Work Text:
One thing Rex enjoyed about his position in his family lineage was the sense of freedom it provided, however false that freedom truly was. He was not senior enough in his long line of brothers to have a pre-set destiny, nor was he young enough to be of the second round picks of politics. Still old enough to have some expectation of greatness but young enough that people didn't tend to care what he excelled in, and his particular area of expertise was his knighthood. He’d truly taken the profession at a young age to try and escape the continuous flow of lessons his older brothers seemed to be subjected to, yet he quickly learned his selected path was not all swinging swords and shining armor. Despite the fact that Rex was a noble, he received no privilege from it. His squire days were full of harsh exercise, lengthy lessons on battle strategy, and endless chores for his patron knight. But those days were far behind, and he was a knight now, a true and noble knight of his realm. Which allowed him that freedom that he craved, and what did he do with that freedom? He competed.
Rex loved tournaments, not for victory or glory but for the fight. Each opponent was different. A new challenge every time he stepped into the ring, or mounted his horse. He loved the smell of fresh dirt, the mounting noise as the crowd gathered. The churning of his stomach as he and his opponent’s gaze fell on each other before they charged. The wind pushing through the gaps in his armor. He loved the sound of wood to metal, of metal to metal, of body to dirt.
Wood sprayed as his lance shattered against his opponent's chest. The other man fell back, his body slamming into the barrier before hitting the ground. Rex looked back, fighting the smile on his lips as he rode to a stop. The crowd cheered, and he offered them a quick head bow.
"You're positioning yourself well for the final rounds at the end of the tournament,” Cody said, taking Rex’s helmet and handing it off to his squire. Rex nodded, whipping the sweat off his face.
“I thought they’re would be actual competition here.” He says, looking over the crowd.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, it’s only the opening round.”
“Please, have you seen anyone yet worth anything?” Rex looked from the peasants to the royals, lots of them, more than usual, attended this tournament. It being held in the capital of the republic was the reason, while Rex and Cody’s home country was not a part of the two great alliances, they were still welcomed. Rex skimmed over the attendees, most he recognized, but scattered about were ones he didn’t. Around the booths, hooded figures sat. Two drew his attention. There was a man, maybe a year younger than Rex, leaning over the edge of the booth to talk to someone. The man’s cloak was dark, and lighter brown curls fell around his neck as he leaned, his eyes even at a distance, Rex could tell they were a bright blue. He spoke animatedly for a moment before standing, crossing his arms, and looking down at a smaller hooded figure, a young girl. She rolled her eyes at the man’s attitude. Her cloak was a warmer brown, and the sides pinned together just at her collarbone.
“Who is that?” Rex asked, Cody looked up at him, then followed his gaze.
“Have you been rammed in the head? That’s your Duchess.”
“Not Duchess Satine, behind her.”
“Oh,” Cody thinks for a moment, “I believe the woman is the Queen of Naboo.” He says, “Has she caught your attention?”
“No,” Rex’s expression sours at his brother's implications, “who are the other people?”
“Well, I believe that would be Anakin Skywalker, and I am not familiar with the girl.”
“Why are they dressed like that? It’s blazing out here?” Rex could say that quite confidently, he’s in thick armor, but was sweating before getting into it. The sun was particularly bright for spring, with little to no cloud cover for relief from the rays.
“They are Jetii. Monks of an old religious group. The royals tend to keep them close and bid for their attention. Jetii have abilities that are beneficial to royal courts.” Rex looked away from the stands to his brother.
“Abilities?” Rex’s horse sensed his attention move away from her, so she shuffled. The horse, Stella, liked moving. A palomino quarter horse whose family line had served the Fetts for generations. Rex had helped raise her as he was just coming off his squire training. He still remembered her as a weanling. She would stomp her hooves and prance around, wanting to go out, while Rex tried to prepare her food.
He sighed and dismounted his horse. He handed off the reins to his squire, letting the boy lead Stella off. He turned his attention back to Cody, waiting for the answer to his question. Cody shrugs,
“I don’t know much.” He starts,
“Wow, the great Cody not knowing something?”
“Watch it.” He warns, “But yes, I am particularly uneducated on the topic. What I do know is that they have a magic of sorts. They can feel things, like they know what will happen. And something to do with moving things.” Cody pauses, “Father doesn’t have any books about them in his library. But he says if you ever have to fight one, keep your head on straight and watch out for flying objects.”
“Flying objects?” Cody just nods, “Magic,” Rex mumbles, “Thought only the Nightsisters could do that?”
“There’s a lot of magic in the world, brother. We live in an old world. An old world with mysteries only few comprehend.” Rex looks over, eyeing his brother.
“Why was that weirdly poetic?”
“I am great with words, Rex. It pays off to listen in literature lessons.” A smirk pulls at the corner of Cody’s mouth.
“Yeah, whatever you say, Count Fett.” Rex teases his brother, then turns his attention back to the stands. Now, there are only empty seats where the two Jetii had been. Rex hums, confused, for a moment, scanning the crowd, but they seem to be fully gone. For some reason, Rex is disappointed. He had had no intention of speaking to them, but now that there was no chance of running into them, his curiosity was left to simmer.
The two of them moved from the exit of the arena off to the side, where other competitors huddled to watch the remaining rounds.
Rex stumbled as he was hit from behind. He turned quickly, expecting to see a competitor angry about a loss, but only to find a young girl. She had white hair, braided into small, tight braids. Those braids were pulled into two and pulled over each shoulder. A small band of leather sat at her hairline, and a red tunic hung from her shoulders to he knees, the color a match to her boots.
“Sorry sire,” She said, an apologetic smile plastered on her face. Rex opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. She looked familiar, something about the markings on her skin, the shimmer in her eyes.
“Do I know you?” He says it coming off more blunt than he intended.
“Oh no sire.” She says as the apologetic smile turned mischievous. She reached out, her hand touching his, “ You don’t know me. ” The way she said it seemed so reassuring. And any feeling of recognition drained from his head.
“Right of course. Sorry, my lady.”
“No worries, sire, good luck in the competition.” She said before darting off.
“Who was that?” Cody asked, leaning against the area’s fence, looking back at Rex.
“No one I know.”
“Hmm, not common to see girls as squires, good for her, her knight must be capable.”
“Yeah,” Rex said, a feeling he couldn’t name bubbling up in his gut.
“And our last two knights of the evening,” The Master of Ceremonies' voice boomed over the arena. Drawing Rex’s attention back to the tournament. “Both knights here have no banner but their own to fight under, who of these nobodies will show us his value and win the right to fight for your applause in the coming days?” Rex joins Cody, leaning against the railing. Watching as the Master of Ceremonies, dressed in a horrid combination of expensive garb from various cultures. “Firstly, under a banner of gold, wealthy beyond measure, Sir Rush Clovis!”
