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Arcann slowly lifted the Zakuul Knight breastplate from the workbench and lowered it onto the armour stand. He carefully adjusted the armour’s positioning so the stand would not tip over and send his hard work crashing onto the floor. All he had left to do was wipe down the armour and give it a generous polishing.
He knelt and rummaged through the workbench shelves until he found a clean rag and a metal polishing cloth. He wiped away residual dust and grit with the rag, and once the state of cleanliness reached his expectations, he vigorously rubbed away at the breastplate with the cloth. After watching dull metal give way to a stunning lustre, Arcann rolled the armour stand closer to the window and stepped back to admire his efforts.
He squinted and shielded his eyes with his prosthetic hand. The armour shone so brightly in the afternoon sun that it hurt to look directly at it. Instead, Arcann admired the workshop walls where the sunlight reflecting off the armour bathed the walls in a warm glow.
His chest swelled with pride. He had worked on this piece as soon as he’d been granted access to the forge. His craftsmanship was still excellent despite more than a decade’s hiatus and the loss of an arm.
The last time he stepped foot in a smithy was back when he was a teenager. He and Thexan were taught by the Knights of Zakuul since they were youths on how to forge their own armour. He had surprised himself when he picked up metalworking again here on Odessen; while his skills had gone rusty from lack of use, it did not take him long to reacquaint himself with the ways of the forge. His hands remembered. The tools felt like they belonged in his grip, and just like his lightsaber, became an extension of him.
While Thexan was gifted with the fine touch and precision necessary for ornamental metalworking, Arcann excelled whenever large pieces of metal were involved. His spatial awareness outclassed his twin’s, and Arcann instinctively knew how to strike away at metal to bend it to his will. It all came naturally to him: which hammer to use, how hard he needed to strike the glowing metal, and which angle to strike it at. Had he been born a commoner instead of a Prince of Zakuul, he could’ve made a living as one of the finest craftsmen on his homeworld. But most importantly, Thexan and Vaylin would still be alive.
Tears welled in Arcann’s eyes at the memory of his deceased siblings and a vision of a life that could’ve been. He felt his nose stuffing up and a lump forming in his throat, and he fought the urge to cry. The urge only grew, because memories of Thexan and Vaylin were always followed by memories of Valkorion, and Arcann’s jaw clenched. The tears streamed down his cheeks, and he gritted his teeth. Even after his father had finally shrugged off the mortal coil to the relief of the entire galaxy, the damage done to him and Senya still lingered, and Valkorion still poisoned his thoughts.
Arcann took a shaky breath and blinked the tears from his eyes to better concentrate on his current task. He traced a curve on the armour with the fingertips of his good hand. The afternoon sun lent warmth to the parts exposed to light, and he trailed his fingers downwards, noting the slight temperature changes when the pads of his fingers touched spots where the sunlight didn’t quite reach. He was fond of the tactile experience that came with metalworking. It made him feel powerful, and not in a damaging and cruel way, to strike heated metal with a hammer and hear it sing.
His fingertips stopped on a rough spot on the side. It can still use a few finishing touches here, he thought, reaching for the metal polishing cloth on the bench. It must shine, just like her.
As Arcann rubbed away at the spot, his thoughts drifted to the early months after joining the Alliance. He had known that when he stepped off the shuttle, the pervasive feeling of being unwelcome was just an aspect of life on Odessen that he must accept.
The Commander had personally welcomed him into the fold, to the outrage and disgust of the rest of the Alliance. At that moment, Arcann wanted the landing pad to crack open and swallow him up whole in shame. He couldn’t blame his new allies. Most had lost their loved ones and their homes, and some had lost everything because of him. He had been a mass murderer and their enemy, so it had been and was still exceedingly difficult for most to suddenly accept that they now fought on the same side and lived on the same base.
The Commander, Lana, and Theron had since done some spectacular damage control and public relations sorcery to ease the tensions, and although she’d downplayed the severity of it to him and Senya, Arcann knew that her acceptance of him into their ranks had almost destroyed the Alliance. He had always wondered why she’d put so much faith in him. At least with Senya, it was understandable. But the Commander wasn’t his mother.
