#all the mando factions that are constantly at war with one another

[codythecheshirecat]

Binary Sunset Ch 3: But Finally

Story Summary: Obi-Wan finds himself decades in the future on the ship of a Mandalorian that seems like the last thing he wants is to be sidled with another lifeform. Or two, because suddenly they have a little…tiny… Yoda to deal with. Not actually Yoda, Obi-Wan knows, but still. It’s weird, and stressful, and there’s an entire Empire that’s come and gone (going?). He just wants to rest. Figure out what exactly has happened and maybe, maybe find a way to stop it, if he ever gets back to his own time. Better that than wallow in misery and pain of a past he got plucked from, yet still feels the pain of.

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30771671/chapters/76734395#workskin

    Nevarro is exactly as Obi-Wan remembered. As Mando goes off to do his Guild business, he occupies himself with the market. There’s not much. Nevarro is a place that has people only because of the Guild; there’s little other Nevarro has to offer besides. Or maybe that’s just what the people have come to believe, and they’ve found no reason to make Nevarro anything else.

    While he gets some looks, nobody actually seems to care who he is and why he’s here. He takes care to disguise his accent, all too aware that it would be an immediate giveaway as to where he’s from. It’s simple. Mando gave him a certain amount of credits to use, and he does his best to get the most out of them.

    After that, without any sign of Mando, he goes for a walk. Nevarro doesn’t have any sights to really add to the allure, if he’s being honest. It’s a volcanic planet, so plants are few and far between. But it’s certainly a different look from Coruscant, and Christophsis, and most importantly, the Razor Crest, so for that he’s grateful.

    He returns to the Razor Crest having gotten most of his restless energy out. When he climbs into the cockpit, Mando gives him a peeved look-- he might not talk much, but he’s actually quite expressive once one learns to look for it. And Obi-Wan already has some experience with the clone troopers and the way they’re almost constantly wearing their helmets, anyway. Obi-Wan gives him a small smile.

    “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. You’re not in a hurry, are you?”

    “The usual.” Mando replies, and busies himself with getting the ship off the ground.

    On his shoulder is a shiny new pauldron. Obi-Wan eyes it for a moment, debating. “You have a new piece of armor.”

    “It was made from a down payment for this job.” Mando says. “We’re heading to Arvala-7.”

    “Sounds like an important job, if they’re offering a prepayment. Who’s the bounty?”

    “All I know is that they’re fifty years old. They were…” Mando pauses. He sighs. “They were Imperial remnants.”

    Something catches in his throat. He narrows his eyes. “You took a job from the people that destroyed mine? And yours?”

    “They had beskar. It’s important for it to be returned to Mandalorians.”

    “I see.” Obi-Wan says. He fights to keep the scowl off his face. “Well, I know what I’m doing when we return to Nevarro.”

    “What’s that?”

    “Getting rid of them.”

    “After I get the beskar?”

    “If you aren’t comfortable with finding it in the rubble afterwards, then yes.” Obi-Wan crosses his arms. He stands. “You aren’t supposed to kill this bounty, are you? Just bring them in?”

    “Yes.”

    “Good. They probably haven’t even done anything wrong.” He mutters, and leaves the cockpit.

***

    Arvala-7 is a rocky desert planet. Obi-Wan only sees it once they land, staring past Mando as he walks out of his ship. Obi-Wan stays firmly where he’s sitting on the floor. He’s absolutely not going to be part of this. He’s not even going to ask. He’d receive a firm no from Mando, anyway, but right now it’s the point. He needs to plan his siege on the Imperial hideout, wherever that is. It’ll be difficult not knowing what the place looks like on the inside, but he’s dealt with worse.

    There’s something forming in his chest, something angry, and Obi-Wan isn’t quite sure whether he should embrace it or ignore it. Embracing it could lead to the dark side; ignoring it might only make it worse. And he doesn’t want to just pretend it isn’t there. He’s angry, rightfully so, he thinks, that his people were wiped out and now his only ally has taken a job from them.

    He’s so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost misses Mando getting attacked. He jerks, staring openmouthed at the scene in the near distance. One of the native fauna, a large, two legged creature with an honestly enormous mouth, slams Mando around like it’s nothing.

    He stands, about ready to run over and run interference, when the creature stumbles and falls to the ground. He pauses. Another charges at Mando, only to stumble and fall as well. Obi-Wan makes his way out of the Razor Crest, watching as a newcomer approaches on the back of another one of the creatures.

    “Thank you.” Mando says quietly.

    The newcomer-- an Ugnaught-- nods. “You are bounty hunters.”

    It isn’t a question. Obi-Wan glances at Mando, then back at the Ugnaught. He’s not even going to try to explain the situation, so he’ll let Mando take the lead here.

    “Yes.” Mando says.

    “I will help you.” At their surprised looks, the Ugnaught simply stares back at them. “I have spoken.”

    Obi-Wan looks at Mando. They both know that he has no interest in helping with this bounty, and before, Mando had no interest in his help. And yet, the Ugnaught wants to help them. Why? How would he react if Obi-Wan just walked back into the Razor Crest and refused to come out? Despite the twisting, shifting anger in his chest, curiosity gets the better of him. He gives Mando a nod, and runs back to the Razor Crest for a blaster or two. 

He’ll hear the Ugnaught out, in the least. Hear what he has to say. Then he’ll decide whether or not to help. He’s not that much of a fan of blasters, or most weapons that aren’t lightsabers really, but they’ll have to do. It’s not like he has his lightsaber.

They follow him back to his home, dragging the creatures-- Blurrg-- along with them. The Ugnaught doesn’t seem to be intimidated by their presence. Then again, why would he, if he’s offering his help? They don’t speak until they’ve arrived, but he can practically feel the suspicion radiating off Mando at any given moment. They crowd into the Ugnaught’s dwelling, one that’s much better suited for Ungaughts than humans.

    “Many have passed through,” the Ugnaught says solemnly. “They seek the same one as you.”

    “Did you help them?” Mando asks.

    “Yes.” The Ugnaught says simply. He pours himself a drink. “They died.”

    Obi-Wan quirks an eyebrow. Interesting.

    “Well then I’m not sure we want your help.” Mando says. Obi-Wan has to agree.

    The Ugnaught turns to them. “You do. I can show you to the encampment.”

Obi-Wan glances between the two of them. The curiosity still sits, tantalizing. “Why help us? What do you get from it?”

    “Since they arrived, this territory has been an endless stream of mercenaries seeking reward and bringing destruction. They do not belong here. Those that live here come to seek peace. There will be no peace until they’re gone.”

    He thinks of the droid army on Christophsis, of the Invasion of Naboo, of the Mandalorian Civil War, of all the places and conflict he’d seen as a Padawan. He thinks of all of the innocent people caught in-between warring factions. The people that had only wanted to live their lives in peace. He sighs.

