A Game of Specters

by LadyGrey93

Summary:

When a mysterious man shows up on Lothal decimating Imperial patrols, the Ghost crew is sent to investigate, with the aim of possibly recruiting him into the Rebellion. What they find is nothing short of shocking; a man returned from the dead by the will of the Force itself. A man whose mission is now to show the Emperor the true meaning of his ancient words: Winter is Coming.

Chapter 1: Prologue

 

Lothal was, by most people's standards, your typical settled planet in the Outer Rim Territories; dirt poor, corrupt, and dingy. Granted, this world had never been anyone's idea of an idyllic garden paradise, but before the Clone Wars- or the arrival of the Galactic Empire, rather- the people of this world were, by and large, proud, peaceful, and independent, with small farmers and rural townships making up the majority of the population. But as summer eventually gives way to winter, so too must good times give way to harsh ones.

The war had caused a severe economic recession on Lothal, followed shortly thereafter by various gangs, mobsters, and cartel kingpins swooping in and setting up various narcotic states on the planet, bringing all the ruthless violence of the criminal underworld with it.

But then, the Empire swept in like a storm from space, washing away the gangsters in a tide of durasteel and discipline. The people of Lothal were immensely grateful, and willing to accept becoming a subject world of the Empire if it meant the restoration of peace and prosperity to their world.

And the Empire kept their end of the bargain…at first. Roads were improved, cities expanded and thrived, jobs opened up in the new mines and factories, and even an academy for military service was set up.

But underneath this façade of order, security, and prosperity was buried a dark undercurrent of fear, suppression, and economic stratification.

It had begun small enough, not to warrant the attention of anyone save for the wary and the vigilant. There were increased presence patrols, checkpoints, more patdowns, and identification requirements; nothing outside the norm for an occupied war zone, but Lothal was supposed to be at peace.

Then, the farms were bought out by major state-run corporations such as Impagri, forcing thousands of farming families from their homes into the slums of cities, where they were forced to take jobs at reduced wages, while the newfound nobility above them- the same crooks that the Empire had forced off the planet in the first place and then invited back in under the guise of reconciliation- bathed in luxury and finery.

Then, the factories and mines began expanding and multiplying, turning Lothal from a once green, forested agricultural world into a polluted industrial slum, churning out steel, fuel, and plasma for the Emperor's war machine and ever-increasing thirst for conquest. Oh sure, there was the occasional Imperial like Minister Tua who had tried to make a positive difference for their homeworld. But the vast majority were liars, thieves, and murderers in Joshua's humble opinion. But all of this wasn't even the worst of it.

The worst parts were violent. Cadets from the local academy, who displayed an unusual amount of prowess and agility, vanished, with the Empire keeping mum about the whole business. When questioned, the Imperials would discredit, bribe, or in the worst cases, abduct and imprison Lothalians on treason charges, such as the Bridger family. And if the citizens dared protest against any of these policies or the bigotry displayed by many off-world Imperial officers, they usually got beaten, thrown in jail, or outright massacred.

Now, none dare speak up against the Empire, and the tyrants continued to take and take and take until stripping Lothal to the core, all in the name of 'order and security'.

Joshua glumly thought about all of this, sitting in one of Lothal City's many bars and cantinas that served the working population, drinking away his troubles after another day of long, grueling work in the mine. And the more he drank, the angrier he got.

Damn faithless Imperials, he thought, enraged by the injustice of it all. What I wouldn't give to see all of those craven bastards off our land, coming back to "His Imperial Majesty" either in coffins or in chains.

The bartender, an Ithorian by the name of Mocho Undana, must have noticed him gripping the empty shot glass so hard that it was starting to crack, as he placed a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring motion.

"Khobba, calm yourself, my friend," Mocho trilled. "You can't make another scene again, not if you want the Imperials giving you another beating."

His old friend looked at him, his eyes begging the disgruntled forty-year-old farmer-turned-miner not to do anything foolish.