The crowd cheers as a squire begins waving a golden flag and a man on a white horse rides out into the arena. His armor was new and shiny, ornately made, plated in gold with designs hammered into the metal. He waves and moves to wait in front of the royals. Rex watched him critically. He sat straight, too straight, his nose turned up. He thought he was better than everyone. Rex didn’t like that. He also didn’t like how young his horse looked, he was never the best judge of a horse's age, but his champagne quarter horse seemed too young. The gelding also pulled its head back, making a groan that sounded to be one of discomfort to Rex’s ears. The knight, Sir Clovis, clenched his jaw as the horse tried to walk back. He kicked the horse’s side, not to spur the horse, just to kick. Rex glared.
“And his competitor. Under the flag of Red. Lord Vader.” Rex and the crowd turned to the other side of the arena. The young girl from earlier runs out, making a show of spinning her red banner. Rex watched as she threw the pole and flag into the air and performed a few acrobatic skills before catching and bowing as the crowd erupted. After her show, Lord Vader entered the arena. The crowd stilled.
His horse was large. A Friesian, all black. You could see its muscles as it walked with slow, deliberate precision. Each hoof fall sent a small cloud of dust. Lord Vader himself was just intimidating. He sat tall, unlike Clovis, tall in a way that he was trying to prove himself. Asking, not demanding, for honor. His armor was dull, used, old. Painted a deep black that was flaking off at joints and anywhere a dent was present, revealing the steel underneath. Except for his right gauntlet, which was fully stripped of its pain and polished. Both the horse and rider, such a deep back that they almost felt void of life.
His horse stopped its march in front of the royals. And bowed. Both horse and rider bowing. One front leg tucked under, the other stretched out. Lord Vader bowed from the waist, steel gauntlet outstretched to the crowd. The horse stands.
Chancellor Palpatine, the patron of the tournament and head of the Republic, approved the knights as he had done all day with a slow nod, then the knights parted, or they should have, Cloivs paused. Rex followed his eyes, the man looking to the royal booth. The Naboo booth. The Queen looks straight ahead, ignoring his gaze. The gold knight turned sharply, his horse groaning again as he went to his side of the arena.
Rex eyed Sir Clovis, but his attention was drawn fully to Vader. The squire, the girl, handed the man his small shield, then his lance. The wood was painted a vibrant red, the handle black.
When the Master of Ceremonies signaled, the horses rushed forward. The Friesian’s hooves pounded, almost echoing. Lord Vader didn’t move, locked into his stance, his only movement was with the rock of his horse. Sir Cloivs wobbled. His lance was slightly crooked. Rex wasn’t surprised when it didn’t hit. Vader’s did. It shattered, slamming into the golden knight’s shield. It caused Clovis to snap to the side, his body twisting before losing balance. He slipped off his horse. Foot catching on the stirrup for a moment, his horse dragged him a few feet before he fell fully. The crowd cheered. The golden knight scrambled to his feet. He ripped off his helmet. Throwing it to the ground.
“Oh, so you can break a lance!” He snaps, “You can ride a horse! But fight me like a man!” Vader stills, his horse stills. The gaze of his helmet landed on Clovis. At this point, Rex hadn’t realized how unsettling it was. A great helm, the shadows blacking out the eyes, slits instead of holes for ventilation. The blacked out eyes landed on Clovis, and Rex could see the man falter. But he was daring, Rex would give him that. Because he didn’t step back, didn’t flinch as Vader’s feet hit the ground. As he started walking closer.
Clovis threw off his glove, which hit the ground with a soft puff of dirt. Vader kicked it. Paid it no mind. Just kept getting closer.
Rex winced at the sound of metal on flesh. The knights around him laughed as Vader's fist hit Clovis’ face. The man’s face snapped to the side. But undeterred, Clovis hit back. Trying to find holes in his armor.
It didn’t last. No one expected it to. Clovis’ back hit the ground. Vader reached down, gripping the top of the golden knight’s chest plate. He brought his fist up, held high, coiled to strike.
“Enough!” Queen Amidala's voice ran out. She stood in her booth. Fists clenched. Vader pauses, looking up at the queen.
Lord Vader lowered his fist and dropped the man to the ground.
“As you wish, my lady.” It was the first time Vader had spoken, and his voice drew attention, sounding inhuman. Low, dark, like it rumbled around his mask before escaping. It sent goose bumps down Rex’s arms, his body forgetting the heat of the sun for a moment. He stood and turned, walking off in long, deliberate steps.
“And it seems Lord Vader will move on to the next round of the tournament!” The crowd’s stunted silence broke out into cheers once the Master of Ceremonies made his announcement.
“He’s good,” Cody said, at Rex’s side. “Watch him, he’ll prove a challenge. I can see him cutting through the rest of your competition.”
“I’ll need to see him in the other games,” Rex said, watching as Lord Vader exited the arena. As he passed, the Lord looked over to Rex. The shadow over the visor made none of the knight’s features visible, but Rex could have sworn he saw a small shimmer of blue looking at him.
Once he was gone, Rex turned, startled to be met face to face with a horse. Vader’s horse. The black beast was right in his face.
“Holy kriff-” Rex moved back.
“Sorry,” The same squire stood trying to pull the beast away.
“Geez, kid.” Rex sighed,
“Think he likes you.” She says,
“Oh, lovely.” Rex reaches out to pat the horse’s muzzle. “He’s a beauty.”
“His name is Resolute.” She says, and Rex nods, noting the name. “Come on,” the girl mumbles to the horse, trying to pull it away. Resolute lets out a whinny, then turns and allows the girl to pull him away.
That night, like most nights of tournaments, a party was thrown. Coruscant’s capital was grand, being one of the wealthiest countries in the land, it was expected but even Rex was impressed by the grandeur. The steward announced Rex’s arrival. He looked over the crowd. The ballroom was large but quite crowded. Rex figured he was one of the later arrivals. He walked down the stairs with the grace he’d been taught since birth.
He’d shed his armor, except for his chest plate, which had been repolished, and now sat over the top of a black tunic. His trousers were also black, while his belt and boots were a brown leather, gifts from his father that he wore with pride. Also a gift from his father was his cape, which tied under his arm and draped over his opposite shoulder. It was a deep blue fabric with family symbols embroidered into it in a similar blue thread. On his forehead, he’d painted the mandalorian symbol for Jaig Eyes, the same symbol on his helmet, and the last part of his attire given to him by his father. To each son, his father had given a mark, a symbol, that in his eyes they earned as they aged.
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, his eyes swept over the crowd one last time. And he noticed something, now that they had been pointed out to him, Rex could see the Jetii amongst the crowd. They moved like ghosts, gliding through the people in brown cloaks, sprinkled amongst the bright colors of royals.
