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Chapter Text

~

‘Troubled, you are,’ Master Yoda said, peering at Baylan with concern.

Twenty-two year old Baylan Skoll stood in the Council chambers. His white robes were stained with ash and blood, as were his skin and hair, and his head ached where his Padawan braid had been just a day before. He was so, so tired, and yet his mind was replaying the worst moments of his life on repeat. 

He was barely able to keep himself from projecting those memories through the Force. His control was slipping and his grief was making his pain both duller and stronger at the same time. The blaster wound in his side- the one he had carefully not reported and hid because it was grounding and soothing in this hurricane of turmoil. 

‘Yes, Master,’ Baylan whispered, his voice hoarse from a thousand tears and a hundred screams.

‘Understandable, this is,’ Yoda said sympathetically. ‘A grievous loss, experienced you have. But know well I do, that grief can drag you under. Wish this for you, I do not.’

Master Windu spoke up next.

‘You are a new Knight,’ the Korun Jedi said, ‘and we need all of the Knights on the front that we can spare. You do not have a battalion to lead right now-’

Baylan flinched, remembering the massacre of his men. He’d witnessed their deaths, and the deaths of his Master, firsthand only a day ago, and he was still in shock. He had not yet cleaned himself or changed from the robes he had been wearing yesterday, the day when the fields of Ja’glor turned red with the blood of Jedi and clone alike.

If only Pong Krell had shown up. If only Pong Krell had prioritized the mission less and the lives around him more, then maybe Baylan’s master and men would still be alive.

‘-so you will go with the five-oh-first,’ Windu continued. ‘They are under Knight Skywalker and Padawan Tano, and could use a…more discerning eye to help keep them out of trouble.’

Skywalker. Anakin.

Baylan’s body relaxed slightly as a twisted impression of hope filled him. Anakin, Baylan, and Aayla Secura- among a few others- had been creche mates (sort of, as Anakin had come to the Temple a bit too late, and had only been assigned a creche after becoming a Padawan so he would have a friend group), almost siblings, and Padawans together.

Baylan hadn’t seen either since Geonosis, where Anakin had lost one of his hands. Baylan hadn’t fought in Geonosis- no, he’d been on Naboo, at the behest of the Chancellor and the Council, doing Cultural Studies. And since then the war had kept them too busy- both Aayla and Anakin soon being knighted and becoming generals- for any of them to meet up.

After Ja’glor, after everything, every atom of Baylan’s being longed to see his friends. 

‘They will be here tomorrow for leave,’ Windu informed him. ‘You will join them then, and stay with them until we can get you a new battalion. Until then, get some rest, Knight Skoll. You deserve it.’

Baylan bowed his head, the absence of his Padawan braid haunting him more than he would care to admit. 

‘Yes, Masters.’ 

He turned and walked away carefully, his blaster wound aching as he moved. He felt the eyes of Windu and Yoda on him, but he stood tall even though his world fell apart. When he returned to his and his master’s quarters, he collapsed on his bed and fell asleep instantly.

~ 

He dreamed. Of course he did. And he dreamed of death. He dreamed of the day before.

Ja’glor was a pretty world, on the edge of the Core and the Colonies, the only habitable planet for all of the systems between N’Zoth and Dowut. It was a snowy, icy world, fifty percent a frozen sea of freshwater often exploited by other planets. It was home to a few colonies- Mandalorians seeking a planet to hide on, Twi’leks fleeing from slavery in the Outer Rim, the usual ragabonds as well- but both the Separatists and the Republic wanted it for its water. 

It was the only ocean world- for over fifty percent of its surface was covered by an ocean entirely consisting of freshwater- to have its entire ocean made of freshwater. With all of Coruscant’s limited water hidden in melting glaciers, and the Confederacy of Independent Systems wishing to take every available resource away from the Republic, the world was highly prized despite its very low organism population. 

Baylan and his Master (a teal-skinned, violet-eyed, male Twi’lek with golden speckles on the lower halves of his lekku, reddish-brown robes, and red lekku wraps), Jedi Master Savella, had gone to Ja’glor with their men, the 36th Artillery. There, they had met Jedi Master Pong Krell, and together they had formed a plan.

But of course things had gone wrong. Something always did. And the 36th- copper paint gleaming on their armor- had found themselves surrounded by droids, as part of the plan. Yet what came next was decidedly not part of the plan- at least, none of their plans.

‘Baylan, message Master Krell immediately!’ Master Savella ordered, barely blocking a blaster aimed at his face with one of his twin cortorsis-hilted yellow ‘sabers. ‘We have drawn the enemy out and we have engaged. It is time for Master Krell to play his role in this plan.’

‘Yes, Master!’ Baylan called back, immediately pressing his wrist comlink and lifting it to his mouth. ‘Master Krell, this is Jedi Padawan Baylan Skoll. The 36th Artillery have engaged the enemy and have drawn them out. We require reinforcements immediately- we are completely surrounded.’

‘That is not part of the plan,’ drawled Krell’s voice. ‘Hold, Padawan Skoll. You are playing your part, and I am playing mine.’

Baylan’s heart chilled when he had heard those words. ‘But, Master Krell, it is the plan. You’re supposed to help.’

