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Chapter Text

The Jedi were marvels Cody thought to himself as he watched JM-031 cut through battle droids with precision and expertise. The main battle was done. The Sith commander neutralised. It was all just cleanup at this point. The last few droids were cleanly dispatched by the Jedi’s blade. 

“Was that acceptable, General Cody?”

A cocky grin. 

“Good work,” Cody nodded, ignoring the sardonic tone of his subordinate. It was a good first outing all things considered.

His Jedi approached. Usually a JM class would be assigned to a High General, not a lowly General like him, but Cody got results. He needed the best. Earned the best. 

And this one was the best. Or at least that’s what High General Alpha had told him. 

It was their first battle together and 031 reinforced how essential a Jedi could be against the Sith during a battle. 

Like an obedient strill with a ball his Jedi offered him two lightsabers. The first was his own. A blue blade which Cody hooked into the proper position on his belt. The Jedi’s eyes followed it before quickly looking back at Cody. Cody took the other one in his hand and inspected the red blade.

“Did you know them?” he asked casually. 

031’s strange blue eyes blinked. “No, sir.”

“I suppose that’s an indelicate question,” Cody said. 

The Jedi considered this. He opened his mouth to say something smart and then thought better of it.

“You can ask what you like, sir.” 031 said instead. His face had gone smug from victory in battle to peaceful and obedient. 

This Jedi had a way of answering that sounded like a positive, but didn’t give his actual opinion on the matter.

Cody struck the saber with his palm in a pleased gesture. “Anyway, well done. Your reputation precedes you, Sith Slayer.”

The perfect mask cracked only for a second at the title before it went placid again. 

“Dismissed.”

His Jedi bowed smoothly. Jedi weren’t technically part of the military structure and weren’t required to salute. 

Cody had reports to make and receive, but his gaze lingered. He wanted to see what his new Jedi would do. Usually they skulked back onto the ship to their quarters until the next battle. 

The sun glinted off the control collar. A band of metal painted white. Orange numbers printed on it denoting the Jedi’s designation. 

His Jedi didn’t head to a LAAT that would take him to the Glory. He walked back towards the battlefield, then sat in the middle of it all. Cody slowly started to follow. The Jedi had sat down beside one of the wounded. A black flag was pinned to him. Too damaged to fix. A goner. 

The Clones viewed each other as brothers. They protected and loved one another as family, but they had to learn not to get too attached. To be able to grieve, but also let go. Cody was a General. If he let his sadness and rage overwhelm him he would never be able to lead his men, and ultimately more lives would be lost.

But he wasn’t made of stone. 

The Jedi took the soldier's hand. Only a Shiny. No marks of valour. No story on his armour. Just a blank canvas fated to die in his first battle. And he had been dying alone. No one had noticed or had the time to sit with him. 

Cody quickened his pace, a protective surge inside him. Whatever the Jedi was doing– 

“He’s not dead,” his Jedi told him. His attention never wavered from the Shiny, but he probably sensed Cody’s approach with his magic. 

“He’s not going to live,” Cody said with heavy warning in his tone. He hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but the—the Jedi holding the Shiny’s hand felt wrong. There should be a brother with him. 

The Jedi finally looked up. He frowned at Cody and then looked back down to the Shiny.

“It’s okay,” the Shiny said weakly, brown eyes catching Cody’s own. “I got a bunch. I got twelve!” 

Cody knelt down on his other side. “What’s your name, soldier?”

The pain in the shiny’s eyes wasn’t from the wound.

“Your name’s Dozen,” Cody said. He could give the Shiny that much at least. Dozen’s eyes brightened. 

“It doesn’t hurt as much anymore,” he told Cody. “It hurt a lot before…” Dozen’s eyes drifted hazily to the Jedi. The Jedi didn’t speak but Cody noticed his face had lost its colour, his eyes were slitted only showing a dash of the strange blue. 

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Cody, you know that,” Cody said gently.

“No… I mean…the Jedi.” 

Jedi were given numbers. The idea went back to trying to wean them off their natural selfish nature. A name made one an individual. A number, part of a whole. 

“Ohbeeone,” the Jedi said, the numbers slurring together. Cody frowned, thinking he might have misheard. He had been calling him Zero-Thirty-One, not Oh-Three-One. 

“No, no, your name,” Dozen insisted. “Do you not have one yet?” Dozen looked over to Cody. “I–I saw you fight. You deserve a name too. You got way more than twelve.” 

Dozen was a shiny. He wouldn’t know the rules about Jedi yet. Or maybe he had been briefed but had forgotten in the excitement for his first battle.

“People call me Sith Slayer,” 031 grimaced. His blue eyes glanced briefly at Cody before looking down at the dying man again. 

“Nice… to meet you… Slayer. My name is… my name’s Dozen.” 

“Hello there,” 031 said sadly. After a moment he gave the limp hand a kiss and rested it on Dozen’s chest. 

The Jedi looked more out of it now than he did taking on fifty droids and a Sith commander. 

“What did you do?” Cody asked. His voice had lost all hostility now. 

“I took some of his pain,” his Jedi answered tiredly. “He was in a lot of pain.” 

“I didn’t know Sith could do that.”

His Jedi raised a sarcastic eyebrow at him. It was insubordinate. Alpha always told him to be quick with the shocker for Sith who thought they could get away with any sign of disobedience, but he didn’t. 

The Jedi had a point after all. He wasn’t a Sith.

Not anymore.

The Clones of the Republic had been defending its borders since the Sith Civil Wars. Their progenitor Cassus Fett had been a Marshal Field Commander under Mand’alor the Ultimate. He had been heavily wounded in the final battle between Darth Revan and the Mand’alor. He was captured by the Republic, taking advantage of the Sith and Mandalorian conflict. 

With the rise of the Sith Empire and the Mandalore sector’s gigantic expansion under Ultimate, the Republic was getting desperate to save themselves from absorption into either power. A deal was struck with the Cloners of Kamino to make an army from one of Mandalore’s greatest warriors. One insult among many that Mandalore had never forgiven the Republic for.  

The first batch were taught Mandalorian tactics and strategy. They were trained how to work together to deal with Sith magic. They were the greatest army the galaxy had ever seen thus far. The Sith and the Mandalorians were too fractured within to gain much ground over the Republic after the rise of the Clones. An uneasy truce had lasted thousands of years. The GAR protected the Republic, guarded its people and its borders, and served the Senate.   

It couldn’t last. Over the last two decades the galactic political landscape grew grim. The fringes of the Republic that dealt with both Mandalorian and Sith raids became discontented. Nearly ten years ago a Confederacy formed.

The Republic was splitting itself. Meanwhile, Mandalore was gaining more and more strength under Mand’alor the Reformer, Jaster Mereel, and the Sith had all been brought to heel under their new Emperor, Darth Sidious. 

It only gave the GAR more to do. The Clone Army began its war with the CIS pulling planets back into the Republic’s fold. It looked inevitable the little Rebellion would end in failure. Mereel was more concerned with taking old Mandalorian territories and stabilising his economy. The Sith were always a threat, but with their loose alliances and reliance on slavery meant they usually ate themselves before the GAR had to do much to deal with them.  

But the CIS, seeing they were losing, knowing even with its droid armies it couldn’t fight against the Clone Army, went to the Sith and struck a bargain. 

Darth Tyranus brokered an alliance between the CIS and Sith. Battle droids led by Sith Commanders. Pincer attacks on two fronts with the third ready to pounce when enough blood was spilt in the water. 

So something had to change. 

That’s where the Jedi program came in. 

“It’s about Redemption,” the Supreme Chancellor said. His expression didn’t match his words. The leader of the Republic didn’t like the idea of using Sith, but these were desperate times. “We take a Sith, we get it to fight for us… we make them into Jedi.”

“This will never work.” High General Alpha rolled his eyes.

“The Sith were once guardians of the Republic. Jedi. They broke their oaths,” the Supreme Chancellor insisted, firmer now. “We’re just making them keep what was once promised.”

“Do you know how much reconditioning and brainwashing it will take?” Alpha argued. “Do you know how Sith live? This will be a cakewalk compared to their apprenticeships.”

“We won’t brainwash sentient beings,” the Supreme Chancellor said, voice hard. “It hasn’t come to that.”

We’re just going to force our enemy to fight against their own people. Cody thought to himself at the time. He was fairly certain it was a war crime under Republic Law, but he wasn’t about to speak out of turn only freshly promoted as he was at the time. 

It wasn’t a war crime anymore of course. The vote passed. The Jedi program was put into effect. 

Jedi–real Jedi had died out thousands of years ago. They were figures of fantasy. Force users that fought to protect the Republic and its people. That used their dark magic for good.  

Cody had had two Jedi before this new one. Both of them were their own brand of nightmare. Both he was forced to execute with the collar bomb. 

Both of them had red lightsabers and yellow eyes. Like every Sith he had ever encountered.

No exception.

No exception until now. 

The men had started calling the 212th’s Jedi ‘Slayer’ and it spread quickly as names often do. Cody should have dissuaded them. Sith–Jedi were not encouraged to be individuals.

But, it was their culture as Clones. They all shared the same face. Imagery and names were important. They all started as numbers too. Why wouldn’t they include their Jedi? 

It hadn’t happened before. Not like this. There had been names for the last one, but they were said in private. They were insults that came from fear and bitterness at having to associate with him. Snake Tongue, Devil Eyes.

But Slayer… Slayer was a name. Something their new Jedi had earned. Like any Clone name, once it had been revealed it couldn’t be forgotten. 

So Cody didn’t stop them, and had privately started referring to the Jedi as Slayer as well. 

Besides, if the Senate didn’t want Jedi to be individuals they should have kitted them in proper armour and given them helmets. Slayer’s uniform had some light armour, but otherwise was in light tan fabrics, his shoulder guard emblazoned with the symbol of the old Jedi Order in gold. A flowing brown cloak that flew behind him dramatically in the wind. He was meant to stand out. Not only a weapon, but a shield. The blasters were aimed at him before any other target on the battlefield. A figure of legend. A Jedi Knight in robes and armour, lightsaber brandished outward.  

Also, Cody noticed, there was a growing ease between Slayer and the rest of the 212th. A sense of belonging. If the ultimate goal was for the Sith to shed its selfishness and become a guardian of peace, or whatever it was a Jedi was supposed to be, then encouraging it to like the people they’re fighting with couldn’t go amiss. 

He didn’t know too much about his new Jedi Knight. Jedi didn’t hold rank, but they were expected to give all expertise and service to their General and their company. Slayer, it turned out, was a brilliant strategist. One that took into consideration the cost of lives it would take to reach a goal. Sometimes his plans were a little too excessive, but he was quick to make up for it by throwing himself at the tricky parts.

Cody couldn’t argue with results or battle statistics. Slayer joining the 212th was saving lives. A lot of them.

Just the other day he had jumped directly in front of a group of soldiers that had been pinned up against a cliff. His blue lightsaber moved at a furious pace and deflected the blaster bolts. 

Since when could lightsabers do that? 

Cody tried to think of previous battles and intel dealing directly with Sith commanders, but he didn’t remember any using their blade to shield. 

Slayer considered his question. “It’s a skill that not many Sith bother to learn. The lightsaber is meant to be a weapon of death and torture. It’s a powerful tool that strikes fear to anyone that sees it. It cuts through almost anything. It’s as unstoppable as the Force itself.  It was made to make its victim’s death slow. It’s not a shield. In the Empire the strong rule, the weak die. A Sith Lord protecting those too weak to defend themselves is unheard of.” Slayer took a sip of caf. He took it black, Cody noticed. 

And yet, Cody thought to himself. It’s what you did. And Cody had realised whenever he saw that flash of blue on the field it wasn’t fear he felt. 

No, the buzzing bright blue blade was starting to feel a lot like victory whenever it was spotted. A lot like hope.

Chapter Text

Cody groaned. His vision was spotty. He had fallen?

He moved, instinct won out between his scattered confusion and pain. He pushed himself back against the rocky cliff face behind him. There was a familiar hum over him, but it wasn’t–it wasn’t right. It wasn’t familiar. The sound was higher. Like an endless vibrating shriek.

Cody’s head snapped up in time to see the red streak heading for his neck. 

Then a flash of blue locked in front of him, holding back the red blade.

Sith.

“Republic dog,” the Sith Commander scowled. His attention was immediately away from Cody and to Slayer who held the Sith at bay.

In a sudden burst Slayer pushed the Sith backwards out of Cody’s space. The Sith hopped back, taking a measure of the situation.

Cody had fallen, he remembered. He had been slammed by an invisible force and thrown backward off a cliff. Something caught him, slowed his fall, but not enough that he wasn’t knocked around by the debris that followed him down. Their men would be up at the top of the cliff. How had Slayer gotten down so quickly? Had he jumped after him?

It was just the three of them. Slayer, Cody, and the Sith. The Sith disregarded Cody and his attention was purely on Slayer.

The hooded Sith dipped his head. 

“The blue lightsaber. It is you then," the Sith gently sighed, as if there was some regret. 

“My reputation precedes me," Slayer quipped. 

“More intimately than you might think,” the Sith replied. “Perhaps you’d call us brothers.” The Sith let his hood fall. Curly bright blond hair and golden eyes. “I wouldn’t though.”

“You’re his First?” Slayer guessed. “No. I wouldn’t call us brothers either.”

Slayer went into his guard stance waiting for a strike. 

“I regret we never met, Third,” ‘the First’ shook his head. He gazed at Slayer, his demeanour was soft, pitying. “I will give you one chance. Tell me where he’s hid it. If you do, I will release you from your chains. I will free you.”

Slayer laughed as if the Sith had told a joke. He made a salute with his shining blue blade. “I am free.” 

Cody’s heart skipped. 

“A slow death then,” the First said, bowing his head. "Master spoke of you with high regard. I suppose that means this was always going to happen. One way or the other my blade was meant for you." Then his soft demeanor split into a bloodthirsty grin. "But you'll tell me where he hid it before I let you die." 

He rushed forward to meet Slayer’s blade. The two of them pulled into each other’s orbits in a deadly clash of blades. 

Cody gritted his teeth, pulling up his blaster. His leg and his left arm were sprained or broken, but he could still shoot. His eyes followed the whirling blades, but couldn’t find the shot. He silently cursed.

The Sith was all acrobatic leaps and flares battering against Slayer's hard shield of swirling blue. Slayer didn't give ground. He stood solidly as bandied every strike away. 

“Ghost Company! Bring out the snipers! The cliffs!” Cody barked into the comm. “Wait for my order!” 

Cody watched intently, but neither fighter pulled back far enough for shots to be taken without taking out their own Jedi. The First was too unpredictable, and Slayer didn't move out of firing range. 

Not long ago it would have been an acceptable risk.

Jedi were powerful. If they couldn't protect themselves they were of no use.

And if they couldn't there was no loss.

Not really.

Not until now. 

This Jedi... he was not willing to take that chance.

“General!” Slayer yelled. 

But he was willing to trust him.

Cody didn’t hesitate. He knew with a certainty what was being asked. 

“BLAST HIM!” Cody shouted, pulling his own trigger. Slayer danced between blaster bolts with ease. How often had he moved through Ghost Company's rapid fire. The Jedi knew how Ghost shot and Ghost knew how the Jedi moved.

Despite the surprise attack, the Sith moved just as smoothly dodging the deadly hail, but he didn't account for the teamwork. With a sweep of his lightsaber several of the 212th’s blots reflected off of their Jedi’s blade and struck the Sith. The Sith faltered in shock, the bolts going clean through. 

He fell to his knees. 

“Surren—” Slayer moved forward. He was meaning to hold the Sith at his neck with the blade.

But rather than lean back, the Sith pushed himself forward, the lightsaber slicing his neck clean and quick. 

His body fell to the ground. There wasn't even a gurgling. He was dead. 

“Stand down,” Cody ordered his men. 

He could only see Slayer’s back. His posture was tight, his grip on his blue blade firm. It took a full minute before the blade was extinguished. 

Then Slayer moved. He bent down, retrieving the red saber. He hesitated again, staring down at the body of his slain opponent. 

“031.”

“Sir.” Slayer turned and handed him the two lightsabers without being asked. 

It had been clear he hadn’t known the Sith personally, but there was a distant look in his eye. Cody had never seen Slayer so rattled. 

He almost broke protocol. 

Almost asked. 

Instead he took the blades. He automatically put the blue blade in its proper place on his hip.  

Slayer forced a smile. “Another victory, General."

“Well done,” Cody replied. Before he could think better of it he put a hand on Slayer’s pauldron. A pat. Brief and meaningless.

And yet it felt too long and meant too much. 

He examined the Sith’s saber.

All of the blades he had seen were unique, but he saw it. Small similarities and design choices to the one that hung on his belt. 

The 'First’ and 'Third.' They had the same Sith Master. 

He felt Slayer’s eyes watching him. 

“Any intel to add, Slayer?” It was the first time Cody had used the name like his men used it. Out loud, drawing the other man's attention to him. 

It made the Jedi pause, his brows lift a little in surprise.  

“Nothing relevant. His name was Feemor, but he was always a shadow among shadows,” Slayer replied after a beat. “It's all drama from a life I am no longer legally allowed to acknowledge, unless the information I have is relevant to the Grand Army of the Republic’s cause.”

“Is it?”

“No,” Slayer said firmly. He was wearing a neutral countenance, but Cody had come to know him. Slayer was subdued.

“He was after you,” Cody pushed. 

“Maybe,” Slayer hummed. He stroked his chin in thought, then seemed to come to some sort of decision. “But it won’t be a problem, General.” Slayer offered an arrogant smirk. It was playful, nothing malicious to it at all. Meant to put Cody at ease. “It just means there will be more crystals to add to your collection. Sith are my speciality after all.” 

And Cody was gaining quite the collection. 

The red crystals were badges of honour to Clone Generals. Cody had earned one himself by determination and luck in a forced face-off on Onderon. It was defeat the Sith Commander or surrender. The CIS pretended to uphold the Yavin Code, but Cody knew of many brothers had been shipped off to Sith labour camps after surrendering. 

The other crystals were gifts from his Jedi. He embedded them into his left vambrace, each jewel in a line at the centre. He would need to start a new line soon. He thought he might make a red sun to match his armour's motif.

Glory of the rising sun. Renewed hope that comes in the dawn. That was Cody's story.  

Cody always drew interest when he went to the officer’s lounge back at the Courscant Base. He had distinguished himself early, and had already been well-known before Slayer came to the 212th. Even so he felt the pull of eyes as he passed with the amount of crystals he racked up in only a few months. The title High General got bandied around. In Cody’s opinion that was only a matter of time. He wasn’t arrogant, but he was ambitious and didn’t believe in false modesty. He was good. He was one of their best. He would be given more because he would use the resources afforded better than anyone else.

He would save lives and defend the Republic. 

“That will be encrusted if you keep going on like you have,” Neyo called as he passed. 

“Then I’ll have to start covering the other one,” Cody replied, not slowing. He was out of armour, but vambraces were worn when off duty. Even Clones couldn’t tell each other by sight without tattoos, piercings, or extreme hairstyles. Not everyone had the time and inclination for it, and even if they did, military hiearchy was never waved. The Vambraces were a way to show each other who they were, even if they were strangers. Their rank and their stories and names born out on designs only they understood. 

He nodded to some of the other officers he recognised as he made his way to his table. No Fox. No Wolffe. No Rex. He hadn't expected the last two, but had hoped Fox's leave might have lined up with his own. 

After taking out 'the First,' and gaining a firm hold on Vandor the 212th were given leave.  

The last time they had been in the core they were assigned their Jedi.  

Cody's thoughts strayed.

Being on leave, enjoying a beer was not something a Jedi got to do. Slayer was sent for testing to the Temple to make sure all his failsafes were working and to go through psych evals.

“It’s not really fair,” Gregor mused noticing Cody staring at the jewels on his vambrace. Gregor was one of his commanders, and had always been a steady sort. “He works as hard as any of us.”

Even his Commander saw the Jedi as one of their own. 

“Well, to make sure he keeps working hard, he needs his checkups,” Cody shrugged, trying to seem ambivalent. It didn’t sit well with him either. Not so much the checks. Those were essential, but the fact that their Jedi wasn’t theirs when they were on Coruscant. They had expertise. They could do the checks themselves. He could stay on the ship in his room. It was a small room, and it wasn’t that much bigger than the cells he would have to be kept in during their shore leave, but at least it would be his.

Cody had poked his head in a few times. The small room was windowless of course. It had enough space for a bed and a little fresher. There was a lock on the outside, although Cody had yet to have to use it. 