But Joshua was having none of it tonight. The Empire had taken too damned much from him, from his family, from Lothal itself. Maybe he had a bit too much to drink, but so what? So he looked at Mocho straight in the eye and held his ground.

"Fuck. The. Empire," he drew out long and slow, making sure everyone around the bar could hear it. He then jumped to his feet, passionate from a combination of booze and patriotism, and began an inspired speech.

"Before our fathers' grandfathers were born, this was our world! These were our good places; the Force itself lived here, in the trees and the rivers and the mountains. It watched over us, and protected us all from evil and chaos. We were happy. We hunted, we fished, we farmed, we loved. We were proud, fierce, and independent! We had families, homes, and good lives."

He looked around the bar. Most of the other Lothalians were nodding in agreement, a few shouting for him to continue. Some people though, in the back, were quickly making themselves scarce, most likely not wanting to get blamed as associates in case the jackboots of the Empire came kicking down the door. Joshua cared not for these cravens; Lothal's true sons and daughters were in this room, with him.

"But sometimes, my brothers, we must fight! The Empire disturbs and makes a mockery of the sacred Force. They burn the forest, pollute our skies and rivers, and level our mountains to make their pits! They take what is ours; wives, children, land, Lothal itself! And the Imperials talk about how they will help us and protect us. They put us to sleep with credits and promises, and when we awake, all we have is gone! STOLEN! They take our sons and daughters and turn them into little Imperials, slaves to the Emperor's corrupt will!" he spat, to the cheering of the men around him, failing to take notice of the stormtroopers who had entered the building and were watching him with deadly intent. "So we must fight to keep what is ours, what must stay ours! There can be no peace! No peace with Imperials, men of stone and steel and lies. There can be only WAR! War until the cravens withdraw from our land, never to return! War until-,"

Joshua never got to finish his speech, as he felt himself being hit in the side of the head with the butt of an E-11 blaster carbine, disorienting him as two troopers tackled him to the ground. He could barely make out the officer commanding them yelling at the other patrons to return to their homes immediately, or else, as he was dragged out the back door and thrown into the street, landing face first onto asphalt, dimly lit by the twilight glow of dusk.

"You've caused us one too many problems in the past, Joshua Khobba," The officer, a thin pompous prick of a captain from Coruscant stated as he motioned to the sergeant and two privates to bring Joshua to his knees, which they did so roughly. "Ignoring curfew, disrupting speeches, rabble-rousing, etc, etc."

"Minor crimes, you stuck-up shit-bag," Joshua spat.

The captain frowned, motioning again to the sergeant to take position behind the man.

So this is how it ends. Joshua thought grimly. Shot to death in a gutter by an Imperial stooge and his lackeys.

"Unfortunately for you, Lothrat," the Imperial snapped, spitting out the derogatory name like he was calling Joshua 'vermin'. "You've been imprisoned multiple times for those violations, all to no avail it seems. So we will teach your comrades a lesson instead; when they watch your corpse swaying in the breeze on their way to the mines."

"So you believe."

Everyone turned toward the source of the mechanized voice, which came from the north end of the alley. The stranger who spoke looked like a demon; he was covered from head to toe in pitch-black armor, his face covered by an enclosed helmet with a faceless polarized visor. On his chest was emblazoned a snarling grey wolf's head, and on his hip, he carried some sort of sword. Judging by the make, Joshua guessed it to be some sort of Mandalorian steel sword, though the stranger certainly didn't look like one of the Mando'ade. In his hands, he carried an old DC-15s carbine, modified for anti-personnel use.

"Oh, give me a break, bounty hunter," the captain turned to face the armored man, clearly frustrated at the turn of events. "Keep your nose out of our business."

