Private You Will Look After My Son

[Fabula Caromed]

Clan Caromed Holdings, Taris​

At no point in Fabula's life had she ever thought that years of retirement would suit her. At no point in her life had she ever thought that she'd have the time to understand what the sunset of a single world looked like at so many different times, in so many different seasons. An itinerant warrior had no need for next-door neighbors, recipe books, or a carefully manicured garden. A champion of the Blood Wastes had no need for aprons and dresses. Time had seen to it that many things in her life had changed in ways she hadn't expected.

Lynn Caromed was away today, attending a Clan meeting. While Clan Caromed was neither particularly populous nor terribly martial, Mandalore had called for war, and that meant that everyone had to do their part. Practically speaking, for Lynn, that meant organizing her smiths to produce weapons capable of putting the deceased to rest, timetables for local arms factories, and crash-course training for whatever support staff were being sent to the frontlines. As head of their Clan, she had a lot to do. Fabula had a slightly different task.

The landing pad atop their private apartment was peaceful and secluded. The path leading down to their modest penthouse was gently lit in the early hours of the evening, giving it either a cozy or eerie look, depending on one's perspective. Fabula had spent countless hours decorating the little place the two of them had been afforded years prior, after her spouse had taken over leadership of their Clan from her parents. Whatever laid on the lower floors, the top floor was for themselves... and whatever particularly esteemed guests they entertained.

There were no guards, of course. The bravest fool in the galaxy would have an exceedingly brief but very enlightening experience after attempting violence in Fabula's home.

Awaiting Fabula's visitor was a quiet, peaceful soundtrack on every speaker in her home. The smell of freshly-brewed, heavily-spiced tea gently fought with the scents from her carefully maintained garden. While it was absolutely the slightest bit of ceremony, it was probably far less than one would assume she would prepare for her very esteemed company. As she had no servants, Fabula stood outside - in her armor, as this was a time of war - and quietly awaited the unceremonious, unannounced arrival of her guest.

Of course, Aether Verd was a very busy man. But Fabula was a very patient woman.

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

TARIS, CAROMED RESIDENCE

There was not a member of House Verd who did not know the surname Cavataio. It was the string that tied them to Dathomir, the name carried by his grandmother claimed his father as her son. Thus, he was very, very familiar with Fabula, who, before her marriage and her retirement and the quiet cultivation of her garden, had carried that name with a weight heavier than beskar. She was mighty enough to cave in durasteel with a fingertip, to tear the air with her presence alone, and there were stories that spoke of even greater feats whispered from one Verd to the next.

He had been surprised when the invitation came. Fabula Cavataio, the champion of the Blood Wastes, welcoming him to her home with a note both simple and direct. He had made it a point to visit shortly thereafter, for she was family, distant though they were, and family deserved to be seen and honored, especially in times when the galaxy roiled and churned with the promise of war.

The Kom'rk touched down on the landing pad with minimal fanfare, just the whisper of repulsors and the soft hiss of the ramp descending. He did not bring a cadre of Supercommandos or the silent promise of his court’s might, only himself, clad in charcoal-hued beskar’gam that caught the fading light of the evening, and a single bottle of tihaar clutched in his hand, an offering for the host.

When he stepped into her space, the scent of spiced tea mingling with the clean cut of cool air, Aether Verd offered Fabula a genuine smile that reached his sulfur-colored eyes. He lifted the bottle slightly in greeting and spoke with warmth beneath the calm steel of his voice, thanking her for the invitation she had extended and for the welcome she had prepared, here, in the quiet sanctuary she had built for herself.​

Fabula Caromed

 

[Fabula Caromed]

After dying, half-returning from the Netherworld, hopping into a frozen clone body, ripping the rest of her soul out of Hell, and losing potentially decades of her life to hyperspace drift, one minute was the same to Fabula as any other. Zee occasionally called it "dissociating," which was very like him and far too fancy for Fabs. When she blinked her way out of her half-stupor, half-meditation, it was only because she heard engines overhead. The familiar, gorgeous sound of engines.