“Meiloorun wine?” a servant asked as Rex stepped off the stairs. Rex nodded and took the smallest glass from the platter. “Enjoy the night, sir.” The servant bowed their head and moved away. Rex took a sip of the sweet wine and then ventured into the crowd, in hopes of finding his brother. Instead, someone else caught his eye.
“Jetii,” Rex called, not really understanding what drew him over to the hooded figure. He recognized the man as Anakin Skywalker by the visible part of his face. He stood with another robbed figure, another man, slightly shorter, and a beard visible beneath the shadow of his hood. Both men turned as he approached.
“Ah, you must be Viscount Rex, the champion knight from the Fetts,” The shorter man said, who at closer look, seemed to be the older of the two monks. A soft smile played at his lips, one hand coming up to stroke his red beard.
“Yes, sir, you were the jetii sitting along my Dutchess, were you not?”
“Yes, Satine and I are old friends from your country's more turbulent times.”
“I see,” Rex’s eyes shifted to the younger Jetii, “And you were sitting with Naboo’s queen?”
“That was me.” He said, sounding much more casual than the first. His voice having a slightly aloof feel.
“I noticed your absence during the final fight. You missed a good show.”
“My padawan wanted to leave before the crowd got too thick.” He says, “But I heard the fight was intense.” Rex nods, “Do you think Lord Vader will provide a challenge?”
“Anakin.” The older man said, “I’m sure Sir Rex would like to enjoy the party and not speak of his competition.”
“Come on, anyone as good as Rex here loves talking about his craft.” The man said, looking at Rex with a knowing smirk.
“You are not wrong, Jetii,” Rex returned his smirk, “but I think it’s too early in the competition to reveal my thoughts on any of my competitors.”
“Good answer, sir, it will keep my friend’s questions at bay.” The older man said, “He’s quite interested in knight games, but can respect the customs of competition.”
“I see,” Rex says, still smirking, watching as Anakin rolls his eyes. “Sir, you said your padawan? Was that the girl sitting with you and Queen Amidala?”
“Yes,”
“And what are padawans?” Rex asks, before quickly trying to back track, “If I am permitted to ask, I know very little about the Jetii.”
“You’re more than welcome to ask,” Obi-Wan says, “And I am not surprised at your lack of knowledge of our way. Besides my relationship with Satine, we and the Mandalorians have a bit of a strained past.” Rex raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “But you can read a history book on that, you asked about younglings.” Obi-Wan looked to Anakin, prompting the younger to speak.
“I am in charge of her legally. Ahsoka is my ward, but it’s also my job to teach her how to be a Jedi.”
“Jedi, I thought it was Jetii?”
“It’s Jedi, jetii is the Mandalorian way of saying it,” Obi-Wan explains, “But both are quite fine.” Rex, who had been about to apologize for the mispronunciation, closed his mouth.
“Anyway, I raise her, she graduates, and she raises another.” Skywalker continues.
“Our way isn’t passed down by blood,” Obi-Wan adds, “It's passed down by knowledge and growth.”
“Ben.” Rex turned to see his own Duchess approach. He turns and bows low. She simply nodded. The Duchess Satine was no fan of violence taking a more pacifistic approch to her leadership. Rex had been surprised she even attended these games.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Obi-Wan bows. Moving to the side. “Hello, my dear.” He greets taking her arm. And Rex realizes why she attended. They walk away, disappearing into the crowded ballroom.
“Thank the force.” Anakin sighs, drawing Rex’s attention back. The man’s perfect posture falls a bit, and he pulls off his hood. Running a gloved hand through his hair. “Thought he was gonna hover all night.” Rex looked over the newly exposed parts of the man. His hair was frizzed from the hood. The curls have no real pattern to them. His eyes still held the bright blue, and the scar Rex had been able to slightly make out was now fully visible. Rex felt heat rise up his neck as he looked the man over. There was something to him, something Rex couldn’t place, but he had to swallow it down.
“He usually hover?” Rex asks, Anakin groans and nods.
“I have a track record of acting out,” He smirks, downing the rest of his drink in one go. “That and he is, unfortunately, my most available friend.” Anakin grabs another drink as a server passes.
“Ah, I see.” Rex nods, “The Queen, a coworker, or one of those unavailable friends.” Anakin smiles, a toothy grin that drew Rex in even more. The world fading a bit, Anakin becoming more of his focus.
“An unlivable friend.”
“And your padawan?”
“Is around here somewhere. She takes after me.” Rex raises an eyebrow. “She likes finding things to do when she’s bored, can’t sit still.” Rex nodded. “Actually, she should-”
“Hi.” Rex jumped as a smaller person appeared next to him.
“Speak of the devil.” Anakin snickered, rubbing the girl's head. She swatted his hands away as they messed with her head scarf. “This is Ahsoka.” Rex looks down at the girl. She smiled up. Little white markings on her face that too familiar. She wore a simple burnt red tunic, more feminine than Anakin’s, with white sleeves covering her arms. She had a white head scarf, which covered all her hair and was tied behind her head in a knot, with the two tails of the knot falling over her shoulders.
“You’re…” Rex studies her.
“No.” She smiles, shaking her head. Elbowing Anakin.
“You guys haven’t met? Have you?” Anakin’s eyes burn into Rex, it pulls his attention away from the girl. Something bubbled up in his gut, like a warning he couldn’t hear.
“I-” Rex looks back to the girl, and he can’t figure out what about her was familiar. “I don’t think so.”
“Nope.” Ahsoka crosses her arms and smirks. “You fight well.”
“Umm, thank you,” Rex says, shaking off the odd feeling.
“So what are you’re thoughts on your competitors?”
“Takes after you? I see it now.” Rex smirks, Anakin gives a knowing smile,
“What can I say? I taught her well. But leave it be, Snips, too early in the competition.” Ahsoka rolls her eyes. “Where have you been?”
“Nowhere.”
“Ahsoka.” Anakin’s voice is warning.
“Fine, trying to convince Master Plo to give me some extra silver pieces.” Anakin shakes his head, “Morai needed a new saddle pad.” Ahsoak said, clearly trying to appeal her case with Anakin.
“What happened to the money I gave you?” Rex shifted, uncomfortable, feeling like this was a conversation he shouldn’t be there for.
“I needed a new knife.” She smiles. Anakin pinches his nose.
“Go. You need some sleep, and people are getting drunk.”
“I can handle myself, Skyguy.”
“Ahsoka.” The girl huffs. She grabs a dessert from the nearby table.
“Least he didn’t make me give the money back.” She whispers before darting off. Rex couldn’t help but smile. Now sensing this was a normal thing, his unease dissipated. He looks back at Anakin, who downs the rest of his second drink.
Rex watched pink spread over the tips of Anakin’s ears. The alcohol settling into his system. He studied the man, hazel eyes finding blue for a moment. His eyes were so sharp. A blue that looked like it held so much, stormy, but like power buzzed beneath. Rex had always been surrounded by brown eyes, anyone who held his gaze was like staring into a mirror of golden brown. But Anakin’s were different, and like the man’s smile, it pulled his focus.