"I would have if you boys had conducted yourselves in a more honorable and forthright manner. For example, taking this man to court, in front of a jury of his peers, and presenting the lawfully obtained evidence that would lead to said jury declaring him guilty and finding a punishment that fit the crimes- that I would not have interfered with. This, however, I cannot let slide." The stranger said, clicking the safety of his rifle to the off position. "Now, I'm feeling generous tonight, and will tell you to leave this man alone."

"If we don't?" the captain asked, clearly incensed, as the five stormtroopers around him took positions.

"Then I'll stop talking, get angry, and cut through all six of you like I was carving a cake."

The captain laughed haughtily at this threat. "Surely you joke? One man against five of the Emperor's finest and an officer of His Majesty's Army? I think you've overestimated your chances." He motioned to the stormtroopers, who raised their rifles toward their foe.

"Then come," was all the stranger said, as he reached in one of his pouches for something.

The troopers advanced steadily toward the armored man, his hand now behind his back.

Suddenly, a flash of bright light blinded Joshua, which was coupled with a deafening, high-pitched noise. He vaguely heard the sounds of blaster fire, some of it from the stormtroopers' carbines, but six of the shots were from the stranger's weapon. When the noise and light subsided, Joshua stood up and surveyed the carnage.

The five troopers lay dead on the ground, blaster burns each going through their skulls, while the armored man remained unscathed; his helmet's filtration systems must have blocked out all noise and light, Joshua deduced.

The officer was also on the ground, though he was now trying to drag himself away, as he was shot in the hip. The armored stranger noticed this, clamped his carbine onto a magnetized slot on his back, drew his sword, and advanced toward him. The Imperial hadn't gotten very far when the stranger stopped him by placing a boot on his chest, and his sword to his throat.

"P-please, ss-sir. H-have mu-mu-mercy!" the Imperial whimpered, having lost all his earlier hubris and bravado.

Typical Imperial coward. Tough when bullying the common folk, but when stood up to and beaten he cowers like a beat dog.

"Why should I show you mercy, viper?" the armored man coolly chided. "You didn't want to show mercy to that man over there." He indicated to Joshua. "You wanted to make an example of him."

"I-I'll pay you! Most handsomely, I might add! Just please let me live!" the captain begged, while a puddle of liquid began to form underneath his trousers, much to Joshua's amusement.

"I should kill you just for pissing yourself, craven snake," the man snapped. "But it just so happens, I will let you live, but not for your sake. Rather, I want you to deliver a message."

It was at this the man reached with his free hand, clicked a button that unsealed the helmet, and took it off, setting it on the street, and giving Joshua a good look at the face of the man who saved him.

He looked in the prime of his life, in his late twenties or early thirties. A short beard covered his face, and his hair was a deep shade of red, bordering on brown. But the thing that stood out most to Joshua was his eyes.

Joshua once reckoned those blue eyes were once warm, inviting, and full of life, but now they were cold, lifeless, and distrusting.

It honestly made his savior seem more beast than man, truth be told.

The stranger looked back down upon the Imperial, who was looking back into the eyes of a hate-filled killer and spoke ever so calmly, his accent almost sounding Kuati to Joshua's ears.

"Tell your masters that their tyranny over the free peoples of this galaxy will not last forever. Tell them…that winter is coming for them, and that I'm going to find out if the Emperor does piss lightning."

The Imperial looked grateful, and as the strange man lifted his boot off of him, the captain scurried away back to his patrol car, still limping all the way.

Joshua figured it was as good a time as any to thank the stranger, so he called out to him just as he was picking his helmet off the ground.

"Wait, sir!" he called out. "I wanted to thank you before you left. I'll never forget what you've done for me."

"Not necessarily for you," the man muttered under his breath. "It was more for your family that depends on you. Did you not once think that your little protest in there would land you unwanted attention? It may not have been you the Empire went after, but your wife and son! Think for once!"

"What was I supposed to do?" Joshua asked him in frustration. "Watch as the Empire stripped more and more of our lands and rights away from us? Watch them mold Benjamin into their little lackey?"

