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One
Hongjoong was waiting very patiently to get picked, and he wants everyone to know that he’s waiting very patiently to get picked. The crèche masters always say that one has to be patient and kind so Hongjoong has to be patient and kind. But he’s getting a bit nervous because everyone else in the group is getting picked by Jipta and Maffice for their game of ‘Jedi versus Sith’ and Hongjoong really wants to be a Jedi. Not just as an adult but in the games. He never ever ever gets picked to be a Jedi.
It was looking more and more like he was going to be last, again, though… and the last pick would be Jipta who was the Sith.
Just as expected, Jipta and Maffice exchange a look before Maffice calls for Seonghwa to go to his team and Hongjoong balls his fists up.
“Come on,” Jipta calls, his voice muffled by the filtered mask he wears. His long green fingers wave Hongjoong over but Hongjoong refuses to move. “Come on,” Jipta repeats, sigh cracking apart oddly like it always does. Hongjoong doesn’t and Jipta crosses his arms while narrowing his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
“I don’t want to be a Sith,” Hongjoong declares firmly. “I’m always a Sith. I want to be a Jedi.” His hands shake so he firms them up tighter, feels his nails dig into his palms. He doesn’t want to make Jipta angry—Jipta is ten years old, compared to Hongjoong’s eight, and close to the crèche master by way of having been found by her—but Hongjoong also really wants to be a Jedi. “I want to be a Jedi this time.” Seonghwa, who has always been eager to trade snacks with him, walks closer again from where he’d wandered off for the game with the face he always has before asking to trade. Hongjoong’s chest lights up, ready to accept, before Maffice steps in Seonghwa’s way with his taller form.
Suddenly Hongjoong isn’t happy about the two older boys joining them for play time.
“No, you’re a Sith,” Maffice declares.
“He wants to be a Jedi,” Seonghwa points out, peeking out from behind Maffice’s large form. Hongjoong is glad for it because he feels like he’s going to cry and everyone is staring at him and the crèche masters are starting to look their way. “It’s fine, I’ll trade with him.”
Maffice and Jipta both glare down at Seonghwa, who flinches back into the group of kids huddled together waiting to play as Jedis, before turning their imposing looks onto Hongjoong. “You’re going to be a Sith,” Jipta says, stomping his foot. It kicks up dust from the sand they stand on and Hongjoong retreats, pretending like it’s to get away from the dust, as he blinks rapidly.
“I…” Hongjoong trails off as his lip wobbles. Everyone stares. “Why do I have to be a Sith?” he asks, breath catching just a bit as he tries not to cry because he’s already eight and he’s older than Yeosang and Yunho who are watching from the group of kids and the crèche masters always talk about being kind and patient and Hongjoong is trying but he just wants to be a Jedi and —
“Because you make a good Sith.”
Hongjoong scrunches his face up, shoulders coming up to his ears.
“You’re gonna make him cry, Jipta, and then we’re gonna get scolded.”
“Well he does!” Jipta defends, steam coming out of his mask.
Hongjoong closes his eyes but his feet won’t move.
“He’s a Jedi! He’s going to be the greatest Jedi ever!” Seonghwa’s voice says, shrill and offended for Hongjoong. “Let him be a Jedi! We’ll beat everyone!”
“He’s too weird to be a Jedi.” Maffice scoffs. It’s said like he’s just repeating something he heard from someone else. Hongjoong brings his hands up to hide his face to try not to imagine who did.
There’s the crackle-groan that has to be from Jipta. “Dude, you just said we’re gonna get scolded if we make him cry! Don’t tell him he’s weird.”
“Well he is!” Hongjoong doesn’t want to peek through his fingers but he does before he can help himself and Jipta and Maffice are staring at each other while ignoring Hongjoong’s crèchemates who have all huddled together as one with wide eyes. “He makes a good Sith, right? And Sith are weird!”
“He’s not weird!” Yunho shouts out, even as his wide eyes betray his nerves. Yeosang nods vigorously from next to him. “Leave him alone! Go away!” All they get for their efforts is an eye roll.
“He gets too angry,” Jipta points out and Hongjoong knows they mean him. “Look at the other brats getting angry too. He really does make a good Sith doesn’t he?”
Hongjoong turns and runs away, tears falling down his face.
Someone starts crying loudly behind him before the sound amplifies with multiple voices, Jipta and Maffice sounding panicked under it all, but Hongjoong doesn’t stop running away even as he hears the crèche master call his name.
He’s not a good Sith. He’s going to be a Jedi.
But Jipta and Maffice are ten and Hongjoong is eight and they must know something he doesn’t.
Hongjoong runs and runs and hides in a dark and dusty corner of the Temple where no one ever thinks to look until the crèche master walks in looking harried, calling his name, and Hongjoong can’t help but to tumble out into their arms with a cry.