    “You just want your home back.” The realization sits heavy in his chest.

    “Yes.” The Ugnaught nods.

    “The people here-- are they aggressive, or is the conflict coming only from the bounty hunters?”

    “Does it matter?”

    Obi-Wan blinks. “It does to me, I suppose. I just-- I imagine that if you had a bounty over your head, your neighbors wouldn’t be very happy about it, but it wouldn’t change that you only want a peaceful life here.”

    It’s an uncomfortable silence, and he’s stuck under the scrutiny of his peers. Finally, the Ugnaught speaks. “I do not believe they are here for anything good, no. Trouble always brings more trouble.”

    “What’s your cut, beyond getting your home free of trouble?” Mando asks, taking control of the situation.

    “Half.”

    Mando shakes his head. “Half the bounty to guide? Seems steep.”

    “No. Half of the Blurrg you helped capture.”

    “The Blurrg?” Obi-Wan says with a laugh. “You can keep them.”

    Mando tilts his head in agreement.

    “No, you will each need one. To ride. The way is impossible to pass without a Blurrg mount.”

    “I don’t know how to ride Blurrg.” Mando says.

    The Ugnaught only looks at him. “I have spoken.”

***

    Obi-Wan proves within only a few minutes that he’ll have no problem riding the Blurrg. He’s had experience riding several types of animals all over the galaxy. Some of them have been animals that have been domesticated for riding; others, not so much. Despite never having heard of them before, Blurrg are nothing, really. Ridiculously easy to tame. Easy to ride once one recognises how they walk and act.

    Not for Mando, though. His Blurrg throws him off again and again, sending him to the hard ground with enough force to continually drive the breath from his lungs. Obi-Wan watches from the sidelines, leaning against a fence post for the corral. This is the most amusing thing he’s seen in months, and he’s enjoying every second of it.

    After the sixth time Mando gets thrown on his back, the Ugnaught speaks up. “Perhaps if you removed your helmet-?”

    “Perhaps he remembers I tried to roast him.” Mando grunts.

    Obi-Wan smiles at his frustration. It reminds him of Anakin. “She can feel your impatience, Mando. Calm yourself.”

    Mando levels him with a helmeted glare. “We don’t have time for this.”

    Obi-Wan chuckles. He catches the Ugnaught’s eye, sharing a chagrined look. The Ugnaught shakes his head. Obi-Wan laughs again. “She’s not going to just bend to your will because you want her to. Show her she can trust you. Make friends.”

    “We don’t have time for this,” Mando says again. He pulls himself from the ground and turns to the Ugnaught. “Do you have a land speeder, or-”

    “You are a Mandalorian. Your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur. Surely you can ride this young foal.” The Ugnaught says. Obi-Wan catches a hint of teasing.

    Mando sighs, losing some of his fire. He approaches the Blurrg much more calmly this time, holding his hand out not as a way to grab at her but to calm her. She lets him get near, only growling slightly. He speaks to her, low enough that Obi-Wan can’t quite make out the words. Then he climbs onto the Blurrg, and within seconds he’s riding around the corral like he’s been doing it his entire life. Obi-Wan grins at the Ugnaught.

    Seems like things are working out pretty well.

***

    The trip to the encampment takes several hours. By the end of it, Obi-Wan is sore and tired, but he has more himself to blame than the trip itself. He’s hardly been exercising, or even stretching. Finally, they pause, looking over a valley of sorts with the encampment settled inside.

    The Ugnaught points to the valley. “That is where you’ll find your quarry.”

    Mando pulls some credits from his pocket and offers them to him. The Ugnaught shakes his head. “Please,” Mando says. “You deserve this.”

    “I am not interested in payment. I came here to be free of servitude.”

    “Then why do you help?” Mando asks.

    “I have never met a Mandalorian. I’ve only read the stories. If they are true, you will make quick work of it. Then there will again be peace.” He raises his hand in farewell. “I have spoken.”

    Obi-Wan feels a pang in his heart, stronger than before. The Ugnaught’s want for peace is one he feels deep in his bones. He’s never been one that sought out adventure simply because he wanted it; he goes where he’s needed, and yes, there are times he enjoys a more fast-paced life. He’d slipped into his role as a Jedi General with a grim acceptance. Jedi are peacekeepers, but sometimes there is no option of peace. With the droid army, the only option was to fight.

But he’d have been content to live a simple life at the Jedi Temple. That had been the plan, after the war was over (and he’d refused to think that they might lose the war, but now he knows that was the outcome). Knowing that thirty years in the future there are some that can’t even find peace on such a remote planet hurts. 

He slips off his Blurrg, following Mando. They crouch at the edge of the rock outcropping, looking over the encampment. The people there go about their business. They don't seem to be altogether worried about any incoming attacks. Or maybe they’re just confident in their ability to protect their encampment. He’s not sure, to be honest.

And then--

“Oh, no.” Mando mutters. “Bounty droid.”

“This complicates things.” Obi-Wan says. “Were you not the only person approached for the job?”

“Apparently not.”

The droid is efficient in taking care of the Nikto sentries, but even as it does so, the doors to the inside of the encampment shut tightly. Obi-Wan follows Mando down the cliff.

“IG unit, stand down!” Mando snarls.

The droid turns and shoots him without hesitation. He falls over with a groan. Obi-Wan wisely stays behind cover.

 “I’m in the Guild!” Mando holds the tracking fob up.

“You are a Guild member? I thought I was the only one on assignment.”

“That makes three of us.” Obi-Wan says, moving slightly out of his cover to give the droid a look. Mando climbs to his feet and finds his own cover. “Clearly the Imperials don’t care if we happen to clash, as long as they get their bounty.”

“Sadly, I must ask for your fob. I’ve already issued the writ of seizure. The bounty is mine.”

Mando shakes his head. “Unless I am mistaken, you are, as of yet, empty handed.”

“This is true.”

“I have a suggestion.” Mando glances at him. Obi-Wan smiles.

“Proceed.”

“We split the reward.”

The droid pauses. “In two or three equal portions?”

“Two.” Obi-Wan says before Mando can say anything. “He and I are together, so we get half and you get half. Fair?”

“This is acceptable.”

“Great,” Mando says. He throws his hands up. “Now let's regroup out of harm's way, and form a plan.”

“I will, of course, receive the reputation merits associated with the mission.” The droid walks towards them.

Obi-Wan fights not to roll his eyes. “Yes, of course, now let’s get out of here.”

A blaster shot hits the droid in the shoulder. It does almost nothing. Obi-Wan whips his head around, looking for the source.

“Alert, alert!” The droid says.