Jedi were allowed in rec areas to socialize if their temperment showed them to be trustworthy, but Slayer was the first one that had tentatively taken advantage of it in a meaningful way. Usually, when the Jedi wasn’t in his room he was at a window watching the stars or the lights of hyperspace. He would meditate and float eerily until he was interrupted or the men would try to pull him into a card game. At first they did it on dares. Shinies or troops that should know better inviting the scary Jedi to socialise with them to show how ‘kar' they were.

Now Cody had the feeling it was out of genuine enjoyment of the man’s company when they asked him to join.  

All the items Slayer had in the little room were neatly stacked. A standard issue hygiene kit, his clothes, his armour. He had five oddly coloured rocks lined up on the edge of his bed. Three of them Cody knew the origin of. Slayer found them on the field and pocketed them. The first time Cody had demanded to see what he had grabbed. Got his men to do a scan. 

It was just a rock. Nothing special except aesthetics. He still made sure to check any the Jedi took an interest in. The last one, Slayer had approached with a sly grin.

“It’s not a Sith’s, but this one is nice, isn’t it, General? I know you have a similar interest to mine for geology.” There was no sarcasm to detect, but Cody knew his Jedi was being a little shit on purpose. He cleared the rock. 

Once again, just a rock.

"It's for you, General," the Jedi grinned when Cody tried to hand it back. 

Cody had seen some Sith throne rooms covered in rubies and gold. Mostly in intel and pictures, but he had been in enough raids to know it was a common asthetic. Opulence or something out of a horror holo, or both. He wondered if Slayer had a palace before the GAR claimed him. Did he like jewels and now all he could get were oddly coloured rocks?

The image of it didn’t track. The idea of Slayer dressed in synthsilk on a throne leaning back with a smirk on his face… perhaps it clashed too much with what Cody saw in the day to day. Slayer on one of the old overstuffed chairs in the rec area, one of his long legs crossed over the other. An amused smile as he won all the candy and cigs the men used for betting with him.

That system had emerged quickly. The men enjoyed his company, but putting credits in the Jedi’s hand was a punishable offence. So when he won they gave him luxury items instead. Candy, cigs, magazines. The cigs he used for his betting pool. The magazines usually ended up in the common area after about a week. 

Clones as a rule didn't get paid either. The Republic looked after their needs, but brothers knew any credits a batchmate got his hands on would be spent on something to be shared. It was why there was always an abundance of such items.  

The large bag of candy was on the dresser. 

Slayer was as generous with it as any clone would be.

Cody had kept the rock. The gift. The white stone with an unbroken orange band circling it.

That must have reminded Slayer of the 212th colours.    

There was one other decorative touch to the room. The strangest detail. Someone had given Slayer some orange paint that was used for armour and he had started painting on the walls. 

Pictures, and words, and phrases. Cody had stared at it a long time when he had first seen it. His Jedi was so… civilised. The idea of him fingerpainting seemed ridiculous. 

Slayer for his part was pink in embarrassment when he found Cody staring.

“I can scrub it off, sir.”

There was something hunched. Defensive. Something that Cody didn’t like in the posture, in the unsaid apology. 

Some invisible scar. 

“It’s your room,” Cody said and turned away. There had been star maps among the fields of aubresh. He got a man to take notes and holos one day when the Jedi wasn’t there. They were still trying to figure out if there was any information or codes hidden within.

He doubted it, but it was his duty to make sure. 

Small planets. Some in Sith territory that were most likely of personal meaning as they held no strategic advantage. Stewjon, Melida/Daan, Naboo, Tatooine. His planet of origin was most likely Stewjon. Melida/Daan was a husk, a civil war having wiped out the population of the planet more than a decade ago. Naboo and Tatooine were close to one another, but Tatooine was just barely outside of Sith Space into Hutt Space.

Among the star maps native flowers were drawn inside the constellations. Stewjoni thistles, something like lilacs, Naboo milla, Tatooine desert sage.  

Slayer wasn’t stupid. The plants and planets weren’t meaningless to the Jedi, but they would lead to nothing. Cody was sure of it.   

The Force Shall Free Me.

That had appeared a day after their encounter with the First.  

“I am free.” 

The Jedi's words had echoed in him as he had personally took their Jedi to the Temple. Cody had subtly looked down. He spotted a fleck of orange paint in his Jedi’s cuticle. A finger painting Sith.

Former Sith.

Jedi.  

Cody took a sip of his beer. Tried to listen to Gregor and the others that joined their table. Tried to let the words float away. Tried to let his annoyance at the Jedi’s absence from his ship go. 

There wouldn’t be any orange paint at the Temple.

Chapter Text

The entrance to the Temple wasn’t far from the Guard Barracks. It was technically light level, but the lift inside went far down before coming to where the Jedi were actually held. 

“The staff say your evaluations have come out acceptable.” 

Cody was here to pick up his Jedi. 

“Only acceptable?” Slayer’s lip twitched. “I apologise, I’m usually a better test taker.”

“I’m sure,” Cody said dryly. As they had gotten to know each other they had fallen into an easy sort of banter. He supposed this was what he got when he didn’t use the control collar at the first sign of sarcasm. He didn’t exactly regret it though.

“Ready to come home?” 

And there was a genuine smile when Slayer nodded. “Exceedingly. I won’t fault the Temple on their hospitality. They would have to have any to be faulted on it.” 

Slayer was standing in a little cell, his number on a pad above. There wasn’t much to it. A mat on the ground and a small toilet. He didn’t have any of his armour. Just a simple tunic and a plain brown cloak. Alpha had called it playing dress up the way the senate committee decided the Jedi should look like ‘classic’ Jedi.

Classic Jedi of course were what people imagined from the holofilms. What the Jedi actually looked like was mostly lost to time.

He wondered what Slayer’s actual clothing preference was. If he preferred black like the majority of the Sith Cody had encountered, or if he wore colours. If he liked a lot of fabric or less.   

There were a lot of layers to these Jedi robes. All of Slayer’s cloaks were a few sizes too big, but he had never requested a better fit. The extra material was good for the cold little cell now. The Jedi’s hands neatly tucked into the sleeves.  

Cody turned to the droid guard. “I’m signing him out.”

“Yessir.” 

The cage was unlocked and Slayer took a little inhale once he was out.

It was impossible to block the ‘Force.’ The Republic had been working on a drug or collar or weapon for years that would strip a Sith of their power. The closest thing they ever found was beskar. Beskar didn’t cut a Sith off from their powers, but the metal itself wasn't affected by Sith magic. Something about it being too solid in space to be manipulated. Cody wasn’t a scientist so that’s as much as he was ever taught. All the Temple cells were lined with it. Force Users weren’t able to use their power to break the wall or bend the bars. There were theories Sith found it unpleasant to be surrounded by it for long lengths of time, but considering Sith personalities the research on that was slow going. 

The bomb collars were also constructed out of the metal since Lightsabers couldn’t cut through, or at least they couldn't cut through quickly.

It was a problem though. The only sure place to get beskar was Mandalore, and the Mandalorians considered the metal sacred. A lot of skirmishes between Mandalorians and the Republic happened over the beskar supply. With the rise of Mand’alor the Reformer the Republic’s access to beskar was at an all time low. 

Slayer, free from his confinement, took his place to the right and a step behind Cody, heeling like any good strill might.  

The hallway felt exceedingly cold, even for Cody who was fully kitted out. He could feel every set of golden eyes focus on them as they passed, but the cheerfulness Slayer exuded had a warming effect. 

It would have been fine. They were almost out. 

“Kenobi.” The low hiss was full of venom and hatred. 

Cody continued his steps, ignoring the caged Jedi, but realised Slayer had paused at the call. Cody stopped as well and turned. 

Slayer was glued to the spot, staring at the cell door in front of him. Through the bars was a red zabrak covered in tattoos. His lower half was missing, cybernetics replacing his lower torso and legs.

It was like watching two vicious predators size each other up. Slayer’s cheerfulness was gone. The room went as ice cold as Hoth.  

But then, Slayer noticed Cody watching him. His Jedi readjusted his posture taking on a more casual air. He turned to resume walking at Cody’s side.

Cody was about to feel relieved.

But Slayer couldn’t help himself. He turned again. 

“I like your new legs,” he said after a beat. “They make you look taller.” He grinned cheekily.

The zabrak roared with the deepest hatred Cody had ever seen–ever felt . A ripple ran through the hall. The zabrak stretched his hands out—and yelled in pain as his collar set off, electricity running through him. An alarm blared. Guards appeared, their weaponry mostly pointed at the zabrak, but some at Slayer as well.

Slayer was wincing, hand at his throat briefly before letting it drop.  

“Sir, please leave the area!” the Sergeant in charge requested.  

The Sergeant paused, looking at Slayer, blaster moving toward him. 

“He’s with me,” Cody said firmly, before the guards got any ideas. He caught his Jedi by the arm and dragged him off before they could protest. Not that they would against a General. There were benefits to rank. No one stopped them. The zabrak’s screams of ‘Kenobi’ followed them the rest of the way out. 

When they were away from the lower cells, out in the small check-in area Cody turned his glare onto his Jedi.

“What was that about?” Cody demanded.

Slayer’s face was completely blank. 

“Nothing, sir.”

“That didn’t sound like ‘nothing.’”

“But it was,” Slayer said coldly. He sounded like a stranger. “I have no past beyond that of a Jedi. I have no name beyond Oh-Three-One… and Slayer.”

There was a bitterness when he said the name. The name Cody’s men honoured him with. Extended to him even though he wasn’t a brother. Even though he was a Sith –

“You egged him on,” Cody growled, not satisfied in the least.

They had gained attention. The clerk, and some of the guards were watching, but didn’t interrupt.  

Slayer only scowled. 

“You knew him,” Cody prompted, unwilling to let it go.

“I hate him!” 031 countered sharply, his ire reignited like starfire. 

It was like a slap in the face.

The guards put their hands on their weapons, waiting for instruction. 

“Jedi do not hate,” Cody said. It was something they were supposed to say. Automatic. Negative emotions weren’t allowed.

All Jedi hated though. Every single one they caught. All they were was hate. Vile bitter anger and wrath. 

But 031 … Cody had thought he was different.

031 didn’t drop his gaze, as if daring Cody to say it again. To tell him to deny the winter storm of emotion that chilled the air around them. 

“Say the Code,” Cody ordered sharply. 

“I don’t–”

Cody shocked him.

Slayer gracefully fell to his knees as he rode through the pain. He didn’t make a sound. When it was over he looked up with gritted teeth. 

Why did he look so betrayed?

Why did Cody feel so far away?

One of the guards chuckled, but it sounded distant in Cody’s ears. 

“Say the Code, 031.” He had thought for a moment someone else had said it, but it was him. It was his order. It was his duty to see to 031’s behaviour. 

It was Cody’s fault. He had been too comfortable. He wasn’t keeping proper control. 

“There is no emotion, there is peace,” Slayer stayed on his knees. His voice was soft and lilting now. Those strange blue eyes wouldn’t look away. “There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.”

And then 031 took a deep breath and repeated it to himself only mouthing the words this time. The glacier freeze in his eyes melted and he looked down, still kneeling. Not challenging Cody anymore. His stance penitent.  

Cody shouldn’t feel guilty for keeping a monster in line. He shouldn’t feel guilty for punishing at the first sign of true disobedience. 031 was collared. A bomb around his neck with electricity running through. He couldn’t be entirely contained. He was still powerful. He was still a Sith deep down. They all were.  

The last one had killed twenty men without even using the well of power at his disposal. What could Slayer do to the 212th if Cody allowed it? If Cody dropped his guard. 

He had already. 

Foolish. 

“I don’t like him very much,” Slayer said quietly, still on the ground, kneeling. It was almost a joke. A mild understatement. He slowly looked up and he was Cody’s Jedi again. “May I stand, General?”

Slayer was back.

And Cody, as much as he wanted to convince himself of it… he knew that it wasn’t an act. That it had never been an act. Slayer was good at not answering questions when he didn’t want to. He was good at bluffing. 

But he was honest too. Honest in a strange and beautiful way that defied all of Cody’s logic.

The one looking up at him waiting for his judgement wasn’t one of them. Wasn’t a monster. The one looking up at him threw himself in front of blaster fire to shield his men. Was rumoured to cheat at cards to win candy that he always shared anyway. Who sat beside a dying clone without a name and took away his pain. 

“Can we go home?” Slayer asked when Cody didn’t say anything.   

Home. That word again.

Cody didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to move forward. They had both crossed lines… they had disappointed each other. 

There was hesitation in Slayer. Anxiety, that maybe Cody would turn around and put him back in the little cage surrounded by golden eyes and the winter dread.

Cody shouldn’t feel guilty.

“Do you want us to take it, sir?” One of the guards finally approached. 

It jolted Cody back into reality. 

“No,” he snapped. Then he reached down, offering a hand. Slayer took it and rose up.

Slayer smiled. It was a relieved smile. Cody’s gut felt sour.

Cody let go of the Jedi’s hand. Had he been holding it too long? The guard shrugged and walked off. Had he been disappointed that Cody wasn’t about to throw Slayer back down into the cages? Cody couldn’t tell behind the red helmet.  

Slayer ran his hand just under the bomb collar, touching the burns he had received.

“You didn’t hold it down as long as Alph–as my last General,” Slayer commented mildly. Like maybe he was forgiving Cody despite Cody not asking for it. 

Cody shouldn’t feel guilty. 

They were silent the rest of the journey back.

Slayer stayed out of the rec area after that.   

Cody expected the change. The look of betrayal kept surfacing in his mind. The surprise. Slayer hadn’t expected it. Had thought that Cody would…

Would what? Take his side?

Well… maybe he did. The nightmare in the cell that called out to Slayer was exactly the type Cody had faced before. The kind that slaughtered his men and tortured them if they had the means. The kind that enslaved entire populations. Killed innocents like they were nothing. 

He looked up JI-032. 

He wasn’t supposed to. The Senate’s program had rules. He would be given any need to know facts about any Jedi put under his command, but he would not be given details of their past crimes. Their slates were wiped. It was to prevent the Jedi from being punished or abused for their former actions as Sith.

It was so the Republic could claim they were doing a good deed. Claim that this wasn’t enforced servitude of an enemy combatant, but instead a rehabilitation.  

But 032 wasn’t classed as a JK or JM yet. He was still a JI. An initiate. He hadn’t shown the type of control or obedience needed to be let into the field, even with the threat of the bomb collar. It was easier to look into JIs. Frowned at, but not strictly breaking the rules. Cody had the clearance to look. He thought maybe… maybe he could learn something about… about Kenobi, the man Slayer used to be.  

These were the details Cody found:

JI-032 used to be known as Darth Maul. He was one of Darth Sidious’ own assassins. A shadow that revelled in bloodshed. His profile read more like a serial murderer’s list of crimes than a trained assassin’s list of targets. He would stalk his prey and make sure they suffered both physically and mentally before they died. The bodies were always displayed. Always found. Mutilation, half healed injuries showing just how long he had kept them alive before letting them die. 

Maul was attributed to many high profile killings in the Sith Empire as well as the Republic and Mandalore. If Sidious had a target he particularly hated then Maul would be the chosen executioner. 

Cody opened one of his evaluation interviews.

“Rat catching?”

“Yes,” Maul’s voice was smooth. His accent was similar to Slayer’s. He held an air of refinement that didn’t suit the brutality of his crimes. 

“You do this as a hobby?” the interviewer prompted.

The zabrak chuckled. His small blue figure stretched languidly without a care. “Everyone has hobbies. Finding amusing pastimes is hard when one is always on the move.” He grinned viciously. “So I catch rats. Rats are almost everywhere in the Galaxy. The Republic’s infestation is especially bad. I’m doing you a favour.”

“What do you do to the rats?”

Maul laughed out right. He leaned forward, happy to share on this particular topic. “I practise my craft, experiment. There’s a reason rats are often used in studies.”

“Experiment.”  

“Yes. From what I’ve read of Republic law they’re not considered sentient, but they simulate it well enough. I’ll find a rat, peel off its shell, and keep it as a pet. Rats are very smart, you know. Sometimes I’ll torture it. Sometimes I’ll make it love me despite the pain I put it through. I’ll see how it reacts to non-lethal cuts of my lightsaber, or knives or electro-prods. I’ll carve their shell pattern into their skin if I find it particularly artful. See how long it will last underwater. Break its mind psychically. They all die in the end. Rats aren’t long lived, but I enjoy keeping animals when I have the time for it.”

Anger built up in Cody. Clones. He was talking about Clones.

Cody turned off the holo, unwilling to hear anymore poison spill out of the monster’s mouth. How many brothers had that thing captured and tortured? How many had he treated as nothing more than vermin to be experimented with? 

He stood, staring out into hyperspace.

Cody, by his own nature, was impulsive. It had been a shadow that had followed him his entire career. It got him in trouble as a cadet. There was even a time he was docketed to be transferred out of the navy and into one of the service brigades.

Alpha took an interest, a Captain himself at the time, and put him in the Command Class. Pulled strings and favours. He didn’t let Cody forget that. Alpha could use guilt and gratitude as well as he could shoot a blaster. 

So Cody didn’t start breaking things. He stood in parade rest, staring out of the window. He focused on the blue streaks of hyperspace. 

It’s never just your life you gamble on with impulsivity.

A lesson hard learned. Alpha had seen his potential and seen what Cody had to learn to sand down that flaw. Cody had mastered himself.

Mostly, mastered himself. 

The anger subsided and he went back to his desk, letting his shoulders sag as he continued his research. He stuck to the simple, matter-of-fact details.    

Maul was apprehended by Alpha-17 with assistance of 031. During the battle 031 and 032 engaged in a duel. 031 prevailed and cut 032 in half. 032, despite the grievous injuries, survived the encounter. There were some theories from the medics about his magic most likely being the only thing keeping him alive. He was collared and hospitalised. They put him into the program, but he had yet to find a stabilisation point that would make him suitable for the front.

It was years of no progress. Cody wondered what the plan was for lost causes. 

Psychology reports noted obsessive behaviour. He said the word: Kenobi like a mantra, working himself up into fits of rage and violence. The researchers hadn’t figured out what or who Kenobi was.

But it was obvious now. It probably should have been obvious from the beginning. 

Cut him in half. Cody considered that. That is a death blow by all rights.  

Jedi were allowed to kill. In fact, they were encouraged to kill. They were the one effective weapon the GAR had against Sith Commanders.

But a horizontal strike across the middle. 

A death strike—but a slow and painful one if the lightsaber cauterises the wound and prevents heavy bleed out. A horrifying way to die.  

Cody thought of the others Slayer had defeated while under his own command. It was always the same. A long drawn out battle. Slayer on the defensive, gaining more and more momentum as his enemy flagged. A swift and painless end at the first opening given.

Slayer always asked them to surrender. 

The one Slayer identified as Feemor has been a somewhat exceptional case in how he took his death into his own hands, but Slayer had killed before.

Quick, painless, efficient.

But not Maul. Not Maul who likened the lives of Cody’s brothers to vermin. 

Cody sighed in frustration as he put the reports away.

Betrayed blue eyes. Not a glint of gold. The image played again in his head.

Slayer on his knees.   

Kenobi. 

Could he actually fault his Jedi for hating a beast like Maul?  

Cody was raised to despise Sith. Every encounter he had against them made his own hatred brighter.  

So why shouldn’t a Jedi feel the same?

…Why couldn’t Kenobi ?

The name rattled in his head.

Slayer’s name. The name he had been stripped of. It twisted in his mind everytime he saw the Jedi now. Kenobi. 

Cody shook his head to clear it and reached for the next file. The only records for Slayer Cody had access to were Slayer’s records as a Jedi. It had his intake date, the planet he was captured and the clone in charge: General Alpha, A-17. 

He wasn’t surprised that Slayer had been Alpha’s trophy, although it was unusual that Alpha became his commander after capture. That wasn’t the protocol.  

Number of 031’s confirmed kills: Twelve.

A dozen, Cody thought with some sad irony, remembering Dozen. Remembering Slayer’s compassion. 

He opened the new evaluations he received from the Temple. He had been putting them off after the incident. Glowing reports. Self congratulations at a job well done. Slayer was non-violent, obedient, sane . He knew the Code and all the Jedi mantras they packed into his head.  

He had even spoken with some affection about the 212th during one of the interviews. 

Reading between the lines the Temple Staff were excited because Slayer came off as normal. A normal person.

Cody sighed at the ceiling. 

Why did it feel wrong? 

Something was working. He should be happy. The idea of having more Jedi—Jedi like Slayer who were so valuable on the field should excite him. Powerhouses that didn’t have their own agenda. Useful soldiers who weren’t trying to get away with killing the men around them. He should be as happy as Slayer’s evaluators.

Instead he felt like he had eaten something rotten. Something he had to work at to keep down. Something familiar. 