He never tells anyone what made him run and no one who was there ever says anything.
Two
Hongjoong always knew he was unwanted by his Master; he was picked late, nearly hitting thirteen and being sent away to the agricorps before Master Fawlin chose him. There were always rumors that Master Fawlin had only chosen Hongjoong because he had been getting pressured by the Council to take another Padawan already and Hongjoong was already showing signs of excelling in the form that Master Fawlin preferred as well. It would have just been less work overall. Whatever the reason, Hongjoong had always attempted to remain grateful for his Master.
Grateful.
“Master!” he calls out, coughing into his sleeve as the battleground kicks up with dust from a crashing speeder not too far away. Hongjoong uses his other hand to swing his saber around and easily take out a few droids whose sensors are already damaged. “Master!” he calls out again, looking back and forth through irritated eyes for a glimpse of his Master’s signature blue sash that he insists on splurging on.
Somewhere further up and to the side, deeper in the thick of the battle, he spots a flash of a lightsaber and breathes out a quick sigh of relief.
Hongjoong may be eighteen now but he’s still most comfortable on a field by his Master’s side.
A blaster bold comes a bit too close to his hairline for comfort.
Most comfortable by his Master’s side especially when the fighting seems to be going downhill.
“Master!” Hongjoong calls again, more surely with the knowledge that his Master isn’t actually that far. He shoots out his hand to push the enemy apart and make way for him to dash through like he’s seen his Master do but it isn’t quite as effective when he does it. Hongjoong gets ten paces forward before he’s stopped again, deflecting blaster bolts and fighting people getting too close to him. “Master! We have to retreat!” he tries to relay through the fighting with some of the distance closed.
“Leave!” Master Fawlin shouts through the sound of people dying. “Take the men and go!”
Hongjoong falters at the command so abruptly that he feels the singe of a bolt warm his side, brushing his robe and just barely missing his skin. It launches him back into action. “Master, we have to go!”
“This is an order!” Master Fawlin shouts out. “Leave!”
Hongjoong takes two steps back, spins his saber to take the heads off of three droids, takes five more, and stops.
There are things he knows about his Master and it includes these: his Master has dreams about the future, he talks as if he will die young, and they are losing this battle.
Hongjoong is, if he’s entirely honest, not fond of his Master and the way he does not seem to care for Hongjoong outside of the field. However, he is Hongjoong’s Master and Hongjoong refuses to let the man die while running like a coward.
Turning back around to face the familiar sound of a lightsaber that isn’t his own, Hongjoong fights his way back to where he was earlier. He digs up as much of the Force he can and throws both hands out on either side of himself to watch every droid in a circle crumple, their heads collapsing into themselves. Hongjoong runs, panting, to his Master while avoiding the fire of the Stormtroopers and incoming droids.
“Come on!” he shouts, grabbing at his Master’s sleeve but missing when his vision swims and having to try again. “Let’s go!” He turns and forces his Master to run with him and his faltering steps, swinging his saber blindly and overly relying on the Force to guide his hand, until his Master ends up having to practically drag him the rest of the way back to base.
He’s laid on the ground eventually and Hongjoong tugs on his Master’s sleeve. “Are you hurt?” he tries to ask only to find that his tongue has gone numb and half of that short sentence doesn’t come out properly. The robe in his fingers slips out and Hongjoong reaches for it weakly again but can’t tell which of the three Masters in his vision is real and which aren’t. “Master?” he asks, hoping to know what was wrong with him and what was wrong with his Master and what was wrong with their men.
“I should have died today,” his Master’s voice says, sounding weird. It sounds like an echo, warping at the edges but filled with a horrific kind of disappointment that already brings tears to Hongjoong’s eyes. “I was supposed to die.”
Hongjoong shakes his head because he can’t talk or he’ll throw up and he doesn’t want to do that when he might throw up on his Master.
“I was supposed to die.”
Hongjoong shakes his head again and risks talking, smacking his lips to try to get his tongue to cooperate first. “No. No, won’t let you.”
He sees his Master, all three of them in his vision, step back with the same kind of look he’s been having for the past few weeks after crawling out of his tent whenever he looks at Hongjoong. “You’re going to kill us all one day,” he says, softly enough that the approaching footsteps might not hear. “You’re going to… it was a mistake to take you as a Padawan.”
Trying to get up, Hongjoong reaches out. He doesn’t know what’s going on. “Master?” His stomach rebels and he gags, hand coming up to his mouth to try to stop it. Moving was a mistake but his Master doesn’t come closer to help or run further away.
“You’re going to kill us all and the worst part is that you’ll be good at it.”
“What,” Hongjoong mutters between his fingers, “what are you saying, Master?”