Mando shoots one Nikto off the roof. Obi-Wan gets the other. The doors open, and suddenly enemies are pouring outside. Obi-Wan glances behind himself just to be sure that there aren't any Nikto coming from that way. He turns back to the firefight, shoots at a few of the Nikto. Three Nikto go down. He longs for his lightsaber.

“Let’s go!” Mando shouts, running from his cover.

Obi-Wan follows slightly more slowly. He isn’t covered in metal, or made of it, either. He dashes from pillar to pillar, shooting at the Nikto. He gets a few on the roof, a few on the ground. A blaster bolt narrowly misses his shoulder. The three of them crouch behind a wagon. At least, he thinks it might be a wagon. It’s made of metal, resting half on, half off, some boxes on the ground.

He pokes his head over the side, shoots at a Nikto, ducks back below as blaster bolts sail past his head or hit the side. The droid doesn’t bother to duck below at all. IG Units are pretty hard to destroy, he knows. Blaster shots from this distance are unlikely to land a hit hard enough to take it down, unless they get some stronger weapons.

“He’s in there!” Mando shouts.

Obi-Wan glances at the door he gestures at. “Well, at least it’s close.”

“Affirmative.” The droid leaves their cover, drawing most of the fire and sending back almost just as much.

Obi-Wan dashes to the next bit of cover, following Mando-- more pillars. He takes the second pillar. “Now what?” Obi-Wan shouts as the Nikto take a moment to recover and prepare for their next attack.

    “It appears we are trapped.” The droid says, joining him behind his pillar. “I will initiate self-destruct sequencing.”

    “What?” Obi-Wan gasps. They have those?

    “Manufacturer’s Protocol dictates I cannot be captured. I must self-destruct.”

    “Do not self-destruct.” Mando snaps. “Cover me!”

    He runs for the door. Obi-Wan leans from his cover. The Nikto immediately start shooting, but he manages to down three before he has to duck behind the pillar again for a breath. “This is so much harder without my lightsaber.” He mutters, and leans out of his cover again to shoot at the slowly-approaching Nikto. Now he knows how the troopers feel.

    Despite their attempts, though, there are too many Nikto, and Mando joins them behind their pillar before a lucky blaster bolt manages to get him. “There’s too many!”

    That’s what I was thinking, Obi-Wan thinks to himself. Perhaps he could lift something using the force, send it at the Nikto and distract them just long enough to get the upper hand- oh. That’s a rather large weapon.

    “I will initiate self-destruct.” The droid says, cutting through his thought process.

    “Do not self-destruct! We’re shooting our way out!” Mando runs around him, blaster up. The droid goes around the other side of the pillar. Obi-Wan stays where he is. They notice the laser cannon.

“...okay.” Mando says, and they join him behind the pillar again.

The laser cannon begins firing. Obi-Wan presses himself against Mando in an attempt to stay fully behind the pillar; pieces of rock go flying as the laser cannon hits it. They can’t stay here for long. The pillar will be utterly obliterated in only a few minutes.

“New plan.” Mando starts. Obi-Wan can barely hear him over the sound of blasterfire.

If he concentrates, maybe he can move it. It’s already floating, all he has to do is make it turn… he closes his eyes, and uses the Force. All he has to do is feel it, the space it occupies, the heat it emits. All of the Nikto surrounding them. The blaster bolts as they fly through the air. He concentrates on the laser cannon, and pushes.

And yet--

Nothing happens.

In fact, he can barely feel anything. He can barely feel the laser cannon, where it is, how it moves with each bolt it fires. The Nikto manning the cannon. The bolts, their journey from cannon to rock, and the damage they cause. When he tries to use the Force to move it, push it slightly, interact with it-- nothing happens. It’s all barely there, an echo of an echo, and he has no idea how he didn’t notice it before.

Nothing happens.

Obi-Wan opens his eyes. In front of him he can see the rock of the building, the metal door. He can see the red blaster bolts hit and fizzle out. Yet everything seems so suddenly far away. Like it’s happening to someone else; even the sounds of blaster fire and destruction and heavy breathing sound as if they’re coming from miles away.

Why can’t I- what’s wrong with me?

His breath catches in his throat, lodged by an invisible mass. He stares at a pebble on the ground. It’s maybe the size of his thumb, somewhat oblong. He reaches out with the force, and he can feel it there, hardly at all, and-- he can’t even make the pebble move. It remains stubbornly still.

And 

Nothing

Happens.

[swtorpadawan]

Tales from the Eternal Alliance : Perspectives

Author’s Notes: The following takes place prior to my Awakenings series.

In the weeks following the fall of the Eternal Empire and the final destruction of Valkorion, the Eternal Alliance finds itself ascendant, unquestionably holding the balance of power throughout the galaxy. The ships of the Eternal Fleet, formerly a symbol of destruction and oppression, now deliver relief supplies and transport refugees to safe havens throughout known space. Alliance operatives and expeditions journey from planet to planet, negotiating agreements, resolving disputes and providing assistance of all kinds where needed. More recruits continue to sign up on Odessen every day, while the base continues to receive a stream of envoys and overtures from countless planets and factions seeking alliances, aid and support. Perhaps never in galactic history – even at the mythical founding of the Galactic Republic – had there ever been such a diverse collection of talented and dedicated individuals serving under one banner. There are, of course, internal tensions and disputes. But these are resolved with surprising efficiency, as the Alliance’s seasoned core of leaders and officers demonstrated an esprit de corps that has proven unbreakable, even when the entire Eternal Empire had descended upon them.

Morale, naturally, is at an all-time high. The people who join the Alliance want to be there. The Alliance doesn’t ask people to change who they are. It merely asks them to ally with people who are also fighting for something better.

It was in these golden days that the Alliance Commander’s closest allies noticed that the one person in the entire organization who did not seem to be reveling in this upswing of enthusiasm was the Alliance Commander himself.

Corellan Halcyon had gone by a great many appellations throughout his career, including the Outlander, the Battlemaster of the Jedi Order and the Hero of Tython. He still goes about his duties without complaint. He is up early every morning, training in either lightsaber dueling, distance running or both. When he is focused on a mission or engaged in combat, he is as unstoppable as ever, perhaps even more so. He attends the meetings that Lana Beniko and Theron Shan schedule for him. He dutifully reads each report his advisors give him, acknowledges every message or memorandum and seeks the advice of his advisors regarding most decisions of policy.

He still inspires the personnel of the Alliance by his mere presence. A smile and a greeting convince nearly everyone that he is in good spirits. To most of the rank and file – the troops, the crews, the vast numbers of specialists and support personnel – he’s still the unassailable Alliance Commander. Invincible. Fearless. Driven. Somewhere along the road, the Commander learned how to speak to people. How to lead and inspire them. Those skills serve him well, here more than ever. They flocked to his banner for hope, and he has delivered victory.

