Chapter Text
Occasional volleys of well-encrypted messages. Three rendezvouses on assorted neutral worlds. Consistently pleasant conversation. The Barsen'thor proved to be a kindred spirit at their first meeting, on Ilum, but Vhiyat hardly expected their association to last, much less intensify.
Rendezvous number four finds them on Nar Shaddaa. It's a convenient location—a common stopover, home to a significant percentage of Vhiyat's personal power base, understanding of the value of discretion. No one bats an eye at a Mirialan and a Rattataki, both in plainclothes, spending a few hours in a secure corner of a Promenade diner. For all they know, it's just another underworld deal, or a romantic date, or something equally tedious.
Vhiyat lounges in her seat—objectively superior in ergonomics to her throne on Korriban, to say nothing of the improved company—and smiles at the little Jedi. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you detested your colleagues," she says.
Aionar grimaces and stirs their caf. "They frustrate me. On occasion." They flick their gaze upward to meet Vhiyat's for a moment, then down and away. "Probably nowhere near as much as—huh. Do you actually like any of yours?"
Vhiyat sighs theatrically. "I can't afford to get attached, with such a high turnover rate," she says in mournful tones. Then, sobering: "Honestly, no. It's like arguing with children who are all at least twice my age, and four times as arrogant. And I say this as a professional egotist."
Aionar winces. "Sounds ... difficult."
"I manage, somehow." She nibbles at a strip of fried vegetable. "I confess, I'm unfamiliar with the particulars of your Council's dramatis personae. Aside from your own illustrious self, of course."
They set their spoon down with a sharp clink. Wariness twitches at the Force before it's whisked back into their general obfuscatory radiance. Aionar's expression betrays nothing—but that very neutrality is telling.
She may, perhaps, have overstepped. Which is ironic, given that she has no particular interest in manipulating Jedi internal politics. Vhiyat half-raises her hands and keeps her smile nonthreatening. "Personal curiosity only, I assure you," she says. "We're two young professionals complaining about our coworkers, nothing more."
Aionar hesitates, then says, "For a while, nearly half of them were trained by the same man."
"Ooh, nepotism? How banal."
They shrug. "He was never a Councilor himself. Just his students. I replaced one of them when he—fell ill. And Jaric Kaedan died on Ilum."
"Hmm. Yes. Terrible shame," Vhiyat says.
Aionar slumps back in their seat. "You killed Kaedan, didn't you," they sigh, pinching the bridge of their nose.
Vhiyat smiles, unapologetic.
They take a large gulp of their caf. "Never liked him much, anyway," they mutter into the mug. Their eyes widen a fraction; they glance around, as if worried they'll be overheard, and nearly fumble the mug as they set it down.
Vhiyat puts her hand over theirs, patting it sympathetically. They stiffen at the gesture—but only for a moment. "There's no need to speak well of the dead, if they were obnoxious in life," says Vhiyat. She pauses. "Or in death, for that matter; death doesn't always put a stop to them."
"You'd know, I take it."
"Intimately. But—you were saying?"
There's another silence. "Even now," they say, just before it grows awkward, "it's—I'm not one of them. Not really. I'm on the Council because of circumstance, not because any of them actually believed I belonged there." They sneer. It's a shockingly good look on them. "The others will argue among themselves, but as soon as I have an opinion of my own, they close ranks. No matter how well I present my case, no matter how rational and dispassionate and respectful I am, it's not enough. I'm too brash, too volatile, too inexperienced. They trust me to save planets but not to set policy."
Vhiyat stares. That is ... significantly more, and more potentially exploitable, information than she had any reason to expect. A feint? A gesture of trust? An error in judgement? She did tell them she wasn't looking for leverage, but—
Aionar dumps another packet of sweetener into their caf, stirring viciously. "So here I am, the youngest Jedi Master in living memory, whining to a Sith Lord that the grown-ups aren't listening to me."