‘No, I am not. I am supposed to eliminate Separatist control of this planet, and I am doing so in space. Now return to your duties- doing the same on the ground, no matter the cost.’ 

And then Krell’s voice disappeared, and had left Baylan staring in disbelief at his wrist comlink.

Help is not coming. We are going to die here. Our lives don’t matter to Krell. He’s abandoning us here. But he’s a Jedi- lives shouldn’t be expendable to us. Every life is precious…but not ours. Not according to him. 

‘Baylan!’ Master Savella had called, his voice tinged with panic. ‘Where’s Krell?’

A blaster bolt slammed into the distracted Padawan’s side and the apprentice’s mind snapped back to the battlefield. He grunted and forced the pain from his mind as he lifted his orange lightsaber to continue slicing through droids and reflecting blaster bolts.

‘He’s not coming, is he?’ Asked Captain Swallow, their clone commander, shrewdly. 

Baylan shook his head, his heart aching in his chest just as much as the blaster wound blazed in his side. Master Savella’s eyes darkened.

Swallow placed a comforting hand on Baylan’s shoulder. ‘Ni ceta, vod. Let’s fight together until the end, lek?

Brother.

Touched in a way Swallow would never understand, Baylan nodded roughly, fighting back the stinging in his eyes.

This is my family. The Order. The clones. And they will be right here with me when I go down. Then we will know no pain at all as we become one with the Force. But it will be okay, because we will be together.

‘Lek, ori’vod,’ Baylan spoke, his Coruscanti accent making the Mando’a words sound differently, but their meaning did not change.

Swallow’s presence in the Force, almost completely drowned in grief and worry, glowed faintly with happiness and pride at his commander saying those words. At his commander accepting him calling him brother. At his commander calling him family.

The droids moved in, endless swarms of durasteel, cutting through the copper and white plastoid-covered flesh of the 36th Artillery like they were made of paper. Baylan sensed each death and mourned each loss, mourned each name, the deaths piling up until he was practically numb in the Force from so much devastation.

‘Back-to-back!’ Master Sevalla ordered.

Sevalla, Baylan, Swallow, and a few others formed a protective circle, their backs to each other and their weapons (and faces) facing the endless swarm of enemies.

‘Kill them! Kill the survivors!’ Shouted a B-1 Battle Droid.

‘Roger, roger,’ the other droids echoed, and their firing continued. 

Swallow was the first to go. He took a blaster bolt to the neck, and then the stomach, before collapsing to the snow-covered ground, his presence in the Force slowly disappearing as he began to die. Next was the ARC trooper, Hati, who took two bolts to the chest before hitting the ground, dead on impact. That left Baylan, Master Sevalla, and three more troopers (shinies, actually, whose names Baylan didn’t know yet).

But then a droidka snuck up on the troopers and eliminated all three of them, their copper-painted armored corpses joining their brothers’ on the snowy graveyard. Then there were two.

Baylan assumed a Form V stance. His master assumed a Form III stance. Both knew death was coming, as it had come for all of those around them.

‘May the Force be with you, Padawan,’ Sevalla said softly. ‘I am so, so proud of you. You will make an excellent Jedi.’

Tears unashamedly ran down Baylan’s face now, stinging in the frigid cold of Ja’glor. If Swallow and the clones had been his brothers, Sevalla had been his father- a damn good one. But then he realized Sevalla’s tense usage, and he paled, the orange light of his saber making his skin appear waxy. 

‘Master, no-’

And then Sevalla reached out to Baylan’s mind in the Force and knocked him out. Baylan’s vision faded, but he could distantly sense Sevalla’s force signature screaming in crescendo before fading out of existence altogether.

When he came to, Baylan was half-buried beneath the corpses of his men, his mentor’s lifeless body not too far away. The bodies of his brothers, the bodies of his soldiers, had kept  Baylan alive while his mentor saved him and stood vigil as he died- which was absolutely horrifying. So when the droids came back, searching for any possible survivors, Baylan pulled his extinguished saber out of the snow and picked up one of his master’s blades before drawing on his frozen tears and his guilt to absolutely annihilate them.

By the time Krell did make it to the ground, Baylan Skoll had gathered all the bodies and formed a pyre. Krell found him kneeling before it, two lightsabers before him (one his and one belonging to the dead), as the fire burned, his Padawan braid conspicuously absent, and Baylan was absolutely exhausted.

Baylan passed out soon thereafter and slept through much of the flight to Coruscant, and then meditated, hating Krell greatly the entire time.

~

Baylan woke up with a face covered in dried tears. He rubbed his face and forced himself to stand up, forcibly not thinking about his dreams. Reluctantly, Baylan took a shower (where he carefully ignored the blaster wound in his side) and brushed his teeth before pulling on a different set of robes- these ones a dark gray- before glancing at his comlink.

He didn’t see any new messages, but he decided to get up and go looking for Anakin anyway. Baylan itched for distraction. He yearned for a purpose, something to take his mind off of the pain and the emptiness where the Force presences of his Master and battalion used to be.

He strode down the hall, one hand on the hilt of his ‘saber, ignoring the pitying glances of some of the Masters and the confused look of a few younglings who had never felt the sorrow and anguish 

His emotions rolled within him like a tempest, reminding him of the star-like blaze of Anakin’s presence.