“Don’t be stupid, child.” His Master scolds, as if Hongjoong is messing up his forms again. He crouches to be able to whisper to avoid the ears of the quickly approaching figures. “You’re going to make a good Sith one day and it’ll be on me because I didn’t die today.”
The words seem to hit Hongjoong physically as he doubles over to finally throw up the ration bar he had before running back out into the field hours ago. What comes up feels to be more bile than anything else. His Master jumps back to avoid the mess and the people coming for them shout something that Hongjoong doesn’t catch with the roaring in his ears as he gags again. He doesn’t call out for his Master as Master Fawlin leaves.
“He overexerted himself. Keep him in the medbay. He’ll be useless until he gets the ability to even lift a cup across the room,” Master Fawlin says as he leaves.
The last thing Hongjoong sees before he passes out is his Master’s form staring at his lightsaber as he walks away from between the rushing figures of the troops.
His Master refuses to do anything more than teach him the bare minimum when the Council rejects his request to dissolve their Master-Padawan bond on grounds of lack of valid reasoning; visions had a history of not necessarily coming true, they had said much to his Master’s ire. Hongjoong begs other Masters for lessons as often as he can and relies on his friends and is called a prodigy of his generation.
Neither of them talk about the reason for their strained relationship to anyone.
(Hongjoong’s friends find out one day when his Master accidentally gets overheard by them while they were trying to surprise Hongjoong on his Lifeday. His Master, having forgotten what day it was, had not expected three Padawans to barge into their rooms unannounced.
None of this is discussed further than his friends dragging him away just to spend the day loving him.)
Three
If life was to end for him at twenty he thinks he lived a good twenty years. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he faces a Sith, her red lightsaber making her eyes more red than yellow.
“What’s this? A stray Padawan?” she coos.
“Knight, actually.” Hongjoong corrects. He tries not to think of his missing Padawan braid, freshly cut right as he turned twenty, his Master eager to be away from him and putting him through the trials as soon as possible. Hongjoong had been eager to leave just as much and flew through them with a swiftness rarely seen before.
The Sith in front of him twirls her saber and lights up her figure as the saber passes behind her back before it returns as she laughs. “You should have lied. I don’t kill Padawans but I happily kill Knights.”
Hongjoong would wince except he’s proud of being a Knight and he’s proud of being a Jedi. If he’s to die in battle he’ll do it facing an enemy who can take him down while they know him. He settles into his stance. “Well, I suppose it’s a little late for that now. Besides,” Hongjoong admits, smiling through his nerves, “I’m proud of being a Knight. I had to go through a lot to be here, you see.”
“Pride, huh?” she licks her lips and Hongjoong eyes her hands that twitch, adjusting his own grip. “That sure is an important thing to have. Didn’t know Jedi could be prideful though.” He doesn’t say anything, circling around to her left when she starts walking casually towards the right. “You’re interesting.”
“Hardly.”
“No, no,” she says, using her lightsaber to point at him and Hongjoong jumps back, knocking the lightsaber away. She lets it happen and doesn’t reengage, only smirking at him as she continues to casually stroll in a circle around Hongjoong who shuffles in a spin to keep her in sight. “You’re interesting. For a Jedi, at least.”
“I’d thank you but you’re a Sith,” Hongjoong says, heart beating in his chest in a familiar pattern that has nothing to do with the focus of a battle.
The Sith in question rests a hand with dainty fingers on her chest and gasps. “And does that mean we aren’t worthy of any thanks?”
“I haven’t seen anything, certainly,” Hongjoong says, watching as she steps a bit closer to lean in. He stops as she does and steadies himself, anticipating an attack.
All she does is lean down to laugh, bracing herself on her knee. “You’re funny, kid!” Hongjoong doesn’t think he said anything funny but he’s also trying to not die so he lets her laugh. “You see all huh?” She brings hand up from her knee to point at one wide eye, a smile splitting her face open. “See everything we do? That’s a lot of confidence there.”
“It’s just how it is!” he argues back despite himself, grip tightening on his lightsaber and feeling the sweat gather under his palms. “All of you are—you do terrible things! The Force is a balance and you all stay so firmly on the bad side that—”
She points at Hongjoong with her saber again and this time when he tries to knock it away she resists and keeps their sabers locked. “That’s an awful lot of black and white thinking. Isn’t that dangerous?”
Hongjoong uses more force to knock her saber aside and slash at her that she counters easily, jumping back to give them distance again. He doesn’t chase. “It’s not dangerous,” he corrects, “it’s right.”
“You’re so sure that your way is the only way, huh?” She turns off her lightsaber and Hongjoong stares, not sure where this trick is leading. “You are interesting. I’ll let you live for now. Let’s see where you go later.” She waves as she tries to head into the treeline and Hongjoong jumps to stop her.
Backup isn’t far away, he can feel their spots of life in the distance now which means they can’t be far, and Hongjoong just has to delay her leaving for a chance at a capture.