“You asked me about my thoughts on Lord Vader.” Rex starts, not really sure why he’s bringing it up when he said he wouldn’t. Anakin nodded. “I asked around, wondering where he came from. It’s not common for a man to claim no homeland. Even more so in tournaments like this. But no one knew anything. Only rumors about him hailing from Mustifar. But no evidence to support it. He fastinates me. I’ve spent the last hours trying to decipher him, but I don’t know enough.” He paused, watching Anakin, his eyes seemed lighter. “I can only hope he reveals something in the rest of the games.”
“Do you think he’ll advance?”
“I don’t doubt it, I know competition when I see it. Barring any mishaps, he might even earn favors by the end.” Anakin smiled,
“Come on.” He said, peeling off his robe and tossing it under a table, tucking it away. Rex moved after him. Weaving through the crowd. Until he almost slams into someone as they’re spun by their partner. Rex had blindly followed the Jetii to the dance floor.
Rex hadn’t been on a dance floor in years. Anakin smiled as the music started. His feet led, his hips followed. It was fluid and quick. His arms swayed and ran with the music. He moved around Rex in a tight circle, touching then pulling away. Rex tried to keep his eyes up, but most of the movement was lower. There was something familiar to Anakin’s movement. He recognized the footwork from somewhere he’s been but couldn’t place it. His hair flew this way and that. The music was so formal, but somehow he turned it informal, casual, and dramatic.
As Anakin turned, getting closer, Rex couldn’t stop his hand from shooting out. It presses into Anakin’s back, guiding him, forcing fluid movements into something harsher. Mandalorian dances were militaristic. Rooted deep in fighting styles. Rex was quick, strong. It reflected in his dances. Anakin was quick too, but there was something to him that swayed, almost unbalanced. Rex tried to anchor him.
“Slow down, Jetii.” He says, “People are staring.” Everyone on the dance floor was different. Cultures and styles blending together as the music swells.
Anakin’s hip finally stilled once it pressed against Rex’s. And Rex felt the warmth of his body as he pulled him closer. Rex pressed his chest to Anakin’s back. The two moved about the dance floor.
“Didn’t know knights of your caliber could dance,” Anakin says, trying to spin away, but Rex keeps him close.
“Didn’t know Jetii were allowed to,” He can hear the small sound of Anakin chuckling,
“We’re not.”
The music slows, and Anakin turns away. Rex feels the warmth leave his side, trying to grab him back. But Anakin slips away, and he bows as the song stops. Rex bowed back.
“Viscount.”
“Jetii.” Rex’s chest rose and fell, so lost in the moment to realize how quickly they had been moving.
“Good luck with the rest of the tournament, may the force be with you.” Anakin smiles before disappearing into the crowd.
Rex watched as the armored man was dragged out of the arena. The crowd cheered, as Lord Vader rolled his shoulders, his armor shifting. He sheathed his sword and stepped out of the ring. Rex bowed his head in respect. Surprisingly, the Lord returned it. Once again, Rex saw that small flash of blue.
“Ah lovely work from our claimless Lord!” The master of ceremonies' voice boomed from his balcony, draped in somehow more gold and velvet than the day before. “Unfortunate for the dear Knight of Mortis.” The man tsked, shaking his head as if he cared, as if the crowd's chants hadn’t called for blood. “Next up, from the white sand deserts! From a long line of warriors this world still marvels, son of Jango Fett, The Blue Knight of Mandalore, Viscount Rex Fett!”
Rex sucks in a breath, dons his helmet, and steps out into the rink. The crowd cheers, they always do. He knows his reputation precedes him. He is a knight of Mandalore, most who bear that title gain respect, fear, fans. He sighs, barely listening as his opponent is announced. He already knew who it was, an older knight from Zygerria, an old country with a dark history. Rex did, however, watch him enter, looking for anything new, new injuries, limps, broken armor. He was large, his armor custom built to fit his weight. His helmet, like most Zygerrians, flared out at the side, like bat ears. It was also a copper color, which meant at least one layer of the metal was weaker, thinner, and breakable. He held a spear that looked more like a cattle prod, two points instead of one. He had a sickening grin on his face, his teeth corroded. Rex pushed down the uneasy feeling the man gave him.
“Well, honored knights, the Chancellor has given his blessing to fight on this warm spring day, so fight you shall! Let the round begin!”
Rex’s grip shifted on his axes as the other knight paced, the gaze of his helmet locked on Rex. The cheers of the crowd melted away. He lunged first. He was smaller and quicker.
The edge of his axes were caught by the other’s hilt. He pulled down focing the man’s block down. He quickly pulled up, throwing an elbow to the copper face plate. He stayed close to the man as he stumbled back, if he was close, the Zygerrian’s long spear would be useless. He raised his axe again, driving it into the man's shoulder. He howled in pain, the copper giving way. Rex then pulled back, spinning and forcing the axes into the man’s side, but the metal here didn’t bend. Rex cursed, not it was a guessing game, what parts were reinforced, and which weren’t.
It took longer than he would have liked. He feared the match would end in a draw, the longer he dragged this out. Rex’s axes seemed to bounce off the sides, stomach, and back. Which left the arms, legs, and, for some idiotic reason, the chest exposed behind thin metal. Rex went for a swing at the man’s dominant arm, only for an unexpected hit. He stumbled back as the hilt of the Zygerrian’s spear slammed into his face. Then the man was on him. His weight pushed Rex down, there was a heavy knee on his chest, as wood pressed against his throat. Rex squeezed his eyes shut as the burning panic of suffocation crept up. He brought his hands up, his axes falling away as he tried to push away the wooden handle.
“It’s a shame you never wandered into our borders.” He says, breathing hard, Rex felt the hot air seep past his face guard. “The things buyers would do for a man like you.” Rex’s stomach turned. Slavers, that was the Zygerrian’s dark history, a practice they kept under wraps these days. “Oh, what money I could get.” Rex pushed him off, bringing his legs up. The larger man stumbling from his weight shifting. Rex scrambled up, ripping the spear from the other’s grip. He flipped it, pressing the sharp end into the copper chest plate. Forcing the man to stay down. The soft metal bending at the slightest pressure.
The crowd’s chanting faded back in as the ringing in Rex’s ears lessened. They wanted something, craved it. The sick real reason peasants came to these tournaments in droves, blood. They screamed for it. Rex set his jaw, trying to toon them out.
“Yield!” Rex yelled, but the man only laughed. A deep laugh that reverberated in his helmet, almost taunting, daring. “Yield!” It only took the slightest shift, and Rex drove the spear through the man. The crowd roared as blood started staining the man’s bronze armor.