The Commander had tactfully kept him out of sight from the other Alliance members as much as possible. She didn't have to do much planning on his behalf during his earliest weeks on base, as he'd spent those at his mother's bedside, rarely leaving the hospital wing until he had to eat or use the refresher. Once Senya had fully recovered from her coma, the Commander entrusted both of them to work on assignments together. After all, there was much that needed to be done for the war effort offworld. They’d destroyed Star Fortresses, raided Zakuulan outposts, helped transport supplies to impoverished worlds, and did everything he could in the fight against the Eternal Throne. Besides, who else had the most knowledge of the Zakuulan war machine other than the former Emperor himself?
When Arcann had rested on Odessen in between missions, he spent time getting acquainted with his new home. There was much to explore at the base and in the nearby forest and cave systems, and he was grateful that he had much to do even when off-duty. Whenever he was idle for too long, he turned to brooding over the weight of his past. Although the Voss healing ritual had erased his anger and left him a changed man, it hadn’t erased his memories of being abused by his father or his actions as a tyrant. Together, Senya and the Commander were the foundation that kept him steady and prevented him from becoming overwhelmed by his memories, and both slowly helped him adapt to his new life at his own pace.
While he had made astounding progress in adapting to his new life, another problem had presented itself. It became painfully obvious that he was very lonely, and it crushed him. Most Alliance members chose to avoid him as much as possible and when they couldn’t, they gave him a wide berth wherever he went as if he had a contagious disease. He understood that others needed time to adjust to his constant presence and he wisely decided not to engage in what would’ve been unwanted interactions.
Nevertheless, he still craved human interaction. When he was younger, he didn’t have much need for friends. He had Thexan, and his world was complete. There was no room for anyone else. While his mother had arranged for play dates with the other Knights’ children and the children of Zakuulan nobles, he didn’t mind much that his father never let him spend much time with the other children because his beloved brother was his best friend, and Thexan was always there.
But now he wasn’t, and grief welled up in Arcann’s chest again and he felt his throat tighten. He had Senya, but he still wanted friends closer to his own age. Some Alliance members had warmed up to him eventually to his relief, but his relief was short-lived thanks to Vaylin.
So, he’d found a measure of peace by working in the forge where he could temporarily forget his misery and be productive at the same time. He realized that he should talk to the Commander and request to work as a skilled tradesman. After all, vehicle replacement parts needed someone to craft them and were always in high demand.
Arcann inspected the spot he was polishing. It looked better, and a quick glance told him that it was now ready. He threw a large sheet over the armour, ensuring that nothing was left exposed. A few of the forge regulars and passersby had asked what he’d been working on for the last few months, but he’d adverted their interests after telling them that it was new armour for his mother. It was a decent excuse, but the last thing he wanted was people looking at it long enough and noticing that armour didn’t quite fit Senya.
He slowly wheeled the armour out of the forge and into the corridor. It was a long walk back to the apartment he shared with his mother. He and Senya’s apartment was far from the main hub, but he appreciated the privacy that came with the distance.
With only his thoughts to accompany him back to his apartment, Arcann’s mind turned to the Commander. During his early months on Odessen, Arcann had spent most of his time avoiding her knowing that his father still resided in her mind. He had kept his distance as there were days where the line separating her from Valkorion was so blurred that he was unsure of where she started and ended and where his father began. It was only after she’d vanquished Valkorion that he felt comfortable enough to be in her company for extended periods of time.
He enjoyed dreaming about her as of late, relieved that she now graced his dreams and replaced his nightmares of war and death. The dreams of her only started after Valkorion’s defeat, as if the parts of his brain responsible for dreaming finally felt that it was safe to do so.
His dreams of her were always simple and peaceful. Sometimes they were at the lake, sitting at the edge of the fishing pier together with their bare feet kicking at the water. Sometimes they were taking a hike through one of the nearby trails with the afternoon sunlight dappling through the trees. Sometimes they were mapping out one of the nearby cave systems together. Regardless of the setting, they were always talking to one another, but Arcann could never remember what they talked about. That was a shame, because whenever they had the chance to be together during waking hours, he never knew what he could use to start a conversation with her. It was always the Commander that talked to him first.
When they’d first met at the prisoner bay of his flagship, he had to admit that he didn’t have a high opinion of her. Having read up on her accomplishments, he expected more after seeing her in person. All of that changed when Father acknowledged her and respected her strength, extended his hand to her, and asked her to join him.
