Chapter Text
“Clearly the defection and abduction of Lux Bonteri proves that Mandalore has been in cahoots with the Republic all along. Duchess Satine’s ties to the Jedi Council are well–”
“Cahoots?” Satine’s imperious tone cut off the voice of the representative from Castell. The Mandalorian Duchess had forgone her lilies and finery for this diplomatic mission, choosing instead the more humble cloak of House Kryze. Positioning herself not as the leader of a world of warriors, but as the head of a family desperate to avoid bloodshed. When she had presided over the peace talks only ten rotations back under Sundari’s imposing dome, she had done so with all the required pomp and circumstance, but that had gone more poorly than she had dreamed in her most anxiety-ridden nightmares. And so a new tactic was required if she hoped to bring these bickering rivals to the table once again. “Next the noble Senator will accuse Mandalore of hijinx and tomfoolery…” She drummed her fingernails lightly against the table in front of her.
“I have no more ties to the Jetiise,” she specifically chose the Mando’a word for their ancient enemy, purposefully reminding her audience that Mandalore’s history with the Republic’s peacekeepers was more complicated than her decades of friendship with Kenobi. “Than any other diplomat at this table who has been the subject of their protection. At one point or another, the Jedi have lent aid to nearly every people now seated at this table, whether Republic, Separatist, or Neutral.” Her clear crystal eyes moved to the squat green elder seated at the far end of the table. “It is the position of Mandalore that our current conflict would be much alleviated were our noble protectors to step back into their role as peacekeepers rather than soldiers…” To her credit, Satine’s chin stayed level and she did not blink even as those ancient eyes turned on her, and the slightest hint of a smile quirked the corner of his wizened lips.
Master Yoda had known her father. Had been the one to send Qui-Gon to serve as her protector all those years ago. She’d always had the vaguest impression that he approved of her, even if he strongly disagreed with her pacifist ways.
“Loss of life the Jedi must prevent,” Master Yoda said simply. “Without Jedi in the field, many innocents would suffer.”
“And what of the innocence of the Jedi?” Satine asked, not for the first time, feeling indignation rise inside her. “You take children from their homes, commit them to a monastic life of compassion and service, and now you ask them to kill…”
“Duchess, please…” the voice of Senator Organa always had a calming effect on the heated arguments at the table. “The purpose of this meeting was not for Mandalore to attempt to sway more systems to neutrality, but rather to discuss humanitarian relief that Mandalore might offer both sides.”
“The Confederacy will accept no aid from Mandalore until Lux Bonteri is returned to us,” the voice of Rogwa Wodrata echoed from his holo at the far end of the table.
“Mandalore doesn’t have him,” Satine sighed exasperated, rubbing her aching temples.
“He escaped your planet with the Jedi Padawan Ahsoka Tano…more proof of Duchess Satine’s allegiance to the Jedi cause–it hasn’t escaped notice that you’re appearing from the heart of the Republic, Duchess. You could have attended this meeting from Neimoidia….”
“Or Mandalore,” her Knight Commander whispered bitterly, causing Satine to elbow him in the chest. As he was currently wearing beskar armor the gesture damaged her elbow and her pride more than his composure, but it made the Duchess feel slightly better. This was an argument she did not currently feel like revisiting. She had decided to come to Coruscant to appease the ruffled feathers of Chancellor Palpatine. It was a calculated risk, but she had no reason to feel unsafe here. The Jedi would never allow the Republic to take her hostage. And the business of diplomacy was best done face-to-face. Had she gone to Neimoidia, she did not feel equally certain that Count Dooku would be willing to let her leave…
“Representatives please,” Padmé Amidala’s voice was no louder than anyone else’s but it carried a weight of authority that caused the room to quiet. But whatever words of wisdom or guidance she might have offered remained unspoken as the doors to the council chamber opened and a slender brunette Jedi Knight entered the room. Satine was usually completely unaware of the eddies in the Force around her, Qui-Gon had once jokingly called her the least Force-sensitive young woman of his acquaintance, but the emotion radiating off this young woman was like an alarm bell sounding in Satine’s head. She could tell the Jedi was attempting to keep it under control–likely doing that annoying thing Ben did where he acknowledged the emotion and simply let it go rather than stewing on it for a week straight like a normal person. But, whatever had happened was too much for her. Jedi Knight Stenwyt was carbonite under too much pressure, and whatever emotion she attempted to constrain was hissing out into the air around her. The young Jedi Knight made a straight line for Master Yoda, and knelt at his side, whispering something too low for the table to hear.