Nevertheless, the Commander is… listless. Distracted. Without true direction. The drive that powered the Alliance through its rebellion against Zakuul’s reign is often absent. Those who’ve noticed cover for him as best they can, but among them there are a variety of perspectives.

  T7-O1, Corellan Halcyon’s loyal astromech droid, has famously been with him since the beginning. Surely if anyone knows what troubles the spirit of the former Jedi Master, it would be Teeseven, the first companion.

These days, the droid is by his side almost constantly, even residing in his quarters when the Commander sleeps. Teeseven keeps his schedule, making sure he makes his appointments. He still joins him on many missions, either in the field or monitoring communications. The droid tracks his performance, his memory banks remembering virtually every lightsaber maneuver Corellan Halcyon had ever performed. Teeseven writes his speeches, an old talent the droid is happy to make use of again. They’re still a great team, as they were back when they were fighting flesh raiders on Tython when they’d first met.

Most nights, after withdrawing to his quarters, Commander will ask Teeseven to help him review everything they’d been told that day, to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. But some nights, the Commander will load up a map of the known galaxy on his holo-display and stare at it for an hour or longer. Teeseven will finally nudge Corellan silently in the leg, and he’ll sigh and rise to his feet, shutting off the display and then retreating to his bed to attempt to get a decent night’s sleep.

It is Teeseven who notes that Corellan rarely visits their old freighter, even though the ship is sitting unused on the landing pad and had been their home for nearly five years. He doesn’t share this observation. He also doesn’t share with anyone that he wakes the Commander each morning with an alarm. Or that he keeps the Commander’s schedule carefully, making sure that nothing relevant is missed. Or that he’s been tracking Corellan Halcyon’s intake of alcohol and has “advised” him more than once that he’s had enough.

(It isn’t a problem. Yet. The ex-Jedi is too disciplined to fall into that trap all at once. But Teeseven is determined that it doesn’t become an issue.)  

Teeseven knows he can’t give his friend everything he needs. He knows that he is a constant reminder of the Commander’s past, and that’s not always a good thing. But he’s determined he will be part of his friend’s future, because despite everything, Teeseven knows that he’s a reminder of the promises Corellan has made. To his friends. To the galaxy. To himself.

And that most definitely is something he needs.

Shae Vizla, who will be known to history as Mandalore the Avenger, never thought she would find another warrior worth following into a war. Not after her experiences with Darth Malgus and the death of Mandalore the Vindicated.

And if someone had told her she would find such a warrior, she would have been incredulous to learn that the individual in question was a former Jetii – a Jedi. Unbelievable. But the death of her brother was decades ago, and even a Mandalorian’s vengeance eventually cools.

One night, at Vizla’s invitation, the Outlander ventures alone to the Mandalorian campsite near the base. There, around the bonfire, he addresses the Clans that have followed Vizla and the Alliance up to this point.

His fluency in Mando is not strong, but he makes the attempt. That impresses them. The Sith and their Imperial lackies rarely made the effort. He does not offer platitudes about peace, but instead offers them a battle that will never truly end. He tells the Mandalorians that they can adapt to a purpose that would make them stronger – a cause worthy of warriors – without abandoning who they were or losing their traditions. He speaks of serving as Cabure – as defenders – not for politicians (as the old Jedi had) but for people.

He expects to be challenged and is not disappointed. He faces his foes as a warrior, fighting according to Mandalorian traditions. He prevails, but he does nothing to dishonor his opponents. He spares those he defeats and, as he once did with Vizla herself years earlier on Rishi, he helps them to their feet as friends.

When it is over, the Clans chant his name over and over. They will follow this Outlander and his Alliance unto death. Vizla herself now presents him with a rare gift; a pair of beskar'gam bracers, one of the last few examples they had of true Mandalorian iron. Honored, he gratefully incorporates these bracers into his uniform; the one inspired by the dead Prince of Zakuul.  

He will always be aruetii; never a true Mando. But to Shae Vizla and her followers, he is nevertheless alor. A leader.

In the weeks that follow, when the Mandalorians witness the Commander gazing up at the horizon at length, they whisper to themselves in anticipation that he is foreseeing the next great conflict. The next enemy. The next challenge.

Shae Vizla is less certain. She remembers Malgus. She knows great warriors tend to have great weaknesses. She knows that even Mandalorians take off their armor eventually.

She doubts she’s ever seen the Commander without his armor on.

But she is Mandalore, and she stands ready to lead her people into battle when needed.

  Vette decides, all on her own, that it’s going to be her job to hand the Commander his cup of caf when he enters the war room each morning.

No one ordered this. No one even suggested this. She’d probably have rolled her eyes if they tried. This is all her.

The Commander saved Vette’s life from Vaylin’s troops during the Battle of Odessen. She’d come closer to dying that day than at any other moment in her life. The debt she owed him was one she doubted she could ever repay.

What kind of ‘thank you’ gift do you even get for the man who has everything but never seemed to want anything?

Up until that point, Corellan Halcyon had pointedly obtained his own caf at the station in the war room, taking it black without sweetener, and usually drinking only a single cup for a full day. (Vette, who piles on creamers and sweeteners and drinks several servings a day, finds that ridiculous, but she knows he used to be a Jedi, so maybe that’s what was going on? Doesn’t matter.)

So one morning, Corellan Halcyon, Commander of the Eternal Alliance, entered the central hub of the Alliance base, Teeseven following alongside him, when he was promptly presented with his cup of caf by a grinning Twi’lek.

The Commander was surprised and a bit embarrassed, thanking Vette and accepting the cup but insisting that it really wasn’t necessary.

Vette promptly did the exact same thing the following morning, again flustering the young Commander.

On the third morning, Vette tried to repeat it a third time, only to be approached from behind by Corellan Halcyon, caf already in hand. His smile isn’t exactly smug, (Corellan Halcyon doesn’t do smug.) but he did seem content at having obtained his own cup of caf. Confused, it took Vette most of the morning to work out that the Commander had gone out of his way by circumventing the entire base to approach the hub from the opposite direction from where Vette was waiting for him.

After that, it was on.

Each morning, the former Jedi and the former professional thief engage in a fierce contest of wills, attempting to outmaneuver the other, with Vette trying to present him with a cup of caf before he can get his own. On one day, the Commander thought he had successfully evaded her only for her to drop out of a ceiling panel hanging upside down, his caf in hand. (And her smile absolutely was smug.) Another day, Vette almost had him cornered before the Commander force leapt over her head and across the room, avoiding her and reaching the caf station. (That was so cheating!) He could have ordered her to stop, but she realized that wasn’t his style. Clearly, the Commander was somehow enjoying the challenge that Vette had presented to him.

Lana Beniko observes all of this disapprovingly, pressing her face to her palms and sighing in frustration while muttering about being ‘surrounded by children’. But notably, she doesn’t reproach Vette or try to put a stop to it.