Arcann had remembered the incandescent rage he felt in that moment. Why was this nobody so important to Father that he had extended his hand to her so readily? To be offered the same courtesy, Arcann had endured grueling training since he could walk, shunned his mother, risked his life in battle, lost his left arm, and killed his brother.
Rage had turned into respect when she rejected Valkorion’s offer with utmost disgust. Even when Valkorion had sentenced her to death and Arcann walked towards her with ignited lightsaber in hand, she stood tall, unwavering, and unafraid. She had stared him down defiantly, and this was when he really noticed her eyes. They had such an incredible fire in them, a blaze so extraordinary that weathering countless battles and even facing impending death could not put it out.
He had underestimated her again and again after her allies freed her from carbonite, and in response, she made a utter fool of him as Emperor while simultaneously padding that impressive resume of hers. She stole the one superweapon that rendered his Eternal Fleet useless, journeyed back to Zakuul on multiple occasions to sow discord amongst his subjects, and stole his entire treasury. He had been so close to recapturing her, but she cleverly slipped through his clutches each time.
What an infuriating woman. But he had to begrudgingly admire her willfulness and cunning. She had challenged him and intrigued him, which in a sense was oddly refreshing. But mostly infuriating.
After he’d joined the Alliance, he observed just how this remarkable woman stood up against the Eternal Empire from his new perspective.
Against ridiculous odds, she’d managed to convince people from all walks of life and from opposing political factions to band together, stay together, and thrive together. As the months passed, he watched her personally welcome new arrivals and refugees onto Odessen and help them settle down as smoothly as possible. Whenever he saw her eating, there was always a different Alliance member that she dined with so that she could talk to them and listen to their concerns.
Arcann had noticed how she got involved with everything and everyone. She hunted with the Mandalorians, meditated with the Voss Mystics, and trained with Jedi and Sith alike. As a former leader himself, he knew that she must participate due to her representing the union of different factions of the galaxy, but after observing her a while, it seemed that she got immersed because she was eager to learn about others. She even concerned herself with tasks that he personally considered too lowly for her, such as toiling at the greenhouses or assisting with the cantina cleanup after parties. While she was their leader, she refused to consider herself above them in station and busied herself with various tasks because she saw them as opportunities to help people.
And that was how she won their devotion. Arcann remembered the dark days of his tenure as Emperor. His people had never truly loved him for him. The Zakuulans were devoted to him because of Thexan’s memory and their father’s legacy, and his tyrannical policies and volatile temper had kept them cowed. In the end when push came to shove, fear wasn’t true devotion. He and Vaylin both learned that a little too late. His father had instilled a fanatical following through his cult of personality, but did Zakuulans love his father like how the Alliance loved the Commander? Probably not. Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t recall Valkorion ever actively courting his people like how the Commander courted the members of her Alliance. In fact, Valkorion seemed dismissive of his own subjects, an unfortunate trait which was passed on to and demonstrated by him and Vaylin when they sat on the throne.
Now that Arcann had opportunities to spend time around her and get to know her as a person, it was the little everyday things he noticed that painted a wonderful picture of who she truly was. First was her smile. He had seen it often enough now that he could differentiate between the reserved politician’s smile she wore when conversing with other Alliance members and her genuine smile, shy and sweet, which made its appearance whenever she talked with those closest to her. He was surprised and pleased that she wore the latter smile around him.
He felt honoured that the Commander considered him as someone close to her, even if he didn’t understand why.
Then there was her laugh that sounded like wind chimes. With a laugh so lovely, it was no wonder that he gravitated to her. He found it admirable that for someone who had endured and suffered so much, she could still find it in herself to laugh and smile. Especially around him, since he was the cause of much of her suffering.
She was probably the most wholesome person he’d ever met. Even after he killed her closest friends, stole five years of her life, and nearly killed her more than once, she still found it in her heart to forgive him and move forward. She was always empathetic and good, and she brought out the best in those around her whether she knew it or not.
She brought out the best in me when I couldn’t do it myself.
She had such a beautiful soul, despite all that he had put her through. Even back when they’d fought on opposite sides, there had been a part of him that wanted her, although he absolutely hated himself for even harboring such feelings. Six years later, he still desired her, but the nature of the desire had changed. He knew what he wanted now wasn’t animalistic. He wanted more.