“If we finish this meeting before lunch, we could stop for some dustcrepes before we leave the capital,” Knight Commander Kull’n said softly at Satine’s side.
“Don’t try and get back in my good graces with butter and sugar,” the Duchess tried to keep a straight regal demeanor but her lips quirked with humor. “I have a bruise on my elbow from your insubordination…”
“And whose fault is that?” the guard gave a low chuckle. Satine half turned toward him, the look in her eyes that of an amused older sister who was about to impart wisdom to a misbehaving younger brother. She almost didn’t notice that Yoda had stood. She almost didn’t hear as he began to speak at the head of the table.
“Excuse myself, I must. Apologies you must accept,” Master Yoda’s voice held a quaver of something that caught Satine’s attention and her eyes turned toward his with curiosity, but there was still a smile on her lovely features. Until the next words left his mouth. “Master Obi-Wan Kenobi has fallen in battle.”
The words didn’t make sense. For a moment, she wondered if the Jedi Master had switched away from the common tongue into some galactic language she did not understand.
“Fallen?” Padmé’s voice seemed lightyears away. “You mean–?”
“Dead, he is,” Master Yoda said sternly. “Excuse me, you must.”
Satine wasn’t certain at what point she’d stood from her seat. But several other diplomats had risen as well at the news. She felt her bodyguard’s hand under her sore elbow and she shook him off, her mouth opening and closing over and over again with no words escaping, like a fish pulled from its native waters struggling to draw breath in the gaseous air. She was surrounded by oxygen and yet none of it was making its way into her lungs. The floor had fallen out of the room. She wasn’t sure if her heart had stopped beating entirely.
Ben was dead. Dead. Dead.
He had died while she had sat here, and she hadn’t even felt it.
Somewhere, some muscle memory pulled her features into a stoic line. She was the Duchess of Mandalore. Any weakness displayed at this table would be paid for in the blood and suffering of her people. She was the Duchess of Mandalore, and Obi-Wan Kenobi had officially been…nothing to her. A friend, a very old friend. But her life had been marred by death since she was 13 years of age, she’d lost parents, siblings, more people than she could count. She had fainted for none of them, and she could not start now. But these were the thoughts of the Duchess of Mandalore. Satine Kryze? Her thoughts? She thought she might vomit if she tried to take a single step in any direction.
A gentle hand claimed her uninjured arm, and Satine looked over into the wide brown eyes of the Senator from Naboo. “Breathe,” Padmé said in a stern tone, but her face was a mask of calm, as though she understood somehow the turmoil that was threatening to undo decades of diplomatic progress. “Breathe and let us get you out of here, one foot in front of the other. You can fall apart when they can’t see…”
~*~*~*~
Had it been hours? Had it been days? Satine had been unable to fully mark the time from Master Yoda’s announcement to the invitation to attend Kenobi’s funeral in the Jedi temple. Satine had not slept or eaten or…
She hadn’t been able to cry. Not really. She wanted to. She wanted to cry until her eyes were puffy and raw, she wanted to scream until her throat was bleeding. She wanted to fight the Maker at the heart of the universe. But, instead, she’d fallen into some kind of quiet shock, barely responding to anything, a broken droid, still operating but without purpose.