(Theron Shan, of course, is amused to no end. Gault, meanwhile, starts taking bets.)

After about ten days of this, the Commander unexpectedly and gracefully surrenders one morning, accepting the caf when it is offered up and offering a ‘thank you, Vette’.

Vette’s happy she won, and that she gets to present the commander with his caf every morning. But privately, she’s disappointed to see the contest come to an end.

She wonders if the Commander is disappointed as well, not for having lost, but for losing the distraction from whatever’s been eating at him.

  Talos Drellik has never been particularly adept at making friends.

The former officer in the Imperial Reclamation Service has long made peace with this fact of life, knowing full well that it dates to his childhood. (And it probably has something to do with his issues with his father and brother, but best not dwell on that.)

The field of Sith archaeology is a surprisingly small one, even within the Empire. Few non-Force sensitives have an interest in the study, and most Sith who have the necessary ‘intellectual bent’ to make real progress are principally concerned for what personal power may be gleaned from any artifacts or writings. But for Talos, Sith archaeology itself is his passion, perhaps to an extent that can make socialization challenging.

Talos had enjoyed his time with Darth Nox’s crew. He knew the Sith Lord valued his knowledge and his abilities. But at the same time, she never exactly warmed to him. She would enter his lab near the cargo hold, ask a series of questions about some subject related to his field of study, and then she would then leave, usually satisfied with his answers. In return, she’d allowed him to examine numerous archaeological sites on worlds he would never have otherwise had the chance to visit, like Voss. It had been a mutually beneficial relationship. The rest of Nox’s crew had been a mixed bag for him. Ashara had always been kind, but he knew that even she could lose patience with him when he prattled on for too long. Xalek had shown little use for him, and Revel – a constant thorn in his side – had even less. Talos had been initially excited by the idea of conversing with Khem Val, a being who had actually known Tulak Hord thousands of years ago. Sadly, the Dashade shadow assassin had soon grown bored with their interviews, finally complaining that modern “Imperials” simply couldn’t appreciate Hord’s contributions to Sith philosophy and culture.

Although Corellan Halcyon had obviously spent far less time with Talos than Darth Nox had, he nevertheless felt that the Commander had been a warmer, more inspiring presence in his life than the Sith Lord had been. Talos understands that the former Jedi had developed a genuine interest in the archaeology of Force-sensitive cultures, including even the Sith. He further felt that the Commander valued him and his advice, even pursuing that lead on Yavin 4 that led to the recruitment of Ak'ghal Usar. And this ancient Dashade shadow assassin had proven to be far more helpful to Talos’ research than Khem had ever been, even if he had been spotty on details like the actual names of participating Sith Lords.

[ Talos doesn’t tell the Commander that he was once part of Darth Nox’s crew. That he was there during the fighting on Tython with Revel and Xalek, back on her Fury-interceptor, ready to intercede if she called on them. That call never came. He regretted the Sith Lord’s death at the Jedi Battlemaster’s hands, but he didn’t hold Corellan Halcyon responsible. Such things happened when Sith and Jedi went to war.]  

But Talos would never presume that the Commander counted the Imperial Archeologist as a close friend or confidante.

So it was that Talos was quite startled when Corellan Halcyon had approached him one morning, informing him that his senior advisors had insisted that the Commander take a couple of days off, and he had decided that now was as good a time as any to investigate the old ruins he had observed months before in the wilds of Odessen. The Commander was convinced that Force-users had settled on Odessen in the past, perhaps even related to the early Zakuulans. He asked if Talos would be interested in putting a team together and joining him, embarking on a two-day expedition into the forest.  

Talos had naturally jumped at the offer, quickly enlisting the aid of three more specialists from the science division.

The Commander with his astromech droid by his side had seemed as upbeat and vigorous as ever on their trip, even saving the lives of the quartet of field operatives from a pack of attacking shade stalkers who attempted to ambush them along the path. He emerged a natural outdoorsman, coordinating the setup of their campsite near the ruins. He seemed intrigued at the team’s findings over the next two days, carefully taking notes and promising to devote additional resources and to authorize further expeditions going forward. He spoke about his experiences with ancient Force sites on Tython, Voss and Ilum. At one point, sitting around a campfire, noting that he was technically off-duty, he asked Talos and the other team members to call him ‘Corellan’.

No Sith Lord who Talos Drellik had ever encountered in his entire life had ever asked him to call them by their given name.

Once they had returned to the base, Talos had been promptly summoned by Lana Beniko. That was unusual in and of itself. Beniko was, perhaps, the most considerate Sith who Talos had ever met. She rarely ‘summoned’ anyone in his experience. Once he reported in, she had questioned him at length about their trip and how the Commander had behaved, with Talos laying out the details to the best of his ability. Gradually, he began to understand that it was Beniko who had insisted on the Commander taking a couple of days off in the first place. Apparently, what she did not have in mind for him was taking an archaeological team into the forest and fighting shade stalkers.

While she was eventually satisfied with Talos’ answers, she was hardly pleased with the outcome.

After that, Talos made a point to privately observe the Commander in his natural, day-to-day environment. He was a better interpreter of ancient Sith hieroglyphics than he was in reading human body language, and initially he noticed no problems. But eventually he started to understand Lana Beniko’s concerns. When on a mission or with a clear task in front of him, the Commander seemed himself. When the path forward was unclear, he was… not.

Talos was driven to find answers in the past of the Sith and of other Force-users.  

But sincerely Talos hoped that the Commander… Corellan… would find the answers he was seeking for his future, as well.

They say the hardest ‘mark’ for any con artist is another con artist.

It may or may not be true for others, but Gault Rennow certainly believes it.

The shifty Davorian plays his games, as he always has. The rules, the playing pieces and the stakes may have changed, but that’s no deterrent for a player like him.

Gault sometimes wonders if Corellan Halcyon is pulling the greatest con in galactic history. And if so, what’s he really after? (It’s certainly not credits. The Commander has shut down more of Gault’s money-making schemes than Gault cares to think about.)

Who is this fellow who risks his life constantly for other people, but who is clearly putting up a front? He’s everything that the old Jedi pretended to be, and yet… he’s not a Jedi at all.

It’s no skin off Gault’s nose. The Commander and the alliance have given Gault a place where he doesn’t have to constantly look for the exit. (And a place where maybe – maybe – Gault and Hylo have a future together.) It’s been a pretty good deal. Better even than the one he had with Xadya when he ran with her crew. He’s content then to sit back and watch. If the Commander really is playing a long-con, he’s doing it masterfully, and Gault could enjoy a show like that. And if he’s not, if this is just a situation that’s getting away from him, someone will need to be there to pick up the pieces when it blows up in his face.

So Gault kicks back, sips his drink and stays tuned.