“Well, blood the crowd demanded and blood they received!” The master of ceremonies calls. Aids rushed forward and helped the knight to his feet, then out of the ring. Rex’s chest heaved, looking down at the blood on the dirt. He reached down and scooped up his axes. Exiting the arena, pushing through the small crowd that had formed.
“Did we miss your round?” Rex turns to see Anakin and Ahsoka approach. Rex’s chest still heaved.
“Yes, sir.” Rex peels off his head, whipping away the sweat. Pulling a hand back to reveal blood on his palm. He ignored it and looked to Anakin and Ahsoka. Both were back in their brown robes, hoods up.
“Karabast,” Anakin mumbled, “Sorry. Who did you fight?”
“Sir Agruss,” Cody says, “Master Jetii, Padawan.” He greets,
“Oh, Anakin isn’t a master,” Ahsoka says, with a smug smile. Anakin shoots her a look, “What, you’re not?” She adds.
“Sir Agruss?” Anakin changes the subject, “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“It’s a common name of Zygerrians.” Cody offers.
“Zygerrian’s?” Anakin asks, something picking up low in his voice. Rex picks up on the shift in his eyes, the deepening of the blue. If he hadn’t been thinking about those eyes, he wouldn’t have caught it.
“Slavers?” Ahsoka asks, her body language shifting.
“I’m not sure they still engage in that practice-”
“They do.” Anakin cuts Cody off. Cody nods, eyes flicking to Rex, then back to Anakin. “You win?” Anakin asks,
“Yeah,” Rex says, finally getting his breathing under control. He swallows, “Ran him through with his own spear.” Rex wondered for a moment if that was a bit graphic for Ahsoka, but she didn’t react, so he moved on. The muscles in Anakin’s face twitch, like he was holding back a smirk.
“Congratulations.” He says,
“Join me for dinner?” Rex asks, before he can stop himself. Trying to ignore his muscles straining. His side on fire. Rex watched a just a little of the turbulence behind Anakin’s eyes, fade away. “I’ll request your seat moved next to mine.”
“Who am I to deny a Viscount?” Anakin says, his voice holding an air of formality that Rex didn’t think he was capable of.
“Good.” Rex huffs out. He bows to the two, then limps off, holding his side.
Waiting for dinner was excruciating. Rex sat leaning back awkwardly in his chair, trying to remain presentable as his ribs throbed. His nose was swollen, also throbbing. The entertainment the Chancellor provided was boring him to death. Cody’s gaze was harsh on him as he failed to school his annoyed expression. And Anakin had yet to arrive. The seat next to him was empty, just like his goblet. Rex hissed as he tried to move.
“Are you alright, Rex?” Anakin asked, and Rex actually sighed in relief as the man joined him.
“I’ll be fine, sir.” Rex forced a smile, but it grew easier when he looked at the man next to him. He was out of his normal robes, gone were the layers of deep brown and black. A simple tan shirt hung from his shoulders, and a deep cut neck line showed off part of a muscular chest. His hair, usually a mess of curls, was pulled back and tied loosely behind his head. His bangs and a few stray hairs framed his face.
“You don’t have to call me that,” Anakin said, taking a sip from his goblet.
“It feels right.” Rex offered, the royals around them cheering as the performance completed a trick. Rex hadn’t seen it, too focused on Anakin beside him, he doubted it was impressive.
“I’m not gonna get you to stop, am I?” Anakin smirked, looking over at him, “Sir and Jetii, is that all I am to you?”
“No.” Rex shifted, not caring that he leaned against his bad side. He just wanted to be closer to the other, “But those are the most fitting titles for you.”
“Whatever you say, Viscount,” Rex smirked. He had hated the title for years. It always felt empty to him, just something to give another son of Fett. But coming from Anakin, for some reason, it felt like it meant something.
“Did you catch any of the fights today? I know you missed mine, but the others, Lord Vader, went before me.”
“You watched him?”
“Of course, he’s competition,” Rex said,
“And any new thoughts?” Anakin asked,
“He fights well, his skill precise but somehow still brutal. I did not know one could put that much force into that much skill.” Rex shares. something in his chest drawn to the way Anakin watches him as he speaks. He holds all of the man’s attention, all of those thoughts buried deep in those eyes, calming as Rex spoke.
“Do you prefer skill or power, Rex?” Anakin asked thoughts once again swimming in his eyes.
“A balance, unlike the Lord, it's a give and take. A perfect hit is good, but sometimes, well sometimes you just got to strike them, and strike them hard.” Rex smiles, and it goes wider when Anakin does too.
“That’s very insightful.”
“I am very experienced, Jetii, and I’ve always said that experience outranks everything.”
“Really? I think I agree, experience is always better .” And that tone from last night came back when he talked about ‘knights of his caliber’. Rex fought back a large smile.
“You know, we talked about your padawan last time, but I was thinking, my brother mentioned you and your people hold magic?”
“The Force.” Anakin says, “We call it the Living Force, a power that flows through all living things.”
“The Force…So that’s what ‘may the Force be with you’ meant from last night?”
“Yes, it’s a blessing, of sorts, I think.”
“You think?”
“It’s just something that’s said,” Anakin says,
“And how is it different from the magic of the Nightsisters?”
“It’s not, not truly, the Force is the base of even their magic, but they harness it differently. They used chants and spells to channel it, and any of their kind can do it, while Jedi are only comprised of people with a higher connection to the Force.” Anakin says, “You can quote Obi-Wan for all of that, it's a lesson I had when I was still a padawan.”
“Well, your delivery of the message is much better than Sir Obi-Wan’s, I’m sure,” Rex said, this time not forcing down the grin on his lips. Anakin looked at him before chuckling and shaking his head.
“Obi-Wan’s was much more intellectual.” Anakin looked over at him. Rex just shrugged, unbothered.
“Sires.” Both men pulled their attention from each other to look at the servant before them. “Your dinner,” They reached out to set the plates down in front of them. Both men thanked them, and they bowed, leaving without another word. The food, like most meals Rex had consumed recently, was more focused on presentation the flavor. Rex longed for a stew made by his father's staff, but the colorful plate in front of him was all he had. Anakin seemed to eat without complaint. As did Rex after his moment of hesitation. But Rex couldn’t help but wonder, if he longed for stew, what Anakin craved. He thought back to Anakin’s dancing, the culture he couldn’t place. The Jetii seem to be more religious than cultural, so he doubted they had a traditional food.
“Do you enjoy this?” Rex asked, nodding toward the food.
“It’s good,” Anakin said, taking a bite.
“What would be better?”
“Pallie,” He says, just a bit too quickly.
“The sand fruit?” Anakin nodded, and Rex thought for a moment. Trying to connect the dots. Dancing and pallie. It wasn’t until he remembered Anakin’s reaction to the slavers that he realized. Tatooine. A desert country, like his own. But for every part Mandalore was civilized, Tatooine was relentless. Rex looked down at his colorful food, jaw clenched, trying to think through all the implications of his realization. Trying to decide what to say.
