Work Text:
The sun sets against the horizon, smearing pink, purple, and gold against the clouds drifting high above. It paints the dull white spots of Gree’s armor orange. In the valley below him, his men are highlighted in similar colors, glowing like little beacons in the reflected light as they weave through the foliage and small wooden huts nestled against the foot of the mountain.
By now, all the fallen bodies of brothers have been recovered and laid to rest in the largest hut at the center of the village. Crumpled metal skeletons of droids are the only visible remaining signs of battle. The smells of liquid tibanna and smoke still hang in the air, but the thick forest around them works hard to cast out the ugly scent, replacing it with clean, crisp air. Gree breathes it in, one long cool drag that clears his lungs. Then he pulls his helmet back on and continues to ascend the mountain.
The hike isn’t long, but it is fairly steep, and the path is overgrown with clusters of tiny blue flowers the same color as the 501st’s favored paint. He takes great care to step around those, following the faint footsteps he can make out leading the way up the trail. He finds his General at the crest of the mountain, where the colors of the sky blurr and disappear into distant black against the horizon. She sits cross-legged in a patch of plush grass. Her eyes are closed, gold light splaying gently across the tattoos on her chin. Her outermost robe sits folded next to her. She looks smaller without it, but no less dignified.
“News, commander?” Her eyes remain closed.
“Not good news, I’m afraid, sir. Just the casualty report. We lost seventeen.” A small number in the grand scheme of things, perhaps, but not to Gree. “The medics and Commander Offee are working on four more, but they say they’ll all pull through. And we did save nearly three hundred lives.”
General Unduli’s eyes open slowly. Her smile is gentle, tinted by sorrowful acceptance. “The Separatists would have razed this village to the earth. You and your men have fought well.”
Gree manages a nod. He resists the urge to plop down into the grass next to her. She spent more than half the battle distracting an approaching squad of Armored Assault Tanks, preventing their arrival at the village while Gree and his men took out the waves of small fry weaving through the trees. He’s taken over her duties for the time being while she recovers, and there’s still plenty to do. She needs to rest, though he knows she won’t sit still for long.
As if hearing his thoughts, she shifts, preparing to climb to her feet. Gree sighs and extends a gauntleted arm, which she takes with a graceful nod as she rises.
“Sir, you’re welcome to meditate as long as you’d like. We have everything under control. The men are helping with cleanup alongside the villagers and keeping a perimeter to watch for straggling clankers. Nothing we can’t handle.”
She lets out the faintest huff of a laugh. “Your efforts to buy me time to rest are admirable and appreciated, Commander, but unfortunately in vain.” She motions gently down the path Gree had taken moments ago. He glances down, fingers inching towards his holsters, but the approaching figures aren’t a threat. A cluster of villagers climb towards them, Commander Offee in tow.
The villagers here are thin, willow-limbed humanoids with large eyes. They move with a sway to their step, as if bending with the light breeze that constantly flows through the valley. They wear colorful loose robes with woven patterns in so many shades that they warp like optical illusions. Gree can’t quite wrap his head around it. Around their elbows and wrists, their skin is translucent, the faint outlines of veins and muscles barely visible. Gree longs to take a closer look, compare what he knows of clone anatomy to theirs, but can’t quite decide how to ask without coming off as strange.
Commander Offee leads three of the villagers close, eyes wide and earnest. She bows once to General Unduli, then nods her head to Gree, who does the same with a little smile hidden beneath his helmet.
“Master, may I present to you the leaders of this village, Too-ra, Ne-shay, and Gem-no.”
General Unduli bows. The villagers seem unsure how to respond, until they eventually offer awkward bows as well.
“Master Jedi,” one of them says, a woman with long flowing hair. Her robes pop with blues and purples, straining Gree’s eyes. Too-ra, he thinks from the hasty introductions. “We seek your permission for a ceremony.”
“What kind of ceremony do you propose, Too-ra?” the general replies kindly.
“It is a ceremony of light,” Too-ra says. “One held sacred by our people for generations, held after sunset on a day of loss.”
A sinking feeling settles in Gree’s gut. Some of the villagers had chosen to fight alongside the clones. He’d given his men firm instructions to keep them away from the worst of the fighting, and he’d thought they’d been successful, but perhaps some of them had been killed anyway.
General Unduli frowns. “We can instruct our men to finish moving the destroyed droids as quickly as possible. We would not want to impede you from—”
Too-ra waves a hand. “We apologize, Master Jedi, for we did not explain well. We wish to hold the ceremony for your men.” She turns to Gree. “They are the ones who fought for our people, and lost their lives. They will need light to guide them home.”
Gree pauses. To a clone, home is Kamino, or the assigned barracks, but he knows that isn’t what she means. He can only assume she’s referring to some kind of afterlife. He’s never seen anyone but other clones and sometimes the Jedi offer any sort of rites for his fallen brothers.
General Unduli has that little knowing smile on her face. “Well, Commander?”
He swallows. “My men would be honored if you held a ceremony,” he replies carefully.