She continues to jump away, though, ducking every attack. “You know,” she says as she finally ignites her saber again to block an attack to her face that Hongjoong attempts after dropping a whole tree in her way, “you’d make a good Sith.”
Ah.
This was what his body was bracing for earlier.
Instead of letting it affect him, Hongjoong uses the frustration to turn his swings heavier. “I know,” he admits just to catch her attention. Unfortunately, she just Force pushes him, leaving him flying away, and jumps on top of the felled tree trunk.
“Well, I guess I’ll keep an eye out for which way you fall, little Knight. Try not to die,” she says as a final goodbye before jumping away into the forest just as Hongjoong stands up to give chase and backup breaks out of the forest off to the right and too far away to properly aim at her disappearing figure.
“Over there!” he says, pointing. “On me!” he shouts, running after her quickly disappearing figure.
He doesn’t mention it to anyone, there’s really no point anymore.
Four
Yunho is late.
It’s a bit worrying considering the four of them were meeting up for morning meditations for Yunho, what with his horrible dreams lately, but not too worrying considering he’d been losing so much sleep as of late. Still, Seonghwa is just standing up to go check on their friend when Yunho slumps into the meditation room and closes the door, his back to them all. Hongjoong can see the sweat clinging to the back of his friend’s neck from here and he’s fairly certain those are Yunho’s sleep robes.
“Yunho?” Hongjoong calls out, rising from his position on the ground. Yunho flinches violently and he glances at Seonghwa and Yeosang for some help.
“Yunho?” Seonghwa calls out gently only to get a sob from Yunho, leaving them all frozen.
“Hongjoong,” Yunho calls from the door, still not turning around, “can… can we talk? Alone?”
“What’s going on?” Hongjoong asks, walking closer. “Yunho,” his friend tenses the closer he gets so he stops halfway, “can you look at me? What happened?”
Yunho bumps his head against the door. “I had a dream,” he admits. “I.. Hongjoong, I had a dream and…” he turns to look at Hongjoong with such a familiar look that it takes him back to when he was eighteen despite being twenty-two now. Yunho tries to say something but fails, odd sounds coming out of him instead. Tears trace their way down Yunho’s face and Hongjoong breathes through years of his own pain.
“Ask me,” he tells Yunho.
Yunho snaps his eyes to Hongjoong from where he’d been slouching, curling his arms around himself, and dragging his eyes to their feet. “What?”
“Ask me. You know my Master had visions of the future. Ask me.”
Biting his lip, Yunho shudders visibly. “I can’t… I can’t, Hongjoong. That’s just… you don’t —”
“I do,” Hongjoong says, ice in his veins that chill his heart. “I think I’ve been waiting for you to look at me like this ever since that first night you woke up screaming nonsense,” he admits. “Now ask me.”
Yunho’s hitching breaths carry in the large meditation room and echo back at them until he muffles it in his hands, hiding those eyes from Hongjoong. “What… What makes a Force Dream different from a regular dream? How do you know? How can you tell the difference?”
“You already know, don’t you?” Hongjoong asks, as gently as he can make himself ask. “You can feel the answer.”
“No,” Yunho denies, dropping to his knees. “No, no, it can’t be real. It can’t be a vision. It can’t be.” He sobs and Hongjoong doesn’t go closer. “It can’t be, Hongjoong, please.”
Seonghwa and Yeosang finally inch closer, not daring to breach the distance that Hongjoong has created, as if they have to follow his lead in this questionable scenario. He pushes them toward Yunho and they go easily. “What’s going on?” Yeosang asks, shaky with worry. “What are you talking about? Yunho, what did you see?” He only gets a sob in reply.
“You can say it,” Hongjoong allows. He can’t feel his face but he doesn’t think it’s doing anything good with the way Seonghwa is looking at him. “I don’t mind,” he admits and he doesn’t even know if it’s a lie with the way he’s so numb to it all.
“No,” Yunho says again like it’s the only thing holding him together. “No, I’m not saying it. This isn’t happening.”
“You saw it, my Master saw it, that one Sith saw it —”
“What Sith?” Seonghwa asks as Yunho chokes on a cry. “What are you talking about? Why is your Master coming up in this conversation?”
“Stop!” Yunho shouts. “He was wrong! This is all wrong!”
Hongjoong knows how Yunho gets when he’s emotional. He doesn’t pay attention to enough things when he’s like this and surrounded by allies. It’s why he’s able to ask, “what’s all wrong?” and watch the trap fall perfectly.
“You’re not becoming some kind of perfect Sith!” Yunho shouts, and then freezes. His fingertips go white where they’re pressed against his face, as if he’s trying to dig into his head, and he whines. “No, no no no. No, you’re not going to be a Sith. And I’m not —” Yunho breaks off and sobs.