It hadn’t dawned on him just how deeply he had fallen for her until they faced Valkorion back in the throne room. He had been so afraid of delving into the Commander’s mind, fearful that he wouldn’t be strong enough to face his father or confine the darkness within himself. Even so, he’d risked his humanity for her anyways, and faced down the man who’d tormented him for decades.
He arrived at his apartment and the door slid open with a wave of his hand. The apartment he shared with his mother was a simple two-bedroom that they’d worked together to furnish and decorate. He felt a twinge of shame as he stepped though the door, remembering how he had let his disappointment show when Senya revealed to him their rather spartan living quarters on the day they moved in together. Despite Senya decorating their apartment with the art deco style that Zakuulans were so fond of, the apartment was absolutely nothing like the royal apartments on Zakuul. While Senya had grown up a commoner and was accustomed to the simpler lifestyle of the Knights of Zakuul, his luxurious childhood had left him with unreasonable expectations of what apartments should be like, and that was difficult to unlearn.
He had apologized to Senya, of course. It had taken some time, but their apartment started to feel more like a home after he added his personal touches to the space and after his mother added houseplants and fiddled with the lighting. When he had started smithing again, he started familiarizing himself with the craft by creating simple sculptures, and those figurines now graced the apartment. In the end, the living quarters he shared with his mother turned out to be a surprisingly comfortable and spacious. Getting used to being a commoner took time and there was much adjusting required, but he was making improvements.
Arcann glanced at the sculptures, his eyes darting around the living room and kitchen. He started from the bear with the misshapen muscles he made on his first day at the forge and ended on the most recent one – a delicate Iknayid that fit onto his palm. Each figure was special, and each stood as symbols of progress made.
Arcann wheeled the armour to a corner of the living room. He wasn’t concerned about Senya seeing his masterpiece; she was in on the gift after all. While it wasn’t in the original plan for Senya to be recruited into his schemes, he had no choice after his mother had correctly guessed, to his horror and embarrassment, that he had feelings for the Commander.
“You stare at her a lot,” Senya had said to him in private after a meeting in the war room. “And you are not at all discrete.” The rest had been left unsaid.
He squirmed at the memory. At least Senya hadn’t teased him afterwards. In the end, Senya’s inclusion had worked out perfectly, because his mother was instrumental in acquiring the Commander’s measurements for the armour. He had often wondered how Senya had managed to get the Commander’s measurements without going up to her with a tape measure and straight up asking, but his mother had kept that story a secret.
Arcann took a long shower to clear his head. The sun had started to set by the time he stepped out of the shower. He wrapped himself up with a fleece blanket on the couch and picked up his datapad. He drafted up message after message to the Commander, completely erasing each before settling for a simple message for a meeting:
Commander,
There is something I would like to talk with you about, in private. Could you please meet me near the ship docking port?
- Arcann
He stared at the short message, proofreading repeatedly. It looked alright, but he didn’t want to come off too strong.
He held his breath and hit send.
Once he received the notification that his message was sent successfully, he exhaled and threw the datapad onto the other end of the couch. It bounced off the armrest and landed onto the rug with a dull thud. Arcann sighed and lifted the datapad with the Force, gently placing it onto the caf table.
The datapad beeped moments later, and Arcann picked it up to read the Commander’s reply:
Arcann,
I’ll be right there.
- Commander
He froze. He had been so worried about coming off too strong in his message that he had forgotten to specify that he wanted to meet tomorrow morning, and not tonight. The Commander was heading out to the docking port right now right when it was starting to get dark.
Arcann mentally slapped himself. Now it looked like he was asking the Commander to meet him alone in the dark. He didn’t want to come off too strong, and he most definitely didn’t want to come off as creepy.
So much for the perfect message. He groaned inwardly and immediately messaged her back with the specific time and apologizing for the mix-up. Only when she replied in confirmation of their meeting tomorrow did Arcann relax and place the datapad on the caf table.
He laid back down on the couch, debating whether to travel all the way back to the main hub for dinner or just cook up something simple in the kitchen. While he had gotten used to not having room service in the months here and had learned how to cook some simple Zakuulan dishes from Senya, he did not feel like riding his speeder bike to the main hub or cooking from scratch. Perhaps there was still one of those microwaveable dinners left in the freezer he could heat up.
