Chapter Text
It was reckless, Korkie knew. He was a fugitive on the run. There was no strategic value to his actions, only liabilities, horrible, infinite ways it could go terribly wrong. His Aunt Satine wouldn't want him to risk his life over a mere picture. Bo-Katan would be furious when she realized he’d given her the slip; it was quite probable she’d change her mind and decide he wasn't mature enough to be involved with his aunt’s rescue mission afterall.
When he’d been younger, Korkie had enjoyed going through his aunt’s study. He imagined himself in an undefined amount of years, older, more mature, more commanding of respect, sitting behind the desk his aunt occupied every day. His own portrait, hung beside Satine’s, would peer down at him as he worked. He would follow in his Aunt’s footsteps and dedicate his life to the betterment of Mandalore.
Korkie was playing on the Duchess’ desk when he came across a picture of an unknown man. His aunt cared deeply, but she had never been an overly sentimental person, so it struck him as odd to see a stranger’s face among her possessions. Satine kept few tokens; a picture or two of Korkie himself in her private quarters, and, if you looked deep enough, some old holos of her estranged sister and deceased father tucked away. Korkie studied the man intently, eyes drawn to the soft smile lines around his mouth, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes.
He looked familiar.
Korkie had never seen him before.
He asked his aunt, later, who the man was. He had never seen her freeze so quickly. Korkie knew he’d overstepped; he’d expected anger, or sadness, but he hadn't been ready for the way his aunt withdrew into herself.
He shouldn't be thinking about the man now, of all days. The Duchess was in danger. He’d always been curious, yes, and prone to sticking his nose where it didn't belong, but this was a disproportionate level of interest in a stranger. Korkie had no reason to be out here, risking his neck, just to get a look at that picture again. He was acting like the reckless, immature youth Bo-Katan accused him of being. He should know better.
He did know better.
All reason in the galaxy couldn't have stopped him as he made his way through the dark alleys of Sundari. The Royal Palace had been taken over by the Death Watch. Korkie didn't let that discourage him. The gleaming hallways and vaulted chambers were his home. He’d spent countless hours exploring and getting lost in those marbled halls. Korkie knew his way around the palace; he knew every nook and cranny, every secret passage and hidden door.
There was an itch, a subtle but unyielding force in his mind pushing him forward. It prodded at him, demanded his attention, crashed against him over and over again until Korkie had no choice but to succumb to its designs. Memory and instinct guided his steps; with a certainty Korkie hadn't known he possessed, he made his way undetected through the Palace to his aunt’s private rooms.
They had been ransacked, that much was clear from the moment he slipped inside. Korkie navigated the mess with grace, easily stepping around scattered papers and broken objects. His senses were sharp, sharper than he was used to, and in no time at all he was standing by the worn desk he’d spent so many hours as a child sitting behind.
It took almost no effort on his part to find what he was looking for; it seemed his body knew exactly where to look, guided by power beyond his mind. Korkie ran his fingers reverently over the flimsi, noting the creases and bumps from years of being handled. Grief, bitter and acrid, filled his heart. He almost buckled under the weight of the foreign feelings flooding his mind. Just as quickly as it came the anguish dissolved and a new wave of emotion washed him over him; love, longing, affection, hope.
Korkie reeled back. In his mind's eye was his aunt, younger than Korkie had ever seen her, sprawled gracelessly on a grassy lawn. A hand gripped hers tightly and Satine smiled, bright and unbound, so different from the tight frown she’d worn the last time he’d laid eyes on her.
A slow blink and the strange vision—memory?—disappeared. Unnerved, he looked around, searching for something to take his mind off the images still swirling before his eyes, and saw a frequency scrawled and crossed out and rescrawled in his aunt’s elegant handwriting behind the flimsiplast. His hands shaking, Korkie tucked the picture in his pocket and began making his way out. With a little bit of luck, he'd make it back before Bo-Katan even noticed he was gone.