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Jiira did not mean to kill the Sith Lord. That was a lie a thousand voices that were one whispered, laughed and screamed in her ear.
Fine, Jiira did not set out to kill the Sith Lord, she just neutralized the monster that was brutalising a child, twisting and breaking his little body and mind until his screams made her drop out of hyperspace fast enough to almost blow her engine.
A being that could fold his force presence, down, down down, until it was a pinprick in the galaxy and she just knew even her Not-Master wouldn’t recognize him if they did not wish her to.
Jiira definitely wouldn't have, not her who had consciously chosen to drown out the ever present tuggings of the force the other Wandering Jedi gave themselves over to completely.
No, the woman was not like her lineage sibling Jon Antilles, who threw himself into every direction the force pointed him at, nor her Almost-Jaieh (Jedi Master) Fay who would flow with the river of the universe as if she was already one with it. The more centuries that old Healer lived the truer that sentence became.
This would not be Jiira’s fate, she was not a vessel to be filled with meaning, nor a mere thing to be directed, by living or dead forces alike. She would follow the will of the Force, the woman had long ago decided, as long as that will match with her own.
The Force seemed to have, on some level and some way, acknowledged that fact.
Which mostly meant the woman subconsciously blended out the currents and whispers trying to drag her a hundred different places at once, until they screamed and bowled her over to listen-there-do-now-now-now.
So when the Force almost drowned her in visions of endless suffering and grief, the pain of countless, unimaginable numbers of life forms, Jedi Knight Jiira Nevur’ell decided in a moment of utter stupidity clarity that even decades later resonated in her bones, that this could not happen.
And the Force agreed.
What came next would forever be a blur in her mind, not the absence of a memory but an experience so beyond what a living being could consciously perceive, that her mind was simply not equipped to translate it for her later on.
If asked, she would simply reply.
I was one with the Force until we accomplished what We Willed Would Never Be.
Which ended up being the corpse of a Sith Lord, a kriffing Sith Lord, to her feet with six blaster holes in his body of which she only truly recalled shooting five.
The first one, the shot she never quite remembered, was fired from a distance that should have been impossible for the weapon's reach and her own skill, any beings skill really.
Truthfully the Monster should have felt her presence from the moment she landed on the planet.
He didn’t.
He should have felt her take aim at him, felt the intent to harm him in the Force and the blaster bolt flying towards him.
He did not, until he could never again.
For Jiira had been the Force and the Force was in All and Everything. There was nothing to feel right up until he died and the howling chorus of the stars was satisfied.
She was not.
Less and less as the Force resided from her mind and she half comprehended what that- that imkai'an (Someone who murders without any regard for life. The greatest insult in Dai Bendu) would have done.
Had already done.
So the other five shots were her own desire to make sure he was really, truly, irrevocably dead.
Embarrassing loss of control?
Maybe.
A shocking intent to hurt for a Jedi?
Certainly.
Would she have done it again?
Absolutely.
She dared any that would judge her to react differently in the split second the Force left her being, but the knowledge of what would have been remained.
Either way it was done.
The Sith Lord was dead and there was a very small, very ferocious and very, very scared youngling cowering in front of her.
From the way his little body shock and the few still sluggishly bleeding wounds she could see on his tiny form, Jiira had killed the Sith in the middle of a torturing training session.
He seemed to be some variation of Zabrak, with those horns and very pointed teeth he half barred at her. Even if his coloring reminded her more of a Devaronian or maybe Zeltron.
Dathomiri, whispered the Force, given-stolen-hurt-alone-alone-alone
She had to consciously blend out the chorus of voices, her little stunt making what was subconscious habit suddenly a difficult endeavour.
Time will heal, she thought slowly, both him and me. She stepped closer to the child, ignoring the whispers of hurt-not-broken-strongwill-strongheart that trailed that though.
A half smothered growl sputtered to life, like an engine that had been rusting for too long and died out. Only for stress and pain to overrule his focus and it started again.
Ahh, the woman though, glancing at the fallen Monster to her left. He looked human, aristocratic features and under the dark cloak she recognized clothing cuts favoured by some of the core and mid rim worlds.
Many, many of those were high in human supremacists, so she could imagine the Sith Lord would have been displeased with any Zabrak, Dathomirien she reminded herself what the Force had whispered, instincts that diverted from a base humans.
She wasn’t familiar with his people, but thought it might be a Zabrak subspecies. Jiira had never been much burdened with foresight but the name alone tasted of bitter smoke and made something green twist in the corner of her vision so she did not let herself forget it.
Luckily, Jiira, if in appearance capable of passing as human, was decidedly not one either. She dropped to the ground and let her instincts at being faced with an injured, terrified youngling take over.
Her purr was soft and soothing, as was the safety-peace-love she wrapped his force presence in.
It was almost comical how fast he fell silent, if it wasn’t so heartbreaking, his complete utter confusion almost vanishing the pain-fear-fight-run-fight from his Force signature.
Little chest heaving, as his body reacted to safety his mind couldn’t, was trained out of, or Maker be with her, never learned to trust.