“Ah,” Hongjoong says with sudden clarity. “Is that what you said to me in your vision? That I was a perfect Sith?” He supposed that it would be Yunho, wouldn’t it, that continues to compliment him even as he turns into something that will probably kill everyone he surrounds himself with. It would be Yunho who tries and tries to help, who would look at Hongjoong with a red saber and still recognize effort. It would be Yunho, out of all of them, that is subject to dreaming about Hongjoong’s eventual Fall. Wouldn’t it?
“I’m so sorry,” Yunho apologizes. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t. I don’t.”
Laughing is maybe not the correct response to knowing one of your best friends will be telling you that you're the perfect enemy in the future or their apology for it in the moment, but Hongjoong has no other reactions left in him. He's wasted tears on this before and has come to a steady realization that a child-like jab has just become his intended future. It just is. He's accepted his place in this life and war. He just can't accept ever killing his friends. So he laughs because he did, in some way, expect Yunho to wake up one day ever since he seemed to be a little too lucky and look at him like this. But despite Hongjoong’s future, he refuses to kill any part of his friends at any point of his life. “Yunho, if I'm to make a good Sith I have to make a good Jedi first, I assume. I'll take it as a compliment from you.”
Yeosang stares at Hongjoong like he's crazy from where he's wrapping an arm around Yunho. “Hongjoong, don't say that. Don't laugh.”
“It's okay, you guys,” Hongjoong sighs out, tired and sad and unwilling to have this talk he should have had ages ago as he sits on the ground before them. “I… My Master alre—”
“Your Master,” Seonghwa cuts in with red eyes that shine with tears, “was barely that to you and as grateful as I am to him for sparing you the agricorps, that's the only thing I will die being grateful to him for. Do not bring that man up as if anything he has ever said is worth listening to.”
“He had visions,” Hongjoong says, ignoring Seonghwa. “I think I had just turned eighteen or maybe a bit after when it first started but he started… well he always had visions but…” Hongjoong is messing this up. He starts again. “When I was eighteen my Master saw me in the morning one day and went white.” Like Yunho, he doesn’t say. “A few days after he reached for his saber but I don't think he ever realized he did that,” he admits. His friends all gasp.
“Hongjoong,” Yunho cries out, begging, but Hongjoong has saved these stories for years like rot in his chest. He won't bare the whole of it but Yunho has to know. He must. So Hongjoong barrels on.
“The battle of Glimmer, where I had to be extracted for Force Exhaustion. Do you remember?” His friends had all made it a point to send him messages more frequently while he was bedridden at the Temple and waiting for updates on where to rendezvous with his Master next. “My Master told me I would make a good Sith one day and it would be his fault because I didn’t let him die that day.” Yunho shudders and sobs and Hongjoong looks at his hands so that he can pretend he's just talking alone. “I've thought about it. What the reason might have been? And I just… I just think it's that I'm really not willing to see my people die. To lose.”
He laughs and the room echoes it harshly. No one else laughs with him.
“It's funny. I'm so determined to keep us all alive that I'll Fall one day and just be my own downfall.” He doesn't think it's funny either but it has to be otherwise it's tragic and sad. Still, “I'm sorry you realized your visions through me, but you know that they’re true.”
“You’re not going to —”
Hongjoong cuts Seonghwa off. “Yunho isn’t the first one to tell me something like this and I highly suspect he won’t be the last. It’s become something of a pattern.” He stands, brushing the sand off of his robes. “I’ll go first for today. This isn’t something we have to talk about.” He walks back so that he doesn’t have to go around his friends to go out the front. No one calls for him.
They attempt to talk about it again but Hongjoong stops every single one.
(The next time Hongjoong allows them to talk about it, Yunho is two weeks out of the bacta tank after having been missing for weeks. Having been captured for weeks. Yunho had left with a smile at Hongjoong and a message to the rest that he had had a vision he would return from this particular mission unharmed. Everyone had been relieved even as the mission ran long until Yunho’s communicator cut off.
“Visions can be wrong,” Yunho tells him one day in the too bright infirmary room, gripping a cup of water with shaky hands. Hongjoong is ready to hold him through another session of haunting memories before Yunho looks at him with eyes that never seemed to stop crying those days. “Visions can be wrong,” he repeats. “You’re not going to be a Sith. You’re not.”
Hongjoong doesn’t know how to tell Yunho, who was tortured for weeks due to a vision that led him astray, that two people dreaming about him Falling must mean a lot more than one vision that happens to be wrong. “Okay,” he says instead. “You’re right. I won’t Fall. The visions are wrong.”
Yunho is still wounded enough to believe him.
They don’t talk about it again.)