"No," the stranger affirmed. "But you also need to know when to fight. You should even attempt to fight these dogs only when you hold the advantage."

"When should we fight, then?" Joshua asked, now tired and feeling alone. "We can't coordinate well enough without ISB agents intercepting our communications."

"The wolves always find a way to communicate, even as the lion keeps them down," the stranger reassured. Before he turned to walk off, Joshua had to know something.

"Wait, stranger. I never even asked you for your name."

The stranger stopped at this. "My name? I have many names, my friend. To my foes in the Empire, I am known as the Grey Wolf; a thorn in the side of the Emperor and his minions. In my younger days, I was a great king of men, though unknown to the galaxy at large, known as the Young Wolf. The nascent rebellion knows me as Blaviken."

"Your real name, then," Joshua asked one more time. "I will tell no one of its existence, not even my family."

"Swear it," the stranger commanded.

"I swear it by the Force and whatever god may be," Joshua affirmed.

The stranger relaxed a little, and for a moment, Joshua could see the light return to the Grey Wolf's eyes.

"My real name is Robb Stark."

---

 

Chapter 2: Sabine I

The rays of dawn were just beginning to creep through the windows of the already busy Maccabees', a successful restaurant owned and managed by the Maccabee brothers, Judah and Jacob, in the fairly modest-sized town of Jericho, but that's not what was concerning Sabine Wren right now; what had her concentration was the man scheduled to meet her here for a 'date', or in more precise terms, an extraction from this pitiful ball of dirt to meet with Commander Sato onboard the Quasar Fire-class escort carrier Phoenix Home.

Sato had been very specific about whom the mission was focused on; one armored, armed, and dangerous man, codenamed 'Blaviken' by the Rebellion, who had been in contact with Ahsoka for several years now, feeding her information on Imperial troop movements and operations on the planet.

And now, he wanted off Lothal.

, according to the transmission, his cover had been blown somehow. He did not give the specific details of how, why, when, and where this happened; all he would say is that he needed to get to the Phoenix Home ASAP.

Sabine took a sip of her caf, re-tucking a loose strand of dyed orange-red hair behind her head. All in all, this man sounded very mysterious. No one, not even Bail or Ahsoka, knew what this guy even looked like, let alone his real name.

Sabine smirked. Of course, if it turned out that Ahsoka did know this man, it wouldn't have been the first time she had kept information to herself.

Just then, the door to the restaurant swung open, and a human male stepped through, wearing nothing but blue jeans, a long, grey shirt, combat boots, and a pistol strapped to his right side; a modified SE-14r, to be more precise. He was a full-grown adult in the prime of his life, looking to be around 30 to Sabine, with a pale complexion that indicated that he was from a world with a colder climate, and had the facial hair to match such a description. His hair was a very dark shade of red; his hair was wine as opposed to Sabine's fire. His eyes were a brilliant blue, but unlike Ezra's, they did not show any warmth, curiosity, or friendliness to them. No, these eyes were cold sapphires, hardened and distrusting of everything they saw.

A waiting droid had come up to the man and asked him where he would like to sit. The spacer indicated to the seat across from Sabine's, obviously recognizing her in some way.

The Mandalorian tensed up a little. Either this could be her contact, or he could be another ISB agent like Kallus. Either way, her right hand found itself itching toward one of her twin WESTAR-35 blaster pistols she kept on her at all times, though she was fairly certain that Zeb was also keeping track of the man through the sights of his bo-rifle.

The stranger came to sit across from her, waving away the waiting droid with a simple order for the caf when the robot tried to pester him. Sabine now got a good look at the man who was staring at her with his distrusting eyes.

His face was grim and foreboding like he was expecting the onslaught of disaster, whether man-made or natural. Beyond that, his face was stone, not showing an outward hint of emotion to her.

"Hello, Pulsar. It's so nice to finally meet you. The weather on Lothal is quite lovely this year, you know," the man greeted in what sounded like a rich Kuati accent.