Cody looked up and it was only a mixture of pride and discipline that stopped him from startling. He had been so lost in the files he hadn’t noticed the two entering his office. 

He mentally scolded himself. Awareness in the moment is what kept a Clone alive in the moment.

The men that had taken to socialising with Slayer had been worried when Slayer isolated himself after coming back from the Temple. The Jedi rarely exited his room. There were quiet murmurs and questions. What had happened to him? What did the Temple do? 

Concern for their comrade. 

Looked like it had finally reached a breaking point for them.  

“Sir,” Lieutenant Waxer was an exemplary soldier. He also had the softest core when it came to children and wounded animals. The men nominating him to talk to Cody about the 212th’s Jedi made sense. Lieutenant Boil stood beside Waxer with a mullish expression. He wasn’t as empathetic as Waxer, but he was one of the most loyal beings you could find. If you were one of his, he would fight for you forever. Despite his disgruntlement of getting dragged into Waxer’s crusades he was never far from the other man’s side and was often just as invested underneath it all.  

Cody made a point of knowing his officers strengths and weaknesses. These two were two of his best. They were also often in the sabacc games with Slayer, along with Wooley. 

Wooley was record’s officer, and acted as Cody’s clerk. He was set up in the smaller office in front of Cody’s. Usually he would block or announce anyone coming in. Like these two. 

But they had been let through without a word.  

A conspiracy then, he thought with distant amusement. 

He returned the lieutenants’ salutes. He already knew what they wanted to talk about.   

“We’re worried about Slayer, sir,” Waxer said. “A lot of the boys are.”  

“I know,” Cody said. He could have played ignorant, but he preferred being straightforward.

Waxer didn’t fidget. He stood in his parade rest and waited. Boil’s impatience came out with a roll of his shoulders, but he let Waxer do the talking. 

“Go ahead,” Cody said.

“He came back from the Temple …” Waxer paused, not sure how to phrase it. “Depressed,” he decided. “We know he needs evaluations, but we—a group of us wanted permission to be on site the next time he has to be taken in. So that one of us is there to make sure—”

“Denied,” Cody said, before the lieutenant could finish. 

“But sir!” Waxer protested. 

“Slayer gets his evaluation during leave,” Cody said. “It’s important for all soldiers to take their rest, otherwise burnout and emotional issues can arise.” 

It sounded like something out of a handbook. It probably was. The Clones had hundreds of years to perfect the well oiled machine that was the GAR. They were made to face a constant barrage of high stress combat situations, but it didn’t mean they would be unaffected if they didn’t take care of themselves.

Becoming a General, Cody had learned that many natborns didn’t understand that. It had been eye opening when he was given more access to senate minutes, and direct contact with non-clones. 

A high number thought they were superhuman or tireless droids. There were many bills trying to introduce cuts to wellbeing programs and mental health resources that the GAR provided its soldiers. Some of the citizenry didn’t even know that they weren’t far off from baseline humans.

Maul’s words about sentience echoed. 

It was true. 

The Clone Troopers of the Republic had wrestled and clawed much of their rights for self-government and sufficiency, but there had never been an amendment in the Clone Act to consider them legally sentient. They were still referred to as living-property in some of the older laws that applied to them.

Considering their founding though: how any Clone decanted with a defect would be terminated, how any sign of disobedience would be cause for brutal reconditioning, how a large amount of their childhoods had been taken away with genetic modification… well, comparing that with now, they had come a long way. Those practices were long over. The Clones were in control of their own reproduction processes. Execution involved a jury of Clones, and was only called for against traitors, murderers, deserters or other serious crimes, and even then only by unanimous vote while looking at the mitigating factors of the case. 

It had been long enough that those in power didn’t consider the rights of Clones much of an issue anymore.

Long enough that most Clones didn’t consider the deficiencies in the Clone Act. They certainly weren’t encouraged to.     

But one of the things they had won for themselves was their own space on planet. A Base. Its five spires a famous aspect of the Coruscant skyline. Many facilities and amenities had been built in. There were rooms for exercising, meditation, even pools and gardens full of fountains. It could fit more than thirty-thousand men at a time. Cody was of a rank where he even had permanent quarters, although he rarely saw them.  

Sometimes it felt like the only safe place in the galaxy and it was so rare to be able to visit it. Cody could never ask his men to lose their chance for rest in one of the few homes they had in the galaxy, outside their ships and decant planets.

“We would do it in shifts,” Waxer said doggedly, not having given up the argument. “There are men willing to give a day to make sure he’s not being—”

“Denied. Being in the Temple is …” Cody thought of that cold little cell. How relieved Slayer had looked. How Cody hadn’t been able to shake away the miasma the place carried, even now jetting through hyperspace. “Being there is not good for trooper mental health.”

“If that’s true,” Boil said reluctantly, “Then what about him? It doesn’t seem like he got any R&R there. Just the opposite in fact.”

“Your concerns are noted, gentlemen.”

Twin frowns. Cody wondered if they were batchmates. Batches came out in the tens of thousands, but the cadets in the sleep pods next to you were batchmates. The ones that would sneak out to explore the training facility, or play games, or get into trouble with. Or maybe they were Squadies during their middle years. His mind drifted to Fox and then he thought of Slayer. Was Maul his batchmate now? 

“Sir, we only think that—”

“It’s noted, Waxer,” Cody repeated. He gentled his voice. They were created for war, yet little brothers were always so eager to be sweet when given the chance toward people they liked.  

That said, they had a point. The army wanted the Jedi to stay Jedi, yet locked them in little cages when not in use. Was that really how they would win them over? Were they ever actually planning to?

Or was it just a thick coat of paint? Was the word Jedi just another word for weapon… or slave?

Old thoughts from his time as a cadet surged up, trying to break to the surface. The difference between service and slavery. The difference between duty and chains. 

“Have you asked him about it?” Cody asked. If Slayer had told them what had really happened, he expected this conversation might not have gone so civilly.  

“He’s not around much to ask,” Boil muttered.

“He says everything went fine,” Waxer added. “He’s just… distant. Please, General. I think something happened.” 

Cody knew exactly what happened.

“I’ll talk to him. You’re both dismissed.” 

Chapter Text

He had meant to follow up immediately, but his attention was pulled away by new orders.

It was almost a relief.

Cody and his men were to act as escort for a negotiation with the Mandalorian Empire. There had been skirmishes and fights at higher rates over the past three months. It wasn’t unusual for either side to get into ship measuring contests, but the number of conflicts was alarmingly high. Intel suggested there might be a different faction flying false colours and causing chaos between the two powers. The rising tensions moved the Senate to act. The Republic could not afford a war on three fronts, even with the Jedi program’s positive results.

The plan was to park the Glory on the edge of Republic Space. A small party would meet the negotiator of Mandalore on a medium-sized inhabitable asteroid in No Man’s Land.   

The Senate had sent Prince Bail Organa of Alderaan as lead ambassador. He was a very tall masculine human with dark hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore a belted grey long coat with a high collar. It was a practical enough choice for a warship, but the materials of it looked expensive.

Cody had to tilt his head up every time he spoke with him.

He didn't like it.    

Cody didn’t like him.

He had been ignoring why he didn’t like him for days now.  

Organa and his staff had taken over one of the large conference rooms for the journey. Going over negotiation strategy, and what could feasibly be accomplished. Cody was obliged to be there for large swaths of it. He would be on the ground as well with a small protection detail.

He didn’t like it, but if the cold war with Mandalore went hot the Republic would be torn apart. 

The mission itself had been fine at first. All went as expected. They picked up the Prince and his retinue and welcomed them aboard. Cody had become accustomed to Very Important Natborns. Even as a General he knew there were expectations of his comportment because he was a Clone. Some of his brothers in high places bristled at that expectation, but he fell into it with little fuss. If it moved things along more quickly he wasn't going to cause friction and slow operations over his own pride. He professionally welcomed the Prince and his team, showed him to his quarters, assigned Wooley to see to any needs and act as liaison. 

Standard.

The only deviation was from the Prince himself. He didn’t carry the usual arrogance Cody associated with Natborns. He smiled and shook Cody’s hand. Held eye contact. 

Cody stomped through the hallway at the memory. He had been taken in, and was no annoyed with himself for it. He had found the Prince refreshing at the time.

He’s a politician, Cody reminded himself. If he had learned anything from General Alpha, it was that politicians couldn’t be trusted. They smile at you with their face and took all they could from you with their greedy fingers. Alpha had been talking about the defense budget.

Cody's mind was on something else. 

His men sensed danger, and avoided him as he made his way through the ship to his meeting, trying to reign in his emotions.  

Cody had gone over the Prince’s profile with Gregor. The Prince had once been a Senator, a popular one, before resigning his position a few years back.. 

The same year the Jedi Program came into effect, Cody mentally noted, but wrote it off. His mind was on Jedis.

One particular Jedi.

He still hadn’t spoken to him. 

Cody didn’t consider himself socially awkward, but had come to rely on protocol. Clear rules: this is what you do with superiors, this is what to do with subordinates, this is what to do with Natborns of stature. 

And he had protocol for how to deal with Jedi.

But that protocol had got him into this mess.

If it had been his last Jedi he wouldn’t be thinking about this at all. 

He might have shocked him again, Cody thought bitterly.

Remembered sickly golden eyes and the besalisk’s wide triumphant grin before Cody blew his head off.

His hand shook for a moment. He pressed it into a fist and let his feet carry him forward. Tried not to let thoughts of the besalisk lead back to thoughts of his current Jedi.

But of course they did.   

Slayer was Cody’s exception. It felt like he had shocked one of his brothers. 

That was a problem. How could he keep control if he saw Slayer as… 

No he couldn’t think of him that way.

And he also knew he couldn’t leave things as they were.  

And so protocol couldn’t help him. He had already carried out the standard Jedi protocol, he couldn’t approach Slayer like he might a natborn. He couldn’t speak to him like a subordinate or superior brother. 

A category all his own. 

So Cody put it off, even though he shouldn’t have, and allowed himself the excuse of their royal guest, and preparing for the important negotiation with the Mandalorians.

And dealing with the Prince’s second did genuinely pull him away from many important tasks that he could have been doing instead.

Lieutenant-Governor Wilhuff Tarkin of Eriadu was everything Cody expected of rich entitled natborns with rank, and then some. Despite not holding any military rank in the GAR he expected Cody’s men to salute him and take his word as a superior's orders. He worked with some sort of planetary defence force on the edge of the outer regions, which sounded like a petty little militia compared with the GAR. There were multiple incidences where Tarkin attempted to correct Cody's men on discipline and military decorum. Cody had to mediate quite a few confrontations between the man and his command team.

Agonizing amounts of time were wasted then because Tarkin showed little respect for Cody’s authority. Cody found himself growing more and more icy towards the assisting ambassador. 

He had to deal with Tarkin that morning, and the idea of spending the day trapped in a room with him and Organa was setting him on edge. He was in a bad mood when he entered the conference room. 

He stopped.

There was Slayer, sitting alone. Waiting.

His hands were folded in the sleeves of his too big robe. He tilted his head up toward Cody.  

The conversation with Waxer and Boil a week ago pressed down on Cody’s shoulders. All the excuses he had crumbled in his mind. Slayer was right in front of him. Easy as that. 

“General,” after a beat, Slayer stood and bowed. His face was neutral, and he didn’t meet Cody’s eyes. 

Jedi didn’t technically have to follow military guidelines, but Slayer had made a habit of using the bow in place of a salute.

“Slayer.” Cody nodded in greeting, still stewing in his surprise. He internally winced for using the Jedi’s moniker instead of his number. It didn’t feel appropriate. Not with Slayer's bitterness when he said the name. Not with Kenobi still ringing in Cody's ears.  

Before he could think of anything to say they were interrupted.   

“General, good morning. Ah, excellent. You came, Master Jedi,” Organa grinned upon entering when he spotted Slayer. He walked over to him and took his hand, squeezing it with both of his in greeting. Slayer had to crane his head up from his once again seated position.  

Cody felt that the Prince was being overly warm and polite. He had known other Natborns that behaved the same way with Clones. It was a show to demonstrate ease about being in the same room.

It set Cody’s teeth on edge.

He ignored Slayer’s genuine smile at the gesture.

Tried to. 

Wooley had mentioned Organa approached Slayer one of the few times the Jedi poked his head out of his room. Cody hadn’t expected anything to come from it at the time. He had thought the Prince only wanted to gawk.

As it turned out, the Prince had been more successful getting the Jedi out of his rooms than anyone else had thus far. Cody tried to write it off. Slayer probably thought he had no choice in obeying the Prince’s summons. 

Cody had intended to warn Organa off from disturbing their Jedi in this very meeting.

But Slayer didn’t look uncomfortable at all when his hand was released.

Organa’s eyes drifted to the collar then. His expression didn’t change save for a small furrow of displeasure on his brow. He patted Slayer’s shoulder with familiarity before he finally made his way to his own chair at the head of the conference table.  

Slayer, for his part, gave the Prince a polite head nod. “I am at your service, Ambassador.”

“I appreciate it,” Organa replied warmly. He took his seat. 

“Prince Organa—” Cody interrupted. 

“I’m a prince by marriage,” Organa interrupted. “Ambassador is fine, General. Bail would be even better.”

“Ambassador Organa,” Cody repeated. He kept his tone neutral by the skin of his teeth. “Why is JM-031 present?”

Organa was carefully calm when Cody used the string of numbers that made up Slayer’s designation. 

The Ambassador clasped his hands, and leaned back in his chair. “He has an understanding of Mandalorian negotiation techniques. His knowledge will be essential to our preparations.”

“Will it.” Cody said coldly. It wasn’t really a question. His eyes moved to Slayer who was watching him with open curiosity. “He told you that?”

The Jedi tilted his head. “You have always encouraged me to lend any abilities I have toward the Republic’s causes,” Slayer said carefully. 

Cody wasn’t in the habit of lying to himself. 

Things between Slayer and him were unresolved by his own negligence.

He felt a stupid jealousy. It was unprofessional and unwarranted. It had formed the moment Wooley had mentioned Organa’s approach and success in pulling Slayer out of isolation.  

There was an edge in Slayer’s expression, waiting to see what Cody would do.

The echo of the betrayal that still lingered in Cody’s mind, and the guilt Cody stubbornly fought against.  

“Any insight into the matter you can give for mission success will be welcome,” Cody said, forcing his posture to relax.

Slayer stroked his chin. Still trying to read him.

“But you need to remember,” Cody said—forced himself to say, knowing he had to say it.

“I have no past. Just the here and now. Don’t worry General Cody. I remember,” Slayer said politely. 

Organa frowned. “What does that mean?” He glanced towards Slayer.

“It has to do with the condition of my status as a Jedi, Ambassador,” Slayer said candidly. He didn’t look the least bit bothered, almost bored to be hashing it out to someone new. “To be a … servant of the Republic, to be a Jedi, I need a clean slate. I am discouraged from thinking about who I used to be, or talking about it outside extreme circumstances. So, although I am happy to give you any insights I have regarding Mandalorian politics, I’m afraid I can’t give you any context of my personal experience or direct example. They don’t exist anymore as far as the Republic is concerned.”

Organa looked over at Cody like he expected him to correct what was being said, but he couldn’t. It was entirely accurate.

As all Jedi had, Slayer had been interrogated when he was brought into the program. After a time, anything he might have held back was less likely to be relevant to military operations. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Organa said, turning back to Slayer. “I know you used to be—”

“He’s a Jedi,” Cody interrupted. “He hasn’t been anything else as far as the Republic is concerned.” 

Organa’s eyes narrowed. Moral outrage that always struck Cody as ironic coming from a man like the Prince of Alderaan. “So he can’t have a name or a past?”

“I assure you Ambassador,” Slayer said smoothly, “The past you think I should have a right to isn’t one that I would relish having anymore.” The Jedi offered a calm smile. “I see your kindness,” and Cody could see Slayer’s. How he was gentle with the Ambassador. “But there’s no need. The General is trying to protect me. He isn’t censoring me.” 

“Protecting you from what?” 

“From what I could become.”

From what I could become...

Slayer continued. “He does an admirable job of it. Now, we should get to work. Mereel’s chief negotiator carries no blaster, but the power she wields with her tongue is sharp enough to bleed entire star systems. She’ll put you through your paces. Force you into philosophical arguments on morality. It’s a test. To both see if you’re worthy of sitting across a negotiation table from, and to get to know your personality. I think she’ll like you, but you must earn it. That said, she will not take well to your… associate—”

It was then that Tarkin entered, as well as the rest of Organa’s retinue. 

Tarkin’s eyes were immediately on Slayer. Cody got ready for another string of complaints for having the Jedi in the conference room. Instead, he smirked.

“Finally using all the resources we have available then, Organa?” 

Organa didn’t show any distaste toward Tarkin, and yet his dislike was clear enough from the disappearance of his usual smile. “Our friend has some insight that he has willingly offered us, so I invited him to the table.” 

Tarkin didn’t roll his eyes, but the small snort he made was equal in meaning. “Of course.” His tone was just short of sarcasm. It was amazing how civil the two ambassadors could be while obviously detesting each other. 

Cody desperately wished he could throw both in an escape pod and get them away from his ship and his Jedi.

Tarkin turned his authoritative look onto Slayer. “The Sith have a closer relationship with the Mandalorians than the Republic does. As a Sith—”

“Jedi,” Cody corrected sternly.

“Yes, ‘Jedi,’ of course.” This time Tarkin did roll his eyes. “The Supreme Chancellor does love playing pretend. Very well, Jedi. What do you know?”

“It’s true,” Slayer allowed. “The two Empires have a better relationship than either has with the Republic.” The Jedi spoke light and polite, unbothered by Tarkin’s vile manners. “But that is in comparison with the Republic, and the gap has been closing since the Reformer took up the mantle of Mand’alor and Sidious’ won his coup. Mand’alor Vizsla and Emperor Plagueis had understandings. They had internal interests whic propped up a cobbled together ceasefire. Both controlled unstable Empires. Vizsla was at odds with different factions. They were in opposition to his expansionism while many of the planets in the system were starving or undefended from Sith and Republic assaults—”

“The Republic does not assault peaceful planets,” Organa said. It was a mild protest, more of a clarifying question. He was listening. 

“What constitutes peaceful to the Republic?” Slayer asked philosophically. When his gaze moved from Tarkin to Organa it became softer, more open. 

“Any planet that isn’t Sith or Mandalorian,” Cody answered the question instead of letting Organa puzzle it out.

“Exactly, General,” Slayer nodded. He still wasn’t quite meeting his eyes, but he was making a show of pretending to. 

“We invaded?” Organa turned his questions to Cody.

“I didn’t think this was uncommon knowledge,” Cody replied cooley.

“I believe the Republic Senate calls it Foreign Aid,” Slayer said, pulling the conversation back. “Millaflower to ease the dagger's cut. For the planets that the Sith and Mandalorians don’t care about it was easy enough to get away with. I would guess a good quarter of the CIS members are formerly Sith or Mandalorian territories the Republic took.”

“The fools,” Tarkin said. “Who do they think will be holding their leash at the end of this preposterous alliance with the Sith?”

“You can’t really blame them,” Slayer shrugged. He was growing a little more relaxed now with them firmly on to business. “They keep changing hands. Nothing gets stabilised. The Sith use them as slaves, the Mandalorians enforce strict assimilation and cultural genocide, and the Republic abandons them to starve the moment the Sith and Mandalorians are gone; patting themselves on the back for ‘saving’ them. Going through that cycle long enough, you might understand how a Confederacy of Independent Planets would look so appealing. A fourth option. But they weren’t strong enough. Not against the GAR which has had hundreds of years keeping borders in line. Gr--Darth Tyranus' skills at the table cannot be underestimated. When he makes promises, people are drawn into believing them.”

“We’re all aware of the history,” Tarkin said sourly. “We’re talking about the Mandalorians, not the CIS,” the Lieutenant-Governor finally took his seat, choosing the one directly across from Slayer beside Cody. Cody didn’t care for the symbolism.

“I’m simply establishing that this is a bigger opportunity than you might realise,” Slayer said intently. “Vizsla and Plagueis had an understanding. Vizsla imploded from the factions within. Plagueis … was a distant figure. Powerful, but far more interested in his own projects and pursuits than keeping his subordinants in line. It meant those underneath him were constantly warring. When Sidious took power, the Empire gained focus. When Mereel became Mand’alor the System gained stability. Palpatine wants a war. Mereel does not.”

Organa looked excited. “You think we could get a promise of neutrality?” 

“I think,” Slayer said with a cocky grin, “If you play your cards right you could gain an ally against the Sith.”