It'd been so long since she'd took the Pilgrim out for a spin...

For the first time since he'd taken power, Fabula finally got to lay eyes on Aether Verd. She'd never known his father, and had largely cut ties with their only shared link before he was even born... but if there was one thing she'd learned from decades of being inundated in Mandalorian culture, it was that "adopted" was a pointless redundancy. One of her brothers-in-law was a Lasat. A pair of Talz showed up to Caromed revels, and Al assured her that they were very fond of her cooking, and very much Caromed. If an eight-foot-tall teddy bear with a weird fleshy proboscis was family, her estranged mother's grandson absolutely was.

Especially when he'd brought wine. Fabula greeted her guest with a silent bow and accepted his little gift of greeting with a gentle smile. No matter her reputation, no amount of time or blood or destruction would change her demeanor. She was as much Sachae as she was Cavataio, which meant that gentleness and hospitality were sacred.

As ever, Her voice was shockingly soft for a retired terror. "Olarom bal cuum'yaim, ba'ad. Please," Fabula indicated towards the stairs down. "Come in. Make yourself at home."

Without an ounce of hesitation, Fabula quietly led the way downstairs for the leader of just about every nearby world that didn't require gambling on a hyperlane. "Normally I'd offer a more comfortable seat," she explained, indicating to the well-loved sofa in the middle of the lounge, "but we try to keep armor off furniture that's not designed for it. Please avail yourself of one of the sturdier chairs."

Fabs' own trajectory took her to the kitchenette to stow Aether's lovely gift, then return with a platter of fresh, hot tea in her fanciest glasses. They weren't fancy, of course. Just "her fanciest." With all of her little tasks taken care of, the most resilient legacy that Petra had left took a seat across from Aether, and offered a warm smile. "Bal vor entye par shaadla. You must be very busy, and I appreciate that you could find the time for family."

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

TARIS

Aether had carried expectations into this meeting, shaped by the stories passed from one generation to the next, each one layering Fabula Cavataio in the colors of myth and legend. It was the sort of reputation that could overshadow the person behind it, a towering specter of might and ferocity that left little room for anything else. Yet, in the soft way she welcomed him, in the gentle bow and the warmth that touched her words as she called him nephew, those unspoken nerves he had carried with him into her home simply fell away. He offered her a grateful smile, one that touched his eyes, before inclining his head in return.

“Thank you for having me.” he said, his voice carrying the easy calm that came when the air was right and the company was family.

He followed her down the stairs without hesitation, his eyes briefly catching on the well-loved sofa before she explained the house rule regarding armor and furniture. The chuckle that escaped him was genuine as he lowered himself into the sturdy wooden chair, the beskar plates of his armor settling with a muted clink. “The last thing I would want is to owe you a new sofa. I can completely understand the rule.”

When she returned with the tea, he accepted the glass with both hands, raising it lightly in her direction before indulging in a sip. It was good tea, comforting in a way that paired well with the clean air of her home, and in those few quiet moments, Fabula made him feel right at home. “Never too busy for family.” he replied, lowering the glass with a small smile. “I am glad we could finally meet.”

He set the glass on the table and motioned toward her, his expression carrying a note of curiosity that was softened by the humor in his tone. “Truth be told, I know so little of you and your side of the family. I was born far from Dathomir, and it was only recently that I set foot upon it for the first time. It seems it took me becoming Mand'alor to finally get in touch with my grandmother’s side.” A chuckle followed, his gaze bright with the quiet delight of a man who found joy in these simple moments, even as the weight of crowns and battlefields waited elsewhere.​

Fabula Caromed

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Considering the pretense on which Fabula had invited him over, it wasn't surprising that Aether would want to talk about old ghosts whose light had long since passed from the galaxy. Still, prepared as she might've been to discuss that particularly thorny relationship, she'd at least hoped it would take them longer to broach the topic. Her son was bright and creative and thoughtful; he might've seen it coming and formulated of an approach. Fabula's way was simply to plow through any wall she found in the most direct route possible.