The storm and the star, Baylan thought. The survivor and the former slave. The Jedi with nothing to lose and the Jedi who cares too much to let him die. Fitting.

He reached out in the Force, across the training bonds he had with Anakin and Aayla, seeking the closeness of that familiar blazing presence that so reminded any Force-user that met Anakin of a star. Thanks to the Force-bonds they had forged as Padawans, if the other was even on the same planet as them they would be able to sense their presence.

There. He found it, at the landing pads. Anakin’s Venator, the Resolute, must have just landed. Baylan turned and walked out of the Temple, feeling a bit happy to see his friend despite the terrible circumstances. 

It has been a year and he must have changed, Baylan reflected. And he has a Padawan now.

But still, Anakin was a friend, someone Baylan knew intimately and trusted. He was family. And he had so very few people still alive whom he called friends; even fewer who were close enough to be family.

Dank ferric, Baylan really needed a friend right now. He felt like the Loth-wolves who chased the sun and moon, Sköll and Hati, motivated by a higher purpose but being so alone as they followed that path, even having to watch Fenrir their father be bound in chains as they stood helpless to prevent it. 

And he hated it. He hated feeling so useless. He hated being the one to survive when everyone else had fallen. Because the pain was so bad he almost wanted to put a blaster in his mouth. 

Come on, Skoll, Baylan told himself. Get yourself together. You’re a knight now, a general. You no longer have time to mope. You have a place to be.

So he walked faster toward, the turmoil of emotions raging inside him invisible to all but those whose midichlorians gifted a greater connection to the Force. But his sadness was easy to see, shrouded though it was by the grim set of Baylan’s mouth and his determination to not show any of his agony.

~~

Anakin’s comlink pinged.

‘Hello?’ He answered, holding the comlink up towards his mouth. ‘Skywalker here.’

‘Skywalker,’ Master Windu’s voice greeted.

‘Hello, Master. Hope the Council doesn’t have a mission for us yet. We just got back.’

‘No, we don’t. But we do have a favor to ask you,’ Windu said.

Anakin’s curiosity was piqued. Jedi Masters- especially Windu- did not ask for favors. Ahsoka, who had been chatting to Rex, turned; she had heard those words thanks to her hollow montrals, and she too looked curious.

‘What is it, Master Windu?’ Anakin asked. 

‘The Ja’glor massacre,’ Windu said. ‘What do you know about it?’

‘Not much, since we were battling and then in hyperspace when it happened. But a whole battalion and their general were killed,’ Anakin said quietly, sadness aching within him at the loss of lives.

‘Your friend Skoll was involved.’

Anakin inhaled sharply. Baylan Skoll was two years older than Anakin, but the two had been good friends as Padawans, especially since they had been pseudo-creche mates (Anakin was assigned a creche despite being made a Padawan instantly upon joining the Order). Anakin had not seen him in a year, though.

Last he had known, Baylan had still been a Padawan under Twi’lek Jedi Master Fen Sevalla. Baylan’s dusky orange blade matched perfectly with his mentor’s pale yellow cortosis-hilted twin blades, and his white robes had contrasted with his mentor’s red-brown ones. Baylan was a master of Djem So like Anakin, wherein his mentor was a master of Soresu. Baylan’s parents had been from Lothal, hence his surname, which tied in to a Lothal myth involving twin wolves chasing the sun and moon. 

And if he had been involved in the Ja’glor massacre…was he even alive? Panicking slightly at the thought of his friend dying, Anakin lowered his shields (which were always incredibly high on Coruscant because of their being so many Jedi on the planet) and reached out across their Force-bond, which had not faded with inactivity.

Anakin sighed with relief when he felt Baylan’s presence in the Force. It was dark and gloomy, as if wrapped in a mourning veil, and conflicted, but it was still there. Anakin’s heart ached when he realized what that meant for Baylan.

He just lost everything. His world just turned upside down.

‘His master and all of his battalion were slaughtered on Ja’glor,’ Windu said, uncharacteristically gentle. ‘He was Knighted yesterday. Until he recovers mentally from the battle, and we manage to put together a new battalion for him, he will be staying with you and the five-oh-first. Do you think you can take care of him?’

Anakin knew a lot more about grief than most Jedi- and more than people gave him credit for. So he nodded, willing to help a friend.

Baylan will need every friend he can get in the days ahead, Anakin knew. So his grief does not consume him, like it did with me on Tatooine. 

Anakin bowed his head. ‘Of course, master.’

‘He’s already left the Temple. I suspect he will be at the docks in around an hour,’ Windu continued, acknowledging Anakin’s response with a nod.

That was quicker than Anakin had been expecting, but he really shouldn’t be surprised. A Jedi could move quickly with aid from the Force, and a grieving Jedi- well, that Jedi could move faster than sound if properly motivated, because in their anguish they often drew on the Force more than they would have if they were not grieving. The Force could be a comfort to them, or it could be an outlet for their emotions, and either way those with a connection to the Force drew on it heavily after experiencing trauma, especially the kind Baylan had just gone through.

‘May the Force be with you,’ Windu said, ‘and good luck.’

Once Windu had ended the transmission, Ahsoka and Rex walked over to where Anakin was standing.