Tarkin had his own opinions on that they all had to suffer through, but even he was listening when Slayer spoke. The Jedi moved their conversation back to negotiation tactics and their current goals. Soon they were in the thick of their preparations, the tension between all parties forgotten. Direct negotiation between the Republic and Mandalorians was a rare opportunity. One that could not be squandered over personal feelings.

And Slayer was right. 

Sidious was building a war machine, using the CIS as a prop. As soon as the Republic was absorbed he would turn his sights on Mandalore. The Mandalorians were fierce warriors, but even they couldn’t hold out against three fourths of the Galaxy under the rule of Sith. If Mereel was thinking of the future, there was a chance he might align with the Republic to keep a balance of power. 

Cody sat in his chair and listened as Slayer went over the extent of what he knew about the politics of the system. Intimate details of Negotiator Kryze’s methods without any context. He had obviously sat across the table from her a number of times. Knew her strengths and weaknesses. Even knew some of her own internal politics. That she was a pacifist. That Tor Vizsla had wanted her dead. That she had made a failed grab for power when the former Mand’alor had lost control of the system. That she was one of Mereel’s greatest critics, which had earned her a place in his government. 

Slayer even had some insight into Mereel, who wouldn’t be attending, but would be hearing every word of the negotiations over a live feed. Listening, and weighing everything said. He was the Reformer because he had brought change. He had pulled together all the clans and splinter groups and made a government. He brought pacifists and conquerors to his side. 

Cody never thought of the Mandalorian leader beyond that of a potential enemy. Of a man he might one day need to match wits with. 

Slayer showed signs of having some admiration for him.

Who exactly had Slayer been before his capture that he knew Mandalorian internal politics so well? That he knew how to deal with them so thoroughly?

Sith negotiation seemed like an oxymoron, but wasn’t it Sith negotiation that had led them to this moment in the war? Tyranus was lauded as the architect behind the CIS and Sith Empire’s allyship. 

Would the Sith have wasted at talent like Slayer's?

Cody felt unnerved, eyes drifting to Slayer as the Jedi did a run down of Mandalorian negotiation etiquette, unaware of Cody’s eyes on him. 

Had the Sith been courting the Mandalorians?

Was Slayer’s plan once meant for the Sith against the Republic? 

Cody left first and waited.

He expected to arrive first when he saw Organa grab Slayer's elbow. He was relieved that it was only ten minutes time before they were face to face again.  

Slayer paused when he saw the General standing in front of the door of his room.

“General, I apologise for not telling you that Ambassador Organa—”

Cody shook his head. “No, you were extremely helpful. You belonged there. I’m not here about that.”

“Then if I have done something,” the Jedi went tense. “I would appreciate being told in a formal complaint rather than sour looks over the table.” 

He was feisty and strangely, it relieved Cody. 

“I’m not here to reprimand you.” 

The weight between them was heavy as they stared at one another out in the open hallway, the lights of hyperspace playing across the walls.

Hyperspace blue. Maybe that’s what colour Kenobi’s eyes were. A changeable electric colour that was unmatched by anything in nature. 

Cody straightened. He took off his bucket and held it under his arm. 

“I apologise,” Cody finally said. He dipped his head. Not a bow, but a gesture of regret none-the-less.

Slayer’s incredulous look finally broke his tense facade.

Then his bright laughter, unexpected, but pleasant to hear. Warm mirth that chased away the last cold dregs of the Temple from Cody’s chest that had lingered over the past weeks. 

The Jedi didn’t ask for clarification. He knew exactly what Cody was referring to. 

“I accept,” he said easily. That worried edge was completely gone. Blue eyes met his again. Slayer was as he had always been before the incident had occurred. He closed some of the distance between them. A step closer that Cody hadn’t realized he had been leaving space for. 

“It wasn’t that bad really,” Slayer continued. “As I said, Alpha held it for three times the length you did on his good days.”

It shouldn’t be this easy. He had expected offence, or bitter acceptance, not joyful forgiveness.  

“He shocked you often?” Cody asked, unwilling to let their conversation end there. He didn’t move away from the door.  

“Oh yes,” Slayer snorted. He quirked his brow. “Do you find that hard to believe?”

“Not exactly,” Cody said. “High General Alpha has… high expectations.”

“And he revels in being a bastard,” Slayer said dryly. 

Cody wondered if he was pushing, seeing what Cody would do.

But… Slayer was being honest. Honesty was good to have between the two of them, so Cody gave a short nod in agreement.

“I trained under him for a time,” Cody admitted.

“He mentioned that before he shipped me off to you.” Slayer smiled in amusement, he leaned forward as if telling Cody a juicy tidbit of gossip. “He often told me he would have loved putting shock collars around the necks of the Commanders he trained like he had around mine."

Cody winced. It sounded exactly like something the General would say. 

"Were you one of his troublemakers, General?” Slayer teased. 

Cody narrowed his eyes. "I suspect you already know the answer to that."

Slayer grinned. "General Alpha prefers troublemakers. Anyone with common sense he would find endlessly dull."

"And you?"

"I'm not dull." 

Slayer, emboldened by the apology gestured to his door. Cody quickly moved away thinking the conversation had ended. Instead Slayer opened the door, turned on the light and gestured for him to enter.

Without hesitation Cody entered. He sat on the small bed because there was nowhere else to sit.

The light of the room was dim. The orange paint on the wall had a reflective quality that made the mural gleam. There were more drawings now. A dragon twisting along Tattooine’s star map. A sketching of a lightsaber. Feemor’s from its similarity to Slayer’s own. More words. So many more words. Path . Over and over the word Path came up again in different phrases, and poems. 

Cody wondered if the poems were remembered or if they were the Jedi’s own. 

It was beautiful. A simple collage of everything in Kenobi’s mind. Laid out for Cody, and yet indecipherable. 

It was all so important and yet it had no meaning to him. 

Kenobi closed the door and sat down on top of his dresser, one leg hanging down, one pulled up against his chest, his back to his artwork. He watched Cody. Cody watched him. 

“You’ve been busy.”

“I dwell, it’s a bad habit of mine,” Kenobi admitted.

 “I’m not apologising because I caused you pain,” Cody said, deciding to force the issue. “It’s my prerogative to issue correctional pain… I’m apologising because you… didn’t deserve correction. It was inconsistent with how I have treated you in the past.”

It didn’t dim Kenobi’s exuberance. “You do cut me a lot of slack,” the Jedi agreed easily. He leaned forward, chin resting on his knee. “I presumed for my good behaviour.”

Kenobi realised his childish posture and pulled himself up straight to sit cross legged, though he quickly fell back into leaning on his elbows. 

“You’re different from what I expect of Jedi,” Cody said. 

“Different,” Kenobi considered. “But not then.”

“What?”

He tilted his head and considered. “When you shocked me, I felt like them, didn’t I? Like your former Jedi.” 

“Yes,” Cody confessed. 

Then a thought struck Kenobi. He hesitated, but then, his voice so soft it was hard to hear said: “You were afraid.”

Cody shook his head in denial. “No. I was–”

“You were!” Kenobi interrupted. He looked a little excited, like he had figured something out. “You saw a side of me that didn’t line up with what you had seen before. What if it was all a trick? A game? Sith manipulations? You could feel the Dark Side seep through the halls, and flare between me and Ma–and 032. You’re not sensitive to the Force, but the depth of it raised your hackles as the dark tends to when it amasses in one place like the Temple cells. You were afraid you were wrong about me, and you punished me. You were perfectly within your right,” Kenobi finished the last sentence dispassionately, but then his face brightened once again. His smile was back. 

His kind one. 

“But you’re a good man who doesn’t let a moment of weakness bias him to someone you’ve come to know. So you’ve felt bad about it this whole time.” Kenobi had a strange expression now. Eyes soft, and mouth curved. Gratefulness? “The punishment was worth it for just that if I'm being honest.”

“That I felt bad?”

“No,” Kenobi said quickly, frowning at the idea of it. “No, I don’t take pleasure in your suffering, General Cody. I…” He dipped his head shyly. “I suppose it’s that… it’s proof that you might care about if your actions are fair to me or not…” Kenobi looked down earnestly. “I have no past to speak of, but I have always had a desperation for kindness.”

Cody absorbed that. He decided to say what he was thinking. “Your past was so fucked up you’re taking the fact I felt guilt about causing you unearned pain as proof I give a damn about you?” 

Kenobi flushed when Cody laid it out. He coughed, then shrugged helplessly. “Yes. Perhaps you don’t, but what you do give, it’s enough.”

Cody stared. That was the saddest stars-damned thing he’d ever heard. There were so many layers Cody had yet to peel back. He shouldn’t be having this conversation with a Jedi. With any subordinate probably. 

He did anyway.

“You’re one of mine. I do care about you,” Cody admitted as far as he could. “I like to think of myself as a fair man, especially to the people I command. If a commander under me punished a subordinate like I did to you, he would be reprimanded severely. We all have our bad days, our trauma, but it’s never an excuse to use against the people under our care… especially those who can’t fight back.” 

“The Sith point of view is very different from your own, General,” Kenobi said mildly.

“And I will hold myself to my own standard, not theirs.” Cody frowned at Kenobi. “Just because you’ve had it worse, does not lessen what I did.”

“You…” Kenobi opened and closed his mouth. A rare moment where the man so gifted with words had no clue what to say. “You’re a good man, General,” Kenobi finally whispered. 

They were silent, contemplating each other. They often did that, Cody realised. He tried to figure out Kenobi, while Kenobi was trying to figure out him.  

He let out a long breath. “Maybe I was afraid,” Cody admitted. 

Kenobi nodded, looking contemplative. “The Sith find their power in their passion. Their anger, their lust for power, their hatred, but I have come to realise the real root of a Sith’s connection with the Force is fear. I had not considered how it also affects those without a connection. How it’s universal.”

Cody thought of the monsters he had faced. Of Maul’s satisfaction as he spoke of torture. None of them looked very afraid.

Kenobi read his doubt. “One of the mantras they teach us at the Temple is a simple one: anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering. It’s incomplete. It should be fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.”

“Philosophy isn’t my strong point,” Cody said, but let the Jedi talk. 

“I see now how it is not just a cautionary guide for those with the Force,” Kenobi took on a teacherly tone. “Look at your own actions. Your fear of my intentions led to anger. Resentment of imagined duplicity. Your anger pulled you towards a hatred that I represented. A hatred of the Sith. Bringing suffering to a being you hate is very easy. Even pleasurable, but my suffering also led to your own suffering.”

“I see,” Cody said slowly. It did have a sort of sense to it. “You’ve been studying?”

Kenobi paused. “I read when I’m able to. The Temple cares little for expanding beyond philosophies a youngling might build on. I mostly do a lot of thinking when I’m there. There’s little else to do.” Kenobi rolled his eyes before moving on. “I wonder if there’s an inverse. If bravery leads to peace, peace leads to friendship, friendship leads to …”

“Healing,” Cody suggested. 

This was the longest actual conversation they had ever had beside strategy meetings and battle plans.

Cody would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious though, about his Jedi’s point of view.

“Healing,” Kenobi considered. “Yes. That’s what this is right now. You didn’t have to apologise. You have power to hide behind if you wanted to, but you’re brave enough to admit your unfairness. It ah… has indeed made me feel better. I…”

“What is it?” Cody prompted when the Jedi had gone silent for too long. 

“I say that Alpha’s punishments were worse, but that’s not entirely true. More physically painful, yes, but I think I would have preferred his finger against the trigger.”

“I need to be able to control you,” Cody said, wanting him to understand. “In the future I will do so fairly. I promise.”

“Control. I think that comes from fear too, you know?” Kenobi sighed. 

It hurt him because it was me. Cody tried to dislodge the thought. If it took root then he would need to do something about it. 

“I have a lot to be afraid for,” Cody said. “A lot of lives to look after.” He reminded himself. 

“Of course.” 

“You’ve been avoiding the others,” Cody pushed.

Kenobi nodded. “I thought you might not want me near them. I didn’t want them to get in trouble… or think differently of me if you had a cause to tell them why they should stay away.” 

“They were worried.”

Kenobi's smile was a little broken at that. “I’ve never had a community like them. Not since I was small—I shouldn’t speak of that. It doesn’t—”

“Go on,” Cody said, cutting off his apologies. Perhaps it was bending the rules, but Cody couldn’t bring himself to care as he listened. He found himself mirroring Kenobi, legs crossed underneath him, looking up at the Jedi lit by the dim light, surrounded by shining orange constellations.  

“It’s traditional on my birth planet to kill any child that shows signs of being Kodomo no Eisteachd. Children of the Stars. Force Sensitives. The children touched by starlight bring the stars that burn the village.”

Cody’s stomach dropped. “Sith rule the Empire.” 

“But Sith aren’t born to Sith," Kenobi explained. "I had a family once. A wonderful family. Now I don’t anymore.”

Cody read between the lines. They tried to kill him. 

Cody tried to imagine that. A tubie, or cadet barely walking. A little brother. Choosing to kill them. How could anyone choose that? 

Kenobi was melancholic now. “Whenever I get close to having that back…I lose it. I stayed away because I was afraid too. I wanted to hold on to it a little longer… but I only worried everyone, and suffered for it in the process. Sometimes I feel I’m meant for infinite sadness.” His moody expression suddenly broke. He laughed. It wasn’t forced. It was genuine. “A foolish sentiment, isn't it?” 

Cody wanted to keep that genuine smile on his lips a little longer. “They might not be like… what you had before, but they will never betray you. You’re 212th now. Jedi or no.” 

“I am yours, then you are mine. Loyal to you always, General,” Kenobi pressed his fist to his chest. The gesture had an odd weight to it. Like a promise.  

Not to the Republic, Cody caught the phrasing, growing used to the way Kenobi spoke with honesty without revealing the whole truth. 

Loyal to Cody. Loyal to the 212th. 

“You aren’t what I know Jedi to be,” Cody said.

“I’m afraid I can’t give you any answers about that tonight, General.” 

But there are answers.

Cody nodded in understanding and stood. Kenobi slipped off the dresser and bowed as far as he could, the space so compact between them that his head almost brushed Cody’s chest. 

“Good night, General.”

Good night, Slayer."

Cody left the small room. Slayer gave a nod and shut the door. 

Chapter Text

“That will take too many lives.”

“A frontal assault—”

“I don’t need your input, JM-010.”

The Jedi’s eyes darkened. There was the slightest raise of his lip, baring fang, but his expression smoothed.  

“I suppose your loyalty to your men is to be commended. They seem to admire this. That’s important to an effective leader. It means they will follow you anywhere.” 

The Jedi’s eyes gleamed gold despite the blue illumination of the holo-map. 

Praise from the creature was unnecessary and unwanted. “And you will go where I point you, Jedi,” Cody said firmly. 

The besalisk towered over him, but with the collar around his neck could only sneer. 

“You are making a mistake by crossing me, clone.”

“Recite the code.”

Electricity jolted through the Jedi as the large man fell to his knees, bellowing with rage interposing on another set of screams. Another set of eyes. Betrayal instead of hatred. He couldn’t locate the source.

“You will pay the price for this,” the Jedi promised. There was only defiance in gold. 

Cody shocked him once again.

The whole planet was fog and shadow. His men moved forward using the planet’s elements as cover.

The angry shouting started. 

“They’ve stolen armour! It’s a trick!” Dogma yelled out to his right. He was on comms. 

He must have got through the jammer! 

The sergeant started to shoot out into the night. 

Cody relayed the information. 

He trusted his men.

And they trusted him.

A rain of bolts blasted toward them. The shapes of familiar armour in the fog. 

Trusted silhouettes turned against them.  

“I suppose your loyalty to your men is to be commended. They seem to admire this. That’s important to an effective leader. It means they will follow you anywhere.”

Lifting the helmet of the dead soldier revealed his own face.

A young brother with barely any paint on his armour, his face smooth and young. 

No.

No!

“CEASE FIRE CEASE FIRE!!!!”

The damage was done. The bodies scattered in the shadowy landscape. 

Killed by their own people. 

“DOGMA!” Cody grabbed the soldier by his shoulders harshly as the sergeant stood stock still. How could he have made such a mistake? “Why did you think they were the enemy? Where did you get that information?”

“The—he said—he said it was from you, sir. He said it was from you!”

“You are making a mistake by crossing me, clone.”

Cody was in the mob, was leading the mob.

He was so angry. So angry.

The Jedi turned. He maliciously smirked. 

“Get on your knees.” 

“A creature bred in a laboratory has no authority over me! I have brought death to thousands of you and I will bring mo—”

The explosion was met with cheers.

Dogma stood over the corpse, blasting into it, sobbing. 

But when Cody approached to check the body he didn’t see the remains of the besalisk Jedi lying on the ground. He looked up in confusion.

The body.

Bloodless, swinging from a rope.

A clone.  

Cody woke up in a sweat.

He took deep breaths, willing the dream away, but it was too firmly based in memories for it to be lost completely in the waking world. 

010 rotted in Cody’s mind. The Jedi had never even lifted his pair of double-sided sabers against them. No, he had used the trust the men had for Cody, and in turn the trust Cody had in his men against them. Dogma was so eager to follow orders. He so badly wanted to do right by his commanders and General. The Sith was canny. He found his target, manipulated him. Dogma was eager to obey any words that were said to be Cody’s. He wanted to believe so badly he was being a good soldier.

Following orders. 

Just a few poison words and 010 had Dogma claiming the enemy was stealing clone armour to set up a surprise attack. Dogma had relayed the information to the 501st. Their pincer attack became a bloodbath. 

But even after Cody blew the creature’s head off the snake’s work wasn’t finished. They found Dogma a week later. The note only said he was sorry. 

Cody’s eyes burned, thinking about it now. 

He had refused to request a new Jedi after that. 

Alpha had forced Slayer on him. Promised him something different.  

Cody’s breathing finally steadied and his eyes cleared. He rolled out of bed. 

He soniced off his sweat and pulled on his under-armour, then clicked on his vambraces. He was off duty, so he could forgo the rest of it.

He made his way through the halls. It was the night-cycle, although the ship was still fully lit. This time of night the shift was smaller. He didn’t run into anyone as he made his way to the training rooms. 

As a General there was a separation between himself and his men that hadn’t been there before, even when he was a commander. The men were awkward or sheepish when he joined them for food or exercise. Even Gregor, who he had once shared rank with under the same General, had taken a respectful step back.

Cody didn’t resent it, but it was lonely. Unless he wanted to stop the ship so he could holo his close brothers who either had equal rank or had known him long enough the decorum meant little to them, he was by himself, and couldn’t unburden himself onto those under him. 

He supposed there were the medics. Pliers didn’t get his name for removing splinters, but…

They all just looked so damn young now.

Cody wasn’t even that old. He was young to be given the position of general. Yet now everyone felt like a little brother, even the ones with more silver in their hair. They were his to protect. All of them. 

So he would quell his thoughts the same way he usually did, by punching a sandbag into submission so that he could sleep a few more hours.

That wasn’t to be.

He paused, quiet voices caught his attention in the training room. He rolled his eyes, expecting to find some sergeants up to the usual things sergeants get up to on off hours. Or Lieutenants. Waxer and Boil were good men, but they were prone to hijinks when things were quiet. It helped morale. Usually they were better about not getting caught. 

But then Cody recognised the voices.

“I cannot answer your questions.”

“Because of their rules?”

Slayer remained silent. Cody crept forward, continuing to listen in.

“Well?” Organa prompted.

“Because of your rules I am not at liberty to speak on things I may or may not have been involved in as a Sith.”

“I just need to know if she’s alive. Her partner said two Sith were in pursuit. She went to distract them while he escaped with the child. This is the last image of her. She never made contact again.”

“Isn’t that enough to know?” Slayer asked, voice low. Cody had never heard Slayer so antsy. “Why do you think I know something about a girl from ten years ago? Why do you think I would even remember if I did?”

“Because if you didn’t you would have said that!” 

Slayer hissed, voice low. “Perhaps I’m just being cruel, have you considered that, Bail?”

“No,” Organa replied firmly. He sighed. “I’m not judging you for past crimes. I simply want to free her family from the agony of not knowing. I just want to know. Do you know what happened to her… did you kill her?”

Regret now, in Slayer’s tone. “I’m sorry that I cannot help you.”

“Just yes or no!”

“I’m sorry.”

“She was helping people like you—”

“Prince Organa, stop it—” 

“Enough,” Cody entered the room. Organa spun around. 

Kenobi was on a low bench hunched in on himself. He was in less layers than usual. Just a light sleeveless tunic and leggings. His feet were bare and his hair was mussed. Organa was fully dressed, but more askew than Cody had ever seen him. He had been towering over Kenobi. He faced Cody now, tense with frustration.  

“You know how many laws you’re breaking right now?” Cody growled. He strode up to the Prince angrily. Despite the royal’s superior height Cody got in his personal space. 