Five
“You’d make a good Sith,” Darth Passio says in a tone that is oddly defeated, even through the staticky holocall, as he holds Yunho close in a way that looks oddly practiced. Hongjoong doesn’t even flinch anymore at the familiar words and the familiar pain.
His friends all rise to his defense with a fury born from knowing the history of that phrase in his life, even if they don’t truly know the whole of it, and Hongjoong watches Yunho rip himself free of Darth Passio’s arm to shout at him about taking his words back. Hongjoong can’t deny being more interested in the way that Yunho had seemed comfortable than the way that Darth Passio has insulted him. “I know,” he admits, making Seonghwa and Yeosang yell his name in admonishment. “If I come back to find Yunho hurt in any way, it’s your head. Council and treaty be damned,” he warns Passio.
Seonghwa and Yeosang object to leaving but Hongjoong ignores them, shouting to the pilot to head to the distress signal. He’s not exactly happy about trusting Yunho to the likes of a Sith either but there’s nothing he can really do and Yunho is giving them leave to go. Yunho wants them to go. Hongjoong hasn’t forgotten Yunho’s face or voice when he asked them to stop telling him what to do. It was a blow that Hongjoong doesn’t think he’ll ever really recover from and while he’d always found it hard to deny Yunho anything before, he doubts he’ll ever be able to deny Yunho anything ever again.
“It’s what Yunho wants,” he sharply cuts off Seonghwa and Yeosang’s unhappy arguments as the pilot rushes back to their seat. His own frustration at the situation makes his tone a bit too cruel for friends like this. “Would you deny him one of the few things he requests of us or would you try and tell him you know better than him in times of his distress? Thank that he’s not fit to make decisions?”
They’d all watched Yunho’s bedridden form slowly work itself back to fighting fit and Hongjoong watches it slot in his friends’ faces right next to the fresh memory of Yunho begging for some freedom in choice. Yeosang stares at the ground with an angry set to his jaw. “Yunho wants this. We take care of it quickly, then we go to him.”
Glaring at the ground, Hongjoong watches Yeosang fist his hands in a rare show of contained anger. “I’m killing him. I swear to the Force, I’m killing him, Hongjoong.”
Technically, there was an order to bring back Darth Ira alive if at all possible. Hongjoong was not supposed to encourage this. Hongjoong was not necessarily a good Jedi for all that he was on the Council.
“Yeah, okay,” he agrees without a hint of remorse. “I didn’t hear that. No one heard that.” He turns back to the holocall and almost—almost—falters at the sight of Yunho leaning into Passio with a hand on the man’s chest. He doesn’t. “You didn’t hear that,” he says as he points at the holocall roughly.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Yunho agrees, used to Yeosang’s antics even if it usually isn’t so violent.
Darth Passio hesitates for a second, which is a second too long for Hongjoong’s personal taste, before laughing. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. You called to tell us you’d be waylaid and then the signal cut off,” he says with a smirk. “Space. You know how it is.” He chuckles again and the deep nature of it almost doesn’t make it across the comm. “As if I would stay on a call with you longer than the bare necessity.”
“Good,” Hongjoong says, half an agreement and half a threat. “Yunho, we’ll do our best to be with you soon, okay?” he says softly as a way to remind both Yunho and Passio. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine,” Yunho says, leaving Passio’s arms once more with a smile that almost reaches his eyes. “Go and help people. I’m fine.”
He isn’t, but no one is cruel enough to point it out.
The ship whines with the telltale sound of hyperspeed jump and Hongjoong darts a glance over to a window to see the stars shine unnaturally. They only have a few seconds left at most. “We’re going to be right there,” Seonghwa says as the picture of Yunho breaks up. He speaks over the engine roaring. “Just keep yourself safe.”
The call disconnects right after and they all stare at the comm for a moment before Seonghwa and Yeosang turn to him.
“You can’t be serious about leaving him to the man that held him captive,” Yeosang argues even as the ship flies through the stars.
Hongjoong goes to sit on a seat and breathes through stretching his legs out from where they were unnaturally tensed as if he could jump through the holocall and straight to Yunho’s side. “I’m quite serious, obviously.”
“This is the man that tortured Yunho!” Yeosang shouts, arms shaking from how hard he fists his hands. “You didn’t see him in that cave, Hongjoong! I did. You can’t just leave him to let it happen again!”
“We’re not leaving him to let it happen again. Passio is there.”
“Passio.” Yeosang frowns then glares. “You want to trust Yunho’s safety to a Sith.”
Hongjoong doesn’t know what to do but he’s the Council Member in this ship and he’s the one that has to know what to do. “We have no choice. There is a treaty in place and Yunho has asked —”
“Passio said you’d make a good Sith. I’m not sure we should see him as a reliable sort of person,” Seonghwa bites out, finally speaking up while crossing his arms. “Not that we should see any Sith as a reliable person.”
