Lady of Juniper
The courtyard was quiet in the late afternoon, softened by the patient light Naboo seemed to hold in its hands and the slow movement of the wind through the stone arches and flowering vines. It was the kind of place shaped for reflection rather than instruction, a space where voices did not need to rise in order to be heard and where thoughts were given room to settle, stretch, and finish forming before they were spoken aloud.
Jairdain had chosen it with intention.
She stood near the edge of a shallow reflecting pool, her hands folded loosely at her waist, her presence steady and unhurried. The events of the earlier lesson still lingered in the Force like fading echoes, a mixture of questions about solitude, identity, restraint, and the cost of walking difficult paths without companions. None of it had been resolved in a single afternoon. It never was.
Nor should it be.
She had asked Tatiana to meet her here afterward, not to continue the lesson, but for something quieter. Something more personal. Something that required stillness rather than structure.
When she felt the familiar signature of Tatiana's presence approach, Jairdain turned slightly toward it, her expression already warm, as if she had been waiting for that presence to arrive and had known it would.
"Thank you for coming," she said gently, inclining her head in greeting. "I appreciate that you were willing to make time."
She extended a hand in a small, graceful gesture toward a stone bench that overlooked the water, its surface warmed by the sun and framed by drifting petals.
"Please. Sit, if you like."
Once they were settled, or at least sharing the same quiet space, Jairdain allowed a brief pause. It was not empty silence, but a deliberate one, giving Tatiana room to arrive fully, to let the residue of training and expectation fall away so that something more honest could take its place.
"You mentioned," Jairdain continued softly, "that you wished to speak further about what was discussed. About the nature of crossing boundaries. About those who do not return."
Her voice carried neither warning nor encouragement. Only invitation. A door held open without pressure.
"I meant it when I said I would be willing."
She folded her hands again, her posture open and steady, the kind of openness that came from long practice rather than effort.
"But before we speak of theory," Jairdain added, "I would rather understand what prompted the question for you."
Her blind gaze rested in Tatiana's direction with quiet certainty, attentive and sincere, as if she could see more clearly through the Force than most could with their eyes.
"Was it curiosity," she asked quietly, "or concern?"
Tatiana Sah
Jairdain had chosen it with intention.
She stood near the edge of a shallow reflecting pool, her hands folded loosely at her waist, her presence steady and unhurried. The events of the earlier lesson still lingered in the Force like fading echoes, a mixture of questions about solitude, identity, restraint, and the cost of walking difficult paths without companions. None of it had been resolved in a single afternoon. It never was.
Nor should it be.
She had asked Tatiana to meet her here afterward, not to continue the lesson, but for something quieter. Something more personal. Something that required stillness rather than structure.
When she felt the familiar signature of Tatiana's presence approach, Jairdain turned slightly toward it, her expression already warm, as if she had been waiting for that presence to arrive and had known it would.
"Thank you for coming," she said gently, inclining her head in greeting. "I appreciate that you were willing to make time."
She extended a hand in a small, graceful gesture toward a stone bench that overlooked the water, its surface warmed by the sun and framed by drifting petals.
"Please. Sit, if you like."
Once they were settled, or at least sharing the same quiet space, Jairdain allowed a brief pause. It was not empty silence, but a deliberate one, giving Tatiana room to arrive fully, to let the residue of training and expectation fall away so that something more honest could take its place.
"You mentioned," Jairdain continued softly, "that you wished to speak further about what was discussed. About the nature of crossing boundaries. About those who do not return."
Her voice carried neither warning nor encouragement. Only invitation. A door held open without pressure.
"I meant it when I said I would be willing."
She folded her hands again, her posture open and steady, the kind of openness that came from long practice rather than effort.
"But before we speak of theory," Jairdain added, "I would rather understand what prompted the question for you."
Her blind gaze rested in Tatiana's direction with quiet certainty, attentive and sincere, as if she could see more clearly through the Force than most could with their eyes.
"Was it curiosity," she asked quietly, "or concern?"
Tatiana Sah