“Anakin, my boy.” Rex looked up from his plate, shocked to see the Chancellor himself standing between the two of them. Anakin paused his eating, setting down his fork, to look up at the older man. “Join me, my boy, I have something to discuss with you.” Rex’s brows furrowed, looking from the royal to Anakin.
“I am eating dinner, sir. Could we discuss this topic later?”
“Ah, yes, Viscount Rex.” Rex had never been this close to a man with this political power before. There was something in his eyes, not thoughts like Anakin, but emotions, and none of them looked good. “You are performing well in my games. I expect you will rank high on the final day. Quite brutal your fight against Sir Agruss, though a necessary end to the duel.”
“Thank you, your highness,” Rex said,
“But no, young Skywalker, I’m afraid this can not wait.” The Chancellor's voice is filled with what Rex would label fake sympathy, and he watched as the older man’s hand came up to rest on the back of Anakin’s neck. “Come on.” Anakin nods and stands.
“See you tomorrow?” Anakin said with his hand on Rex’s shoulder.
“Of course,” Rex said. He could feel Anakin leaning closer. But the Chancellor began to walk away, and the hand on Anakin’s neck pulled him along.
“Your Jetii knows the Chancellor?” Cody draws Rex’s attention as Anakin and the Chancellor disappear out a side door.
“I didn’t know,” Rex says, feeling uneasy. He pauses, a small strip of brown fabric floats in front of his face.
“Spooky.” Cody helpfully commented. Rex ignored him, pulling the fabric out of the air, the hair on his arms standing up when he made contact. Then a wave a something soothing rolled over his skin. The fabric was a soft linen, dyed a deep brown, the exact color of Anakin’s cloak. Rex squeezed the fabric before tucking it into his vest. “Seems your Jetii left you favor.”
“He’s not my Jetii,” Rex says, “I’m not a royal who needs his power. I’m just…an available friend.”
The third day of the tournament was archery. The one day Rex didn’t have to wear his full armor. He wore his black tunic and trousers. His surcoat split down the middle, one side his deep blue, the other white. And his symbol embroidered over his heart. Wrapped around one of his bracers was Anakin’s favor. Rex had wanted to try and find a different word for it, to label it something else, but he couldn’t, so the favor he kept close throughout the day. He had hoped to keep the actual man close today, but he hadn’t seen him since last night.
Rex tried to stop thinking about it as he approached the stand. He was on his third round of five. He pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it. He drew his bow back, pulling his back muscles tight. He lined up and fired. The arrow found the target's center. He relaxed and waited for his squire to pull the arrow out of the target. Once the boy was cleared, he nocked the next arrow and repeated his motions. Once again, the arrow found its mark. This is why he’d grown tired of marksmanship. He’d learned it young, practiced for years. And rarely missed the red center anymore. The squire cleared the target, and Rex drew back again.
He’d tooned everything out, so he didn’t hear the shouting. He didn’t see the movement, too focused on the target. It was only after his finger released the string when he saw a man rush across the field. Ahsoka right behind, right in the path of the arrow.
He hadn’t even dropped his stance, and his heart was in his throat. Ahsoka turned. Too late, he thought, the arrow to close. Her hand shot out, and the arrow dove. Embedding into the soft ground. She stumbled, falling over her feet, landing on the ground.
“Kriff!” Rex rushed forward, his bow discarded. “I’m sorry I didn’t see!” Rex crouched in front of her. “Are you okay, kid?”
“I’m okay.” She said, clutching her wrist. “It’s fine.” Rex shook his head. He helped her up, avoiding her wrist. He got her to her feet, her white pants now covered in dirt. “What were you doing running across an active archery range?”
“What happened?” Anakin rushed up, dragging an unconscious man in his grip.
“Rexter here shot me,” Ahsoka said. Anakin’s eyes flew over Ahsoka, checking for injury. “It didn’t land, pushed the arrow out of the way. Just like you taught me.” Anakin lets out a breath.
“I am so sorry, sir,” Rex says,
“It’s fine, Rex, she’s trained to stop arrows for a reason.” Anakin drops the man he’s holding on the ground.
“Right,” Rex pauses, “You can do that?” Anakin only nods, taking Ahsoka’s wrist and looking it over.
“Looks like you’ll match me for a while.” He says, Ahsoka pulls her wrist back when he attempts to bend it, wincing in pain.
“Really, I am sorry.”
“It’s okay, Rex, she shouldn’t have been paying better attention.” Anakin, hands go up to Ahsoka’s head, fixing her head scarf. Rex saw the start of white braids before they were covered. Rex fought down the questions rising in his gut, remembering how last time he was shut down. But she looked so familiar.
“What were you doing anyway?”
“Jedi business,” Anakin says, casual and easy like that makes it normal. Rex’s eyebrow raises, and his eyes flick down the lump of a man on the ground.
“Of course, sir.” Rex says, eyes falling back to Ahsoka, “You sure you’re fine, kid?” He asks,
“Don’t worry about me. I’m not a kid, and I’ve had worse.” She huffs, though she is still clutching her wrist.
“Finish your event and I’ll meet you by your tent?” Anakin offered. Hauling the unconscious man up over his shoulder. Rex nodded, but a fear swelled in his stomach. He couldn’t figure out what the other man meant by it. And he’d hate for Anakin to yell at him, scold him for almost killing his ward. To tell him he should have been paying more attention, because he already knew that. Rex tried to read Anakin’s eyes, but they looked so perfectly balanced that he couldn’t. When he realized he was staring and not answering, he quickly cleared his throat.
“If you’re not too busy, sir.”
“Not for you, Rex.” Anakin then placed a hand on Ahsoka’s shoulder and guided her away. Rex watched them leave, the tightness in his throat finally loosening.
“You need to focus.” Cody’s voice sounded when he first stepped back into his tent. Rex paused, hand still on the flap, holding it open. Cody sat at his desk, looking over paperwork. He was dressed for the road. His gear strapped around him, armor on. Bag at his feet. Rex clenched his jaw.
“If you were paying attention, you’d see that I just won the archery.” Rex set his winnings, a golden arrow, on the desk. “Where are you going?”
“Home, and I was paying attention. Paying attention when after your Jetii talked with you, missed the bullseye, on three out of your remaining shots.” Rex gave his brother a flat, unamused expression.
“Hey, it’s almost like I was a bit shaken from shooting at a kid,” Rex says, pulling off his surcoat, tossing it on his cot.
“That shouldn’t have fazed you,” Cody says,
“Why are you going home?”
“Father wants me back.” He says, standing from his seat, grabbing his sack.
“The tournament’s not over yet.”