‘What’s going on, Skyguy?’ Ahsoka asked curiously. ‘Who is Baylan Skoll?’

‘He is a friend of mine. We were Padawans together and were part of the same friend group. I haven’t seen him in a long time but the Council thinks I can help him, so he will be staying with us for a while,’ Anakin explained.

‘Help him with what, sir?’ Rex asked, wincing. ‘Sorry, general, that wasn’t an appropriate question-’

Anakin placed his flesh hand on Rex’s shoulder comfortingly. ‘It’s alright. I don’t give a damn about the regulations, Rex, and besides, the Resolute is just as much your ship as it is mine or Admiral Yularen’s and Baylan will be staying on it. Baylan…he served with the 36th Artillery as their Commander up until a few days ago, where they were slaughtered by the Seps alongside his master. Grief…can be difficult for a Jedi. It’s a delicate balance to ensure that the darkness does not consume them.’

Like it did with me, Anakin thought, but he did not dare to say that aloud. 

Only Padme and Palpatine knew about what had happened on Tatooine with the Sand People and as far as Anakin was concerned it should stay that way. Knowing Obi-wan and the Council, they would expel Anakin, and he loved being a Jedi. He loved helping people.

He knew what had happened had been horrific. He hated himself for doing it. But he punished himself every day, sometimes intentionally getting himself injured or avoiding the medbay to punish himself. Every drop of blood he spilled, every ounce of pain he felt, was one drop in a blood-red sea of tragedy he was yet to repay.

Some would call him masochistic, and yet that implied that Anakin enjoyed this, this blood-letting as it was known in Tatooine (it was also referred to as blood-purifying in some areas near Mos Espa). He did not. But it was something he had to do, a price he had to pay. It was just something that was required- not that anyone who had never been a slave would ever understand.

‘And this will make sense when you meet him, Rex, but Baylan is a…unusual Jedi. Kind of like me, with the same deeper compassion and disregard of the rules, except he’s a little less aggressive- with the exception being when he’s fighting. In the days of the Old Republic, I bet he would have become a Gray Jedi or a wayfinder, choosing to walk the Jedi path separate from the Order and the Council. He doesn’t like their rules very much, most of the time. His lightsaber reflects this. It is orange, the kyber version of saying mysterious,’ Anakin explained, forcibly pulling his thoughts away from Tatooine and the Sand People.

Rex’s eyes widened. ‘Kyber crystals can be orange, sir?’

Oh, right. Rex had never seen an orange saber. Few had, even in the Order. It was not a common kyber variety. And Anakin was willing to bet that no one had ever explained to the clones how variable kyber crystals really could be.

‘Mm. There’s a variety of colors. Blue and green tend to be the most common. Yellow is also decently common, though usually among the Temple Guards and Consulars. Red, as you know, is only used by the Sith, because red kyber does not occur naturally and the Sith force the crystal to bleed to make it red. Purple and orange, however…Master Windu and Baylan are the only living Jedi I know who use kyber of those colors, either because those colored kyber crystals are so rare or that the people who best wield them are few and far between. Master Yaddle and Plo Koon had orange lightsabers, but Yaddle is dead and Plo Koon uses a blue lightsaber nowadays,’ Anakin said. ‘And then there’s white and gray, which since there’s basically no Grey Jedi these days, are practically extinct in use.’

‘I didn’t know Master Plo had an orange lightsaber,’ Ahsoka exclaimed in surprise.

Anakin elbowed her, a smirk on his face. ‘Kyber crystals reflect their owners, Snips. As a person changes, so does the kyber that is attracted to them. I sincerely doubt Master Windu’s first saber was purple, because he didn’t know Vaapad then, and Baylan’s first saber was green. Plo Koon’s kyber simply changed over the years.’

‘Why would it change so drastically in color?’ Rex asked, his curiosity ringing through the Force. ‘Green and orange are pretty far apart.’

Ahsoka frowned. ‘Yeah. I don’t think they covered that in Master Drallig’s class.’

Anakin sighed. ‘Of course they wouldn’t. That’s your master’s job. Look, a person’s experiences define them. If a person experiences trauma, or grows older, they aren’t the same person they were before, right?’

‘Ah,’ Rex said, nodding his head. ‘No wonder General Kenobi says your jetii’kad is your life. It kind of is, isn’t it, if it reflects your experiences and personality so intimately?’

‘That, and Obi-wan is a bit of a mother hen,’ Anakin said.

From a distance, anyway. He never seems so protective when he’s closer to me.

Anakin shook his head to clear his thoughts. 

‘Well, he should be here soon. Rex, can you make sure the men are at a safe distance? Baylan’s emotions…may literally explode, and I don’t want anyone getting hurt.’

‘Of course, General,’ Rex saluted, and then turned to walk towards the other members of the five-oh-first.

‘Snips, go with him. I want Baylan to let his shields down and grieve so his emotions don’t get repressed…and with your natural empathetic talent, I don’t want you drowning in his pain. Alright?’ Anakin asked.

Ahsoka nodded. ‘Alright, Skyguy. I’ll help Rex with keeping an eye on the boys. Just try not and blow up the Resolute, yeah? She’s got enough scars as it is.’

Anakin laughed. ‘Oh, I’m sure I’ll manage not to blow her up. I am a semi-functional Jedi, you know.’