Too-ra claps her hands together, smile brightening. “Then preparations will begin immediately,” she says, and without waiting another moment, turns to hurry down the mountain again.
Gree enters the clearing in the center of the village and stops in his tracks. The platoon of men following him come to an abrupt halt as well, quiet conversation dying out.
The village has been transformed into a glittering nightscape of stars. Hundreds of orbs of pulsing light hang suspended in the air, swaying gently with the soft breeze. They hover over the tiny wooden huts, hide in the branches of reaching trees, and drift down towards the massive stone table positioned in the center of the clearing.
On the table, silver and bronze plates, utensils, and cups glitter in the shifting light, casting shimmering reflections across the clearing. The table is piled high with multicolored fruits about the size of Gree’s fist, surrounding a giant steaming roast of some sort of bird he doesn’t recognize. The scent of the seasoning hits him hard, mouth-watering and delectable even through the filter of his helmet. He tugs it off and resists the urge to groan at the smell of rich, hearty meat. Villagers bustle around the open space, lugging more trays of food and spinning balls of light into existence on their palms with their fingertips.
Gree glances over his shoulder. His men gape at the sight in front of them, helmets off and eyes wider than the moon. Box, one of Gree’s youngest, reaches out with one hand towards a low-hanging ball of light, cupping his palm around the curve of it. His expression changes from awe to delight.
“It’s warm!” He directs it towards his batchmates, who cluster around it like excited tookas.
“Ah! Commander!”
Gree turns at the shout. One of the village leaders hurries towards them—Gem-no, Gree is pretty sure. The older man has exchanged his multicolored robe for a new one made of interwoven patches of reflective material that catches the light as it swirls around his legs.
“Leader Gem-no,” Gree greets. He looks back up at the scurrying villagers. “I apologize if we’ve arrived early. We would be happy to help with any additional preparations—”
“Nonsense!” Gem-no cries, smile wide. “You’ve arrived precisely when we agreed upon! Universe forbid we start an event on time, however.” He doesn’t seem too bothered by that, gesturing at the stone table. “Please, take your seats! There is plenty of food for everyone.”
Gree’s men all freeze at that, honing in on the food like a pack of ravenous gundarks.
Gree grins. “You’re absolutely sure there’s nothing we can do to help?” he stalls.
Someone swears from behind him. Another clone groans, stomach audibly rumbling.
“No, no, we’ll be fine! Everything is nearly ready. You are our guests. We could never ask you to exert yourselves like that, not when you’ve already done so much for our village!”
“Alright, very well,” Gree says, then turns to his hungry men. “You heard him, boys!”
The men roar in approval, flooding towards the table. The villagers let out an answering cheer, mixing with the clones as they sit on the benches and begin piling their plates with food. The woman cutting slices of the roast is quickly overwhelmed, dissolving into giggles as men desperately hold their empty plates towards her, pleading for the juiciest pieces. The sounds of clinking cutlery and cheerful conversation fill the air.
General Unduli and Commander Offee step from one of the nearby huts where they had been treating the wounded alongside a pair of medics. The villagers are quick to herd them all towards the table. The orbs of light seem to like Commander Offee, swirling little spirals around her like schools of excited fish. She laughs, shooing a few out from under her robes with a fond smile. General Unduli engages several of the villagers in a conversation, regal as ever as she compliments their preparations.
Gree’s eyes scan over the crowd for a few minutes, just watching. Most of his men are in high spirits, inhaling food and laughing alongside the villagers. He spies one brother picking listlessly at his plate, eyes on the ground.
Tilt jumps when Gree slings an arm over his shoulders, but relaxes when they make eye contact. “Oh. It’s just you, Commander…”
“Mind if I sit here?” Gree asks as a few clones shuffle down to make room for him. Tilt nods, managing a small smile.
The moment Gree sits, a plate piled high with food is placed in front of him. On his other side, Jarod and Clamp, two known mischief-makers in his battalion, lean to watch.
“Ohh, look at that. They gave the Commander one of the best portions of meat!” Jarod bemoans, eyes greedy. “Say, Commander, I’ll trade you all of these little mushroom things for just a piece!”
Gree hums, picking up a knife. “What do you think, Tilt? I haven’t tasted anything yet. Good trade?”
Tilt starts a little. He leans down to glance at the offered mushrooms, then Gree’s meat. “The mushrooms are delicious, sir, that’s true… but it’s still not a good enough trade.”
Gree hums, then points his knife at Jarod. “Back off, then.” He cuts a piece and puts it into his mouth. Flavor explodes across his tongue, spices and buttery sauce blending magnificently with the heady meat. He groans in appreciation, drowning out Jarod’s complaints.
For a moment, his stomach demands his full attention. He devours half of his portion in thirty seconds.
“Here, sir, try this!” Clamp tosses something down onto his plate. It’s a long, funnel-shaped vegetable. The outside is red, with bread-like crumbs stuffed inside.
Gree picks it up and notes how the men closest to him seem to be watching out of the corner of their eyes, doing a very poor job of hiding it. “What’s in it?”