Sabine felt herself relax a little and put her hand back on the table. He gave the code phrase, good.

"Indeed, Blaviken. And I heard the wine in this town is simply delicious," she replied, smiling and secretly giving him the counter while also signaling to Zeb and the others that the contact had been met.

Blaviken lowered his voice. "So it is you. Good, I was starting to wonder if Fulcrum even got my message, or if this was an Imperial trap," he whispered as he looked over his shoulder, appearing to look out the window. As far as either of them could tell, no Imperial patrols were coming through; most likely the company that was stationed here was just waking up and beginning their morning physical exercises, per Imperial SOPs.

Sabine smirked. "You've got the genuine article here, bucko. So tell me; why do you want to get off this dreary rock?"

Blaviken took a sip of his caf before answering. "Do you want the short and simple version or the long and detailed one?"

"I prefer short and to the point, please," Sabine replied. Sato could hear the full mission report later if he wanted to.

Blaviken looked at his caf cup for a moment before answering. "Two reasons. The first is my damned fault. I blew my cover about a week ago while rescuing some poor sap of a miner from getting blasted by a particularly abusive Imperial Army captain."

Sabine's curiosity was piqued. "How?" she asked, raising her eyebrow.

Blaviken waved it off. "I'll tell you the details later. Suffice to say for the moment that I was careless, and in this line of business, stupidity can cost you." He looked down back at his caf cup and muttered so low that Sabine could barely make it out. "But betrayal can cost you even more."

Now she was really curious. What had happened to this man to make him so sullen and distrusting of everyone around him? Sure, the crew and she had faced their fair share of betrayals and tragedies in the past, but the way this man spoke and acted, it was as if he lost absolutely everything around him. Before she could inquire him about it, he continued.

"The second reason should be more important to the Rebellion." He took another sip of his caf. "I've acquired information from some of my contacts in the Imperial Armed Forces and the Mining Guild. I can't tell you everything here, but rest assured…the things I've learned could change the very nature of the war itself."

"Intriguing." Sabine took a sip of her caf. "You sure you can trust these contacts?"

Blaviken shook his head. "I don't trust anyone, not in the way I used to, at least. So no, I can't be sure, but if nothing else the information they gave me would be worth investigating."

Sabine nodded and stood up. "Alright. Let's get out of here, then."

Blaviken wiped his mouth and put ten credits on the table before standing up as well. "We need to retrieve my gear, first. It's in a safe house five clicks south of here. We'll also need to destroy said safehouse to prevent the contents inside it from falling into Imperial hands." He then looked out the window before walking out the door. "And could you please tell the Lasat to stop aiming his rifle at me? Even when he's trying to hide on a rooftop, I can still notice his kind."

Sabine was flabbergasted, letting her mouth drop open in bewilderment as Blaviken walked out the door.

---

It was an uneventful five-minute journey by 'borrowed' speeder to Blaviken's safe house, which was an unassuming log cabin; small, cozy, and unlikely to attract any Imperial attention, least of all from the rather subpar 15th Legion stationed on Lothal. Joining them on this little trip out to the middle of nowhere was Zeb, who was taking it about as well as she'd expected.

"Stupid fucking piece of shit-bait," she heard him mutter under his breath. "Why are we out here, again? Last time I checked, we are wanted in this system by the order of Governor Pryce for the crimes of sedition, sabotage, treason, the murder of Imperial officials, theft, and a hundred other things I'm sure they've drummed up."

The young Mandalorian woman sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Look, big guy, I'd rather not be out here either, especially as I am now without my beskar'gam. But since Kanan, Ezra, Chopper, and Ahsoka went on that little trip of theirs to Malachor, we three got the go-ahead for this mission instead. And I'd rather not get an earful from Hera again about 'our duty as freedom fighters' today, so let's just get this done with, okay?"

Zeb said nothing, only grumbling under his breath as Blaviken went inside the safe house.