“We’re lucky he let me stay this long.” He says, grabbing his helmet. He looks to Rex, already knowing what he’d ask, “I don’t have the freedom you do, brother. I have duties back home, responsibilities. I have to return. These tournaments are the only reason you have the life you do. Keep winning and you get to stay away, you won't get dragged back. So yes Rex, I need you to pay attention.” Rex took a breath. Looking at the floor. Cody pats his shoulder and pushes out the tent. Rex follows.
Cody pulls himself up over his horse. Pulling on his helmet.
“You’ll make sure Fox hasn’t sold off my land right?” Rex asks, untying the horse’s lead, and handing it to his brother. Cody nods. He doesn’t say anything more, just turns and starts walking off. His horse walking through the small village of tents, towards the woods.
“Where is he going?” Rex turned to see Anakin approach, guiding a white Arabian horse. It’s main, braided with little blue ribbons. The horse snorts in Rex’s face and hits its snout against Rex’s face. “Artoo.” Anakin scolds.
“Home.” Rex said, “My father summoned him back.” Anakin nodded. Artoo pressed his face into Rex’s shoulder.
“He wants food.” Anakin huffs, only to receive a high pitched squeal. Anakin only rolls his eyes. “Sorry,”
“It’s fine.” Artoo’s attention is pulled away from Rex to his horse. Stella and Artoo now distracted with each other. Rex looked back at Anakin, an apology of his own on his lips when he realized there was no storm in Anakin’s eyes, just a calm blue. Anakin watched the horses with a small smile. Then turned his attention back to Rex.
“Want to go for a ride?” Anakin asks, Rex opens his mouth to speak but closes it and just nods. Anakin grins and pulls himself up into his horse. Rex follows suit, untieing Stella and pulling himself into the familiar saddle. Anakin is riding off before Rex has even looked up. Rex fought down a smirk and followed.
Rex noticed the stares of the other knights, it was something he had picked up on but not paid any mind over the last few days. People seemed to know Anakin. Looks were thrown his way when he passed. For a reason Rex didn’t know, Anakin had a reputation. Once they reached the edge of the camp, he quickly rode up next to Anakin.
“Is there anywhere particular you wanted to ride, Jetii?” He asks, glancing at the other man. Anakin looked at him, his eyes even brighter, as he smiled. Artoo shoots forward. Bolting down the path towards the woods. And Rex, with a grin of his own, followed.
Rex couldn’t remember the last time he just rode, not in a straight line for a joust, not in a ring for training, not for traveling. Just riding. The wind hit his face, the fresh air off the woods filling his lungs. Artoo was fast, but so was Stella. She caught up and kept up. Anakin’s hair flapped in the wind s the rode. He would look to Rex every few moments, and Rex would look back. The world was speeding past them. The path through the wood was narrow. But Stella and Artoo seemed comfortable enough to ride next to each other.
They rode until Rex’s legs burned. Until their horses slowed on their own. Anakin settled back into his saddle. Guiding Artoo to walk in a small circle.
“You can ride,” Anakin says,
“So can you.”
“Dance, ride, fight. What can you do?” Rex smiles, pretending to think.
“Politics.” Anakin grinned at that.
“Well, I suck at that too.”
“Really? You seem close to the Chancellor. You must have some experience politically.” Anakin’s grin falls, and Rex curses himself for bringing up something that might be touchy.
“Palpatine is a friend.” He says, “He was always available, and I was always available for him.” His gaze falls to his hands. Looking down at his black gloves. Something there made Rex shift, a feeling in his gut. What the Chancellor would need Anakin for, Rex didn’t know, he didn’t like it. However, Rex remembers Cody mentioning political figures keeping Jetii close. “He has always been there, close, as I’ve grown.”
“You grew up here?” Rex asks, he knows the answer, he pieced it together last night, but he wants to hear it. Anakin’s eyes found his.
“No.” Anakin pauses, “You wore it?” He moves Artoo closer. He reaches out and takes Rex’s forearm, fingers running across the favor. Rex just nodded. He placed hand over Anakin’s, holding his glove covered hand in place. When he felt something metal he looked down. Small rods of metal looked drilled into Anakin’s arm. A jagged scar circled his forearm, it was red and looked like it never healed properly. He could feel Anakin try to pull away so he ignored it. But it only gave him more unanswered questions.
“Of course, sir.” He says, he pulls Anakin closer, the man almost leaning out of his saddle. He cups the back of his head, right where Palpatine had grabbed him the night before. Anakin freezes, then leans in. Rex lets his fingers run over the brown curls at the base of the Jetii’s neck. Anakin’s eyes flutter closed, just for a moment. “I want to know,” Rex whispers, trying to get Anakin to look at him.
“What?”
“Everything.”
He heard the snap of a bow string before he felt anything. He felt falling before he felt pain. Felt the impact of the ground before recognition of what happend. But when the pain did come, it was like fire ripping through his chest. Rex gasped and rolled over, trying to get his bearings as he felt the warmth of blood start to run down his shirt.
His ears were ringing, but he heard something. The sound was almost metallic, but closer to what one might hear if they were struck by lightning. He forced his head up. Skywalker was off his horse, blade in hand, but no ordinary blade. The metal glowed, he raised it in a sharp motion, protecting his chest as he blocks an arrow, it bounced off the metal with a sharp ping . Then there’s so much motion, Rex’s dizzying vision can barely keep up, but it could follow that blue glow.
Anakin’s sword swings wide, the glow disappearing as it cuts through someone. There's a sharp upward cut as it runs someone through. It spins momentarily, making a halo of light before cutting high through a neck. Another ping of an arrow, then two more. Then a thud, a body falling from a tree. The blue swings back, hitting a stray limb, then forward, a face. Rex manages to blink away blurriness for a moment to watch the Jetii summon a man to his hand. The Force, Rex thinks as he watches Anakin squeeze. The man, tried to claw at Anakin’s black gloved hand. Skywalker says something, his face tight, angry. The man must not have said something worthy because the blue blade once again makes a sharp cut up and through, before getting ripped free. The man crumples.
“Are you alright?” Anakin asked, the blue glow of his sword fading, and as it did, the blade began disappearing like paper getting burned in a fire. Rex had to peel his eyes away from the weapon. And look up at the other man, then back down to his chest. The arrow stuck out of his chest, black shirt stained darker by blood. He tried to force out the words that he was fine, that he could manage, but only dry, ragged noise came from his throat. Anakin’s hands were on him. Pulling him up, or closer, he couldn’t tell. It must have been up because he feels the strain in his legs. “Come on, Rex, it’s just a flesh wound.” He says, somehow still in that unbothered tone.
“The tournament.” Rex managed to mumble out,
“Of course you’re thinking about that,” Anakin huffed, pushing Rex up onto a saddle. Rex grips the pomel. He looks down at the white horse, not his horse. “Let's just get you back to the city, then we can worry about your win loss record,” Anakin says, and Rex watched him get onto Stella. Confused on why they switched animals, Rex was about to make a comment about it when Anakin let out a sharp whistle, “Come on, Artoo.” He says and spurs Rex’s horse forward. They trot off, Rex gripping the pommel for support as his hand starts to go numb and the warmth under his shirt starts to spread. Every bump is accompanied by a groan as they ride back.
