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Her tea was cold, sitting on the table before her. Somewhere deep within the home, the grandfather clock, carved delicately by the hands of one of her husband’s ancestors chimed its second bell. It did nothing to stir her from her vigil, hands clasped before her and chin resting upon her knuckles as she stared off into the nighttime void.
The galaxy was tilting once again upon its axis, swinging along its pendulum towards another historical extreme long held in suspense. She needn’t to watch the news to see the patterns playing out in real time from the pages of the ancient documents and recorded stories of long ago, to know what is happening has already happened, time and time again. A different time, a different place, and yet with blood and sorrow still trailing in its wake.
No matter how few or how many their numbers were, the Jedi and the Sith were the rocks that caused waves across the entire galaxy. One side would win, then a time of tension would linger, paraded around as peace, and then the other would rise up from the ashes. Again and again. Cyclic.
And now the Jedi were dead. Scattered to the wind. Branded as traitors.
She was no Jedi, possessed not a single drop of sense for the mystical Force. She merely had once been known and still fondly referred to as Scholar-Warrior and had a degree in the field in the history of ancient warfare. Battles and treaties, tactics and circumstances- they had fascinated her in her youth, but now they only serve as a bitter reminder that she was living history as it was being written. Being rewritten.
“Mother?”
She started at the hushed call of her name, blinking away dreary thoughts as she turned her gaze upon the shadowed form that stepped into the dim kitchen light, grey eyes mirrored on a different face.
“Maximilian.”
Those who had never met the whole family before always assumed Maximilian would look like his father. A common misconception of boys looking like their paternal side and girls taking after the maternal. But her son only inherited her William’s height and broad shoulders. The hair, the eyes, the expressions- they were all hers.
Those eyes were tinged with concern as his face did little but bunch his eyebrows a little, taking another step closer towards her.
“Are you-?” Are you okay? was on the tip of his tongue and swallowed, instead settling for “Your tea’s cold.”
Discussing their feelings was neither of their strong suits. But they understood each other by sheer familiarity. Like mother, like son. And while I love you rarely made its way out off their lips, there were other ways to show that same love while her husband and his father picked up their slack and shower them both in joyous words of affirmation until the end of the galaxy.
She loved her son, and knew he loved her. There needn’t be frivolous words between them when certainty cemented their claim.
“So it is.”
She didn’t look to her cup, folding her hands before her as she gazed upon Maximilian, wondering for a moment how he grew so fast on her. She remembered when he was a mere babe, small and grouchy and ever so endearing all the same, and yet now stood before her a man who in just scant few hours would be climbing aboard a cruiser to be taken to the heart of the Core for officer training
To become a soldier for a budding new Empire of the Sith.
“Come with me,” she told him, rising up from the table and abandoning her cold tea. Nightgown and robes swished with every step as she led him through their large home’s hallways, his heavier footfalls padding behind her. She stopped by large double doors last opened months ago for scheduled cleaning of its contents, typing the code into the keypad to disengage the locks.
Inside was the unified family’s collection of heirlooms- from the Veers’ ornate chests and stone statues to the Montón’s leather hoods for the warbirds and metals forged by her ancestors’ hands. It was the latter that she moved towards, her pace determined as she followed a memorized path through the displays and carefully marked racks.
Maximilian had been in here before. Dozens of times. Watching her clean and polish every dagger and sword and curved chestplate and following her steps around the training yard as she taught him how to wield a blade. Listening to his father speak of long past relatives who diligently carved the bust of King Julin the Brave before they went to whittle together on the steps of their home with wood bought from the markets.
It had been some years since he had last been in here. Studying engineering and training for the Denon Defense Force had taken up much of his time recently. And now he wished to spread his wings further still.
She ran her fingers across leather and polished metal. Her dear William would complain about having no pomp or ceremony, or even a small gathering, but this was a private matter between herself and her son regardless of the time or the clothes they wore. And while tradition usually dictated he to choose his arms, she knew she could be forgiven in favor of providing her dear Maximilian the best protection she could offer.
The sheathed blade lifted out of its home on the rack easily, holding it flat across her hands as she offered it out to Maximilian before her. She didn’t let go when he moved to take it, their fingers curled around the scabbard as she stared up into his eyes.
“This is Grimgleaner,” she stated, mouth set and eyes stern- more than his mother, but as Lady General Cassandra Montón du Veers as she bestowed unto him the Mantle of Bladeskeeper. “It is said that its maker slew a dark sorcerer with it. You shall wear it, not with pride, but with steadfast loyalty to who you are and to whom stand beside you, and it shall protect you so long as you never forget yourself.”
Maximilian’s face was firm as he stared back, but his hands were reverent as she relinquished the blade onto him. He held it to his chest as he bowed low, man and blade as one, to her.
“I will remember,” was his somber oath, the leather creaking as his grip tightened onto the scabbard, the promise tied to his heart and his blade. But as he rose, a little spark of humor that was all William danced across his eye as he couldn’t help but continue. “But I do hope you don’t see me going after sorcerers, Mother. I’m going to Coruscant to train for the Imperial Army, not a Jedi Hunter.”
“You will be prepared regardless,” she stated simply. “Now, go to bed, Maximilian dear. Your flight leaves first thing in the morning.”
She could never be able to convince him to not go- he had inherited her stubbornness, after all. But she could give him the best protection she had available, and knowing he would leave with a family blade in hand, she would be able to sleep a little bit better. Too big to steal covertly, too old for most to use efficiently, and strong enough to cut through an ancient Sith.
Maximilian would keep his oath no matter how dark the galaxy became. Of that, she had no doubt.