"While it's important to engage with all of one's heritage, no matter how estranged," she began as she settled onto her chair and poured herself a cup of tea, "there are certain things that are best viewed as cautionary, more than inspirational." The Caromed matriarch's quiet, gentle tone took a sharp swerve towards careful diplomacy. Settling things with words wasn't her forte, but she could at least avoid causing any more grief than necessary.

Provided, of course, she could keep her personal opinions out of every word that spilled from her mouth.

Fabula took a long sip of fresh, hot tea to give herself time to think up a response devoid of any unnecessary poison. When she set her cup down, her demeanor remained just as soft. "Your grandmother was a complicated woman. Possibly 'is,' as I doubt Abeloth to be as resilient as Mother, no matter how overdue our line is for the silence of death." Mm. Check your poison, idiot girl.

"While Mother had many qualities that I wish no living being to apsire to, least of all my own kin, her purest truth was in adoration for her children, her home, and her lineage," she continued in a less kind and somehow even more careful voice than before. "I haven't raised my children to be witches, or even Cavataios, but I have raised them to think of home. If nothing else, that's the legacy I think Mother would be happiest if you upheld."

Why, that was downright pleasant. Maybe seventy-five years had been long enough to get over herself.

After another sip, Fabula placed her cup on the table and leaned forward, her armored elbows clanking softly on its surface. Her eyes flashed briefly with mischief, which itself carried down into the little smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth. "And, to be fair, I'm equally unfamiliar with my estranged brother. While I'd love to hear of your father - and I'm sure you have volumes to speak on him - I think I'd rather hear about you at the moment."

Bringing up both palms to cradle her chin, Fabula's attention was so completley on Aether that it could've easily been suffocating. "Tell me, ba'ad, what occupies a brilliant and impressive young man's attention these days, when he's not leading an intergalactic nation or fighting a war against death?"

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

TARIS

When Fabula began to speak, Aether’s brow rose ever so slightly, a silent mark of curiosity. He took a sip of his tea, letting her words roll over him like a slow tide. There was a care in the way she spoke, one he did not miss. She tread carefully, and though he appreciated the diplomacy, he found the undercurrent of honesty far more valuable.

As she continued, describing his grandmother with a mix of reverence and sharp-edged restraint, Aether let out a low, genuine chuckle.

“You speak of my grandmother the same way I speak of my mother,” he said softly, a hint of warmth threading through his voice. “With measured fondness and a long list of footnotes.”

The smile lingered on his face as Fabula took her second sip and gently steered the conversation elsewhere. Away from the ghosts of Dathomir and the wandering shadow of Isley Verd. She asked about him. The man, not the mantle.

He settled back slightly, one arm resting along the edge of the chair, and gave her the truth.

“When I am not overseeing my Empire or keeping my blade arm from rusting, I have a horrendous addiction to holodramas.”

His eyes lit up with mirth, and the sound that followed was a real, hearty laugh.

“There’s this one...Love Planet. They toss a bunch of couples from across the galaxy into a single villa and make them compete for a prize pool. Romance, betrayal, far too many beachside confessionals. It is exactly as terrible as it sounds, and I cannot look away. I highly recommend.”

He took another sip of his tea before continuing, his tone shifting to something more reflective.

“When I need quiet, I take to the skies. My Basilisk is old, but she’s mine. There’s something about flying that never loses its edge. When I’m up there, it feels like I can breathe.”

Then, with a small gesture toward her and a tilt of his head, he returned the question.

“And what about you, Auntie? When you’re not brewing exceptional tea or unraveling the legacy of ancient witch queens, what keeps your attention these days?”