  Koth Vortena is a man of great personal faith.

The price of holding onto that faith has been high. He believed in Valkorion absolutely. After the death of the Immortal Emperor, he continued to believe in the Eternal Throne. After he lost faith in that, he eventually came to believe in the Alliance. Ultimately, even though he’s sometimes disagreed with the man, Koth Vortena found himself placing his faith in Corellan Halcyon.

He’s never questioned it. He was furious when the Commander let Arcann join, but Koth never questioned why. He understood the decision. It stuck in his craw, but he understood.

Koth remembers the days before they freed the Outlander, listening to Lana tell stories about their adventures. He honestly didn’t believe most of them. He never says it out loud, but the reality has been so much better than those stories. Honestly? Deep down, Koth knows that most people would have just let Zakuul burn.

Koth’s deepest regrets in life have been for those members of his crew who he’s lost along the way. They had been his people, following his orders and falling in battle while under his command. He will never forget any of them.

But at least in the case of his fallen crew, there can be some closure for him.  

The Commander once had a crew of five on his little freighter. Koth remembered the stories. Two have returned. Teeseven – who Koth knows well from their time together with Lana, and that stone-faced alien soldier named Rusk.

Koth can’t help but wonder how he’d deal with it if three of his own crew were missing, their fates unknown. He seems to be the only one who notices the Commander never talks about the ones who haven’t come back.

  Bas’rish, the woman once popularly known as the Voidhound, knew the Commander back in the day.

They’d done a few jobs together, and she’s even adopted him as her ‘little brother’, even though she’s only two years older and he’s about a head taller than she is. He’s saved her life at least twice, now. Through it all, he’s never really asked her for anything.

But the smuggler captain knows how to read people, and she’s seen things that others miss. Now she sees him start to flounder when the hyperspace route ahead of him isn’t clear.  

She tries to talk to him about it. He always insists that he’s fine.

Yeah, Bas’rish knows about ‘fine’. She spent three years as a prisoner of Zakuul learning all about ‘fine’.

She’s tempted – sorely tempted – to talk to Shan or someone about her suspicions. These people do care about him as a person, if he’d only let them. (He’s lousy at that.)

No. Not yet. Not her style. (Not actually her business, maybe, but that’s family for you.)

Instead, she does the only thing she feels she can do. She puts out some feelers to her old contacts, and quietly starts to search the galaxy, hoping that if she finds the right trail of breadcrumbs, she can give Corellan Halcyon the mission he really needs. Just because he wasn’t confiding in her didn’t mean she couldn’t help him.

That’s what big sisters do, right?

  Every morning, Arcann wakes up, dresses, then joins Corellan Halcyon in the training ring for a pre-breakfast lightsaber sparring session.

Given that the first two times they had crossed blades, the Jedi Battlemaster and the Emperor of Zakuul had been trying to kill each other, it’s a strange sensation at first.

But for Arcann, still struggling to make friends within the Alliance, it is a welcome one.

The Commander has been a good friend to Arcann since he had joined. Truth, he’s been the only true friend he’s had since Thexan. The Commander often brings him on missions, but more important to Arcann is the time they spend together off-duty. They spar together, frequently dine together, and talk. Occasionally, they play dejarik. It helps Arcann’s image. Their sparring matches, which are rather intense, routinely draw impressive crowds of Alliance personnel. As the Commander obviously trusts Arcann with a lightsaber, Alliance personnel are much more willing to accept the former Emperor’s presence, particularly on missions, where trust is imperative.

(There was a time when Arcann was supremely confident that he could defeat the Outlander in such a duel. Now, even without Valkorion’s aid, he can sense Corellan Halcyon’s power had eclipsed his own, and that the former Jedi was well ahead of him in innate skill. Nevertheless, Arcann was closer to the Commander’s level than anyone else in the Alliance.)

Arcann doesn’t know why the Commander shows him such kindness.

The former Emperor has famously never believed in destiny; he turned against the Scions for that very reason, back when he… back when he was that other person. Now he is starting to reconsider his beliefs. He is still trying to understand the vision he had of Thexan, when he and his family had fought Valkorion in Corellan’s mind. He’s convinced that even if it is not his destiny to aid the Commander, it is most certainly his choice.

Arcann does not know what troubles Corellan Halcyon these days, and he does not feel it his place to press him on the matter.

He just knows he will be there with lightsaber in hand when he is needed.

 Marshall Fideltin Rusk is “old crew”.

The Commander’s crew from back when he was a Jedi is whispered of in reverence by many in the Alliance, their feats – real or imagined – having become legendary by now, rising to almost mythical status.

That is all that people seem to know about the old chagrian soldier.

A few brave souls have even asked Rusk about the stories they’ve heard. When asked by one of his trainees, they receive a harsh verbal rebuke. When he is asked by anyone else, they receive a raised eyebrow and an icy silence. In either case, a hasty withdrawal usually follows.

Rusk is valued and appreciated by Admiral Aygo and the rest of the command staff for his ability to train – and sometimes lead – Alliance infantry into able, combat-ready squads. Even Majors Antilles and Jorgan – the Alliance’s special forces commanders who have reformed Havoc Squad – consider him a premier instructor. He is respected by the other officers and those counted among the Commander’s companions for his abilities and resourcefulness in personal combat, even as he creeps into an age where most soldiers are already retired. He is viewed with a distinct combination of loathing, fear and ultimately grudging admiration by those he puts through the Alliance training regimen. The soldiers who eventually complete the training become indebted to him for what he has forged them into.

If Fideltin Rusk has a personal friend in the Alliance outside his former crewmates – the Commander and Teeseven – it is the best-held secret in the base. The old soldier doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. He rarely seeks the company of others even when he is off duty, preferring to keep his own counsel. He is nicknamed “stone-face” behind his back by more than a few. Rusk demonstrates no signs that he knows or cares about this dynamic.  

But once a week, Rusk meets with the Commander in a quiet corner of the cantina for a game of dejarik and a drink. The Commander seems to enjoy these games immensely, smiling and sometimes even laughing when the two privately share a memory concerning their old crew. It’s as if he lets the mask of the stoic Outlander to slip a bit. Rusk himself doesn’t laugh during these games. He doesn’t even smile. But the muscles of his face seem to relax in a way that they don’t seem to in any other situation.

The other Alliance members – from the top senior advisors to the lowliest recruits – do not disturb these games. But some watch from a distance, both puzzled and fascinated by this uncharacteristic ritual.

On rare occasion, some third party will note the Commander calling Rusk by his old rank of “Sergeant”. It is not the kind of slip-up he would normally make. A small handful of people consider that this is not a mistake of the tongue, but rather a sort of personal designation. (In truth the Commander has known Rusk for far too long to suddenly start calling him “Fideltin”.)  

