I was there to decorate a room. Superiors who smiled when I spoke and then didn't hear a word."

She glanced back, a tired little smile tugging at one corner of her mouth. "So I got louder. Sharper. And eventually, people started listening."

Zara watched Iandre dress again with a faint, proud nod of approval. When she made her crack about Rellik and Laphisto, Zara snorted.

"Oh no, you're right," she said with mock gravitas. "You're exactly the type. Tall, tragic, likes poetry and brooding stares across ruined landscapes. It's all coming together now."

She shifted slightly, her side protesting even at the thought of standing, but waved Iandre off. "Please. If I don't start moving soon, my muscles are going to turn to decorative pillows. I can't wear scandalous if I become one."

She braced herself, letting out a sharp breath as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her face twisted in pain for a moment, but she pushed through it. She was always better in motion, even when she shouldn't be.

"You can do the honors," she added, nodding toward the closet. "Pick three. Drama required. If any of them would make someone faint, we're on the right track."

Then, more quietly: "And if he's not lucky? If Rellik doesn't see you for the walking legend you are? I'll make him regret it."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

"Well, I didn't allow it to scare me. You are very intimidating, Zara. Don't you ever doubt that. But I'll be there to stand with you when we face off, whoever your enemies may be. Unless they are a particular dragon."

Giving her friend a wink, that dragon was why she was visiting. Not meaning to add salt to a fresh wound, Iandre hoped this wouldn't upset Zara. She didn't think it would, but one never knew with her. She let out a breath through her nose at one of the answers given to her. She then nodded in understanding and let out an extra sigh.

"Typical of people. I'm sorry that happened."

There wasn't sympathy in her words, but an understanding and acceptance.

"Hey! I don't brood like that. Not yet. Alright, let's get you moving."

Zara might notice that she didn't deny the tragic or poetic part. She agreed with those two points.

"When you're not trying to hide the whimpers of pain, we can exercise together. I'll help you get back into a shape that's better than round."

Expecting to get a good tongue lashing, she headed to the closet to look at the dresses again. Pulling open the doors, she looked at the outfits and dresses hanging. Glancing between the two places, she pulled out three items she thought might fit Zara and a celebration of marriage.

One was a dark scarlet that would make her blonde hair and blue eyes sparkle like stars in the sky. The next was saffron in color and a bit frilly. She didn't think Zara would pick it, but it was certainly unique. The last was a slimming blue one-piece that would expose her back. Between the three, Iandre liked the blue one best and, with a tremendous amount of festive flourish, presented her selections to Zara.

Smiling widely at her last comment, she didn't doubt she would make Rellik regret not noticing her.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

​

Zara's eyes narrowed at Iandre's crack about "better than round," and for a heartbeat, there was that flash of fire, the one that usually preceded a dressing-down or a strategically placed flying object. But instead of a verbal assault, Zara snorted.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that," she muttered, "but yes, I would like to train with you sometime."

She straightened with another grimace and waved Iandre dramatically toward the closet. "Now, go forth and choose wisely. If I end up looking like a sun-drunk senator's wife, I'm holding you personally responsible."

While Iandre rummaged through her collection, Zara stretched her legs over the edge of the bed, flexing her ankles and testing how long she could fake not being in pain. She wasn't getting anywhere fast, but she was getting somewhere. That counted for something.

When Iandre returned with the three dresses, Zara's brows lifted.

"Ooh," she breathed, eyes darting over the scarlet first. "Red for rage and revenge. Always a classic."

She eyed the saffron next and gave it a skeptical squint. "This looks like it's trying to convince people I'm approachable. No one would believe that."

Then her gaze landed on the third. The deep blue one. Backless. Sleek. Unapologetic. Zara went still.

"…That's the one," she said, voice lower now. "It's bold without begging. Makes a statement without needing a banner."

She looked up at Iandre then, her smile soft but edged with something sharp and glittering.

"I'll wear it. And if anyone at that wedding doubts whether I survived this, I'll remind them with a look."

Then, pushing herself slowly to her feet, her hand braced on Iandre's shoulder for a beat, she smirked.

"Don't think I didn't notice you didn't deny the Rellik thing. You planning to stare longingly at him from across the dance floor, or are you actually going to make a move?"

She leaned in conspiratorially.

"Because if you wait too long, someone else might ask him to dance."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

She wore a slight smirk on her face, and luckily, it was facing the closet, so Zara didn't see it. By the time she had found the three dresses and turned around, she had her everyday look on her face. The sun-drunk comment was why she pulled out the saffron colored dress. It was precisely what a senator's wife would wear.

"Where did you even get that atrocity?"

Putting down the two dresses Zara didn't like, she held the last one up for further examination.

"I thought you would like that one best. I know I do. Like the grey one for me. They just fit us exactly as they should."

Leaning to meet her friend halfway, Iandre pulled back slightly at what she said.

"Who else would dance with him? I don't know. I've never felt this way before. Before I met him," she shrugged. "I didn't know how to feel. Not really. Laphisto has helped me there. I'm still learning."