"Relax, you two. I just need to put on my armor and weapons, grab the intel, and set a few plastic charges down so the Imps can't grab anything of import later. Just keep pulling security and I'll be out in a moment."

Zeb muttered something under his breath as he got down on one knee and began to scan his sector, while Sabine walked to the other side of the cabin and began to do the same.

She had never really thought about it before, but in between her missions, her paintings, and generally everything else that came with being a soldier in a rebellion with the goal of freeing her homeworld, and the galaxy at large, from a tyrant and his lackeys, but she really never noticed how colorful Lothal could be.

The morning sky was a rich azure blue, the golden sun shining upon amber waves of grain and green ears of corn. The dazzling white snow on top of the mighty grey mountains to the distant north made a stark contrast to the vibrant green and brown forest that made up its base; one of the last of its kind on this world, she mused sadly. The tall sandstone spires, ancient, tan, and worn from millennia of abuse by the elements, stood as imposing rivals to the grey, utilitarian, and looming structures favored by Imperial architects, and yet Sabine figured that long after the Empire was gone from this world, whether in five years or a thousand, those natural spires would remain while the colorless, sentient-built structures collapsed.

Sabine shook herself out of her musings. This was neither the time nor the place to admire the beauty of nature. Right now she still had to extract the target from the planet, which, truth be told, was actually going rather well, if not as quickly as she would have hoped.

Just then, her comlink began beeping at her, indicating Hera wanted to contact them, now.

Sabine cursed under her breath in Mando'a before answering the call. This wasn't a scheduled comm check, which occurred at hourly intervals. No, this had to be urgent.

"Specter 1, 5. How copy, over?"

"Specter 5, 1. Be advised, I'm tracking multiple hostiles closing in on your position, bearing down from the south, over."

Haar'chak! "Specter 1, 5. Foot mobile or technical, over?"

"5, 1. A couple of Indigos, assume to carry 10 foot. One Petro also confirmed. ETA till contact approximately five mikes; I can make it in six, over."

Sabine grimaced. They didn't have the firepower to take on two Imperial Troop Transports, a full fire section of stormtroopers, and a gunship at the same time.

"Roger, 1. We'll be ready for a quick exfil out. 5 out."

With that, she ended the transmission and yelled back to Zeb and Blaviken.

"Heads up, you guys! We've got a couple of personnel carriers with full payload and a gunship bearing down on us from the south! They'll be here in under five!"

"KARABAST!" She heard Zeb curse. "Why can't anything ever be simple? Where the fuck is Hera when you need her?"

"Six mikes out, which means we need to hold out for a mad minute, and I don't know how we're gonna do that when they have armor and air!" She responded back, checking her energy packs for her blasters and really wishing she had her armor on right about now, though she didn't really know how much good it would do against heavy cannons and missiles.

"I do." She heard a mechanized, yet familiar, voice reply from behind them. There Blaviken stood, completely encased in pitch-black armor, save for the faceless silver visor and the grey wolf on his breastplate. He motioned for them to come inside, and as they followed him, he turned on the lights in the room.

Stacks of papers and computer drives littered one table on the far side of the room, and in the back was a whole plethora of weapons, ranging from rifles to missile launchers and everything in between.

"Pulsar, I take it you're good with rifles?" He asked.

"One of the best." Was her confident reply. And it was no boast, she was one of the best shots that came out of the Imperial Academy on Mandalore.

"Good. Take the DC-17 there with the grenade launcher attachment." He then turned to Zeb. "And you, Lasat. Any good with anti-armor munitions?"

"Decent enough, I suppose." Zeb shrugged. Blaviken nodded and handed him one of the rocket launchers from the wall.

"It's a PLX-1, though I've heard the stormies call them 'Plexes'. It can be used for anti-armor and anti-air. And make no mistake when I say that this thing can take down even heavy tanks."