"Have you tried reverse psychology?" she ventures.
"Ha. Yes. I got complimented on the maturity of my suggestion."
Vhiyat hisses in sympathy. And—well. If this is a feint, it's an audacious one, and she'd hate to deprive them of the chance to follow through. If it's a gesture of trust, she can hardly be blamed for prodding, testing just how far their tolerance extends. And if it was indeed a mistake ... she hopes it wasn't. She'd be disappointed in them if it were.
"Your colleagues are fools," she says. "You are, at absolute worst, their loyal opposition. What harm could it do, to at least listen? Have they grown so comfortable in their power that honest dissent is frightening to them?"
"Let me guess—peace is a lie, conflict begets strength?"
Vhiyat pops another fry into her mouth. "Admittedly, half the time it just begets shouting."
"Mostly that was Master Kaedan," Aionar muses.
"Mm. You're welcome."
Aionar gives a startled laugh, then looks away, embarrassed.
Vhiyat pushes again: "So perhaps it's not the possibility of conflict itself that they find so distressing. What if it's something else?"
Dead silence. Then Aionar draws in a breath. "You think I don't know?" they say, dangerously quiet. "You think I somehow failed to notice that the Jedi Council is trying to keep me on a leash? That they're afraid of me?"
Vhiyat blinks. "Erm." She'd been angling towards that conclusion, but—
Aionar laughs venomously. "Don't try to trick me into falling, Sith. At least have the decency to be upfront about it."
"... I underestimated you," says Vhiyat. "And I apologize."
Aionar frowns, and tilts their head. "It occurs to me that I may be misinterpreting what's happening, here. Do you even want me to fall, or is this something else?"
A fair question. And one she's inclined to answer honestly. "Well," says Vhiyat, "I would hardly complain if you did choose the dark side. But I'm far more interested in your reaction to temptation than I am invested in its success—you're no hapless initiate or true believer, willfully ignorant of your Order's flaws. You recognize the dynamic and resent it, and you're offended by the suggestion that you were unaware. You—" she steeples her fingers and tilts them ever so slightly towards them— "are intriguing."
Aionar's expression appears to get lost somewhere between wariness and pleasure. Then it shifts into a careful, deliberate smile, closed lips and uncomfortable eye contact. "I don't suppose you've ever used the light side of the Force."
"No," Vhiyat says, suspicious. Such a clumsy redirect. They can't be serious, can they?
The corner of Aionar's mouth twitches. Their stare doesn't waver. "Seems like a significant oversight, if you're after power through superior knowledge."
Not serious at all. Vhiyat taps her fingers together and drawls, "Are you offering to help me, ah, correct this oversight?"
Aionar is outright smirking. "Are you sufficiently tempted, or do we need to turn this into a mutual dare?"
"Ooh, a reciprocal arrangement? You try mine if I try yours?"
"... Huh." Aionar stares a moment longer, then sits back. "So this really isn't about winning, for you," they say after a beat. They let their gaze drop away from Vhiyat's eyes, and reach out for their caf again. "This is just you having fun."
"I generally do, Jedi," Vhiyat says. She prides herself on her ability to modulate the degree to which Jedi sounds like an insult. This is, she would hope, a fond one.
The Force thrums between them, tense and bright and ... not unpleasant. Outright thrilling, if she's honest.
... Oh, why not? "I wouldn't be averse to taking you up on the offer, though," Vhiyat says, inspecting her fingernails. "As you said, my ignorance is a grievous oversight. And I seem to recall something to that effect in your Code, as well."
Aionar's amusement evaporates; the Force goes chilly and sour. They don't respond, at first. Then they exhale. "I find that 'there is no ignorance, there is knowledge' is generally taken as license to declare that we already know everything worth knowing."
"Repulsive," says Vhiyat. "Absolutely disgraceful. I'm appalled."
That earns her an eye-roll. She decides to consider it a victory.