“Watch it, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong warns lightly. “Don’t forget that Yunho says that to me one day. You don’t want to be going around calling Yunho unreliable.”
“Yunho isn’t saying anything to you,” Seonghwa argues. “You’re not Falling! You’re a Jedi and you’re never going to be a Sith!” Hongjoong darts a look over to the pilot in a subtle reminder to lower his voice. Seonghwa releases one large breath and does. “You’re the only one that sees it in your future.”
Hongjoong laughs because it has to be funny or else it’s sad or frustrating or something to grieve far too early. “Seonghwa, two separate people had visions about it. I’d say I’m not the only one that sees it in my future.”
Seonghwa shakes his head. “You’re the only one that believes it.”
“My Master did too.”
“Your Master was an asshole whose opinion wasn’t even worth weighing,” Yeosang argues. “He will never count for anything in history except for having been part of your lineage, let alone having an opinion in your future.”
Hongjoong, though some small part of him agrees, still respects his Master and can’t help but defend the man. “He was a venerated Jedi,” he says weakly.
“And you’re a prodigy who helped end a war despite him.”
“Yes,” Hongjoong stands, angry that they have to have this whole Falling conversation again at all and angry at this whole situation and angry at himself, “because going down in history for selling off his best friend is so much better. Thank you. Really, thank you for reminding me of that.”
Seonghwa comes and pushes him down into the seat. “You didn’t sell anyone off. Yunho made a choice.”
“He didn’t!” Hongjoong yells before reigning himself in at the thought of the pilot. “You weren’t in that room. He didn’t.” He pushes Seonghwa’s hand off and forces the man back to stand. “And if you were even a bit more aware of the type of person I am, instead of being blindly loyal to your friend, you’d know why I’m so sure of those dreams.”
Getting in Hongjoong’s face, Seonghwa lowers his voice to keep it from ever catching the ears of the pilot. “You know me better than to think I’d blindly follow anyone. I am aware of you, Hongjoong. I know you. Do not doubt that I would know you blind, deaf, and Force null.” He grabs Hongjoong’s wrist and traps him from running away. “Where you doubt your every step, I see your path and it is a clear one. You will not Fall. The visions are wrong.”
“You don’t know that,” Hongjoong whispers. The air is thin. His lungs are weak.
“I know you and that’s all I need.”
“Then trust that Yunho will be fine until we get to him.”
(They do talk about it again in hushed tones between watches around a campfire while Yeosang pretends to sleep and the family they saved rests by the fire. Hongjoong still doesn’t believe him but Seonghwa has always stood firm by Hongjoong’s side and where he has faltered in his own self he has never faltered in his trust of Seonghwa.
Hongjoong, for the first time in a long time, entertains the idea that maybe he may have some hope.)
Plus One
Hongjoong has always been told he would make a good Sith or that he would Fall one day. He has slowly come to terms with it in his own way but today is the day that he truly understands that he is capable of something like that.
Months.
Months they had forced his hand into agreeing to the deal and then keeping quiet by way of promising Yunho time to think this over and months they had forced Hongjoong into secrecy through words of for the greater good. And maybe Hongjoong had kept silent in part because he was too guilty to look Yunho in the eye and actually say the words, ‘I’m currently in talks with the Sith to marry you off,’ and that made him a coward but he was promised time for his friend.
“So?” old Master Eroon asks a stunned Yunho. “What do you say?” he pushes, as if he didn’t just tell Yunho about the whole concept of marrying off for peace.
“Give him time,” Hongjoong sharply tells the man. The Council Members look at him but Hongjoong sees the way that half of them are impatiently leaning in their seats towards the contract and Hongjoong had protested the contract being in the room in the first place. He could have brought it to Yunho to read later. “He’s just been told his life might turn upside down. Let’s give him a moment.”
Master Eroon taps long spindly fingers against his chair, webbed fingers moving oddly. “The man has a contract to read at his leisure.”
“Then let Master Yunho read it at his leisure instead of asking for his answer in this moment when he has yet to understand.” Hongjoong says, emphasizing Yunho’s title in a reminder.
Master Frovee coughs and people look at her, Hongjoong reluctantly ripping his stare away, before smiling at Yunho. “You should take your time. Think about this, Master Yunho,” she says, and the part of Hongjoong that isn’t overwhelmed with guilt unfurls a bit at this show of support. “It’s a big decision that will be difficult to take back. It’s not to be made lightly.”
“I was asked for by name?” Yunho asks shakily. He hides it well but Hongjoong grew up by his side and knows him too well to not hear it.
“You were,” Hongjoong says before anyone else can. This is his friend and he will bear the cross at the end of the war. He doesn’t look away from Yunho’s wide eyes. “They asked for you by name. I’m sorry. Read the contract, Yunho, and take your time. You can say no.” He waits for a beat and repeats, just so Yunho understands. “You can say no.” He feels the ire of some of the Council Members at that but ignores it.