Zeb smiled as he hefted the rocket launcher, chuckling to himself. "Oh-ho, I take it back; this is going to be a lot of fun."

As Zeb stepped outside with Sabine following him, the Mandalorian girl looked behind her to see Blaviken, in addition to the carbine strapped to his back, a sword to one hip, and the sidearm to his other hip, grab a Z-6 rotary cannon and several power packs for it, along with a tripod. He stepped outside with them and pointed to a slight ridge a click to the north of them.

"We're exposed out here if we stand near the cabin. I suggest we move just past the top of that ridge if we want some cover."

Both Sabine and Zeb nodded in the affirmative, and together the trio hoofed it to the ridgeline.

---

About three minutes later, just as everything was set up and the three were in their fighting positions, the tell-tale whine of Imperial engines could be heard on the horizon. Sabine looked through the scope of her rifle to see two ITTs rolling in at fairly high speeds to the shack, with an IPT hovering overhead to provide close air support for the ground element.

"Don't know about you, Blaviken, but it looks to me like someone ratted you out to the local garrison. Those boys are wearing the markings of the 15th, from what it looks to me." Zeb commented dryly as the ITTs came to a halt and started unloading the section of stormtroopers, about twenty in all, who moved out of the armored carriers with all haste.

At least their section sergeant is competent, Sabine wryly thought as she observed a Stormtrooper with a yellow pauldron directing his two squads; one to pull security, the other to stack up on the door and get ready to breach.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Blaviken replied. "For soon, we leave this world and Pryce won't have to worry about me messing up her coffers any further." He pulled out a detonator, presumably for the plastic explosive charges he had placed around the cabin. "Soon, the Emperor himself will know the meaning of my words." He began cryptically as he pressed the button. A resounding roar drowned out all noise as the cabin exploded into a fireball of gargantuan proportions, taking out the breaching squad and flipping over the ITT closest to the cabin.

To Sabine's ears, however, the most chilling sound wasn't the roaring of the fire produced after the explosion, nor was it the horrified and desperate screams of the wounded unlucky enough to survive the blast. No, the most spine-tingling thing she heard were the next words out of Blaviken's mouth, full of quiet contempt for the Imperials and a certainty of doom.

"Winter is coming."

At that moment, Blaviken opened up with his mounted Z-6 onto the remaining Imperial infantry, which made a terrifying brrrt sound as it ripped through two troopers, with the rest diving for the ground and trying to counter fire onto their position. To their credit, the stormtroopers weren't wavering, bounding up the hillside in teams of two while their comrades tried to suppress herself and the others. However, Sabine was also making headway into making them fall back, as she lobbed another grenade from the under-barrel launcher on her rifle near two troopers' position. She then looked up to see the gunship swing around and begin a strafing run.

"Zeb, smoke that fucking flyboy or we're all going to die! Now, please!" Blaviken yelled as he kept up the fire on the stormtroopers, who by now were abandoning their position on the hill and slowly falling back to the remaining ITT, which was providing covering fire for them.

"Working on it, you cunt!" Zeb yelled back, and Sabine saw him turn to face the gunship, which was now strafing the ridge with rapid cannon fire, with his Plex. Sabine hugged the ground to avoid the bolts impacting the earth around her, and then she heard the tell-tale screech of a missile being launched.

For a split second, she feared that it was a rocket being fired from the gunship, but as soon as she heard a metallic groan following another explosion, followed by the sounds of an airborne vehicle desperately trying to avoid crashing, she looked up to see the gunship going down in a plume of fire and smoke, hitting the ground hard as it rolled over several times before coming to a complete stop.

It was a twisted, crushed remainder of what it had once been.

After this, the ITT, now full of the remainder of the Stormtrooper section, decided to back off, for at that moment the Ghost came soaring overhead, firing its nose gun at the armored vehicle, which sent it hightailing it back to Jericho, before the ship circled back and opened up its ramp onto the ridge itself, whilst still airborne.