He leaned forward slightly, the light from the window catching on the faint smile that lingered beneath his words. “I confess, I don’t actually know what you spend your time on. Enlighten me.”​

Fabula Caromed

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Oh now that was cute. That was legitimately cute. While she hadn't really known what was going to go into this whole meeting, one thing Fabula hadn't expected from Aether was for him to immediately divulge his secret, forbidden, shameful love of abject holotrash. "Humanizing" was a pointless and slightly jingoistic word, especially so far out on the rim, but alternatives in Basic were unfortunately far too limited; "redeeming" implied he'd done something wrong, "characterizing" wasn't warm enough. Mando'a would be even worse for this sort of thing. It'd probably wind up with some cobbled-together nonsense like "he speaks like himself."

Fixing her hair behind one ear, Fabs leaned her head to the opposite side and gave a slightly dreamy smile. Her expressions were a bit difficult to read, given that she generally looked mildly detached from reality. Warm, motherly smiles were easy, but... what was that stare? Was she hungry? Was she distracted?

"Up until very recently," she began, one finger drumming softly on the saucer that held her tea, "most of 'my time' was my childrens' time. Few other people are positioned to help Fable live comfortably, Lynn requires similar care, and Zalke wasn't yet a man." According to some of his tastes, Fabula still had difficulty processing that he was a man at all, but Zee had been very clear. As with many things, while Fabula might not have understood, her world didn't have to make sense for her to exist within it.

Sitting up properly, demurely, Fabs took a quick sip of tea and indicated towards her interior garden with the slightest nod of her head. "Now that we have slightly more time together, Lynn and I have taken to gardening again. When Zee was still living here, so much of this room was full of his creations. I don't think there were three surfaces up here that he hadn't filled with little trinkets that I couldn't understand no matter how hard I tried."

He reminded her so very, very much of the women who had raised her; kind, creative, brilliant, and obsessed with machines.

After a moment of nostalgia, Fabula set her cup back down and clasped her hands together on the table. "Which conveniently brings me to the reason why I invited you over." Her presence shifted slightly, much sharper than the mild, comforting tone she never stopped speaking in. "When you sent out the call, Caromed prepared for war. This was not a unanimous decision on our part; the last time Mand'alor called, we lost many to the Death Watch purges."

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

TARIS

If there was any dissonance between Fabula’s gentle smile and the strange, far-off look in her eye, Aether paid it no mind. He was content. Proximity to kin, drinking good tea, speaking plainly. That was enough. The warmth of family, however distant or complex, outweighed any uneasy glance that might have sent a lesser man searching for meaning.

So he listened, quiet and respectful, as she spoke of her children. Of how her time had not been her own for so long. He could picture it easily...the small trinkets, the careful caretaking, the quiet strength that had long defined the women of their bloodline. He said nothing, only nodding as he took another sip from his cup. She was guiding the conversation somewhere else now, and he followed.

When she named it, when she spoke of the Death Watch and what their last Mand’alor’s call had cost, Aether sat upright.

His eyes settled on her fully. The tea no longer held his interest. He set the cup down with care, but there was weight behind the movement. Not anger. Not offense. Purpose.

“I heard the stories.” he said, voice quieter than before but no less firm. “I was not yet alive when the Death Watch tore our people apart, but I know of it.”

His hands rested on the table now, fingers steepled. He did not flinch from the truth she laid bare. Instead, he met it head-on.

“My call is not theirs.” Aether continued. “I do not fly the banners of those who dream of segregating our people so that only the 'pure' of blood remain."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice steady.

“I seek to unite what was divided. To gather what was scattered. I called our people to stand together because I believe we still can. That we must. I am not asking you to forget what was done, or to blindly trust me because we are kin. Only to see that this time, it is different.”

A breath passed, and then his shoulders eased...ever so slightly.

“If you need proof, then let me give it to you. However long it takes.”​

Fabula Caromed

 

[Fabula Caromed]

The fact that everyone else in the galaxy would likely look Aether Verd in the eye and see a confident, inspiring, powerful warlord wasn't lost on Fabula. In this moment, though, she couldn't help but smile as she saw the passionate speech and fiery gaze of a boy eager to prove his ideals. If that kind of fire was common in Aether's crusade, then Fabs didn't need to worry. he new generation would be fine, provided they weren't all killed by the Sith.