“I’ll sign it.” Yunho smiles, shaking his hands out a bit, and heading for the table with the contract.
Hongjoong pulls the table away slightly with the Force when Yunho picks up the pen. “Take your time,” Hongjoong reprimands. “Read the thing first.”
“If he wants to sign it, let him sign,” Master Eroon scolds. His wispy hair falling in his face and forcing him to brush it away.
Hongjoong tugs the table away again and wonders how easy it would be to cut down every Master here to take Yunho away.
He could do it, he decides. He’s the youngest by far and while not as experienced as some he is fairly sure that he’d be successful. They call him a prodigy in his generation and, for the first time in his life, he considers turning it against his own people to take Yunho away.
“You can say no,” Hongjoong says sharply as he tugs the table away again so harshly that the contract nearly slides off of the table. He stands, hand hovering close to his lightsaber with thoughts of fighting his way out with Yunho in hand. “Do you understand?”
“I do,” Yunho says with a smile that just raises Hongjoong’s anger. He knows his friend well enough to know that he’s not thinking about himself but rather about the lives he’d be saving if he signed right now. He walks to the contract and Hongjoong drags the table all the way to him to stand in Yunho’s way. “Hongjoong,” Yunho sighs out as half the Council Members shout at him.
“Enough of this!” Master Pracor says, her voice wavering from the vocoder she’s been forced to use after an injury. “You’re acting unfit for your station, Master Hongjoong!”
He ignores her and everyone else. His lightsaber is warm under his hand as if to urge him to ignite it.
I could do it, he thinks again. It would be easy. It would be so easy.
“Yunho,” he says, stepping towards Yunho who looks like a man being sent on a suicide mission, “there is time. Don’t sign right now.” What he really wants to say is, ‘take my hand and run with me.” What he wants to say is, ‘take my hand and I will cut a path free for you.’ What he wants to say is, ‘take my hand, Yunho, and you know our friends will follow.’
He’s never felt so close to Falling than here, seeing Yunho with that pen in his hand and a contract at his back in a room full of his peers.
“It’ll be fine, Hongjoong,” Yunho says, walking closer just to skirt around him.
Hongjoong grabs him before he can fully pass. “Yunho,” he whispers, “don’t.” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. It’s cruel. It’s cruel to lay this out in front of Yunho and now ask him to be the one to say no. But Hongjoong has always found Yunho to be a stronger man than him. “Don’t do this,” he says. Hongjoong’s vision swims and sharpens, his ears ring with something too high to be real. “You don’t have to do this,” he says, gripping Yunho harshly and thumbing his lightsaber.
It would be so easy.
“Hongjoong,” Yunho whispers back, “it’s okay. It’ll be okay. Let me go.”
He’s eerily calm as he asks and Hongjoong snatches his hand back, letting go of his saber. He wonders if this is what Yunho dreamed about and that thought leaves him staggering back two steps. The two steps is all Yunho needs to go to the contract, flip to the back, and sign his name.
Thankfully for the lives of his fellow Council members, no one cheers or does anything to celebrate other than relax into their chairs.
“If that’s all,” Yunho says, placing the pen gently onto the table and hiding his hands in his sleeves. He bows low and leaves when no one stops him until he’s opening the door and Master Bruo calls out to let him know that since the contract is officially signed, he will be leaving the morning of the next day. Yunho barely pauses before acknowledging the horrible man and leaving.
Hongjoong glares at everyone and breathes through the lingering ringing in his ears that seem to whisper at him to do it, do it, do it, it’d be so easy. “I hope you’re proud of yourselves,” he says instead of brandishing his weapon. “You’ve shown that you’re willing to sacrifice your own happily at the word of an enemy.”
“For peace.”
“He was asked for by name,” Hongjoong reminds the room at large. “How many times must I remind you all during this entire process that it does not bode well for a Sith to have a preference for a Jedi?” Everyone stares at each other, uncomfortable like every other time Hongjoong has reminded them but unwilling to say anything to defend or go against it. Neutrality in the face of discontent. Sometimes Hongjoong really hates Jedi.
So easy, he thinks and breathes to get rid of the thought.
He looks around at his fellow Council Members and leaves thinking that they’re very lucky for the mercy of his friend.
(Later, Hongjoong will beg Yunho to tell him he doesn’t want to do this to no avail.
Later, Hongjoong will drunkenly ask Yunho if he had dreamed of Hongjoong killing the Council members in that room and the room will go silent. Yunho will hug him as he solemnly says, “Once, yes.”
It takes a sober Hongjoong a couple days later in the black of space on the way to Yunho at Darth Passio’s invitation to realize that that means Yunho has dreamed of more than one situation. He finds he is not surprised.)