“Slayer. Did he…” Cody wasn’t sure how to phrase it. To ask if the Prince had hurt him seemed ridiculous, but Slayer was more vulnerable on the ship than he was on the battlefield. No lightsaber, and with a bomb collar around his neck. The word of a Prince against a Jedi. He could be cornered. He could be manipulated. He could be taken advantage of. 

Kenobi’s eyes widened a little at the question, then his expression melted with fondness.

More proof for him that his General gave a damn, Cody supposed.

“What are you implying?” Organa demanded. 

“Slayer,” Cody prompted. 

“The Prince has done nothing wrong,” Kenobi’s warm expression diffused. He was tense again, he looked up at Organa’s back. Now he just looked tired. 

“He’s done plenty wrong,” Cody countered, turning his glare to Organa. “Slayer is under my command. My protection. You cannot interrogate him. Even if he was permitted to speak on the things you’re asking him, you still wouldn't be able to interrogate him or threaten him. He’s one of mine .”

Surprise flickered over Organa’s face.

“He wasn’t threatening me, General,” Kenobi said, voice soft and soothing. 

“What am I supposed to think?” Cody finally looked at Kenobi again. He had never seen Kenobi out of his layers of robes. 

He had never seen the scars before.

Branching electrical scars ran down his right arm. Cody had never personally encountered Sith Lightning before, but he knew what it could do. How it wasn’t as simple as a jolt of electricity running through the body. 

Kenobi noticed his eyes. He crossed his arms. “I am aware that Prince Organa does not hold the trigger in his hand. I’m also aware of the kind of man you are, sir. I was not pressured to be here by anything … except for my own regrets. Bail, I’m sorry. I cannot tell you. I just can’t.” 

Organa slumped. “I can read between the lines.” He turned to Kenobi. “I’m sorry.”

Kenobi shook his head. “Don’t be.” 

Cody wasn't having it. “It’s sweet that you think working things out between the two of you is going to be enough for me,” Cody said, voice firm. “Slayer, go to bed. Organa. With me. Now.”

Kenobi sighed. He stood and walked around the two of them. He considered for a moment.

“General, listen to his story. Prince Organa… tell him.” 

Then he was gone. 

Cody was silent. Organa followed him to his office. He closed the door behind him.  

“Do you have anything strong?” Organa joked, trying to break the tension. 

Cody tiredly ran his hand through his hair and considered that. Then he shrugged and pulled out two glass bottles he had been saving.

“Cola?”

“Alcohol and most drugs don’t give us any pleasure high. The medicinal properties will usually kick in, but no euphoria. Sugar, especially sugar with caffine is a cheap vice. You might understand after dining in our refectory this past week.”

“That… makes a lot of sense.”

It wasn’t as damaging as alcohol and drugs would be if clones overindulged in the amounts necessary. Not addictive in the same way. Some boys got dental problems or blood sugar disorders because of how their metabolisms were modified, the occasional rapid heart beat, but that was easy enough to fix compared to the reason why a soldier might want a chemically induced pick-me-up. Stim-chews were banned now. Days like these Cody mourned that fact.   

Cody took his drink and opened the bottle, taking a short sip. The carbonated bubbles popped along his tongue. He gazed at Organa.

“So?”

Organa reached for his own drink and took a sip as well. “This is my daughter’s favourite brand. They do flavours she—”

“Stop stalling.”

“It’s not a very complicated story,” Organa said. he stared at the bottle's lable for a time. “I used to work with refugees. You see, there is a great and ancient tradition on Alderaan for those of the noble houses to be involved in charitable works. Not everyone fully understands or embraces it. I didn’t either at the time, but I was trying to impress a girl.” Organa smiled. “She was serious in her duty and believed wholeheartedly in the concept that nobles should be in service to the people. She didn't think much of my desire to run off and chase purrgil.”

Cody gave him a blank look not thinking much of any of this. 

Organa saw that he wasn’t moved and continued. “I joined the ARA, the Alderaan Refugee Association. It was to impress her, and to add to my resume. I wanted to go into politics if I couldn't run off to adventure. It was a good place to establish myself and make connections for my next step. You do good work, you get some holopics, you become a junior senator within five years. Breha called it earning merit badges. She really wasn’t looking forward to marrying me.”

Cody was unimpressed. “It was for your career.”

“It was,” Organa agreed. “Until it wasn’t. All the photo ops you see make it look so cheerful. I wouldn’t have called myself sheltered at the time, but it was a slap of reality, what the work actually was.”

“I’ve seen refugees, and I’m not a sheltered princling. I think we can skip the part where you get an epiphany about people in need,” Cody said bluntly.

Organa didn’t look offended. He only nodded. “I wanted to do more. There was a network. Old. Riddled with holes. People trying to smuggle children out of Sith territory into the Republic or Mandalore. I found it and strengthened it, at least on the Republic side. I was young. I didn’t realise there would be consequences… not ones that I would have trouble living with at least.” 

“The girl,” Cody guessed.

“You heard.”

“Some of it. She’s why you dragged my Jedi out of bed?”

“He mentioned millaflowers yesterday in passing. They only grow on Naboo. I didn’t actually expect him to know anything, but I had to ask, but then—”

“He stonewalled you.”

Organa snorted. “He did. I don’t hold it against him. I imagine his life hasn’t been easy.” 

  “I had a family once. A wonderful family. Now I don’t anymore.”

Cody was beginning to think the same, but it wasn’t a common belief among people of the Republic, especially no one in government or connected to it. 

“You’re sympathetic to a Sith?”

Organa paused a little too long, then he shrugged. “You saw his scars.”

Cody didn’t want to think about his scars.

“So the girl?” Cody asked, moving them away from the topic of Slayer, who was harder and harder to think of as Slayer and not think of as Kenobi.

Bail took another sip of his drink and grimaced, perhaps forgetting it was a fizzy drink instead of alcohol.

“Padmé Naberrie grew up on Naboo. Darth Sidious’ homeworld. Her family was part of the resistance. She had a strong sense of justice and compassion. All she wanted was to help. She was only thirteen,” he said.

Cody thought of the cadets, the missions they got put on for training purposes. It was dangerous, but they always had guidance. A senior officer meant to both train and protect them. 

“You let a thirteen-year-old run ops by herself?”

“Her planet’s waters were being drained. The native population of gungans killed or enslaved. Members of her own family had been arrested and executed. I didn’t let her do anything. Not at first.” Bail closed his eyes. “I thought I was channelling her in a safer direction.”

“Naboo. How did you make contact with Naboo?”

“It wasn’t me making contact. I strengthened the network. People started reaching out to my agents. Padme was one of them, although I didn’t know at the time. She had her Gungan friend send the messages and repeat whatever she would say. Jar Jar is kindhearted… and easily directed. Despite Naboo being Sidious’ homeworld it’s on the edge of Sith Space, near to Hutt Space, a neutral territory.”

“A dangerous territory,” Cody said.

“But one full of transient beings. The slave trade. Sneaking a child through it is far easier than going from a Sith world to a Republic world. By the time I learned that she was a child herself, she had already made herself a linchpin of the route. Jar Jar couldn’t do it by himself. Her father, when I was able to contact him, was worried, but unsurprised.”

“She sounds like a headache,” Cody said. “Undisciplined, headstrong. Clever, sure, but needed more lessons before she was ready for fieldwork.” He sounded like General Alpha. Wasn’t that exactly what he had said about Cody?  

“The only time her father got angry with me was when she had shown up home with a tattoo of a millaflower on her shoulder.” Organa laughed, but there was no joy in it. “I had her smuggling children off-planet, putting her in the direct path of the Sith, and he was only mad about the stupid tattoo. That was my bad influence on her, and not anything else.” He looked grim. “He wasn’t angry like that when she went missing. He was devastated, but he didn’t blame me. I wish he did.”

Cody could see the weight the girl’s life pressed down on Organa. If he was a bit more of a bastard, if he hadn’t had that dream, maybe it wouldn’t matter.

For all he tried to act like it at times, Cody wasn’t a bastard. 

“You’re right,” Organa said softly. “She wasn’t ready and I shouldn’t have let her. I should have found another way, but I was new to all of it. She was one of my worst mistakes.” 

Like Dogma. 

Cody had lost many men. That’s what Generals do. They try to minimise loss, but at the end of the day putting a man on the field means that man might die. It also means many more might live. Bail had lost more agents than Padmé, Cody was sure, but she would be one of the ones that haunted him the rest of his life.

So maybe he could understand the desperation for answers.  

Bail pulled out a holodisk and put it on the table between them.

A grainy image appeared. It was a store security holo. A small teenage girl was running full tilt down the street. Then nothing for twenty seconds until a cloaked figure slowly moved in the same direction. There was no urgency, but he held an unlit lightsaber in his hand. 

The image never showed a face, but Cody knew it was Kenobi. The way he moved. His size and shape. There was no doubt. Not to Cody who had been studying the Jedi since he had been forced under his command. 

He didn’t tell Organa. There was no point. Kenobi’s lack of answer had been answer enough for the Prince anyway.  

“No contact after that,” Bail said, turning it off. “When he mentioned the millaflower—Padmé’s flower. I don’t know. It kept me awake until I couldn’t stand not knowing. I… banged on his door asking for answers. He brought me to the training room. I think so that I wouldn’t get caught asking him questions I shouldn’t have been asking.”

“She’s dead,” Cody said, staring at the cloaked figure on the holo. It didn’t feel right, but it was the obvious answer.

It didn’t feel right. 

The Kenobi he knew was a killer, yes, but to imagine him killing a teenager in cold blood…

“I know,” Organa sighed. “I was… I shouldn’t have treated him like that.”

“You really don’t hold it against him?” Cody asked curiously, sizing up Organa. “If he really did do it—” He had definitely done it…

Another strange pause from the Prince. Then he shrugged. He finished off the rest of his drink. “I don’t think Sith are born. I think they’re made, and whatever he used to be… I don’t think he had much of a choice in being it.” Organa gazed at Cody seriously. “He’s not one of the monsters we whisper about who steal children and murder innocence. You see that, right? He’s just… a person. And... even knowing that he probably killed Padmé... I can't look at him as anything else.”

Sith aren’t born to Sith. 

“He’s an exception,” Cody said, 010’s golden eyes suddenly flooding his vision. 

“I don’t think he is,” Organa said, putting the glass bottle on Cody’s desk. “Am I going to be charged for something, General Cody?”

“No,” Cody said, tired despite the bubbling caffeine in his gut. “... I’m sorry.”

“You’re…?” 

“About the girl. She was your responsibility. It’s not easy to live with.”

Organa nodded, understanding passed between them, then Organa was up and out the door.  

Cody leaned back in his chair and stared at his ceiling. Two hours until he’s on duty.

“I really must protest this,” Slayer repeated. “She won’t react well to my presence.”

“The Mandalorians believe in shows of strength,” Tarkin countered. “What better way to show that than having a mutual enemy collared and leashed?” He smirked at Slayer. “And you have shown yourself to be quite useful in preparing for these talks. It is unwise to leave an asset of your calibre behind.”

No one had slept well, and no one was really in the mood for Tarkin this early in the morning.  

Slayer brows furrowed in annoyance. “Then perhaps you would consider what your high calibre asset is saying to you, Ambassador.” 

“General,” —Cody was far too familiar with the tone Tarkin was taking with him now.— “Are you going to take control of your Jedi?” He demanded, “Or do I need to teach it discipline? Perhaps that isn’t so surprising considering what I’ve seen of your men—”

“Enough,” Organa said, holding up his hand. His quelling look did little to deflate the puffed up Tarkin. He looked to see if Cody had input.

He did, loathe as he was to agree with Tarkin. “There are more pros than cons in taking him,” Cody said begrudgingly. “We have ten spots. Four for the negotiation team, one for me. That leaves five others for security. As far as we know she only has one aide with her, which means potentially there will be eight Mandalorian Commandos at her disposal. No one is to carry projectile weapons. Even with me, our fighters will be outnumbered. Mandalorians are skilled in armoured combat just as Clones are. Bringing 031 means the odds are more even if it comes to a fight.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a skilled marksman, General,” Tarkin said, unable to keep his prideful mouth shut despite arguing against his own point.

"No projectiles," Cody repeated. The headache from his shortened sleep or the sugar and caffine flared in time with Tarkin's glare.  

Slayer wouldn't give up. “Negotiator Kryze will not allow her people to act violently during a negotiation.” He scowled. “As long as you do not start attacking, they will not attack.” 

The Prince drummed his finger on the table. “You have also shown a remarkable understanding of Negotiator Kryze,” he pointed out mildly. “I don’t want to force you, but your understanding might prove key during our talks. They have responded to our agreement of terms during this negotiation. All communications will be jammed on the asteroid.”

“An interesting turn,” Slayer muttered. “Perhaps Mereel has bigger fish to fry.”

“No communications, no projectiles, ten beings maximum from each faction,” Cody listed off. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Slayer snorted.

Cody raised his eyebrow at him.

Slayer waved his hand, “Nothing, just—never mind.”

“It could be a trap,” Cody pushed.

“If Kryze is truly involved it won’t be,” Slayer said earnestly. “And she wouldn’t let her name be used for deception. She is well respected among her people, they wouldn’t—”

“You know her intimately well,” Tarkin insinuated. “How often did the Sith send you to talk to her—?”

“Tarkin!” Organa barked. “We have been over—”

“I am responsible for her father’s death,” Kenobi suddenly declared, bringing all conversation to a halt. Everyone stared at him.

Cody furrowed his brows, searching Kenobi’s face. Old history. This was a punishable offence. And after all the stonewalling he had done last night…

And it wasn’t a test. He wasn’t pushing Cody’s line. 

He was just… desperate not to go.

“You’re saying that for the sake of mission security I assume?” Cody asked, giving him an out. 

Kenobi nodded. “There is a chance my presence could affect negotiations.”   

“As I remember it, Duke Kryze was killed by Tor Vizsla’s men,” Tarkin said, unimpressed. “And even if you were his murderer, that’s all the more reason to have the Jedi with us.” 

Organa didn’t sound happy at the suggestion. “As a trophy you mean?” 

“Mereel might not have a live feed, but he’ll hear about it,” Tarkin replied, crossing his arms. “We can show them how we are capable of taming Sith. It might even become a point of negotiation.”

Cody didn’t doubt his Jedi’s honesty, but he was good at twisting truths to suit him.

“If you really think—” Organa began, willing to capitulate still guilty from last night’s debacle.  

“Enough,” Cody had let this go on too long. “Your concerns are noted 031, but it doesn’t convince me. You can wear a hood and communicate by text.” 

“General, please,” Kenobi protested.

“I don’t trust the Mandalorians,” Cody repeated. He met Kenobi’s eyes. “Will mission success be better or worse without you?”

Kenobi was caught, forced to give a straight answer. “General—”

“Better or worse. Two words you can choose from.”

Slayer sighed. “Alright, but I will wear the hood.” The Jedi refused to admit it, but he did give in. 

Cody nodded once. Organa didn’t look happy, but he couldn’t do anything now that Slayer acquiesced.

– Slayer walked a step behind him. They moved towards the docking bay where the transport was waiting. 

Slayer was in one of his large brown cloaks. The hood was already pulled well over his head. It actually covered his features well. He hadn’t opted for armour, which was an annoyance, but Cody couldn’t force him.  

“You can try to convince me, if you want,” Cody offered the sullen Jedi. "At the end of the day it's my decision to make."

“No, you’re right,” Cody could hear the pout. “I don’t believe there will be trouble, but I know her tells, I know her style. Leaving me behind would be foolish, especially with so much to gain.” 

Cody hummed in agreement. “There was another reason I wanted to bring you.”

“My sparkling personality?”

“There is that,” Cody snorted. “But also,” he tapped the lightsaber hanging from his belt. “Not a projectile weapon.”

“General—”

“Just in case,” Cody said, not wanting to hear about Kryze’s personal code again. “Besides, the Mandalorians will have blades.”

A huff.

“You disagree?”

“No,” Slayer grumbled. “It’s perfectly fair, it honours the rules, and any blades they do carry will be at least edged with beskar.”

“You sound grumpy, Slayer.”

“I do not,” Slayer said grumpily. He made an annoyed sound. “If it was anyone else I would agree with all of this. Even Tarkin’s diatribe about showing me off might have some merit if it was someone else.”

Cody ruminated on it. “Are you embarrassed that she’ll see you like this?” 

A pause.

“A little,” Slayer admitted. “But it’s more complicated than just stung pride.”

“Hmm,” Cody turned. Slayer stopped as well. He was about at a height with Cody, but the hood made him look smaller than he actually was the way it engulfed him.

The Jedi fidgeted. He stuck his hands into the sleeves of his cloak. 

Cody tilted his head at his Jedi, “Something tells me it’s always more complicated when it comes to you.”

There was just enough light to pick up the Jedi’s smile under the hood.

“I don’t make things easy,” Kenobi admitted. He hesitated. "About last night..."

"I sent Organa to bed without supper, nothing worse than that."

"Thank you for that... and for... looking out for me."

"You're one of mine." That was reason enough. 

Cody turned and they continued on their way, both of them in quiet contemplation of each other. 

“I didn’t expect you wouldn’t believe me about her father,” Slayer said, breaking the silence this time. 

“I do believe you,” Cody countered. He didn’t turn, continuing their stride down the halls of the Glory. “I believe every word you say.”

“Heh.”

“I’m cautious of the ones you leave out,” Cody continued. “You like to be honest on a technicality. That must have driven General Alpha crazy.” 

“He didn’t catch on as quickly as you did,” Slayer said. “Although we didn’t talk as much as you and I do. Mostly it was him pointing in a direction and me running off to stab the target.”

“He’s a simple man at heart,” Cody hummed. 

Slayer sighed deeply. “I wasn't trying to manipulate you.”

“You actually were.”

“I was trying to manipulate Prince Organa,” Slayer corrected.

“Good target, soft hearted. Too bad Tarkin and I were there.” 

“He’s the head ambassador, he could have pushed more,” Slayer complained good naturedly. 

“But he didn’t want to because we will need you.” Cody said seriously. “One way or the other.” 

They arrived just outside the docking bay. Cody turned to Kenobi again.

“Are we good?”

Another little smile. A bob of the hood.

“I appreciate you indulging my little tantrum, General. I’ll be good.” 

Cody had seen Slayer’s version of a tantrum. This was cute in comparison. 

–No not–not cute. It was—

“Shall we?” Slayer asked, waiting for Cody to head in first. 

Cody pushed forward. Bail, Tarkin, their two aides, Barlex, Crys, Gearshift, and Peel waited. Gregor was there as well, waiting for command to be handed off to him while Cody was on the ground.  

The five clones stood at attention and saluted when he entered. 

He considered his choices again. Crys was solid. He had training in advanced close quarters combat. Peel was quick on his feet. He was among the first to react at sudden shifts in battle. Gearshift was fine all around, but Cody brought him because he was good with splicing and equipment modification. 

His real questions revolved around Barlex. Barlex had lost a squad during a skirmish on the Mandalorian borders. He made it his mission to become good at killing them. He knew every weakness beskar armour possessed. He knew how to counter their attack patterns and forms. He would be very good to have if it came to a fight, but he might be a liability to their actual goal of talking.

It wasn’t too late to switch him out for someone more predictable. Longshot could work. Steady hands and a steady heart, but bringing a sniper to a projectile free fight?

Cody returned their salute. He would stick with Barlex. 

“Ready?” Organa asked. He was looking at Slayer when he said it.

“We’re all ready,” Tarkin said, ignoring where the question had been directed. “Can we go before the lobsters get annoyed?”

“Tarkin,” Organa groaned. 

Cody studiously ignored Tarkin and turned to Gregor. 

“You have the ship, Command,” he said. “I better not find any scratches when I get back.”

Gregor chuckled. “Not one scratch, General. I promise.” 

“No parties.”

“Without Slayer, sir? Never.” 

“Dismissed.” Cody rolled his eyes. Gregor was about to headout when Cody’s emergency frequency chirped. He held up his hand to stop his second from leaving. 

“What is it?” Cody said through his helmet. 

“ A transmission sir, you and the negotiation team will want to see it. The Mandalorian delegation has already sent their acquiescence. ”

“Acquiescence about what?” Cody asked.

“The message, sir.”

Kriff. He was going to hate this, wasn’t he? 

He transferred the message to his mini-projector on his vambrace.  

“Greetings exalted friends,” a  human man with long black hair and a wide smile appeared in bust. The holo slowly rotated. “I am the Governor of Telos IV, Xanatos. I have been sent as an ambassador for the Confederacy of Independent Systems and wish to join these talks concerning the heightened aggression along the Mandalorian border.”

Was it too late to go back to bed?

Chapter Text

“We have no choice, we need to go,” Organa argued.