Fabula held up one hand and gave a gentle bow of her head. "I seem to have misspoken. While Lynn sees little difference between you and any other man who's held your title, I don't hold you accountable for the crimes of men who were dead before you were born." With that little placating gesture, she returned her hands to clasp her cup of tea with the gentle grace of a woman who couldn't crush steel with her bare hands.

"I called you here to tell you of one specific warrior," she continued, her eyes staring dreamily off into the middle distance of her tea. It wasn't difficult to tell what shape she'd found there from where her words went. "He's young. Brilliant, beautiful, and gentle. Both of us think him soft, but I'm not fool enough to ignore the folded iron of his spirit."

The Caromed matriarch took a long moment to her own thoughts, then reached up one hand to fix her long hair behind one armored shoulder. Her gaze returned to Aether's face. Her stare was a bit intense, as if blinking was a luxury she allowed herself rather than a biological necessity. "My youngest. His name is Zalke Caromed. He prefers 'Zee.' He is your cousin, Aether."

Fabula let another long pause fill the room, this time broken only by the sound of the fountain in the midst of their penthouse garden. When she felt an appropriately dramatic amount of time had passed, she brought one hand to her mouth and cleared her throat into her fist. Her posture, as always, remained immaculate. Despite her favorite activities and the environment she was most comfortable with ("indescriminate murder" and "active warzones," respectively), Fabs' mannerisms consistently looked like she wouldn't be out of place at a royal banquet.

"I recognize that he is a warrior now. A man grown. Men die in war; it's only natural that casualties occur in larger numbers when more people are trying to outrun each other in the race to escape the looming specter of death. Moreover, as Mand'alor, you are beholden to your people as a whole, rather than any single brother or sister in iron. Favoritism is impractical." She let out a deep breath, then met Aether's gaze as directly as possible.

An uncharacteristic chill took Fabula's voice, a momentary indicator of a creature from ages long past. "Even so. I must impress upon you that the loss of Zalke Caromed would be a tragedy far too great for this galaxy to survive."

Aether Verd

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

TARIS, CAROMED RESIDENCE

When Fabula offered her clarification, making plain that she did not hold him accountable for the sins of the Mand’alors who had come before, Aether inclined his head in quiet gratitude. He did not rush to fill the air again, choosing instead to let her words carry the room. The steady grace with which she clasped her cup, the measured cadence of her voice, and the subtle precision of her movements reminded him that every exchange with her was a balance between family warmth and the unspoken steel that underpinned it.

His brow lifted slightly when she spoke of one particular warrior. Brilliant, gentle, and yet carrying folded iron in his spirit. He kept his silence, watching her intently as she met his gaze with a stare that did not yield. When she named him, Zalke Caromed, and added that he preferred to be called Zee, the truth unfolded with quiet inevitability. Her son. His cousin. She had summoned him here to speak of her own blood. The silence that followed was dense, each breath marked by the subtle rush of the fountain, each heartbeat counting toward whatever came next.

When she continued, the shift in her tone was impossible to miss. The warmth gave way to something glacial, a sudden echo of the woman who had once borne the Cavataio name. Her declaration that the loss of Zalke Caromed would be a tragedy too great for the galaxy to survive was not spoken in hyperbole. She meant every syllable, and Aether had no doubt she possessed the will and means to make that conviction reality if tested. The chill of it traced down his spine, not as fear, but as an acknowledgment of truth.

He leaned forward then, closing the space between them until the intensity of her stare met his own in equal measure. “I look after my family,” he said, the words simple but carrying all the weight he intended. He let them settle before he continued, his voice steady with conviction. “I will keep an eye on him, though not so close as to shadow his every step. In battle, I will see to it that he returns to you safe and whole. The only thing that will take Zee from you will be ripe, old age.”

The promise hung between them for a moment, unbroken by pretense. Then, with a subtle shift in his tone, he allowed a genuine smile to form, one offered without calculation. It was an expression meant to assure her that his words were not spoken for form’s sake, but because he meant them.​

Fabula Caromed