If Rusk – who shared a small ship with the Commander for four years – has any personal observations or insights regarding Corellan Halcyon’s state of mind, he keeps those to himself.

That does not mean he is not concerned for the man he has followed for so long. The only man for whom he would have left the Republic’s service.

But regardless, Rusk keeps his own peace even as he prepares his trainees for the next war.

 Oddly enough, the only ‘Force user’ in the Alliance whom the Commander has confided his troubles to – indeed, the only Alliance member whom he’s actually spoken to about his innermost thoughts at all – is one who would not identify as such.

Yuun is a Gand Findsman. He can find things. He can find people. (Hence why so many of his kind choose to become bounty hunters and related professions.)

But he can only follow the signs as they appear to him.

Corellan Halcyon seeks him out one day, then shares what he seeks with the Gand.

Yuun listens attentively, then meditates at length, looking for the signs. When he is finished, he regretfully tells the Commander that there is no path for him to follow for what he seeks. He can tell him only that when the signs do come, they will come for the Commander only. On this point, Yuun is certain of intuitively.

Befitting his nature, Corellan Halcyon amicably thanks the Gand, then asks for his discretion in this matter. Yuun naturally acquiesces.  

As the Commander takes his leave, the Gand can only hope that the signs will come soon.

Theron Shan is worried.

Theron was, once upon a time, one of the best SIS agents and analysts in the Republic’s service. (If he hadn’t been that good, Marcus Trant would have had him killed for all the operations of Theron’s that had gone sideways.)

But the point is he’s good at watching people. Damned good.

The Commander of the Eternal Alliance has become the most ‘watched’ man in the galaxy. Theron knows for a fact that the SIS’s psychological analysis of Corellan Halcyon is hundreds of pages long at this point, and that most of it is bantha dung. Lana doesn’t talk about the subject much, but he would be surprised if Sith Intelligence’s files weren’t even more convoluted.

Theron now observes the Alliance Commander, and hopes he is doing so with better skill than all those other intelligence analysts. (And hopefully, with better skill than every enemy who has ever lined up across from Corellan Halcyon.)  

He sees the Commander standing on the observation deck at the base, staring up at the horizon.

No. Theron realizes. Not staring. His eyes are closed. He’s reaching with the Force, reaching out into the galaxy for… something.

That worried him.

Theron Shan’s family history was… complicated. That didn’t mean he hadn’t learned it. It didn’t mean he hadn’t heard the stories from Master Zho or that he hadn’t read the old reports once he’d joined the SIS.

Theron remembered Revan.

After the Jedi Civil War and the destruction of the Star Forge, Revan and Bastila Shan had retired to Coruscant, leading relatively quiet lives of married bliss. They were nominally still part of the Jedi order, with the council unable to expel their two galactic heroes for fear of the political fallout. Revan, redeemed, victorious and united with his love, should have lived out his life in happiness.

That wasn’t what happened. Revan became distracted by… something out in the galaxy. Ultimately, after months of bad dreams and premonitions, Revan finally left his pregnant wife behind while he ventured out towards the Outer Rim, never to be seen again.

… until three-hundred years later, but that was another story.    

It turned out, of course, that it was the Sith Emperor that had plagued Revan’s thoughts. His memories of Vitiate from years before during the Mandalorian Wars may have been suppressed, but he could still feel the old bastard through the Force. Pursuing that feeling had led to Revan losing the life he had built for himself, as well as any chance at happiness.

The Sith Emperor was dead. Of that, everyone was certain.

So. What was plaguing the Alliance Commander? What was distracting him? What new threat had him reaching out like this?

Would the Commander hop in his old ship some day and just disappear? Like Revan had?

And if he did, what would become of the Alliance – and of the galaxy – without him?

  Lana Beniko knows full-well that much of what has developed has been a result of her actions. She believes this without hubris or ego, and with some measure of guilt.

Koth had warned her years ago even before they freed Corellan Halcyon on Zakuul. Winning the war against the Eternal Throne would take a greater toll on the Outlander than any of them could have imagined.

Through it all, he’d been consummate hero every step of the way. Stoic. Selfless. Courageous beyond all reason. She remembers his near-death experience fighting Arcann on Asylum. Once he awoke, he didn’t seem remotely discouraged. Once upon a time, Lana would have dismissed much of this as displays of his damned Jedi ethics. Lana no longer believed that. Corellan may have left the order behind, but his principles were his own.

Lana had had been by his side ever since, whether coordinating the Alliance or fighting in the field. The former Minister of Sith Intelligence felt she owed it to him, given that she had effectively drafted him into a position of leadership in fighting a war that he’d never asked for, taking on the responsibility of leading the Alliance. In all but name, Lana was effectively serving his chief-of-staff. (Theron, meanwhile, preferred to play the free-wheeling subordinate.)

She watched him now. They had been victorious. Triumphant. Untold billions of lives had been saved. Even if the Empire and Republic needed to be kept at arm’s length, the galaxy was still more peaceful than it had been in decades.

He should be, if not happy, then at least satisfied. He is not.

He’s not right. He’s not himself.

She feels the pings of guilt that he’s in this state, even as she knows she would have done the same if she had to. (And the Commander would have agreed with her, she knows.) She understands that, ultimately, he hasn’t let her in. That hurts more than she’s willing to admit. Regardless, Lana Beniko will always do whatever is in her power to support him, regardless.

To that end, Lana insists – with Theron’s support – that the Commander take two days off. Corellan promptly ventures into the wilderness with Drellik and an archaeological team. She says nothing when he spends each morning sparring with Arcann. (She still doesn’t trust the deposed Emperor.) She rolls her eyes but keeps her peace when the Commander and Vette spend more than a week in a ridiculous display trying to outdo each other over a cup of caf. Lana Beniko realizes these are all temporary measures. They may bring the Commander relief, but they do not address the underlying issues.

Something more needs to be done.

 A private meeting is quietly organized by Lana Beniko, composed of carefully selected Alliance members known for their pragmatic and discreet natures.

They talk for hours on their observations and concerns regarding the Commander. They attempt to construct a complete picture of the situation, despite clearly missing some pieces. Inevitably, they debate and argue. The eventual consensus of the gathering is that the Commander paid a steep price in his final battle with Valkorion, and that the effects of that encounter linger. That he was wounded in spirit in ways that are not healing on their own and which he refuses to talk about or address.

The discussion then pragmatically turns to what could be done about it.

The prospect of outside counseling is suggested but is quickly dismissed. None of those assembled are properly trained themselves and finding someone trustworthy who could compel the Commander to cooperate would be nigh impossible given the circumstances.  

Inevitably, the prospect of using Force Healing is raised. It seems to have worked well for Arcann.