‘Tell that to Obi-wan’s gray hairs,’ Ahsoka snarked.

‘Do I want to know why you’re talking to Obi-wan’s beard? No, probably not. Now shoo, my young Padawan.’

~~

Baylan stumbled as he walked towards where the Resolute sat docked. His shields were failing, and the Force’s presence burned. Baylan could feel every single soul of the dying just as it left this world, and it hurt.

(‘You need to close yourself off,’ his master had warned him after their first battle, when Baylan had broken down afterwards, overwhelmed by all the death. ‘Not entirely, of course. But you won’t last long if you keep your connection to the Living Force active unshielded during combat. This is not the place for it, Padawan.’

But this wasn’t combat, so why did it hurt?)

He could also sense the hollow void where the Force presences of his Master and the battalion had been, and that left him feeling even worse. Because the 36th Artillery was a smaller battalion and had only five hundred soldiers, Baylan knew almost all of their names, with the exceptions of the shinies.

So he knew all the names of the dead. Knew the name on each gravestone that would never be made because the Republic refused to acknowledge the sacrifices of the clones.

Swallow, Hati, Gemini, Fi, Niner, Apollo, Frost, Ran, Odi, Blomm, Rull, Verdi, Arall, Taydb, Vi, Glory, Loki, Twelves, Splash, Knucklehead (he punched droids),  Abesh, Abiik, Adenn, Aranov, Arpat, Bral, Buurenaar, Toshi, Ca’tra, Cerar, Copad, Dinui, Dral, Echoy, Seven, Galaar, Gi, Gra’tua, Camo, Blue, Lyre, Nine, Wrecks, Anemone…so many dead, so many gone. Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaja’la.  Hvíl þú í friði í höllum Alföðurs. 

Gods, I'm sorry.

Chapter Text

Baylan arrived at the Resolute with shaking legs, feeling as though he was about to collapse. His heart felt like a flood, his feelings the large wave about to crash into him and knock him under. He desperately reached out through the Force, seeking that warm presence, the presence that blazed with all of the heat of a star, barely holding back heat that could annihilate.

Ah. There you are.

Baylan turned the corner and saw him. Anakin’s hair was longer, he wore armor, and he was scarred, but he was so very familiar to Baylan’s agonized soul. So he strode towards him, barely noticing the orange-skinned Togruta teenager with white tattoos and white-and-blue montrals in the distance, and barely noticing the kama-wearing blue-and-white armored clone who bore jaig eyes on his helmet that was also with her. He ignored the fact that the clone, though mostly bald, had traces of blond hair on his scalp, just like Swallow’s hair.

He ignored the feeling of eyes boring into him- most likely the rest of Anakin’s battalion, keeping watchful guard- as he approached. He felt Anakin’s presence across their bond gently nudge against Baylan’s faltering shields, concern emanating from him, and- 

-the walls shattered, sending Baylan spiraling as he collapsed to his knees, images flashing across his mind that were both his memories and scenes Baylan did not recognize. 

(‘Padawan,’ Krell’s voice shattered the silent vigil Baylan was sitting, kneeled before a funeral pyre, two extinguished lightsabers before him in the snow and his cloak lost. ‘Stand up. What happened here? Where is your Master, your men?’

Baylan stood and turned, making it evidently clear that his eyes were red-rimmed and his Padawan braid was consciously missing. He summoned the sabers to his hand and ignited them. They were two different shades, one yellow and one orange. Baylan pointed one at the pyre behind him.

‘That’s where they are,’ he said, voice rough. ‘Because of you.’

And then he extinguished his sabers, letting his master’s fall to the ground, and shoved Krell aside as he marched towards the gunships that were waiting.)

(A clone with a blue triangular pattern on his armor and a v-shaped tattoo on his face pointed a blaster at Pong Krell, who kneeled in front of other blue-and-white armor wearing clones and had his back turned to the clone with the blaster- and the clones in front of Krell included the one with jaig eyes on his helmet. One blast, and Krell fell to the ground, a smoking hole in his back.)

(A old man in dark armor stood, his white hair cropped short and his beard not much longer. His face was extremely familiar, despite being wizened by age.  A young woman with blond hair that had streaks of black stood beside him. Both had lightsabers on their belts.

‘Do you miss it? The Order?’ She asked.

‘I miss… the idea of it,’ he said, staring off into the distance. ‘But not the truth, the weakness. There was no future there.’)

(An average tan-skinned Nogruta woman stood before Baylan. Burgundy tattoos covered her face and her hair-tendrils and her yellow eyes gleamed as she glared at Baylan. She wore dark armor and a headdress. On her shoulder appeared a bastardized version of the Republic emblem, and she held a double-bladed red saber, which Baylan had barely blocked with his orange lightsaber.

‘We burned at Skywalker’s hands and you chose to serve him,’ Baylan spat, disgusted. ‘You are a traitor, Lyn.’

He spun around, surprisingly quick for a man of his height, and pierced her heart with his saber.)

(Baylan launched himself at a tall, armored, black Sith, who was masked. The two fought rapidly despite their heights and bulk, orange and red lightsabers moving like blurs. Eventually, though, Baylan launched himself at the Sith and slashed the left side of the mask before moving quickly out of striking distance.