It wasn’t surprising that he crumbled under the force of the entire karked up situation. Jiira caught the little one before he could hit the unforgiving cave floor and was immediately rewarded with the child chomping down on her forearm.
He also fisted his tiny arms in her robes and curled around her as if he wanted to crawl right into her ripcage to safety, where the world could never hurt him again.
So Jiira didn’t mind the sharp little teeth that somehow managed to dig through the layers and layers of her clothing into her skin and draw blood.
A good thing too, for little Maul, as she would come to find out, would not lose that habit for the first one and a half years Jiira took care of him.
He would however stop drawing blood after the first three months spent under her care on Rei'izu, the world she made their temporary home.
It became more of a reassurance, a self soothing mechanism for Maul to assure himself he could attack any time, should the kind eyes, calm voice and gentle hands turn cruel.
If the soft sound that rumpled when he put his ears to her chest and made him feel safe one day wasn’t.
If it- if it turned bad too.
It never did.
It never did. Maul looked up from where he was loosely biting down on Jiira’s arm again, the position somehow as comfortable as the soft flowing fabrics he had become accustomed to wearing and cuddling into.
They swished so lovely when he flowed through his katas and Maul had the sudden realization that there had been no pain either.
Hurt sometimes, when he fumbled a position or misjudged a jump but that was so fleeting a sensation he was more annoyed at the fuss the woman made than anything else.
There hadn’t been anything bad since they left his Masters crumbled corps behind.
Not even in his own mind.
Maul had at times felt angry, and scared and helpless and all the other things his Master told him would make him strong, but they were always followed by soothing words, understanding silence or sometimes, like just before, a warm pair of hands patting his head or pulling him close.
He hadn’t truly drowned in his emotions since The Cave.
There was no pain in his bones, no blackness in his head.
His Master was truly gone.
At that realization the tears Maul had learned to never spill, quelled over and made him chop down on the arm a bit harder in defiance.
The only response was a calloused hand carefully cradling his head and gentle fingers tracing soothing patterns around his horns.
Still, nothing really changed in their relationship.
Until one evening, after their cool down katas that marked the end of the day and the beginning of their night routine, Maul would glance covertly at the woman that felt so warm in the Force since the first day he met her.
Standing tall over the fallen form of his Master, the light of the planet seemingly amplified around her, shining through her.
Everything had felt so light, until he thought he might have actually died and floated out of his broken body that always burnt.
Maul was of a warrior line, his once Master (not his Jaieh, the moment Maul had learned of the word he distinctly decided that one didn’t deserve the title) had told him, and his- his- Jiira had confirmed.
He was a predator, a hunter. Only today he caught a Cloud-Deer completely on his own and his lightsaber skills were ahead of the usual learning curve of beings his age, Jiira said so.
The Zabrak, drew himself up to his full height, back straight and head a bit lowered as he would if he were to attack.
He skillfully ignored the flutter of delight-amusement and something he would not look too closely at but still made him feel all fuzzy and warm in his chest, and threw himself at the older woman.
Jiira caught him easily and Maul wiggled lightning fast under her arm and close to her heart while wrapping his hands around her. He was glad he couldn’t see her face like this as he waited anxiously cautiously how she would react to him initiating contact.
There was only light and the so familiar soft rumbling that made his body relax and bask in the surprise-eletion-utterhappiness she radiated at him.
Maul hadn’t known how he expected her to react at his hug ambush, something like he saw in the shadows that haunted him at night, but Jaieh Jiira always either banished those and even better taught him how to fight them himself.
How to not give them power over you, he heard her amused voice in his head, so the thought must have slipped through their force bond again, is not the same as fighting, little Light.
Not everything is a battle.
The Zabrak rather thought it was, the world was made up of them. Some smaller, like learning how to swim in the deep brook not far from their cabin or some seemingly insurmountable ones like learning how to stop filling himself with the bitter acid rage-pain-fury he was taught.
Maul would face them all, would always choose to stand his ground and fight, but it was so much easier now that there were hands there that would catch him, guide him and- and-.
Jaieh Jiira rocked him slowly, not commenting, not asking or prodding, just there, giving.
Safety. Home. Encouragement. Training to, but different.
Even when he was angry. Even when he made mistakes. Even when he made them on purpose so she would get angry.
Jiira never really was. Not at him. Exasperated, annoyed maybe, or worse sad.
But never ever, like That One. Never.
And today for the first time, he felt like he could truly believe that.
Believe the deep, unending feeling that was her love for him.
Maul’s chest felt funny, a deep sound resonating in his ears that almost tickled, a louder and darker sound than hers.
The sheer surprise-election-love-love-love that soared into the force and filled the entire clearing finally made the tears tumble from his eyes and he let them.
There was no one there but him and his- his-.
Mother, he whispered into the warmth that was their force bond.
The answer made him truly start sobbing for the first time since- well maybe since he could remember.
My darling, darling son.
The two sat for a long time in front of their home, but it mattered little when Jiira kept the cold at bay.
There was nothing in this world that could have moved her right now, as she finally held her softly purring son.