“This is obviously a setup. The CIS and the Mandalorians are working together!” Tarkin repeated. 

“We don’t know that,” Organa said sternly.

It was simple. The CIS had somehow gotten word of the Republic and Mandalorian plans for talks concerning the heightened activity along the Mandalorian border. That information had not been made public. There was a leak somewhere, but whether it was on their side or the Mandalorians’ Cody didn’t know. He was distracted. Slayer was standing perfectly still, expression covered by his cloak. Cody could feel the rigidity radiating off of the still figure. 

“General, can we speak?” he said lowly, voice almost lost under the two ambassadors' arguments. 

“We don’t have much time to make a decision,” Organa said. “If we don’t go then it will be a sign of guilt. The CIS will be able to say anything they want, and put the attacks right at our feet.” 

“You two sort it out,” Cody ordered. “See they don’t kill each other!” he added to Gregor.

He led the Jedi back out into the hall.

“Permission to—”

“You know him.” There was no doubt of that. “Go on.”

Kenobi spoke plainly. “Xanatos is a trained Sith,” he said. “And an… enemy of mine.” 

“Sith infighting?”

“Does it surprise you?”

“No, I guess not,” Cody said. The way Maul screamed his name… Kenobi had been in some sort of faction. Maybe that explained his strange behaviours.

Or maybe it didn’t. 

“He is a master manipulator,” Kenobi said. “And his cunning is well known. He has backups on top of backups, and he moves through the unexpected with ease. This is a trap, but we might not even know what the trap is until it springs. Even then… he is a genius of dejarik. We might be his opponents, or we might be pawns in a different game that hasn’t begun yet.” 

Cody crossed his arms. “He’s formidable. Do you know what his play is?”

Kenobi shook his head. “I’ve never been able to parse out Xanatos’ motives until it’s far too late. I try to rely on my wits, but when it comes down to it my best weapon against him is my saber. He knows my tactics better than I know his. It’s been years since I have had to face him, but I’ve no doubt he’s grown stronger.”

They didn’t have time to go much deeper, but…

“How do you know him?”

“He was my Master’s second apprentice.”

Bad news. 

“But in a fight you can beat him?” Cody asked intently.

Kenobi’s hooded head bobbed up and down. “It’s been awhile, but I have more… field experience. It may not be enough though. Being pulled into a fight might be a lose scenario for us.”

“They could have just blasted us from space,” Cody agreed. “Or planted bombs. Easier to kill us without announcing himself and inviting himself for tea. He wants to talk.”

“He wants to do something,” Kenobi muttered darkly. “Remember how I said this was an opportunity to ally ourselves with the Mandalorians? He might be countering that. He might have a similar idea in mind, or he—”

“It’s a trap.” Cody said. They didn’t need to spiral on the point. “Are the Mandalorians in on it?”

Kenobi hesitated. He wrapped his arms around himself, ducking his covered head low. “I think it’s obvious my bias towards the Duchess of Kalevala.”

“It is…” Something twisted inside Cody.

“She wouldn’t do anything that would lead to more bloodshed, especially more split blood of Mandalorians. If Xanatos has convinced her his presence will bring an end to bloodshed she would hear him out, and that might be something Xanatos could promise and fulfil. The best manipulation is based in truth.”

“A lesson from your Master?”

“Yes, and from my Master’s Master,” Kenobi said. He hesitated. “Darth Tyranus.”

Cody sucked in a breath. “You’re—”

“I have never met my Grandmaster,” Kenobi said quickly, “But he and Xanatos are close. Xanatos, you might consider one of his top agents. These are the stakes we are dealing with, and we’ve already stepped into his trap. We can’t leave now. If we do, the Mandalorians will take it as proof of our aggression in the matters of the border, and he will have an empty room to speak with Mereel’s lead negotiator. If we leave we lose. If we go—”

“If we go he has more things planned.” Cody reached out, he brought the hood down. Slayer had been speaking even. Overly calm, but his posture was shrinking into itself.  

Cody gazed at his uncovered face. His eyes were huge, his irises thin rings around dilated pupils, his breath soft, but quickened. He was terrified.

“Are you good to go?”

“I have to!” Kenobi startled. “Perhaps he knows I’m yours. Perhaps this is a trap for me as well, but without me—”

Cody rested both his hands on his Jedi’s shoulder. He met those terrified eyes. “Are you good to go?” he repeated gently.

Kenobi’s wide eyes widened a little more. “General,” he said incredulously. “Without me you have little chance of success. You need me.”

Cody had no doubt of that. “He’s from your old life… and so is she. You could be more of a liability than help, even with the lightsaber.” He was giving him an out. “So, are you good to go?”

The terror drained away, replaced by steely grey determination. “I won’t leave you to face him alone, General. You need me. I’m ready.” 

Cody nodded once. He squeezed Kenobi’s shoulders then pulled back. He grabbed the hood and pulled it over his head again, just able to see the responding smile before it disappeared in shadow.  

“Will he know you?”

“I’ll try to prevent it. It has been sometime.”

“Let’s go.”

When they returned everything was settled between the two ambassadors. Organa used his rank against Tarkin in the end. Cody explained Kenobi’s warnings.  

“Xanatos is one of Tyranus’ agents,” Cody finished.

“A rock and a hard place in need of a crowbar for leverage,” Organa muttered. “Heh, or fuck ‘em as my daughter might say. I’ll send our acquiescence. All the previous agreements stand. No projectiles, ten people per faction, no outside communication during the talks.” 

“This is suicide!” Tarkin burst. “The Mandalorians and Separatists are together, this is just a ploy to—”

“And yet, we’re going,” Organa interrupted. “If you want to stay on the Glory I won’t stop you.”

Tarkin sniffed in offence. “I am not a coward.” 

“Then stop talking like one,” Organa said darkly. 

That shut him up, although more from his offence than any sort of remorse. 

“Contact command, update them on the situation,” Cody told Gregor. “If we fail to return, do not engage in the neutral zone. If you get no word from us then you are to assume capture or death.”
“I understand, sir,” Gregor said gravely. 

Cody turned to the team coming with them. “Ionite Squad, follow Slayer’s lead if we’re pushed into a battle, but absolutely do not engage without my say so, or a lightsaber lighting up.” He was looking at Barlex when he said it. 

“Sir, yessir!” the men yelled in unison, straightening even more. 

“Send word,” Cody said. “Time to spring the trap.”

The asteroid was large enough to have a light atmo, but nothing that could be survived in without rebreathers. They would be relying on an abandoned mine complex that had been used more recently as a smuggler's hold. The smugglers had been cleared out in a joint effort between the Mandalorian and Republic. That had been a long time ago. Both parties had sent people ahead of time to make sure of structural soundness and sweep for any hidden traps or bombs. A lot of planning had gone into this meeting. A lot of secrecy. 

So who had leaked it? Cody thought again. The information was need to know. Even the majority of his men were unaware of who exactly they were being sent to negotiate with. Only his command team and Slayer. 

Cody had come to know Organa and—despite himself—a burgeoning respect had formed. The Prince was soft hearted and hypocritical at times, but he put himself behind what he believed in and gave a damn about consequences. 

Tarkin didn’t strike him as a rat either, despite the man’s rat-like qualities. He had a wretched personality curated by the worst sort of entitled natborn upbringing. He was easy to dislike. He was pompous and self important. However, Tarkin had his own standards and personal code of honour that Cody—unfortunately—had come to know over the time they travelled together. Tarkin wouldn’t demean himself by becoming a spy. Not at the stake of his honour and the honour of his family.  

Slayer of course was a possibility, but Cody wrote that off as well. 

…

His conscience pressed at him. He turned Slayer over in his mind again. He couldn’t let his bias cloud his judgement. Lives depended on him. 

Slayer was a Sith. He knew both of the head negotiators of the opposing sides. He was a known manipulator. He freely admitted his connections, but it could be a ploy to gain Cody’s trust. The wide eyed terror could be an act. 

And this would be the second sibling Slayer would be meeting in the field. The First was dead, but he could have passed something off to him. It could be a coincidence or it could be a link in a chain.

And it wouldn’t be the first time a Sith had used Cody and his men’s natural proclivity toward loyalty to push them into danger…

The analytical part of his mind played these things over again. Tried to counter them.

But all he had was Kenobi holding Dozen’s hand, easing his pain. 

He pushed the memory aside.

He had to be open to the possibility that Slayer was playing him. That this was a long game. That his likeability had always been to put his General at ease. 

Waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.

And what a perfect opportunity this presented. 

Cody couldn’t risk his mission on trust. 

Even though he wanted to. 

A simple map had been given to each delegation. They landed their small carrier at their designated location and moved towards the entrance of the complex. Gravity was standard from old stabilisers that had been installed into the core for the purposes of mining sometime back. They took an elevator down and stepped through a field-lock. The ambassadors and Slayer took off their rebreathers. Ionite checked for danger, but nothing out of the ordinary appeared. 

The hallways had been cleaned. There were no cobwebs or signs of dust. It was an odd place for diplomatic talks, but it had been made as welcoming as possible. They were greeted by shining silver hallways, steady lights with no flickers of age or disuse. Cody turned off his helmet filter to reserve power. It smelled like citrus chemical cleaner. 

They went down another elevator, a longer trip this time. The depth would ensure communications would be cut off. Cody had left his usual arms back on the ship, but had replaced them with a vibrosword and personal shield generator on his opposite arm to block bladed assault. He also had small metal knives hidden on his armour. His men were similarly equipped except for Crys. His gauntlets were thicker and sharper, his armour modified to move easier in CQC. 

Slayer’s lightsaber was also on Cody’s belt. 

A large part of him wanted to give it to him now, before the talks started, but he couldn’t let his feelings overrule his logic. 

They entered the meeting room. A large circular metal table with nine chairs around it waited. The chairs were placed in sets of three slightly removed from the others. 

The Mandalorians were already there. 

Usually Cody would go into automatic threat assessment, but the woman in the centre immediately drew his attention. She carried no weapons at all. This was Duchess Kryze. 

The blonde stood in greeting, her people followed her lead. 

She was on the taller side for a human woman, although was shorter than himself. She held herself with elegant poise every royal Cody had ever met held, but she held it with her own natural grace adding to its effect. She had no helmet, her face bare. Her long blonde hair was held back by a simple circlet undoubtedly of beskar. She wore a long thick dress in blues and aquas. By Cody’s eye the top layer was blast-resistant. Around her wrists were what could be mistaken as winding decorative silver armbands, but Cody identified them as vambraces made in beskar filigree. They would offer protection to the wearer, but also show no weapons were hidden at her wrists.

Although she had some personal protective armour, it was nothing compared to the people at her back. Eight Mandalorian Commandos stood in a rainbow of colours.

Clones had drawn a separation between themselves and their Mandalorian donor, but there were some cultural similarities. Cody knew the differences, knew how to read Mandalorian armour colours. He scanned over them.

One was painted mostly gray for mourning a lost love with accents of black for justice. One was in pure vengeance gold with orange accents to show a lust for life. One in a combination of black and red for justice and honouring their parent. Several were in combinations of blue and green: reliability and duty respectively. Those were the colours Kryze herself sported with an additional blend of aqua. It was newer to the symbology. Duty and reliability combined to form devotion to peace.

Beside her, and the last to catch Cody’s eye was an older man. He wore no helmet, but had fine armour complete with cape. His blond hair was going gray through his short hair and neatly trimmed goatee. A pair of violet eyes took in everything around him. Duty green and justice black accented with thin lines of vengeance gold.

Almec - House Kryze worked with father.

An interesting colour combination for a New Mandalorian, he thought to himself. 

Acknowledged, Cody replied to Slayer’s note. Slayer was in the back and Cody couldn’t turn to see his own reaction to the Mandalorians and Kryze, but Krzye was looking just behind Cody’s shoulder with piqued interest.

“Good morning,” Organa took the lead, turning on his natural charm. He bowed to the Mandalorian delegation. Everyone in their party including Cody followed suit. “I am Prince Consort Bail Prestor Organa of House Organa, assigned Ambassador of the Galactic Republic. This is Lieutenant-Governor Wilhuff Tarkin of Eriadu, and General Cody of the Glory.”

Clones didn’t have last names or titles beyond military rank, but they had their ships. It was as much an indicator of where they came from than any natborn’s last name.

Kryze pressed her fist to her chest in response. Mandalorians didn’t bow, even the pacifists. There was a loud clunk as her men thumped their fists against their beskar plates.

“Greetings, Prince Organa. I am Alor Sa-Atin of Clan Kryze, House Kryze, Duchess of Kalevala and Jorad’kad of Mand’alor the Reformer. This is Alor Tarso of Clan Almec, House Kryze.”

Almec gave an additional thump to his chest at his introduction.

The sound rang out as Organa and Kryze fell into tense silence. 

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Translation Notes:

Alor (ah-LOR): Lord/Chancellor, someone of importance. 

Sa-Atin (Sah-ah-TEEN): Shades of Endurance. Satine’s name in Mando’a.  

Sa (Sah): Shade (shortened from colour, Sal (sahl)

Atin (ah-Teen): stubborn, tenacious, capable of endurance.
Jorad’kad (Jaw-RAHD-KAD): negotiator, literally voice blade.

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“Before our third joins us,” Organa broached, “I would like to state the initial invitation to the Confederacy of Independent Systems was not given by the Republic, although we welcome another perspective to cast any light on the issue at hand.” He was fishing, seeing what the Mandalorians official line would be on the CIS learning of the talks. 

Kryze considered his words. “Nor was it given by Mandalore,” she said at last.

Either she was lying, or between the two parties there was a leak.

Kryze gestured. Everyone of rank with authority to speak sat down. The protection details stood behind. Cody didn’t envy them. He had worked protections like this before. It was a lot of standing around looking attentive, unable to scratch an itch or blow your nose. Despite that, he was reluctant to take his seat at the table.

It had already been discussed and agreed on in their preparations. The issue was military in nature, and having a high ranking military officer on hand to speak might be essential. 

“You didn’t introduce your fourth. He sticks out quite plainly. Did we not set up enough seats?” Kryze’s voice kept solidly neutral, but frosty eyes looked over Cody’s shoulder where Slayer must be standing. 

“He is not speaking today,” Organa said smoothly. “He is a Jedi of the Republic acting as part of my protection. He is not a negotiator.”

As Slayer predicted she didn’t approve. “Jedi,” Kryze repeated, still staring at Slayer. “Yes, I have heard of the Republic’s Jedi Program, and the methods employed.” The ice of her eyes seeped into her tone. 

“And I must protest them being here!”

No one had noticed him enter, but there was now a man standing at the entrance of the room. The same one from the holo. Xanatos.

The negotiators all stood, but rather than in greeting it was in surprise at his sudden appearance.

Putting them on the wrong foot from the get go.  

Force cloaking . Only works when distracted. Likes to make an entrance. Probably waited for an opening. 

Wonderful.

Xanatos was what Cody always imagined Sith Lords to be. A stunning presence that was in this case, highlighted with a natural beauty. Expensive robes in rich dark colours, jewels dangling from his ears and woven in his long black hair, skin made up with cosmetic to look smooth and pale, golden eyes lined black. He resembled an ageing holo-star more than he did a governor.

At his side was a pale-skinned woman around two decades his junior. She was just as striking, her apparel simple, but cut to show off her body and draw distracted eyes.   

Cody noted the lightsabers at their hips. Xanatos’ was like Feemor’s. It had design elements reminiscent of Slayer’s, but there was an odd curve to it along with added aesthetic embellishments of gold. The unnamed Sith had two. There were no similarities with Slayer’s, but they were curved as well.  

The Sith let everyone take in his presence before he continued. “The Republic is breaking the agreement of this meeting.”

“There are no rules against special protection,” Tarkin sneered, the first to recover from Xanatos’ dramatic appearance. 

Xanatos tapped a finger to his lips and smiled in amusement. “Of course. You misunderstand me. It’s not so much their presence I’m protesting, it’s simply the bomb around their neck I take issue with.”

The Mandalorian delegation tensed. A few hands went to sword pommels. Cody could hear his own men shifting in response.

It was a mistake. One that he was responsible for. The collar was meant to keep a Jedi in check, but it could easily be used as a weapon if one didn’t mind wasting resources. 

Trap.

As if Cody didn’t know that. 

“I apologise,” Organa said. “This was an oversight on our part. We—”

“No need to explain,” Xanatos held up his hand. His eyes were also on Slayer now. “It’s a common enough practice used to keep slaves in check.” The Sith’s nose wrinkled as if speaking of unpleasant things, the hypocrite. He looked to Kryze now. “I know we’re uninvited guests, so I leave it to you to decide what is fair, Alor Kryze.” 

“Yes,” Kryze said. “Either the collar should be removed, or they must leave.”

Cody tensed. 

General. Must stay. Don’t know Woman but shes Dookus.

Dooku? Slayer was trying to type fast under his robes. His meaning was getting lost. Cody didn’t know any Lord Dookus. 

“That is a fair and gracious request considering it’s our mistake,” Organa said, the only one of their party unruffled by the ultimatum.

He’s trying to know me now.

Cody narrowed his eyes. Force shit. He studied Xanatos, but his expression was no different than before. A serious expression softened by a curved smile.

See if ally. 

“More than fair,” Xanatos agreed. “It would certainly set my mind at ease if you were to remove the collar. Show us that it isn’t just a threat to their life that keeps them at your side. That your Jedi Program isn’t just justification of another slave army of the Republic.”

Cody bristled. He stood, gaining everyone’s attention. Despite his personal anger he spoke smooth and controlled. “If you’re referring to my people, we serve the Republic of our own free will.”

Cody trust

But Cody had just made another mistake.

Because rather than his eyes going up to watch Cody they went down to his hip. To the lightsaber. 

“Oh,” Xanatos said softly, and then his eyes were quickly back to Slayer. “I understand now why you might hesitate. Even I might if I were in your position. Darth Karver is a dangerous one.” 

Darth Karver.

The name sent an involuntary shiver up Cody’s spine.

“You know them?” Kryze asked, not clued in by Slayer’s former title. 

“Of course,” Xanatos said. His eyes softened. The grief in his Sith eyes looked so genuine. “He sent an apprentice of mine to me piece by piece, and that was when he was only a lad of thirteen. His propensity for violence is high, and yet I have never held that against him. Third Brother, it has been some time, hasn’t it?” 

Kryze didn’t know how to respond to that. “He’s your brother?” She finally asked. 

“Ah, not by birth,” Xanatos added quickly. “We shared a teacher, but to my people that is as good as sharing a parent.”

Organa’s expression had slipped at ‘piece by piece.’ 

—Stars, he was probably thinking of the girl— 

But he still tried to gain some hold of the conversation. “It was my understanding you are representing the Confederacy, not the Sith.” 

“I do,” Xanatos said dismissively, annoyance lacing his tone. “I am the rightful ruler of Telos IV. My planet chose to join the Confederacy. I was raised a Sith, but I am not a citizen of the Empire. Is it illegal in the Republic to be something I can’t help but to be? I suppose it is. I would be forcibly drafted into your military like Karver.” 

Things were going downhill so quickly and they hadn’t even gotten past greetings. Cody felt Slayer’s hand brush his, hidden by his voluminous cloak. 

Trust me. 

“We’ll remove the collar,” Cody announced before the Sith could pour out more poison.  

The Sith Woman had kept a neutral face the entire time, but now an eyebrow quirked up in surprise. 

Xanatos tilted his head, not expecting the answer either. 

Tarkin looked like he was about to have a stroke. Organa was pensive, but then his resolve strengthened. He gave Cody an approving nod. 

“I think that would make everyone more comfortable, thank you, General.” 

Cody turned, facing his Jedi. 

Trust. He had walked into this determined not to let his own willingness to trust cloud his judgement. 

There would be no winning in a fight against two Sith and potentially eight Mandalorian commandos without Slayer.

This was the logical solution. It had nothing to do with trust.

And if Slayer chose to betray them?

Without him they were dead, either in his absence or his betrayal.

So Cody planned around loyalty.

Around trust.   

Cody keyed in the code on his vambrace sending the nullifying signal out. There was a sharp click that had everyone but Cody and Xanatos twitching. 

“It’s disarmed,” he said mildly. 

Tentatively, Kenobi reached up and pulled the collar off of his neck. Everyone watched as he handed it to Cody. His expression was entirely unknown, still covered by his long hood. His hand reached again under his hood to rub at his neck.

“There is a storage unit the mine once used to keep their explosives,” Almec said. “It can be locked in there. Myself, Tarkin, and … the lady—?”

“How rude of me,” Xanatos said. He elegantly gestured to the woman standing beside him. 

She stood, tall and silent. Her arms crossed.

“My associate, Lady Asajj Ventress.”    