It had been a joint effort of Kull’n, Korkie, and a handmaiden on loan from Senator Amidala that managed to get Satine to the Temple looking something like the Duchess of Mandalore. They were not the first to arrive, and perhaps that was for the best. Left to her own devices, Satine might have tried something dramatic and unbecoming like crawling into the sarcophagus with him, demanding to be buried together like Lord Ka’ra and his beskar Queen.
No. That would never do. Love was a promise you made, and simply because the object of your affection ceased to exist, that did not relieve one of the promise. Satine Kryze had never promised to love Obi-Wan Kenobi until the end of his days. She had promised to love him until the end of hers. She would love him until every star above Mandalore burnt out of the sky. She would love her Ben until there was no memory left of either of them. And he…would not want dramatics.
Oh, who was she kidding? Her Ben lived for dramatics. But, not here. Not now. Having honored his wishes and kept her feelings secret all his life, she would not cast doubt on his allegiance to the Jedi Order now.
“I’m worried about Anakin,” the quiet voice of Ahsoka Tano penetrated Satine’s thoughts, and she looked to see the padawan leaning toward Plo Koon. “He hasn’t said a word since it happened…”
Satine’s aqua eyes drifted over the white-sheeted corpse. Strange, how she could be so near his body and feel no connection to it whatsoever. But then, the man she loved was gone. This was just a shell. It had been his home, and yet it was no longer. Quietly, she studied Anakin and felt her heart soften, and the first tears finally made their way onto her pale cheeks.
“If anyone would like to say any words…” Mace Windu, finished the typical Jedi internment speech and cast his imposing gaze around the room.
Satine stepped forward. She felt Korkie’s hand tighten on her arm, and she smiled at her nephew, patting his hand gently. “It’s all right,” she whispered softly and took a steadying breath.
“Master Kenobi was the best of the Jedi Order. He was a sword against injustice. A shield against oppression. His compassion was an inspiration to us all.” She took a step forward, standing at the opposite end of the body from Anakin. “He loved you so much. And he will be with you, always.”
Leaning over the body, she whispered softly, “O’r ibic aay’han, ni partaylir gar. Par ner ular, vor entye. Par ner cyare, ni yaimpir cyare. Gar nu kyrayc tuu gar gai bat cyare’se’urame, tuu mhi partaylir gar. Gar taab’echaaj’la, al nakar’tuur ni ven’olaror ogir, bal mhi ven’urcir tug’yc.” (Translation: In this time of mourning, I remember you. For your care, I thank you. For your love, I return love. You are not dead while your name is on your loved ones’ mouths, while we remember you. You have gone far away, but someday I will arrive there, and we will be together again.)
She did not pull the sheet back, but brushed a kiss against the white shroud, over his forehead. She did not want to see him dead and pale. Better to remember him as she'd last seen him...alive, smiling, flustered as she touched his beard. Straightening herself, she spoke to the room at large once more. “My people are terrible at goodbyes, and…practical. So we simply say: I am alive and you are dead. But while I remember you, you are eternal. Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” The Mandalorians in the room repeated the end of her statement as though whispering a prayer. You are eternal, Obi-Wan Kenobi.
Her hand moved to the locket at her throat, a gift from Qui-Gon, a token Ben had toyed with more than once in an idle way. She felt closer to him holding onto that locket than she had leaning over his body. She felt the slightest shiver of warmth surround her body, and she wondered if this was his presence in the Force, or if her mind was simply conjuring a phantom that she wished for.
She stepped back to her retinue uncertain if Anakin would give a eulogy or make any speech. But as soon as this was over, she intended to find him. She drifted to the side of the young Jedi padawan. “Ahsoka,” she said in a low politician’s tone that would not carry.
“Please ask your Master to meet me outside when this is over. Mandalore wishes to offer its full resources to track down the coward who did this. Whatever either of you need. It is yours.” A slight flicker of guilt tried to push through her grief and make itself known. Obi-Wan would not want revenge. But thanks to Rako Hardeen, Obi-Wan Kenobi wasn’t here to give her a lecture on the difference between vengeance and justice.