The Sith glanced at Baylan, revealing an eye the color of molten gold and a familiar scar cutting throughout. Baylan inhaled sharply, horror in his bones. He knew that face. Darth Vader was Anakin Skywalker. Sideous’ lapdog, who had led the charge on the Temple, who had slaughtered children and betrayed their Order, was Anakin fucking Skywalker. 

As Baylan backed away, knowing to run, because Skywalker was too powerful even now for him to beat one-on-one, he felt disgust and sorrow. How had Skywalker fallen so far?)

Baylan? 

A voice was whispering to him, calling to him from beyond the scenes of sorrow and horror playing before his eyes. It was a familiar, loud voice, and it cut through the visions like a lightsaber cutting through metal, leaving Baylan surrounded by darkness.

Baylan.

Yes? Baylan thought, wincing because the voice was so loud.

The voice quietened a little bit. 

Breathe, the voice told him.

Oh. Baylan realized that his lungs were aching, fighting to keep oxygen moving through his blood. Huh. Why had he stopped?

Distantly, numbly, he felt himself open his mouth, and the sweet rush of oxygen burned his throat and made him cough as he began to become aware of his body again. His soul settled back down into the confines of his flesh, no longer roaming wildly in the Force. 

Though that did make him wonder, when exactly had he lost sensation/connection with his body? With all of the visions, he hadn’t even noticed…

There you go, the voice said softly. Now can you open your eyes?

Baylan opened his eyes and found himself laying on his back, the bright blue eyes of Anakin Skywalker peering down at him with concern.

‘Anakin?’ He said, dazed.

‘Hey, Baylan,’ Anakin said softly. ‘How are you feeling?’

And don’t even think of lying to me, Anakin said sternly in Baylan’s mind.

Baylan forced himself to sit up, his chest, head, and back aching. ‘Like a corpse,’ he admitted. ‘What in Corellia’s nine hells happened?’

Anakin looked sheepish. ‘I, uh. Gently nudged your shields and you kind of…collapsed. You stopped breathing for a bit. It was really concerning.’

‘That’s my fault,’ Baylan whispered. ‘My shields were crumbling and I-’

He was about to apologize for this behavior, but Anakin covered his mouth with his durasteel hand.

‘Don’t. You’re grieving, in pain-’

As a reminder of this, the blaster wound Baylan had almost completely forgotten about blazed in pain, and Baylan with his shields down and vulnerable, cried out, his hand immediately flying to his side, where the wound was located.

Anakin’s eyes darkened.

‘Baylan, old pal,’ he said, unusually cheerful, ‘are you, perchance, injured?’

Baylan recognized that tone. Oh, no. He was in trouble now.

Baylan sighed, realizing the truth was out. ‘...yes.’

‘And, let me guess, it’s treated?’ Anakin asked. ‘Like the totally responsible Jedi you are who cares for his own health?’

‘...uhm.’

Anakin sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. ‘And they say my lineage is trouble.’

That’s because you have kriffing Yoda, Yan Dooku, and Qui-Gon Jinn in your lineage, Baylan thought. Together the six of you- including you and your new Padawan- have caused absolute chaos everywhere. Yoda’s almost nine hundred years old and is a gremlin. Dooku joined the Sith. Qui-Gon…was Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan killed a Sith. You’re the fucking Chosen One. And I know nothing about your Padawan, but I bet she’s just as much trouble as the rest of your lineage is.

‘Kix!’ Anakin called. ‘We’re going to need your expertise over here.’

‘I am fine,’ Baylan protested. ‘I’m sure your medic has much better uses of his time.’

Anakin pressed down gently on Baylan’s wound and the older Jedi nearly screamed, tears welling in his eyes. Anakin let go and Baylan panted, pain still rippling through his body, his own hand pulling away from the wound.

‘Yeah, no, you need medical attention, you dumbass,’ Anakin said, gesturing at a clone who was rapidly approaching. ‘Kix!’

The clone was bald, dressed in blue-and-white armor, and had lightningstripes tattooed on the back of his head. He dipped his head in respect to Anakin.

‘General Skywalker,’ the clone- Kix- said respectfully. ‘What’s the situation?’

Anakin gestured at Baylan. ‘Stubborn Jedi, blaster wound.’

Kix nodded and pulled a medkit out before kneeling and addressing Baylan. ‘Hello, General. Where are you injured?’

Baylan simply pointed at the spot, unwilling to touch anywhere near it at the moment. Kix nodded. 

‘Right. I’m going to need to access the wound. Would you prefer to disrobe enough for it to be exposed, or for me to cut a hole out your robes?’ Kix asked, voice steady.

‘I’ll take my robe off,’ Baylan said softly, and carefully stood up, leaning heavily on the Force for balance as he did so. 

He carefully untied his robe until it hung off his shoulders, revealing his pale chest, sparse black hair running down to the edge of his stomach. On his side a red wound circled by paler, almost white skin, was revealed and Kix inhaled sharply.

‘CORIC!’ Kix screamed.

‘The fuck?’ Anakin asked. 

‘That’s second-degree frostbite and a hole in his side! This karking di’kut needs to go to medical now!’ Kix barked. ‘Coric, get your shebs over here right now!’

Another clone skidded over. ‘Kix?’