The front door hissed open and Senya walked in with two takeout dinners, unknowingly solving his dinner dilemma.
“So how does it look?” she wondered, gently placing dinner on the caf table.
Arcann walked back to the armour stand and removed the sheet, letting the fabric pool on the floor. He watched his mother’s facial expressions carefully, and it thrilled him to watch her eyes widen in awe.
“It’s exquisite,” Senya told him, the corners of her mouth curling up into a grin.
“Do you think she’ll like it?” Arcann murmured.
“Of course she will,” Senya reassured him, smiling.
“How do you know?”
Senya grinned. “I’m your mother. I know things.”
Arcann looked at her, unconvinced. “What if she doesn’t like the style?”
Senya turned to him. “Style is a personal taste, but when she sees and understands that you poured your heart into that piece and all the effort and dedication that went into making it, she will appreciate it.”
Arcann’s doubtful expression still didn’t change.
“She’ll love it,” Senya softly said. “When do you plan to give it to her?”
“Tomorrow,” he whispered. While he needed insight on these matters, he still didn’t want to talk about his crush on the Commander with his mother. But, there wasn’t anybody else in the Alliance he felt comfortable sharing his feelings with.
“If she says no, do you think she’ll be…weird afterwards?” Arcann wondered. Even the former Emperor of Zakuul feared rejection after all. He felt his ears going red and wished he could turn invisible. While he was no stranger to no-strings-attached sexual encounters with men and women, he had about the same experience with romantic relationships as a blushing teenager. Which was none.
“What do you mean by weird?” Senya asked, confused.
“I want to tell her how I feel, but I’m afraid whatever’s already between us will change and it’ll be different afterwards.”
But what really is between us? Are we friends? Acquaintances? Something in between? Or something else entirely?
Senya looked at him. “It’ll only be different if both of you choose to make it different. If both of you can be emotionally mature, even if she says no, nothing will change between the both of you.”
Arcann nodded. The Commander was an emotionally mature adult, but was he?
I will be, Arcann promised himself.
Senya motioned to the takeout, and they both settled into a relaxing evening of Zakuulan cuisine, with Senya talking about her newest discovery – the source of their dinner. A Zakuulan restaurateur and his family had traveled from Zakuul to Odessen as refugees and had set up shop in the main hub. While there weren’t many Zakuulan refugees in comparison to those from the Republic or the Empire, it was a lovely reminder of home for the few.
The hours of the evening drifted by with Senya watching episode after episode of a nature documentary and him continuing the novel on his datapad. He ended up dozing off on the couch, only rousing when Senya gently shook him awake.
“You should go get some proper sleep,” his mother murmured, gesturing to his bedroom. It was true, he would get better quality sleep in his bed than on the couch, and he didn’t want to look like a sleepless wreck in front of the Commander.
Arcann groaned and hobbled drowsily back to his bedroom and collapsed onto the bed. He drifted off into sleep filled with pleasant dreams of the Commander. They were back at the lake this time, sitting at the edge of the fishing pier together with their bare feet kicking at the water.
Arcann carefully guided the speeder bike to the cliff overlooking the base with the armour bundled up on his lap. He dismounted and walked to the edge of the outcrop with the bundle and waited for the Commander at the top. It wasn’t long before he felt her approaching through the Force. He listened to her muffled footsteps as she walked up the grassy incline.
Without turning around, he started, “I never thought I would stand on Odessen as anything but a conqueror. So much has changed.”
“Your message said you wanted to talk,” she said softly, gentle concern lacing her voice.
He turned to face her. “I have something for you. A gift. When I was young, the Knights of Zakuul taught me to forge my own armour. I’ve worked on this piece since I arrived on Odessen.”
He unveiled the armour and watched her face light up with surprise. “I want you to have it,” he said, gently placing the armour into her arms. “If I am ever unable to fight by your side, I can still ensure you’re protected.”
“I can’t believe you made this,” she said quietly with awe as she ran her fingertips over the metal. “It’s incredible,” she said softly, and looked up at him with a shy smile.
There it was again, the smile he loved so much. It gave him a boost of courage. He sighed slowly in relief. He didn’t realize that he’d been holding his breath at her reaction.
“There’s… something else I need to say,” he continued, emboldened by her smile. “Until now, I only felt hatred for others – especially for you. But you showed compassion I didn’t deserve and eliminated the darkness threatening to consume me. Everything I am is because of you. And I’ll spend a lifetime thanking you for it.”
