Set In Gold
Freshly graduated from Padawan to Knight, Ngona is ready to receive the traditional Pantoran facial tattoos, but without any knowledge of her family's tattoo design, she isn't sure what they should look like. [AO3 Link]
Ngona hesitates outside the door to her master’s chambers. She can hear soft music inside, played on the focus bells that Master Ehda always sets in motion while she’s meditating. Not wanting to disturb her, Ngona turns to leave, intending to return later. Before she gets far, though, a voice from inside the room stops her in her tracks.
“I feel you there, child.” Noyali’s voice is quiet, but Ngona’s ears are well trained to pick it up. “What troubles you?”
Ngona makes her way back to the door, and it slides open. Her master is seated serenely a foot above the floor, legs folded and eyes closed, robes cascading to the ground like a waterfall of fabric. Ngona steps in and sits down beside her. She doesn’t say anything for a long time; instead she closes her eyes and matches her breaths to Noyali’s. When she finds her courage, she speaks.
“I’ve been thinking about something, Master,” Ngona begins. “I’m at the age now where I should be getting my face tattoos soon. Usually the designs are passed down through families, but I don’t know mine. I can’t even remember my parents’ faces, let alone their tattoos.” She pauses, tugging at her lilac Padawan braid the way she always does when she’s nervous. “I was wondering if…if you had any ideas. For the design. Since I just passed the Trials, and I’m going to be knighted soon…I thought this might be a good time.” She looks over at her master, hoping she isn’t asking too much. Something as important as designing her face tattoos is a lot of pressure to put on someone, she realizes. But Noyali opens her deep purple eyes and smiles down at her.
“Of course, Ngona,” her master replies. “I’ll think of something for you. I’m honored you would ask me for something so important.”
Ngona beams back at her master, feeling more relieved than she’d expected. Anything Noyali comes up with will be good enough for her. She settles back into her meditation, closes her eyes once more, and feels the tension leave her body.
“Hold still just a little longer, Ngona, we’re almost done.”
Ngona finds it hard not to scrunch her nose at the prickling of the ink injector, but she does her best to keep her face relaxed as the tool whirs away against her skin. Her eyes stay closed; she trusts the man working on her tattoos, Master Ostoa, who is Pantoran himself, and has known her since her second day at the Temple. Besides, she wants the design to be a surprise.
Soon enough, the tattooing device clicks off. Ngona hears the artist step back to take a look at the finished design, and she opens her eyes to see him smiling in satisfaction.
“Would you like to see?” he asks, offering a hand mirror, and Ngona takes a deep breath before accepting it. She brings it to her face and can’t hold back a gasp.
Inked carefully onto her face is a simple, elegant tattoo design: in sweeping gold, a tapered streak that crosses the bridge of her nose, flowing into three dots under her left eye. An exact copy of Master Ehda’s face markings.
“Do you like them?” Noyali asks softly from beside her.
In the mirror, Ngona can see the tears welling in her eyes, and she can’t say anything yet; she just keeps looking until her vision blurs. Finally she turns and flings her arms around her master’s neck, mirror still in hand. Noyali hugs her back, maybe tighter than ever before.
“Like them? I love them,” Ngona whispers, her words all but lost in the folds of Noyali’s robes. Her master chuckles softly. “Good, because those aren’t coming off.” She steps back to take another look at Ngona’s face. “And what fine work, too. How lucky we are to know someone with experience in this field.”
Ngona turns to thank Master Ostoa, and he inclines his head in acknowledgment. “I remember the day we met, Ngona. How much you have grown since then. It was an honor to have a part in this ceremony.”
Ngona smiles and lifts the mirror to admire her tattoos once more, tracing the golden ink with her finger. As a child, living in an orphanage on Pantora, she had sometimes wondered if she would ever receive tattoos at all. Now, looking at the fresh pattern on her face, she can think of no design more fitting. The Temple is her home, the Order her family. And now they are set in gold upon her skin.
How much I have grown indeed.