Baylan peered down at his wound. It didn’t look so bad, despite the pain it had been causing. He figured that he had only gotten frostbite there because the hole in his robes that had left the wound exposed to Ja’glor’s coldness had been exposed much longer than the rest of him, as he had been wearing a robe and had only discarded it after the deaths of Swallow and his master.

‘It’s only a flesh wound,’ he said.

Kix swore in Mando’a- Baylan understood that because he had picked it up from Swallow- and gave Anakin a stern look.

‘Are all jetii this fucking stupid?’ He snapped.

Anakin shrugged. ‘Uh, maybe?’

‘Di’kuts,’ Kix muttered to himself. ‘You’re irreplaceable.’

No, Baylan thought, sadness tinging his mind as he remembered Ja’glor, we’re just as replaceable as you. Or so those in power think.

Kix shook his head, clearing his thoughts. ‘Hm. Right. Coric, hand me the scissors from the medkit, please.’

Coric complied and Baylan eyed it warily.

‘Wearing anything tight?’ Kix asked. ‘Belts, rings, etcetera?’

Baylan turned bright red. ‘Um. A belt.’

‘Kindly remove it,’ Kix instructed. 

Baylan glanced at Anakin, face burning from embarrassment at his friend being present.

‘Don’t worry,’ Anakin said, standing up. ‘I’ll go and spare your virtue. Kix, call me when you’re done, yeah?’

‘Of course, sir,’ Kix said, nodding, and then turned his attention back to Baylan as Anakin walked away to where his Padawan and clone captain were standing. ‘General, can you remove the belt?’

Baylan, mildly embarrassed to be basically stripping in public, complied, and pulled his simple black belt off before tossing it onto the ground (he suspected he wouldn’t need it for a while), which sent his trousers falling down. He kicked those off, and he was then only standing in his briefs and the white tunic was basically just hanging off of him right now, exposing his chest and stomach.
Sure, he had been naked around clones before, but he didn’t know Kix or Coric, and he felt completely vulnerable.

‘Okay, good,’ Kix said, getting to his feet. ‘Now let’s get you to a medcenter, General. You need a warm bath, and then a bacta patch.’

Baylan frowned. ‘I took a shower this morning. A warm one.’

‘For fifteen to thirty minutes?’ Kix asked, slightly amused. ‘And treated the wound in your side with a bacta patch?’

‘...no,’ Baylan admitted.

Baylan understood what Kix meant, now. Deep frostbite was not something bacta patches could heal- it was either surgery (if it was severe enough), a warm bath and then bandages, or an extended stay in a bacta tank- and given that Thyferra was playing both sides of the war like a karking fiddle, there was barely enough bacta to go around. All of the bacta tanks were used only for the critically injured; the bacta patches would have to do for everyone else, or traditional medicine that had gone out of fashion since bacta’s discovery.

‘Alright then, off we go,’ Kix said, herding Baylan towards the dock entrance. ‘General, we’re taking him to the closest medcenter!’

Anakin gave him a thumbs up as Kix summoned a holo-taxi and practically shoved the half-naked Baylan into it, making Baylan hiss as his wound pressed against the furthest passenger door.

‘Sorry,’ sai Kix unapologetically, ‘but this is why you get your wounds treated, di’kut.’

And then off they went.

Chapter Text

Outrunning karma

He was on Ja’glor again. The cold, heavy weight of death settled around Baylan. He closed his eyes and muttered final rites in Mando’a and Lothali before igniting the bodies on the pyre with his saber.

That boy, he’s such a charmer

They were in the Temple. Depa Bilaba smiled at Baylan warmly, after just complimenting his negotiations with Rodia.

The Twi’lek beamed proudly. ‘He could sweet-talk a Hutt into working for the Republic.’

All the bugs and their larva 

Yan Dooku stood on Geonosis. Several Geonosians stood beside him, watching the arena as Anakin Skywalker, Padme Amidala, and Obi-wan Kenobi faced their fates.

Follow him out to Colorado 

He was on the warship the Elegy. Baylan felt something crawl on his face while he slept and shot up, panicking, flinging the thing off of him with the Force and summoning an ice-pack before slamming said ice-pack into the creature. The creature shrieked and fell still, trapped beneath the frigid chill of the ice-pack.

‘What the kark,’ one of the clones, definitely Swallow because he was the only one that slept in the same chambers as Baylan and Baylan’s Master, said, sleepily and in shock. ‘That’s one of the fucking brain worms.’

Master Sevalla sighed and rolled out of the bunk he shared with Swallow. ‘Great, let’s go decom the ship.’

Ten dozen hearts in bags

He was on Ja’glor. As he picked up the five hundred and one bodies, he felt for pulses. He reached out with the Force, searching for their unique souls. But he found none. 

Five hundred and one bodies without souls on the frozen wasteland. Five hundred and one hearts that were not beating on Ja’glor. Five hundred and one bodies that had once been people that Baylan had known and loved. Five hundred and one echoes of all that had been before.

Their bodies lying

Chancellor Palpatine stood over the bodies of Kit Fisto, Mace Windu, Sasaee Tin, and Agen Kolar. He glanced up and met Baylan’s eyes, eyes glowing the yellow of molten durasteel, and with a snap-hiss a lightsaber ignited in his hand, revealing a crimson blade.