Emotions were something Iandre was taught weren't natural, and she shouldn't feel them or allow them to control her. There had been a few times since she came out of her meditation when she had lost control. She hadn't allowed them to control her, and she would remain in control for as long as she could.

"I'll have to take lessons on how to make moves. I've never learned."

She wasn't entirely serious about taking that kind of lesson, but she did find it amusing.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara arched a perfectly skeptical brow as Iandre questioned the origins of the saffron dress. She waved a hand vaguely toward the ceiling.

"Some minor noble from Kaas City sent it after I gave a speech on interplanetary logistics. He said it 'captured the warmth of my conviction.'" Her lip curled. "I think he was hoping I'd show up to his estate dinner wearing it and nothing else."

She gave the dress a look that suggested it would soon be re-gifted to an enemy. At the blue dress, though, she softened again. The choice felt right. Intentional. Like she could walk into the wedding wearing it and never have to say a word to prove she'd lived.

When Iandre spoke of feelings, of never having felt this way before, of Laphisto helping her navigate them, Zara didn't tease. Not this time. Her smile turned quieter, more private, like she'd found something tender in Iandre's honesty and decided not to poke it with a stick.

"You don't need lessons," she said, voice low but certain. "You've already made more of a move than half the galaxy ever does. You showed up. You care. That man's had people fight for him, bleed for him. But how many do you think have ever just wanted to sit next to him and listen?"

Zara let out a soft breath, then added, with a smirk that curled like fire at the edges, "But if you do decide to make a move… maybe start with the dance. Subtle hand on the arm. Classic. Timeless."

She took a few steps toward the mirror, holding the blue dress up to her frame with one hand, her other still braced lightly on the edge of the wall. Her reflection met her with tired eyes and a proud chin. She nodded once.

"Yeah. This'll do."

Then, looking at Iandre again over her shoulder, she added, "And if all else fails… we spike the punch, make a scene, and bring the Diarchy back into fashion with scandal and high drama."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

"Don't you think it would be divine on a statue somewhere?"

Among the grounds, Iandre was positive she had seen some around. It wasn't her dress to throw around, but she would be more than happy to remove it from their sight. Chuckling as Zara gave her idea about why she was given the dress, she shook her head.

"I can not picture you doing anything unless you wanted to. How did he even know if it would fit you? Ugh."

Without getting teased for being honest and open, it made Iandre want it to happen more often. She drew in a breath at what her friend said. That she didn't need lessons, and she had already made more of a move than many others.

"We already had a dance. Not quite the first time we met, but the first time we got the opportunity to talk and get to know each other. He was showing me around Ravelin, and there was a street musician. I asked him to dance then. Now it's his turn."

As if she were retracing her movements, she bowed to the imaginary Diarch and asked him to dance once again.

"What do you think?"

Turning to follow her friend to make sure she didn't fall, she looked at her holding the dress up and joined in with a nod.

"You will look fantastic in it! Who says the punch won't already be spiked?"

Unless Zara moved away, she would lightly place her hands on her shoulders and give them a gentle squeeze.

"Who are you going to dance with? Your secret will be safe with me."

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara's brow lifted as she watched her friend go through the motions, the subtle dip of a bow, the light in her eyes, a smile so wide and genuine it seemed to light her from within. It was a memory Iandre wore like a secret, precious gem. Zara tilted her head, her gaze unblinking for a beat, then gave a slow, minute nod.

"You've got it bad," she murmured, and the words weren't a jab. No, Zara's voice held a quiet reverence, a hint of something wistful, almost admiring. Something like… envy.

Iandre moved closer, her hands settling gently on Zara's shoulders. Zara didn't flinch away. Instead, she leaned into the solid contact, letting it anchor her as she met her own reflection. The woman staring back looked weary, yes, still bearing the faint shadows of what she'd endured, but undeniably alive. And undeniably Zara.

"So," Iandre said, her voice soft, "who are you taking?"

Zara didn't answer right away. Her lips twitched, fighting off a smile, and her gaze dropped to the dress in her hands. "... Rokul ," she said finally, her voice barely a murmur. "I'll probably drag Rokul along."

A soft flush bloomed high on Zara's cheekbones the moment the name left her lips. She darted a look at Iandre, as if considering taking it back, but then squared her shoulders.

"I mean, he owes me... or I owe him," she tacked on, a little too quickly. "After burning himself trying to make coffee and getting caught in... well, in my mess." She cleared her throat, adjusting the dress against her, a clear attempt to seem unbothered.

"Besides," Zara continued, her voice gaining a firmer note, "he's… solid. Reliable. Not much of a talker, but when he says something, you listen." She paused, her gaze flicking to Iandre's in the mirror before dropping again. Then, quieter, almost a whisper, "And... I don't know. I think I'd feel safer with him there." The words hung in the air, raw and unguarded, for just a beat too long before Zara lifted her chin, a familiar smirk pulling at her lips.

"But if he steps on my feet, I'm throwing him into the cake."

Iandre Athlea​