“Seeing you happy is enough for me. I care about you, Arcann,” she reassured him.
I care about you, Arcann.
And there it was. His lifeline. He reached out for it with his heart and clung to it with his soul.
Out of respect for her privacy, Arcann had never probed her feelings using the Force. He had hoped for so long that she felt the same way he did, and finally now there was a tangible hint of it.
“Is that…really how you feel? After everything we’ve gone through?” he asked, carefully and slowly, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He turned from her and walked to the top of the outcrop. In case she didn’t answer, he didn’t want to let the silence linger awkwardly between them, so he continued, “In the time we’ve spent together, I’ve come to admire you. Your strength, your wisdom, your courage. I never thought you would see me as anything but a former enemy.”
“Arcann,” she started, and he turned around to see her walk up to him.
“But what you’ve said gives me hope. When I see you, I feel something I never knew was possible. I want to stay by your side through whatever comes. I’ve done terrible things, Commander. But if you can accept me, I want to become someone you deserve.”
She grinned at him. “I accept every part of you – the good and the bad.”
“I hoped I would hear those words from you,” Arcann said, relieved. He felt himself grinning stupidly but didn’t care. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this happy.
He took cautious steps closer to her, and then looked down at the ground beside her boots. It was easier than looking into her eyes. “This is…unfamiliar territory for me. I’m not sure how to proceed.”
“Kissing me would be a good start,” she cheekily suggested.
Feisty woman. In that case, he would gladly oblige. “That I can do.”
Arcann didn’t know what he was doing – maybe it was the Force guiding him – but he wrapped his good arm around her waist and pulled her in for a passionate kiss. Her lips were soft and warm against his, and he felt a wave of peace and comfort wash over him. He felt her hand coming to rest on his chest, the warm of her palm seeping through his armour, and her other hand settling on his back and holding him flush against her.
His heart soared, and the universe stopped completely. Right now, there was nothing else but them, and he wished for this moment to last forever.
When they pulled apart for air, he felt so giddy and ecstatic that he thought he might pass out.
It took a few moments for him to gather himself and find his voice, and he noticed the Commander doing the same. It thrilled him to see that he had the same effect on her that she had on him. “I can’t say what the future will bring. But whatever challenge comes, we’ll face it together,” he promised.
Arcann tried to keep a neutral expression on his face as he walked back to his apartment. He must be failing miserably, as the other Alliance members he encountered on the way all looked at him strangely. They made efforts to keep a wider berth from him, but for once, Arcann didn’t care. Today, nobody could put a dent in his happiness.
The Commander had hugged him goodbye and left to tend to her other duties, but there was a mischievous twinkle in her eyes when she bade him farewell.
A promise for their future.
When he approached his apartment, the door slid open, revealing a beaming Senya. She hugged him so tightly that it hurt to breathe.
“Did she like it?” Senya wondered.
“She did,” he said breathlessly.
Senya looked at him with so much joy that Arcann was nearly moved to tears. He couldn’t recall the last time he saw his mother radiate so much happiness. “I’m so happy for you, son,” she exclaimed. “Let us celebrate.”
Arcann watched his mother walk over to their kitchen and prepare two glasses of Corellian whiskey on the rocks.
“I will extend my congratulations to the Commander the next time I see her,” Senya said, handing him his tumbler. “Cheers.”
“Please keep this discrete,” he pleaded, clinking his tumbler with hers. If the Alliance had nearly crumbled when the Commander welcomed him into the fold, what will happen now when people find out that he and the Commander are in a relationship?
He pushed the worrisome thought from of his mind. That will be tomorrow’s problem, but for today, a celebration is in order.
With the whiskey free-flowing, there was a mystery that Arcann needed to solve. “Now that the Commander and I are together,” he said, watching Senya's reaction, “will you tell me how you got her measurements for the armour? If she asks, I’ll have to tell her it was you.”
Senya looked at him with a devilish glint in her eyes. “I walked up to her with a tape measure and told her you needed her measurements because you wanted to gift her with armour,” she deadpanned, laughing as she watched Arcann’s jaw drop. “I'm just kidding. Have a seat and I’ll regale you with the tale of how I actually got the Commander’s measurements.”