 “Right, Tarkin, Lady Ventress and I can go together to make sure it goes where it's supposed to and keep each other in check. Are we agreed?”

Agreement followed from everyone. 

The collar was passed to Tarkin who looked sour at being sent for such a task.

With the bomb being dealt with all eyes were back on Kenobi, watching to see if he would do anything now that he was free of his collar.  

The Jedi, aware of all eyes on him, bowed to Cody in thanks. He put his hands in his sleeves and took a large step back toward Ionite Squad. He was trying to remove himself from attention.

But Xanatos wasn’t put off that easily. 

“I think we’re past the disguise now, third brother. There wasn’t any need to hide yourself from me in the first place.” 

“And I want to see that that was truly the bomb collar that was removed,” Kryze said, reasserting herself.

Cody could see Kenobi’s reluctance in the way his shoulders rolled back, but there was no good reason to object to the request. 

He was getting a sense of how Xanatos operated. He had brought up the issue, but had used Kryze to set the conditions. Effortlessly he had placed the two of them on the same side.

And this, Cody guessed, was the same.

He had said he had killed her father. There was no reason Xanatos wouldn’t know that fact as well.  

Kenobi dropped his hood. 

The sound of Kryze’s chair squealed against the floor. She was standing now too, leaning forward, her hands on the table, disbelief colouring her face.

“Ben!” 

How many of Kenobi’s names was he going to learn today? Cody wondered.

She looked—furious, but Cody couldn’t tell if it was directed toward their delegation or towards the Jedi himself. 

“You know him?” Xanatos asked in faux surprise, echoing her question to him earlier.

He was enjoying himself, Cody was sure of it. They were all dancing to his tune. 

Kenobi didn’t shy away. He held her gaze and then nodded. Was it acknowledgement? An apology? He was putting on a brave face whatever was happening. 

The Duchess’ hands closed into fists. Her body shook with anger. She looked away first.

Kenobi didn’t speak. Only waited for her inevitable words. 

She finally composed herself enough to speak. She stared at the table, anger still crackling in her frosty eyes until she finally met his.

“Ni vercopa Be’naak dush’jate’kara,” she whispered to him furiously. Then her eyes fell. “Nu’ibic,” she finished, softer. 

“Ni ceta,” Kenobi replied, almost too quiet to hear, save that there was absolutely no sound being made by anyone in the room.  

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Translation Notes:

Ni vercopa Be’naak dush’jate’kara. Nu’ibic (nee vair-KOH-pa beh-nahk doosh JAH-tay-KAH-rah. Noo-ee-BIK): I cursed you My Peace. But not for this — literally: I wished you bad luck My Peace… not this.

Ni ceta (Nee SET-ah): I apologise, literally: I kneel. A grovelling apology that’s rarely used.

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So she did hate him… but it was far worse than that. By the nickname, by the pity, by her own frustration toward herself. 

They had been in love. 

Kenobi’s face was stone, if it wasn’t, Cody thought it would probably crack into a thousand pieces. 

Organa exchanged a glance with him. He looked how Cody felt. Like they had gone nine rounds with a rancor and still had twenty more to go.

To say this had all gone disastrously bad was an understatement. 

Cody wasn’t a coward, but he was glad he wasn’t the face of the Republic right now. 

“Perhaps,” Organa said, filling the uncomfortable silence that blanketed over them now. “We should take a break until the others return.” 

They hadn’t even finished greeting one another. 

Xanatos clapped his hands, startling all of them. “Good idea, Prince Organa. I myself have had quite the shock learning that my own lineage brother is the attack dog of the infamous General Cody.” His lip twitched up in a smug smile at Kenobi. The Jedi’s attention was drawn back to him as one predator might be drawn to another.

“That’s decided then,” Organa said before anything more could be brought up by the Sith. 

Round one to Xanatos, Cody thought in irritation.

Chapter Text

They left the meeting room and retreated to the assigned resting space. The Republic’s corner was the old canteen the workers and later pirates had used. Despite the bright clean scent Cody detected an unpleasant greasy smell.

Ionite Squad took their places in front of the door, setting up guards.

“When we reconvene I want focus on each individual,” Cody ordered. “Not just the Sith.”

“Unbelievable,” Organa said. He collapsed on one of the benches. 

It took a long time for the silence to be broken again. They had needed to sit in all that shit for a little bit.

Finally, the ambassador looked to Kenobi. “You did warn us I suppose.” 

Kenobi sighed, but didn’t seem to know what to say. 

Cody was in a panic at how terrible that had gone and the things that had been revealed. His learned reaction to panic was to take control. 

“Alright, come on,” Cody urged. “Pull yourselves together. We’ve had a taste of him, but we’re not done yet. Have we learned anything of his motives in all this?” 

“He probably has twenty at least. It doesn’t matter how ready I think I am for him, he always manages to cause chaos of expectations,” Kenobi said gloomily, but pulled himself out of his slump. “But one of the more obvious ones is he wants to ensure a wedge between the Republic and the Mandalorian delegation.”

“A chasm more like,” Organa huffed. He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it. “But now there’s no more surprises. The bomb is out of play, and your identity is out… Karver.”

“Don’t call me that,” Kenobi said. His tone was mild, but firm. “I’d prefer my number over that name.” He glanced at Cody. “Or… Slayer. I would actually prefer you call me that. I’m far more partial to it.” 

“That sounds just as grim,” Organa said with a helpless sort of amusement. 

Kenobi shrugged, he looked… fond. “I didn’t like it much at first, but I’ve come to realise the greater meaning. Not the word, but the gift of the moniker itself holds meaning to me,” Kenobi replied.

Cody felt a warm relief at that. He realised there had been a lingering hurt he felt on behalf of his men at the bitterness Kenobi had previously shown toward it.

He understood. He understood what a name meant, not in the natborn way, but a Clone way.

A name is a gift.

“Alright then. Slayer.” There was something in how Organa said it.

Kenobi picked up on it too. 

“Ambassador... Bail… what happened to Xanato’s apprentice… that wasn’t her fate. I can tell you that much.” Kenobi was completely neutral at the admittance, more than he had been willing to tell Organa before in their tense conversation in the training room. 

Organa closed his eyes for a moment. “Right. I… thank you for saying that. He, Xanatos said you were thirteen when you did that?” 

Kenobi silently nodded. He rubbed at his neck again vacantly. The collar didn’t have a lining. It was a ring of beskar an angry red ring had developed around his neck.

Cody couldn’t help focus on it. The Republic claimed this was the Jedi’s redemption, yet they didn’t think to line the collar. 

Because this wasn’t redemption, it wasn’t service, it was slavery.

Cody knew that. He never shied away from it… he had his deep personal feelings about it. 

It just hadn’t mattered when it was Sith. Not until he had met the exception to every rule he ever had.  

Organa sighed tiredly pulling Cody back to the present, pulling his gaze away from the painful line of red. “You were thirteen. My daughter’s around that age.” Then he stood up and pulled Kenobi into a hug.

Cody felt his mouth fall open. He watched as Kenobi’s eyes bugged out, unsure what to do with the Ambassador’s comforting embrace. He looked like a tooka held by the scruff sending panicked looks to Cody before accepting his fate.

Organa patted the Jedi’s back. The former Sith without his bomb collar. The man that had grown from a boy that had sent pieces of another boy to his teacher. The one that once bore the name Darth Karver.

Organa let go and released the Jedi. Kenobi had gone red up to his ears entirely flustered. 

“Alright,” Organa sounded stronger now, perhaps he was the one that had needed the hug. 

Cody was still stunned, trying to understand the meaning, the motives (and force down the strange yawning pit of inappropriate envy that opened in his stomach). He felt like a skewered fish and wished he hadn’t taken off his helmet when they had entered.

“What about Kryze,” Organa prompted, back to business. “How bad is this?”

Kenobi blinked, orienting himself to matters at hand. “Well… not good. Our past ended… badly.”

“She said something about cursing you,” Cody said, pulling himself together. Learning Mando’a had been a necessary skill for someone on command track. Cody hadn’t enjoyed it. He had a better head for numbers.  

“Mmhm,” Kenobi agreed.

“But she seemed to pity your… situation,” Cody prompted. 

Kenobi scoffed. “Unsurprisingly she hates both war and slavery,” he said without thinking. He realised himself, “And that’s how she would view it.”

It’s how most would view it, Cody mentally grumbled. 

“We’re in a need to know situation,” Organa said to Cody directly. He crossed his arms. “We need to know.”

Cody nodded. It was true, they needed to know everything, yet he was reluctant to pull this piece from Kenobi’s past. To know Darth Karver. 

Organa turned now to Kenobi. “What exactly was your relationship? What happened?” 

Kenobi rubbed his face. “We were seventeen. Myself and my Master were tasked with protecting her father during the uprising while he gained support. The two of us got separated and I protected her while Vizsla hunted us. She didn’t know I was a Sith.”

“You fell in love,” Organa pressed gently.

Cody’s stomach twisted at the word. 

Kenobi looked uncomfortable. He shook his head. “No.”

“She fell in love with you?” Organa clarified. 

“No,” Kenobi said, more frustrated. “We fell in love with ideals during a time of intense emotions, hormones, and mutual danger. We fell in love with people we could never have been for each other. She asked a version of me to stay that never existed. I saw a version of her who would understand who I really was. When we both saw the truth we hated each other. She ran. I left.” He worked from an even tone into a bitter rant. It wasn’t as intense as his outburst at the Temple, but there were shades of it in the way his eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched, but suddenly his body language released. He took a breath. “We were young, and I certainly don’t hate her anymore.”

“Start at the beginning,” Bail said.

“Who I was… Karver… Karver didn’t understand the mission. 

I knew better than to ask my Master of course. That would only lead to cryptic nonsense and deep riddles about the nature of power. 

At that age I was rarely in the mood for those sorts of lectures.

What I did know was that this request came from Darth Tyranus, which meant my Master had dropped all that we were doing to see it through.

Protect the leader of the New Mandalorian Faction. Help the New Mandalorians gain support. 

It made me uneasy. It was in direct defiance of the Emperor’s—Plagueis’— policies on Mandalore. It was a dangerous mission, one that my Master took with his usual lackadaisical ease. 

I was but a learner though, so my opinion was not requested or consulted. 

It was easy enough to gain access and trust. My Master and I had done it many times before. Inserting ourselves into royal entourages was nothing more than a tedious chore at that point.

Master, as a rule, rarely worked toward the better good of the Empire. I’m not sure if that would surprise you, or confirm your suspicions about Sith as a rule. Whatever you may believe about them, my Master was one of the most fearsome. He was also considered an eccentric. He was a vagabond interested in his own studies of the nature of the Force and society. 

Our usual M.O. would be to insert ourselves in some lap of luxury so that Master could slowly tear it apart from the inside; or, we would find a happy little village and slowly spread misery until the town slaughtered itself without us even igniting our blades.

To the New Mandalorians we were…” 

Kenobi hesitated.

“Kenobi,” Cody said. “That was your name, wasn't it?”

Kenobi frowned, deep in memory. “Yes. Do you know? The Republic taking my name wasn’t such an unfamiliar feeling. Once I was given my title, Darth Karver I rarely thought of myself as Kenobi anymore. Obi-Wan Kenobi had been weak. Karver was strong. Karver had power. Or at least Karver believed he had power.”

Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. 'Ohbeeone,' he had said to Dozens not 031 at all. It felt so long ago now, but Cody remembered. He had stopped referring to him as zero-thirty-one after that. 

Stars, he had given his real name when a dying nameless shiny asked him for it, even though he probably expected punishment with Cody standing over him.   

Kenobi cleared his throat. “Despite my eagerness to forget who I had been, my Master, maverick he was, liked to use our given names, perhaps to keep me humble, or to aggravate me. So, to the new Mandalorians we were Jinn and Kenobi, refugees from the Sith Empire who started preaching peace on the streets of Kedabe. It took a laughably short amount of time to get into the inner-circle. It wasn’t that they weren’t weary of spies, but my Master and I knew the game we played very well, besides, we weren’t spies, not really. Our mission was protection. My Master was known for going off book, but missions from Grandmaster were always a little different. 

Satine was the eldest daughter of our target—or perhaps better to say our charge? She was a passionate participant in her father’s movement. We didn't get along at first.”

A Long Time Ago…

“Go make friends,” Qui-Gon ordered. 

Karver gave him a sour look. “Off to the kiddie table, Master?”

Qui-Gon smirked at Obi-Wan’s displeasure. “It’s a skill you need to improve on, Imp. Connection is the Force’s most valuable tool. Both kings and peasants must be within your understanding—and teenage girls,” he added the last with an amused glint in his eye. “I so rarely bring you to places to properly socialise. Go on. It looks like they’re making a banner. That’s fun.”

Karver knew he was being made fun of, but also knew better than to argue. Mentally pouting, he joined the group of young New Mandalorians and their little art projects.

Unsurprisingly, all the Mandalorians were speaking Mandalorian. Karver had picked up a few things in their travels and had a natural ear for languages, but the quick excited words were beyond him at present. It made him think of a different time. The press of narrow shoulders, determined murmurs. 

He stood there feeling stupid, wishing they were on a forest moon somewhere contemplating the decay of life in a swamp (a pastime of his Master’s he hated fervently).

“You’re the Preacher’s son.” 

Karver looked up. Kryze’s daughter was looking at him appraisingly. Her Basic was perfect. She had probably had the benefit of private tutors, or even education in the Republic. It wasn’t unknown for the rich to make connections outside their borders, he thought smarmily. 

Preachers were what they were calling them, which he supposed was technically correct. “We’re storytellers,” Karver corrected anyway. He could rarely let the opinions of others sit. All Sith have arrogance, but his was the more annoying kind of arrogance teenagers tend to develop when they think themselves worldly.

“Yes, life in the Sith Empire,” she said. Unlike most she didn’t sound pitying or derisive. Her tone remained judgemental. “A lot of it sounds made up.”

Satine, as it turned out, was also afflicted with the same annoying kind of teenage arrogance. They were bound to not get along. 

Irritation pinched him. “You’re saying we’re liars?”

Satine raised a thin blonde eyebrow. “I’m saying you embellish the truth to suit, and rely on many stereotypes to bring in crowds.”

That was true. Karver was still offended by her saying it. 

“What? You believe the Empire is secretly good?” he asked her, falling into his role as a dissenter.

The Empire wasn’t good. Nor was the Mandalorian Empire. Nor was the Republic. Only children believe in concepts like ‘Good.’ The ones that didn’t let go of those concepts died tragically. That was the way of the Universe.  

She crossed her arms. “I think you can’t fix a problem if you don’t know what the problem actually is. You’re manipulating people into blind hatred instead of concrete ways to help your people.”

Karver felt insulted on behalf of his false persona. “That isn’t true! If the Sith Empire is to change we need help from the outside.”

“By demonising and infantilizing your own people!?”

“What would you know about my people?” he argued. “Have you ever been in the Empire? Have you seen any of it? Did you ever have to work in a work camp or watch a loved one get dragged away? You protest Vizsla for his war, his expansionism, his cruelty to those he conquers! At least he takes care of those he views as his. Tries to feed everyone. The Emperor has no qualms about testing his experiments on entire populations.” 

“That’s terrible,” her eyes softened a little, then hardened again. “But those are the stories you should be telling then! Not fairytales about Sith slaughtering children for their supper.” 

You’d be surprised, Karver thought grimly. His Master occasionally associated with a Togruta that saw no difference between sapient and animal meat. Though, even among the Sith, Darth Macellaria wasn’t looked upon well. 

The other youths had stopped to watch the two of them argue. 

Satine huffed in annoyance. She noticed the eyes on them. Noticed she wasn’t being the perfect leader welcoming in the new person. “Well?” She asked sternly. “Are you going to be helpful or not?”

“I’m very helpful!” Karver spat. “I’ll cut those out, I’m very good at cutting,” he added darkly. 

Their relationship continued on like that for quite some time. Qui-Gon would insinuate himself more and more with Kryze’s inner circle while Karver would be sent off to do youth projects with Satine and the other teenagers. Mostly arts and crafts, or singing songs or holding signs and chanting. Going door to door with data chits and flyers. Useless things. He had a perpetual headache from all the annoyance he sustained throughout the day.

Qui-Gon was delighted. 

“My dear friend, you’re more the old man than I am,” his Master said to him one night in the room they occupied. “Do you think this is a punishment?”

“Is it?” Karver asked suspiciously. His Master was extremely underhanded. There had been many punishments that Karver suffered without realising it was his Master’s wrath until the end.

Qui-Gon smiled at him fondly. He shook his head. “It might even have been intended as a reward,” he admitted. “She’s pretty.”

“Who? Satine?” Karver asked, utterly confused with the conversation. “She’s … I suppose? Nobles have more time and resources to make sure they look their best. Mandalorians don’t inbreed like some royalty out there, most of them wear helmets, but the Kalevalians seem to value beauty…” 

Qui-Gon was laughing at him now. 

“Is this your next academic paper?” Qui-Gon mocked gently. “Wealth and beauty?”

“Master,” Karver growled. “I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“You’re pretty too, Imp. Between the two of you I’m sure you’ll get it eventually.” 

Karver closed and opened his mouth. “What? Have you spoken to her? You think I’m going to fall in bed with someone because they’re aesthetically pleasing?”

 “For many that is how it works,” Qui-Gon told him wisely. “No matter. Probably better this way. I expect our role as bodyguards won’t last forever.”

“We can only hope,” Karver said with a gusty sigh. 

“You remind me of my sister,” Satine said to him one day. They were doing an inventory count of water for the march being planned. His Master had volunteered him to help. 

Karver was very pointedly not thinking of why he had been volunteered. He was half in a paranoid spiral about if Qui-Gon actually thought he was doing a good turn giving Karver room for experimentation, or if this was some sort of game at his apprentice’s expense to amuse himself while suffering through a somewhat milquetoast mission.

“Are you even listening—?” 

“You have a sister,” Karver interrupted. “Why isn’t she helping?” he asked in annoyance. He had lost count from the disruption of her arrival. 

He mentally cursed and took one of the bottles taking a long sip. He expected the Princess to chide him, but instead, she took one of her own and followed suit, perching on one of the large boxes of already counted material. 

“She’s seven,” Satine replied. 

He glared at her.

She raised an eyebrow. “I don’t mean that you remind me of a child. Well, not in this instance,” Satine said and left the ‘although you do’ silent. “I mean that she thinks war is the only way to bring peace.” 

“I’ve never said that’s what I believe.”

“Isn’t it?”

Karver looked away. Thought about what he should say. 

He couldn’t say that there was no peace. He couldn’t tell her how hatred worked. How as long as there were memories there would be war. 

That the only real peace was the silence that came when every single person attached to the conflict was dead. On both sides.  

“I don’t think refusing to fight will gain you anything.” There. That was a truth at least.   

Satine sighed. “You don’t understand me at all.” She seemed oddly disappointed.  

“Then explain it to me.” 

She was surprised by his request, so used to his eyerolls and sneers at her optimism. 

Karver didn’t want to argue right now. He just wanted quiet and he wouldn’t have it until she had her say. 

“Mandalore has a pattern. We fall into power struggles, tearing each other apart, or dying on planets we have no right to claim. Everything we do is written in blood.”

“That’s the way of the galaxy.” He shrugged.

But she was determined. “Well the galaxy won’t change if we keep doing it that way!” Satine protested. “You think because I’m a pacifist I don’t fight? Sometimes I think how much easier things would be if someone walked up to Tor Vizsla and cut his head off, but would killing one man really change our system? Things might get better, but at the end of the day we would still rely on a war machine to feed our growing population.” She took a sip of water. “The New Mandalorians have chosen to be different. We protest peacefully. We don’t take up arms. We refuse the draft. We don’t fight, but we also don’t expect that to protect us. You know Vizsla is rounding us up. Violently going after protesters, trying to block any legislation we attempt to bring before the council of clans. Why is he so afraid of us do you think? Why bother if what we’re doing is toothless?”

Karver considered that. 

She continued. “Mereel he can claim as a terrorist faction far more easily than he can us, but he labels the New Mandalorians as terrorists anyway. Most of his speeches try to sway the Haat’ad’s support, but he vilifies our efforts. He knows that if we convince our people of our cause then he will lose his power.” 

“That’s a simple outlook.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not really in the mood to go into intricacies, and I thought you’d be smart enough to fill in the gaps for yourself. You’re such a be’en.”

“What’s a Bey-en?” 

“A person that makes one sigh in impatience,” Satine said smartly.

Karver snorted. 

“It suits you.” She said stubbornly, encouraged by his amusement. “You’re constantly sighing at everyone around you while you roll your eyes.” 

“I do not!” he said, affronted.

“You do too,” she grinned. “You act like an old man among children when we’re making banners.” 