Rex gazed down at his arm, held in a sling, like the piece of fabric had personally hurt him. The men that had, or more their corpses had been collected, and the Chancellor himself had promised Rex that the bandits and who they were working for would be found. The Chancellor had also offered him his condolences that he would no longer be able to compete in the tournament, so much so that Rex now sat in the royal booth. He’s spent all today and yesterday here, watching the semi-finals and finals. And he hated it. So close to everything he loved, ripped away from it by a single arrow. It would heal, he knew that. But this had been the tournament of the year, and looking at it now, it was going to be won by a nobody Lord or an old Count whose time on the field should have long been over. Whose time Rex should have ended.
“This has been a wondrous tournament. It has been an honor to serve all of you.” The Master of Ceremonies spoke loudly, silencing the waiting crowd. “But all great things must come to an end. And this ends today. Here with our champions.” Rex shifted in his seat. Trying to get a view of the Naboo booth, which was empty aside from the Queen. Rex sat back. Watching as the arena doors opened. “From Serenno, a man many of you here may hold ill will towards! The silver haired Count. The fencing champion of the East. Count Dooku!” The crowd cheers as the man rides in, slowly on a grey horse.
“And opposing this seasoned knight, the new man. In his first recorded tournament this black armored knight has risen through the challenges won in close combat and now has come here to take it all. The knight some children may fear! Who doesn’t know fear, himself! Under his red flag, Lord Vader!” Rex watched, waiting for the slow meticulous matching of Resolute. But it didn’t happen. The black horse came running out. Lord Vader on his back. He kicked up dirt with the pounding of his hooves. The crowd bellowed at the theatrics. The Lord rode around the arena, then around Dooku in a few circles, Dooku’s horse threatening to spook. Then he rides off, stilling almost on a dime in his spot across the arena from his competitor.
“What an entrance!" The Master of Ceremonies, claps, prompting the crowd to do so. Rex looked over the Lord. He was the same, obviously, but there was something different. Rex looked hard, trying to find that small blue in his eyes, but he couldn’t. There was nothing but shadow. “This shall be our final round! Three attempts, unless one opponent knocks off the other! Two points for the head, one for the chest! Basic but true! Now with the consent of our patron?” He turns to Chancellor Palapatine.
“Do it.” Rex hears him say.
Not a moment later, the horses are rushing forward, towards each other at high speed.
A red lance breaks against a face plate. But the Count doesn’t even flinch.
A black lance shatters on black a shield. Lord Vader takes the hit, able to not fall from his saddle.
Something caught his gaze and he looked to Vader's squire. There was no denying it. Not now. Ahsoka stood. Vader’s next lance in her hands. Her hair in the braids out of the head covering. But that’s the same girl. He knows it. Rex looked around the crowd for Anakin again, wondering why he would let his ward near this unknown knight. Rex gripped his armrest. Before he can continue to think, they go again.
A black lance explodes when it hits black armor. The red lance hits nothing. Rex freezes as Lord Vader slumps forward, dropping his lance. His hand flew up to a junction in his armor. A large spike of wood sticks from his chest. The crowd goes silent. Ahsoka rushes to the side of the knight.
She says something. Looking up, gripping the knight's leg. He shakes his head. Rex shifted in his chair. Eyes looking again for Anakin. Nothing. Rex clenches his jaw.
“Do you yield?” Dooku yells. Lord Vader's gaze snaps to him. Resolute rears back. Lord Vader turns him. He rips the wood from his chest and the last lance from Ahsoka’s grip. He points it at Dooku.
“You of all people know,” his voice booms, deep and raspy, “No injury you can inflict on me will stop me!” Resolute moves forward. Dooku matches pace.
The red lance shatters. Right on Dooku’s neck. The Count goes flying back. He lands on the ground hard. And for a moment, no one breathes. Dooku’s horse runs from the arena. He doesn't move. Aids rush forward, attending to him. Lord Vader sits, high in his horse, above it all. Then he looks to the Master of Ceremonies.
“L-Ladies and gentlemen, we have our Champion!” He stammers out. “A knight with no land claim now has a home in our hearts!”
Lord Vader rides to the royal booth. Taking a golden sword from the hands of a servant. He raises it to the air. And the crowd, over their shock, cheers. Loud, deafening, one last approval of their champion. Now that he was closer, now that the round was over, Rex looked into his eyes again. And he could see the blue.
“Remove your helmet,” the Chancellor said suddenly. Vader made no movement to obey his command. “Remove your helmet, your Leader commands it.” Still no movement. Then slowly, his hand moves. It grips the edge of his helm. Pulling up and back.
Brown, sweaty curls fell around his face. Blue eyes seemed dull. Thin scar, looks so pale against tan skin. His face was littered with soft freckles. It made Rex’s breath catch in his throat. And made the crowd only roar louder.
Anakin’s eye fell on him. There was nothing there. A flat expression before he turned back to the Chancellor.
“Young Skywalker.” He says. “It seems you are a true knight after all.” He bows his head, and the Chancellor moves away from the railing, exiting the booth altogether. Rex couldn’t look away. Even as Resolute took a step closer. Anakin reached out, his helm in his hand. Offering it to Rex. Rex took it. Ripping it from his hand. Maybe too harsh, maybe not. But Anakin nodded. He turns his horse and trots off. Rex is left to grip the helm hard, thoughts stewing. Jaw clenched.
“ I said I wanted to know. ” Rex tried to keep his voice from yelling as he marched towards Anakin. Ahsoka looked between the two of them, quickly tying up Resolute and darts off. He’ll deal with her later. Her master was his focus now. Anakin sets his chest plate down and puts his hands up in surrender. Rex throws his helm on the ground.
“Yeah, I know.” Rex pushed him into his tent. Hands on his bare chest. He pushed him over and over until Anakin hit his desk. His leg armor making a soft clink as it hit the wood. The light that filtered through the tents dyed the walls, gave the inside of the tent a warm glow.
“I asked to know everything.” Rex hissed,
“You got shot, Rex,” Anakin says, grabbing his sling as if to drive his point home.
“Then tell me now, sir.” Anakin pulled him in by the sling. They ran into each other more than kissed. But as Anakin pulled back, Rex’s good arm came up and grabbed the back of Anakin’s neck, pulling him back in. It was messy, neither knowing the layout of the other's face, of each other's lips.
“That’s everything," Anakin whispered as he pulled back. Chest heaving.
“No, it’s not.” Rex laughed, low and deep. Before kissing him again, not before looking into his eyes. Seeing the bright blue glow, just like the one under Vader’s helmet.