Lana had already spoken to Sana-Rae. She told her that the Commander will always be considered a hero to the Voss, but that a vision by the Mystic, Valen-Da, predicted that Corellan Halcyon would find no peace among their people. That every time he would return to the planet would coincide with conflict and peril. So, it had been when he had confronted Fulminiss at the Dark Heart almost a decade ago. So, it had been when he had saved Voss-Ka from Vaylin. So, it would be again in the future.

Lana had been angry to hear this, but she had finally accepted the explanation. The Voss were out.

Neither Sith nor the Knights of Zakuul possessed the proper techniques – on this, there was no dispute. What about healing through a Jedi Force Meld?

More promising, that. But for someone like Corellan Halcyon, that would require a Jedi of sufficient power with a strong, pre-existing bond to the Commander.

He had been the Hero of Tython. Their Battlemaster. Their Champion. There must surely be many such Jedi…

Leeha Narezz and Jomar Chul both knew him before joining the Alliance, hadn’t they? He had called them his old friends. Not that deeply, the group is told. He had saved their lives twice over. But they didn’t pretend to have that sort of connection to him. Precious few Jedi had. But Satele Shan has not been seen since her appearance on Coruscant shortly after the war ended. What about the rest of the council? Bela Kiwiiks had been in touch with the Alliance but had not seen the Commander in person in years. The others? All missing or dead. Surely there were others? Kira Carsen, his former padawan, and Ulannium Kaarz, the Barsen’thor, had both gone missing during the invasion, like so many other Jedi. Corellan Halcyon may have been called the Hero of Tython, but he rarely seemed to spend much time on the Jedi homeworld.

As those assembled work their way down the list, they come to an uncomfortable realization.

Corellan Halcyon has spent his adult life going from world to world, saving people. First as a Jedi, now as the leader of the Eternal Alliance.

He seemed to call everyone his ‘friend’, but even Lana Beniko, who rescued him on Zakuul and had stood by his side ever since, was starting to question if she really knew him.

How many people had he even allowed himself to grow close to, aside from an astromech droid?

Senya Tirall finally slaps the table. She and Arcann will ‘take point’ on the situation, she declares. They owe the Commander that and more for what he has done for them.

When she is asked how she intended to help the Commander, the former Knight of Zakuul answered with steel in her eyes and in her voice.

“By being his friend.”

No one challenges this plan. It is, unfortunately, the most pragmatic they have right now.

Senya Tirall has a quality that many of her colleagues in the Alliance lack. That quality being life experience. In her time, Senya Tirall has protected Emperors and hunted criminals. She has tracked down traitors before ultimately becoming a rebel herself. She has warred with her own children and redeemed her son.

She has watched Corellan Halcyon since their first encounter in the Endless Swamp on Zakuul. He wasn’t quite what she expected at the time, and now, over a year later, she still found herself surprised at him sometimes. He was brave, compassionate, amicable and wise, all almost to a fault. He could also charm, flatter and even joke… in his moments.

Senya was fairly certain, however, that these last three characteristics were learned; that they did not come naturally to him. And that seemed typical of Corellan Halcyon; he constantly tried to remake himself into whomever he had to be to help others most effectively.

She saw this during Indo Zal’s celebration of the Eternal Alliance’s victory on Zakuul, held mere hours after the final battle against Valkorion in Corellan’s mind. The former Jedi refused to accept the title of Emperor, instead gathering the ‘movers and shakers’ of Zakuulan society and asking them to form a provisional government. The Commander had pledged that the Eternal Fleet – and the Alliance – would continue to defend Zakuul from external threats, but that they would not attempt to dominate the planet, nor would they interfere at all unless the Zakuulans themselves requested. Despite being mentally exhausted from his ordeal and months of fighting, Corellan spent six hours charming and cajoling the socialites and had them eating out of his hand.

(During the evening, Senya had been approached by no fewer than three matriarchs of influential Zakuulan families, each of whom had known Senya back when she had been the captain of Valkorion’s personal guard. After the obligatory small talk, all three had made inquiries to whether the Commander might be agreeable to a political marriage to one of their daughters or sons. Such deal-making had been commonplace at court back during Valkorion’s reign. Senya had not enjoyed passing along those overtures.)  

The entire event had been a smashing triumph, successfully rebranding the infamous Outlander from a hated terrorist to the acclaimed savior of Zakuul.

It was only after all the guests had left that the Commander finally let out a sigh of exhaustion, catching himself against a table as he gazed up at Senya.

“How’d I do?” he’d asked her, like a student asking their teacher if they had passed a test.

Senya was starting to suspect that Corellan Halcyon viewed much of his life like that: Just a series of tests.

She’s even seen it when he was among his friends and allies at the Alliance base. Once, during an informal conversation, a joke seemed to go over his head. He’d blinked, then noting that everyone else seemed amused, he chuckled nervously. Senya didn’t think anyone else had caught it, but she had. A glimpse beneath the mask, perhaps?

It worried her that even after all this time, he didn’t feel completely at ease with his own people. He still felt the need to put up a front, a mask. Having been married to a man who’d worn a mask for centuries, only to have discovered a monster beneath it, Senya was determined to do something about it.

So not long after Lana’s meeting, she had Arcann go and extend an invitation to dinner for the three of them. If Corellan Halcyon was determined to be the “Protector of Zakuul” (as Indo and the aristocrats had acclaimed him), then he should at least become familiar with a homecooked Zakuulan meal. Senya was proved correct that, with the invitation going through Arcann, the Commander wouldn’t refuse.

That first dinner was pleasant enough. Arcann had been nervous about the whole thing; he respects the Outlander’s privacy absolutely, so was quiet for most of the evening. Corellan had even brought a bottle of Alderaanian wine. He seemed more at ease, though she wouldn’t say she understood him better. But the foundation had been laid; he agreed to a second dinner a week later.

By the third dinner, it had occurred to Senya that here she had two able young men who, almost inarguably, were the two greatest warriors in the galaxy. And both of them had apparently reached the age of thirty without picking up any culinary skills of any kind.  

By the fourth dinner, she had put them both to work. The Commander was peeling vegetables for a soup while Arcann helped her mix a sauce. It didn’t occur to either Corellan or Arcann to refuse her ‘request’ for them to help.    

Slowly, ever so slowly, Corellan’s smile at their weekly dinner starts to become more natural; less the mask worn by the Alliance Commander and more something else.

She’d get through to him, she was sure. She just needed time.

 Apparently oblivious to these machinations, there stands Corellan Halcyon, the Alliance Commander.

He has stood tall against the Sith, against Dark Jedi, against the Knights of Zakuul, against challengers on every planet he has ever visited. He has even stood against Valkorion himself. And he has ultimately prevailed every time.

The challenge he now faces is unlike any of those.

Is it his destiny to prevail once again? To find that which he seeks?

He doesn’t know.

But he has hope.