Palpatine lunged towards Baylan, crimson lightsaber flashing, and darkness-

He’ll drag them down to Colorado

-until the lava of Mustafar burned as Palpatine pulled a heavily burned man out of the lava. The man’s eyes snapped open and they burned the same shade of yellow that Palpatine’s did, but they were so damn familiar they almost gave a sense of deja vu. 

A modern desperado 

Mustafar glowed, a hellish backdrop, as Obi-wan Kenobi screamed in anguish. Anakin Skywalker, missing all of his limbs and dangerously close to the lava flow, glared up at his former mentor, hate and desperation warring in once-blue-and-now-golden eyes.

‘You were my brother, Anakin! I loved you!’

‘I hate you!’ 

And he’ll race for miles through the night

On a ship, a red-haired Jedi ran as a Lasat Jedi fought off clones, panic in the Padawan’s gaze.

‘Master!’ He called, his voice familiar.

‘I’ll be right behind you,’ the Lasat jedi responded.

He runs because he knows he cannot hide

‘Do you know the key to hunting a Jedi?’ a yellow-eyed Pau’an with red on his face and black armor, asked as he stood on Tatooine. ‘It is patience.’

A dark-skinned woman in similar dark armor and with long braided black hair stood not too far away from him. She looked unhappy about this lecture.

‘Jedi cannot help what they are. Their compassion leaves a trail…so what is the Jedi to do? Help you and risk capture? Or move on? Now, if he were smart, he’d keep moving, but the Jedi code is like an itch. He cannot help it.’

He’s never gonna make it

All the poor people he’s forsaken

Mace Windu, Obi-wan Kenobi, Yoda, Qui-gon Jinn, Aayla Secura, Sasaee Tin, Agen Kolar, and many others stood around a prostate Anakin Skywalker on the forested moon of Endor. All of them, Skywalker included, had a blueish tinge to them and seemed both transparent and immaterial- almost as if they were ghosts.

Karma is always gonna chase him for his lies

‘Liar!’ A yellow-eyed Anakin Skywalker shouted, lava flowing behind him as he stood on one of the few ‘safe spots’ on Mustafar.

It’s just a game of waiting

From the church steeple down to Satan

A bald and pale masculine being with red streaks on his face- not unlike the Pau’an from earlier- held out his hand to Anakin Skywalker, his dark armor blending him into the shadows.

‘Embrace your destiny, Anakin Skywalker.’

Karma, there’s really no escape until he dies

A tall, black armored body lay on a pyre surrounded by trees, on Endor, watched sadly by a blond-haired man with electric piercing eyes.

Outrunning karma

That boy can’t run no further

It’s the last days of Sparta

Follow him down to meet Apollo

*

Baylan woke with a start. He was in a medical wing that was nicer than any on a ship that he had seen. 

I’m still on Coruscant, he thought.

He felt rested, though grief still ran through him (albeit softer, much less loudly than before) and the faint echoes of pain shimmered in his skin.

‘You’re awake,’ a familiar voice noted.

‘Anakin,’ Baylan gaped, turning around and coming face-to-face with his childhood friend. ‘What are you doing here?’

Anakin was a general and the war’s poster boy; surely he was needed on the front badly?

‘You needed me more,’ Anakin told him.

Baylan thought about the visions he’d had while sleeping, while Anakin had been sitting vigil over him. Most of them had involved Anakin, Fallen, and it hurt him to think about, so he wanted to talk to his friend and find ways to prevent what he had seen coming true. ‘Anakin, we need to talk about something. I saw…visions.’

Anakin’s lips twitched. ‘Ah, don’t worry. We don’t need to discuss that.’

‘Wait, what?’ Baylan asked, shocked.

‘You kind of were suffering from Force exhaustion so when you went down, your shields did too, and you accidentally projected your visions to the entire Jedi Council,’ Anakin said.

‘What the kriff? How long have I been out? What the fuck has happened?’

‘Don’t worry. You’ve only been out like five days. Bail Organa is the new Chancellor, the war is almost over; frankly, not much has happened,’ Anakin said, his voice deadpan. 

Baylan stared at him. ‘...Excuse me, what in the Helheim?’

‘Oh, hey, wolfy boy. Do you want to stay with me and the 501st until the war ends? It doesn’t seem like you’re going to need a new battalion, with the rate things are going.’

‘Oh, definitely,’ Baylan promised. ‘Because I’m keeping an eye on you, Mr. Sith.’

‘Hey! My possible-Sith-Master’s dead now! I’m fine!’ Anakin protested.

‘For now. Sith don’t stay dead. And besides, I have missed you. We haven’t had much time to hang out lately,’ Baylan said.

‘True. Hey, do you want to be the witness to my wedding? I got married on Naboo but now that the war’s ended, I want to get married in Tatooine style,’ Anakin asked. 'And you're my friend, even if we haven't had one-on-one time together lately. I want you there. And we will be able to have some fun like the good old days again.'

‘I would be honored. Tell Amidala I said so.’

Anakin looked almost offended. ‘How did you know that she is my wife?’

‘No offense, my friend, but you two are about as inconspicuous as a supernova.’

'Rude. Accurate, but rude,' Anakin grumbled.