He straightened in indignance. “I’m sighing because I don’t know what any of you are saying! I’m bored! It’s a sigh of tedium.” He crossed his arms defensively.

“Well, you know be’en now. My name is Sa-Atin.” She emphasised the syllables slowly. 

“There’s an extra ah sound?”

“It gets swallowed in basic,” She explained.

“Oh,” Karver realised. “That’s why it’s been so hard to catch on. My ear isn’t picking up the softened elongations. I keep hearing them as dipthongs.”

She looked at him in surprise.

“What?” He tensed. 

“Hm… you just… didn’t strike me as someone interested in linguistics despite your way with words.” 

He felt a strange sudden shyness at her interest. 

“Well I’m not really, it just makes my job easier. My uncle has a fascination for old texts and holos. I get tasked to act as his research assistant. It makes it easier if I know some of the language. That way I don’t get sent back to the library as much.” He shrugged hunching in on himself, feeling her eyes on him. “I do like it,” he reluctantly admitted when she didn’t mock him and only listened with interest. “Not the research, but the words. The rules and contradictions of those rules. It’s like a puzzle, and far more interesting than calculation and maths.”

His heart beat a little faster when she smiled at him. Damn Qui-Gon this was his fault! 

“Speaking of which we should get back to our count.” Her smile was genuine and he was stuck on how warm it was, both physically and in the Force.

He shook his head to clear it, feining annoyance. 

“Counting’s for droids,” he sighed. 

“And sighing is for Bens.” She smirked. 

“Satine!” Karver called. The palace was on fire. Bodies littered the ground.

It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, nothing he hadn’t done before himself, and yet his heart pounded against his chest as he moved further and further inward. “Satine!” he yelled.

He had woken up to the Force’s elation right before the explosions struck. 

“Split up, find Krzye,” his Master ordered. 

“Yes, Master!” Karver answered dutifully. He had time for his belt, boots, and cloak over his sleep tunics before he was out of the room, running in the opposite direction. 

He hadn’t lied to his Master. He was looking for Kryze.

His Kryze.

Like a tether pulling him in. 

“Satine! Satine! Please answer!” 

She had to be alive. She had to. He would know. 

As it had turned out the dam they had built out of their animosity was easy enough to break. To anyone else it might not have seemed like much had changed between the two. They still argued and bickered, but there was teasing now. Gentleness. Smiles and laughter as they called each other stupid. They would take their meals together, and sometimes they even spoke of things they agreed on.

He didn’t believe in her peaceful galaxy… but when he was beside her he could almost pretend there was some chance for it. 

“SATINE!!!” he screamed. 

“Ben!” came a muffled cry. 

It felt like he could breathe again. 

He saw her there, pinned under fallen rafters. He ran over to her. 

“I can’t get out,” she said, coughing on the smoke that quickly filled the hall.

He pulled out his rebreather, she shook her head.

“Use it for yourself, get out of here. There’s no way to lift the rafters.” 

He ignored her, shoving it on her face and clipping it in place. She glared at him angrily.

“You can’t argue with me and breathe at the same time,” he joked. His heart slowly started to settle. She was alive. They didn’t get her. 

“I can get it off you. I can find leverage,” he said. He moved out of her view and focused. Power crackled through his muscles as he bent the Force to his will and shoved the beam aside. He pulled off the other pieces that had her stuck in place. 

She looked at him in relief, tears in her eyes.

“Come on,” he coughed. The smoke was starting to get heavier, and even with the chokehold he had on the Force it would be trouble for him soon. 

Now free she took off the rebreather and pressed it harshly to his face.

“Share,” she said quickly.

Kriffing peace-loving pacifist and her sense of fairness, he thought affectionately. 

They passed it back and forth between them as he led her out of the burning wreckage of the New Mandalorian headquarters. 

“My father!” she protested. Above them a group of Vizsla’s soldiers flew on jetpacks silhouetted in the smoke and fire. 

“My uncle will protect him. We have to go now.” He pulled her away, slipping past the barriers the military had set up. 

They found themselves on a rooftop watching half Sundari burned in blasterfire. 

She wept. He might have felt annoyance for her taking her time for tears once, but he understood her now. Perhaps even a little of what his Master tried to teach him.

Connections. Connections to her people. To her friends in the movement, to her father. 

And how painful those connections were when they were cut. 

The Force was triumph and blood and battle. It was gorged and fat. He should feel powerful. His blood should be thrumming with energy.

And yet, there was a weeping too. The Force wept with her in its way. He felt an unnatural helplessness as he watched her tears fall. He didn’t know how to comfort her. Maybe he knew once. The far away times when his wounds had been tended and words of kindness shared with him, but those had been for someone else. For Obi-Wan. He was Karver. 

Or maybe in this moment he was someone new. Maybe he was Ben. For her he’d be Ben.

He put a hand on her shoulder. She leaned against him until at last her tears had run out and frozen over with resolve. 

“We need to get you somewhere safe,” he said.

“We need to get to work,” she countered. 

The slaughter of the New Mandalorians, rather than prove his strength, showed how desperate Vizsla was to hold onto his power. His weakened position was further exposed when the Haat’ad took Sundari by the next sunrise.

With his move to destroy his enemies Vizsla had made opportunity for the True Mandalorians to be bolder, while Satine became louder. 

She refused to stay in one place. She refused to keep low until they could make contact with Qui-Gon and her father. She went to clans and argued for what Mandalore could be. A Mandalore that didn’t conquer and didn’t slaughter its own civilians, and didn’t force children into bootcamps at thirteen to grow the army. 

She was a force and Ben learned a lot sitting with her across a table from an old warrior that had never considered that hanging up arms could be just as powerful as shooting them. That sending no soldiers to Vizsla was a different way to weaken him.

In his mind was Karver dissecting everything she said, countering and arguing, but Ben would use these instincts to help her prepare for her more ornery debate partners. 

She gained support for her father. Even in his absence she was having an effect.

She swayed clans to recall their houses. Soldiers abandoned their posts, unwilling to raise up arms for Vizsla anymore, and those that did had to face Mereel’s True Mandalorians with far less numbers than before.

It seemed like a third of the army had defected to the True, and another third had thrown down their arms entirely. 

Vizsla's downfall was a certainty.  

Darth Karver started to truly understand the danger people like Satine Kryze posed. She wasn’t a foolish child with a half a plan that could be silenced with a bullet. She was an idea. An ideology spreading and spreading and even if she died it would continue to spread and spread. Her words immortality. 

The dream of peace.

The dream of peace couldn’t die.

He thought of Cerasi.

And wasn’t sure.

And besides, dreams were well and good, but Satine was still mortal. Still flesh.  

And the objective of his mission kept him up at night. His Master had never told him. Just that they were to protect Kryze and join the New Mandalorian movement. He had hinted perhaps their roles as protectors might end, but he had never said. Perhaps he didn’t even know. Was waiting for Grandmaster’s orders—

But Karver knew, no matter how many alternate scenarios he tried to soothe himself with. He knew what they were.

Qui-Gon Jinn was rot and decay. Darth Terminus got his name for the inevitability of entropy. He did not protect. He did not maintain. He did not renew.

He was destruction.

And Karver was one of his tools. A blade of pain and cruelty. A scalpel of precision. Karver lengthened pain. Wallowing in the coming end through suffering. 

The connections. Qui-Gon wanted to know them so intimately so that he could cut them in places that would have the most suffering, the most lasting effect.

The two of them together were calamity. 

The memory of a blazing red lightsaber blinded him.  

He would stare at the ceiling or the open sky of wherever he and Satine were sleeping for the night before moving on, and think of these things, his vision red. Satine would roll over; her blonde hair would tickle his cheek and her cool body would press against his feverish skin, and rather than douse the wildfire of fear that was burning in his heart it would add ignition. 

He wouldn’t let him take her. Terminus could take all of Mandalore if he wanted, but he couldn’t take her. Nothing would. 

They spent a year together. Living in constant danger, in exuberant defiance. He was Ben Kenobi and he protected her while she spread her ideas. 

When the news came that Vizsla had been thrown out of leadership, that her father was alive, that they had a safe route off-planet to Kalevala he didn’t know what to think. 

Because being on the run, hiding, not having to be close to anyone else, not having to explain to anyone else, it meant he wasn’t prepared for the idea that he would face his Master. 

Terminus would find him. He always found him. Karver had his fair share of tantrums over the years, and with words or violence his Master always drew him back. 

“We’re home. Safe, yet I’ve never seen you this twitchy,” Satine said in amusement as Ben checked their route going forward to the pickup point. 

A wave of sickness hit his stomach. “There’s a lot of places snipers could perch.”

“Ben, it’s over. There’s no snipers.” 

Just because it was over didn't mean there were no snipers!

He turned to her angrily and gripped her wrist tightly. “Vizsla losing his title doesn’t mean he isn’t a threat! It doesn’t ensure your safety! We’re out in the open for the first time. It might be your father triumphant on the holoscreens, it might be Mereel talking of peace between the True and the New, but everyone knows it was you. You strengthened the New Mandalorians. You made them the majority. When the Council of Clans makes your father their leader they will know who did all the work—”

“Ben!”

He realised how tightly he was holding her and loosened his grip. 

Satine took his hand in hers with a gentleness he needed so desperately. “Ben, you’re trembling.”

“I just want to keep you safe,” he said. It was true. It was so painfully true. He kept expecting to hear a slugthrower's boom. “I don’t…”

“You don’t, what?”

“I don’t want to go back,” he finally admitted.

“You don’t have to go back,” Satine assured him, completely misunderstanding. “Vizsla is done. No one is going to send you back to the Sith… I … I want you to stay here… with me. I know the SE is your home, but… this could be your home too. And I could help you! We could help the people there, just like we helped mine. I just—just—just think about it, alright?” 

Satine blushed, bright red, stammering her request when she had steadily told warmasters to shut up and listen to what she had to say.

They had shared warmth, food, affection. They had sheltered children between one safehouse and another, they had fought side by side in their own way. They had slept in the same bed every night even after Vizsla’s fall.

Yet there was nothing so embarrassing as to openly share their feelings.

Satine was asking him to stay. To stay on Mandalore. To stay with her. 

Karver had been trained to never lie. He left things unsaid, or ambiguous. He twisted meanings. 

He never said anything that could be called a lie, even in retrospect. There was always some point of view that would make it truth.  

“Okay,” Ben said. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay with you.”

Kalevala was small and rich and beautiful. Ben could understand why such a place was the heart of the pacifist movement. The Force felt so… free here. Unbound. It had been where the Duke and Qui-Gon had gone, and why there had been no word from the Duke. Communications had been completely blocked.

When their ship landed the celebration was already in progress. The streets were flooded with New Mandalorians both in and out of armour dancing and laughing and eating. Satine took his hand, jerking him out of his thoughts.

“You could smile,” she suggested. “Otherwise you might be mistaken as an unwilling bodyguard and not my Cyare.” 

His jaw dropped. “You… I?” Traveling a year around Mandalore proper he knew very well what that meant.

“Speecheless? You?” Satine teased. “I hope you figure out what you’re going to say when I reintroduce you to my father as such.” 

Father. Qui-Gon.

“You–you can’t—” Ben tried to protest, but before he could finish his thoughts they were pulled into the wake of the celebrations. 

Ben had a bad feeling.

Here and Now

“The celebrations were of course the perfect time for Vizsla and the remainder of his forces to strike. So many unarmed targets on a planet with no standing army, no weapons. It had been spared before for the economical force it provided the Empire despite its rebellious rumblings, but Vizsla was all too willing to burn everything. He had lost his power. He would have his revenge. 

He was also a coward. Rather than attacking Mereel and his warriors he went after the civilians of Kalevala, the heart of the peace moment. It was a massacre.”

“Gods,” Bail said quietly. “We knew… we knew of the final attack, but we didn’t know it was against pacifist civilians.” 

“No Mandalorian is considered a civilian, not to the Republic, not after our years of animosity,” Cody said. "As we understood it, everyone there is a warrior." 

"It's common propaganda in the Sith sphere as well," Obi-Wan shrugged. 

“So then Vizsla did kill her father,” Bail said. “But then why did you say it was you?”

“No, he didn’t,” Kenobi said with a nod, his gaze far away. “Mereel’s heir, Jango Fett, learned of the attack and called reinforcements. He had been on a mission to return the second lost princess of the Kryze family to her home.  Satine’s sister, Bo-Katan. Jango had found her hidden in the ruins of Sundari. He and his retinue arrived not long after we did.”

“How did your Master react to your romance?” Bail asked. Cody was glad he asked, he was curious as well, surely not well. 

“I’ve no idea,” Kenobi sighed. “I’m sure he was planning a lesson. Having a connection, a tether, I believed I understood his obsession. I was sure was planning the worst possible way for Satine and I to be severed. No doubt I would be the one to cut the tether myself. That’s what I was for. That’s why I was Karver.”

“But that isn’t what happened,” Bail guessed.

“No. No, that isn’t what happened.” Kenobi rubbed his forehead as he gathered his thoughts. 

“Komari Vosa was Darth Tyranus’ third apprentice. You would never find a more loyal acolyte. All she did she did in his name. She had a particular hatred for my Master. It’s common between lineage siblings for there to be rivalries and resentments, especially when one was obviously favoured over the others. My Master, despite or perhaps because of his non-conformity, was my Grandmaster’s clear favourite. It was not the first time she had tried to gain favour over my Master, although it was the first time the two of us would meet face to face. She came as one of Jango's soldiers, it seemed Grandmaster had put her in Mereel's camp, just as we had been put in Kryze's. She came with the orders I had been dreading for over a year. 

They had only separated for a moment. The first time in a year he had left her side and the city was under fire.

He had left her to be reunited with her sister and father in a private moment. Fett had gone to send a communication to Mereel to confirm Bo-Katan had reached her family safely. He was alone, walking the streets still swelling in celebration. He felt none of their joy. All he could do was come up with plan upon plan for the moment Qui-Gon tried to take her from him.  

Now the city was on fire, and wasn't that familiar. He remembered Sundari, but it had been night time, there had been no celebration in the streets. The crowds shifted in panic. He was near trampled but parted the crowd viciously with the force, uncaring for any injuries he might cause. He needed to get to her. He ran, and for the first time in a year he snapped his lightsaber back together in panic striking down any of Vizsla’s that dared step in his way. He shot through the palace doors and heard screaming. This was it. His Master was going to kill them. What better time than a family’s joy at being reunited than to tear it to pieces again as their city burned? 

But it was not his Master idly sitting on Duke Kryze’s throne holding the man in place with the Force. Komari Vosa sat, dead bodies scattered all around her.

But not Satine. Satine was at the entrance blocking the door, she had been the one that screamed. He didn’t see Bo-Katan. 

Ben dashed out, pushing Satine behind him. 

Vosa and Ben were technically of the same rank, although she was his senior by more than a decade, and as she was Dooku’s Apprentice there was a certain level of hierarchy she had above him.

He knew her because his Master made sure he knew the faces of all his enemies. The only reason he hadn’t recognised her before was that she had been in a helmet, wearing armour. Posing as one of Jango’s soldiers? Or maybe she was one. Maybe her mission was the same as his. 

“Qui-Gon’s whelp, good, silence that thing while I kill Kryze.” 

He felt Satine’s hands cling to him in fright and he could feel her confusion in the Force.

He was too panicked to twist any truth he had available. 

“We are under orders by Darth Tyranus to protect Kryze!” Ben held his saber out. “Let him go. Now!” 

“Ben?!”

“And such an excellent job,” Vosa said mockingly. Kryze gasped as the breath was squeezed from his throat before her force grip slackened again. “Where is Lord Terminus? Communicating with fungus?”

The door to the balcony opened. “That depends on your point of view I suppose,” Qui-Gon said mildly, appearing from the shadows. He held his saber lazily in his hand, but did not ignite it. 

Her relaxed stance disappeared. “So you are here.” 

“Why wouldn’t I be? The task isn’t exactly taxing, although harder now perhaps with my Apprentice’s impulsiveness. He's usually better at sticking to a story, but then he has been away a long time.” 

Ben didn’t move, watching the two Sith size each other up. 

“Your task is over,” Vosa claimed. “Our Master wants him dead now.” 

“Hm,” Qui-Gon said boredly. “He glanced between Komari and Kryze, then he looked to Obi-Wan. He didn’t question Vosa’s words. “So it’s to be Mereel on the throne? Very well then. Karver, go outside and deal with the girl. I’m tired of this place. Do as you must, Komari. I’m sure our Master will be pleased with your dedicated work," he added mockingly.  

“No!” Satine cried. She tried to move past Ben to get to her father. Ben grabbed her by the hair.

All he could think about was that Qui-Gon hadn’t said kill.

Take care of the girl. That could mean so many things. Twisted so many ways.

It could be a trap, but it was his only hope.  

“Please, please help him. Ben! Ben, please help him!” Satine begged, not even for her own life, but for her father. 

He ignored her, dragging her away. It was for her own good. This was their opportunity, in fact, this was better than anything Karver had planned. 

“Ben, Ben!” 

“Satine, don’t you see? We can escape! We can go!” He let go of the painful grip he had her in as soon as there was enough space between them to breath. 

He was sure Qui-Gon wouldn’t let them be forever, but they had time. With Komari here Qui-Gon would be watching her instead of him. 

“You’re a Sith!” she said it like it was a dirty word. She backed away from him, fear on her face.

Fear of him. 

And he understood, he hadn't told her, she didn't know, but she would understand once he had time to explain. 

But she was afraid of him.

“I…”

“You lied to me!”

“I never lied to you,” Obi-Wan denied. “I just gave you… an advantageous point of view. Everything I said about the Empire was true, and what I told you of myself wasn't false."

"Wasn't false?!"

"But that doesn’t matter, none of this matters. We can go, we can be together.”

Satine looked at him like he was insane. “She’s going to kill my father! You—and you’re working with her! All this time!” 

He felt ugly guilt roll in his stomach. “No, I—I didn’t know. I never knew what the final outcome of the mission would be.”

“Mission,” she repeated. “We were a mission.”

“To protect you.”

“You’re killing us!” 

“Satine! We don’t have time to argue, we need to go!” 

Her scowl was devoid of any warmth and kindness she had ever shown him. “I’m not going anywhere with a Sith Lord!”

Shots rang out in the distance, and then closer and closer. Snipers? No. He needed to focus. He needed her to understand. 

“I’m trying to save you!” 

She ran, trying to get back toward the throne room. He grabbed her.

“LET GO!” she shouted, trying to twist away.

“No! You’re not thinking clearly!”

“She’s killing my family and you don’t even care! You don’t even care! HELP!” 

He staggered back in disbelief. “I’m giving up everything for you! Don’t you understand that!? We can be each other's family! We can be together, but both of us have to make a sacrifice!” Why wouldn’t she do the same for him. She had called him Cyare. Had asked him to stay. 

No.

No, she had asked Ben Kenobi to stay.

Not Darth Karver. 

Anger surged through him. She stared, frozen, sensing the sudden danger.

"You're the liar," he realised. "You were using me. You never loved me."

"Ben-"

"Don't call me that!" He lit his saber.  

Before he could make his move, blaster  fire rained down on him. Fett. He had heard Satine's call for help.  

He flew through the air landing between the two of them taking a protective stance in front of Satine.

Because Satine was afraid of Darth Karver.  

“Your sister ran, found me. She's safe. Reinforcements are coming,” he said to Satine. He kept his attention on Karver. “Vizsla desperate enough to align himself with scum like the Sith? We always knew he had dealings with the Emperor, seems now he's not bothering to hide them.” 

“Why don’t you ask your soldier, Fett?” Karver sneered. He should kill them, he should kill her slowly. This was no doubt what Qui-Gon wanted. He wanted this moment. 

He laughed. He thought himself wise, but he was still so dull compared to his Master. He had been so afraid that somehow Qui-Gon would trick him into killing her, but the only thing his Master would have done was reveal the falseness of her affections. 

“Obi-Wan,” his Master called from the other side of the courtyard. His voice wasn't loud, he didn't seem hurried, but Karver knew the order was to be followed immediately. “Time to go.” 

He stared at Satine angrily. 

“Do you want to know what I really think?” he asked her. She didn’t answer, cowering as she was behind Fett, tears streaking down her face as her life fell down around her for the second time. “I think peace is a dream that died a long time ago and people like you are propping up its corpse to feel justified in your cowardice.”

He left to follow his Master, this time leaving her in the smoking ruins of her life. She could pick up the pieces by herself this time. 

Fett tried to stop him, but reassessed as Qui-Gon revealed himself as a second Sith, and Satine’s pleads to help her father. 

The last thing he saw was her blonde hair disappearing into smoke.

Duke Kryze was long dead by then.