“It’s delicious, sir, I promise!”
One of the villagers glances over, spots Gree holding the strange food, and blanches. Gree very much doubts that it’s as delicious as Clamp claims. When he glances to the side, Tilt seems to be waiting with bated breath, hiding a smile.
He sighs inwardly. “Alright, then.” He takes a tentative bite off the tip.
Clamp sniggers. The clones that were pretending they weren’t watching switch to open staring.
Tilt shakes his head incredulously. “You probably shouldn’t have done that, sir…”
“It tastes just fine to me,” Gree says, rolling the morsel around the inside of his mouth. The breadcrumbs give it a good texture, combining well with the roasted veggie. “What’s the big deal?”
He feels it a moment later—a faint prickling across his tongue. He pauses. The sensation spreads quickly to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, even his lips. First it tingles, then it smarts.
“Clamp, you son of a Hutt,” Gree swears, sucking cold air through his teeth. It does nothing. Now it burns, spicy enough that Gree’s eyes start to water. He scrambles for his cup of water as the surrounding men burst into laughter. Even Tilt manages a chuckle.
The water is useless. Gree stuffs a mushroom into his mouth in an attempt to dispel the awful heat. It helps a little, so Gree eats even more, glaring at Clamp and Jarod as he does. “I’ll have you both court-martialed for this!”
Fortunately the humiliation only lasts a bit longer. Gree sighs in relief as the spiciness fades back into tingling, then finally disappears. Jarod and Clamp wisely scoot down a couple seats. At the other end of the table, General Unduli meets Gree’s eyes, visibly amused. Gree sighs and offers her a smile back. He settles back into his seat.
Tilt gives him an amused look. “Sorry, sir. I probably should have warned you, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gree says good-naturedly. “I knew something was up. Don’t worry about it.”
Tilt sighs. He looks up at the floating lights, voice dropping. “My batchmates would have loved this.”
Gree doesn’t respond right away. At the end of the table, a duo of villagers bring out a massive barrel of some sort of bioluminescent drink. The first few clones to drink it whoop in excitement to find that it stains their tongues bright blue. Tilt watches their antics with a sorrowful look on his face.
“You don’t have to mourn them alone,” Gree finally says. “We’re all here for you.”
“I know, sir,” Tilt says. “It’s alright. I knew it would happen eventually. We’re soldiers, after all.”
There’s bitterness in his statement that Gree doesn’t like. “We are soldiers, but we’re also brothers,” he says. “Grief… grief is proof that we care. That we love each other. It’s what sets us apart from the Separatist droids, even though it hurts.”
Tilt takes a slow bite from his plate and chews thoughtfully. “You ever think about what happens to us when we die, sir?”
“I don’t know. The Jedi have their own sayings. I’m not sure what I believe, but I want to think that they’re waiting for us somewhere. That we’ll get to be with them again one day.”
Tilt sighs. “I hope you’re right.”
“Regardless of where they are now, I know they would want you to be happy.”
“That’s true.” Tilt huffs out a weak laugh. “They’d tear me a new one to see me sitting here moping when there’s good food in front of me.”
A loud clanking sound rings out, cutting across the festivities. Gree turns. Too-ra, the first village leader, knocks a spoon against her metal cup. She stands once she has the attention of the entire clearing. “We are gathered here to express our gratitude to the brave warriors who came to defend our village from the Separatists,” she pronounces solemnly. “And to offer light to those who lost their lives, that they might find their way home safely. We are indebted to them, and mourn alongside their brothers. Their sacrifices will not be forgotten.”
Gree swallows around a sudden lump in his throat. Tilt blinks very rapidly, eyes shining a bit too much in the light.
The villagers scattered across the clearing bow their heads and lift their hands, palms extended towards the sky. Gree’s eyes widen as their bodies begin to glow. Light pours from their palms like something tangible and viscous, forming dozens of streams that coagulate into seventeen huge balls of light, much bigger than the rest. He has to squint against the influx of white luminescence.
Seventeen orbs, for seventeen lives lost.
The villagers speak in unison. “May the fallen find their way home.”
The orbs of light detach from the villagers and roam free, soaring across the silent crowd. They pulse and ripple in strange patterns—almost like heartbeats. Gree can’t help but rise to his feet, somber in his desire to honor the fallen. The rest of the clones follow his lead. So do General Unduli and Commander Offee.
One of the orbs stops directly in front of Tilt, casting ethereal light over his face. This close, Gree can hear some sort of otherworldly hum coming from it. Tilt stares at it with reverence. He reaches out and lays a palm across the surface. It brightens at his touch, then gently begins to pull away.
Tilt’s hand hangs in the air after it. It rises higher and higher into the sky alongside its sixteen fellows, bright enough to illuminate the surrounding trees. They watch until the light orbs are mere specks in the sky, almost indistinguishable from the stars.
“See you later,” Tilt breathes out, almost too quiet to hear. He lets his hand drop and smiles.
Gree rests a gentle hand onto his brother’s shoulder. The stars twinkle silently above them, welcoming their brothers home.