"Specters 4 and 5, this is 1. You might want to hurry; those stormtroopers you've run off have probably alerted the Star Destroyer in orbit about us." Hera warned over Sabine's comlink, in a tone that said 'Hurry the fuck up now, please, and thank you.'

"Roger, 1. 5, out," Sabine replied hastily, and then signaled the others to get on the ship.

Zeb got on first, being the closest to the ship. Next, Sabine boarded the vessel, being helped along by Zeb to make sure she didn't fall off. Finally, Blaviken simply walked on without missing a beat, abandoning the rotary cannon altogether.

When they were all aboard and accounted for, Hera punched the throttle and made her vector into the space around Lothal. Soon after, Sabine could feel the familiar sense of the ship jerking itself forward, as the Ghost made the jump into hyperspace.

Sabine wearily made it back to her room, colorful and full of life as always, sat down near her bunk, and leaned on the bulkhead, contemplating the events of the day. After a few moments of thinking, she chuckled to herself slightly.

Just another day in the office.

Notes:

Well, another chapter of this story is finished, and another day's work done.

Now, for those of you wondering why Robb is completely competent when it comes to the Galaxy, keep in mind that this was 12 years after the events of the Red Wedding on his homeworld; 12 years to get acclimatized and familiar with a galaxy so much more technologically advanced and diverse than his planet that at first, it would seem like he landed in the realms of the gods themselves. Rest assured, he isn't going to be upstaging the SW characters. (Most importantly, Sabine, Ezra, and the OT main cast, whom I've got big plans for). But on the other hand, there will be a reason for him being here; he is a leader of men, after all…

Chapter 3: Robb I

"What a strange custom."

Robb turned to his wife, Talisa, who had come up behind him inquiring about the bedding ceremony his uncle Edmure and his new wife, Roslin, were about to go through.

"I suppose it would seem strange, from a foreigner's perspective." He smirked at her.

"And this seems normal to you?" She asked, incredulous that anyone would be willing to subject themselves to a dozen or more pairs of groping hands.

"It's tradition." He answered with a smile as if it were indeed the most normal thing in the world. And it was the truth in Westeros, at least among the highborn. "Without the bedding, there's no proof that the lord and lady consummated their marriage."

"There are…other ways…to prove it." She purred in his ear, placing his calloused hand over her round, swollen belly.

"Boy or girl?" He asked her, part cautious and part hopeful.

"I don't know yet." She answered truthfully. "But if it's a boy, then I already know what we should name him."

"Oh really?" Robb chuckled. "It seems to me that a father should have some say in his son's naming."

"Eddard." Was all she said.

Robb froze, his mouth suddenly dry. He honestly did not know what to say. For his wife to name their son after his beloved father, so cruelly ripped from this world by the order of a mad boy king… was enough to move him to tears.

"Don't you want to teach little Ned Stark how to ride horses?" She asked with a smile, caressing his face as he nodded his assent.

"I do."

At those words, he leaned in to kiss her; his beautiful, willful, loyal wife. She happily obliged him, and in that moment, all was forgotten.

The wedding.

The war.

Theon's betrayal.

Karstark's insubordination.

Even, as it pained him, the deaths of his father and brothers, were momentarily forgotten in this brief time of joyous exaltation.

He was so enamored with his wife at that moment, that he failed to hear the doors to the great hall slamming shut and locking. But he couldn't ignore the song that began playing, even if he wanted to.

The Rains of Castamere.

After a few stanzas of the song had played, decrepit old Lord Walder Frey held up his wrinkly old hand to bring silence to the hall.

"Your Grace." He began, in that croaking, grating voice of his. "I feel that I've been…remiss in my duties. I've given you wine, and meat, and music, but I feel that I haven't given you the hospitality that you deserve." At this, the mask of congeniality dropped off, and his voice became laced with dangerous malice. "My King is married, and I owe my new Queen a wedding gift."

What's going on, Lord Walder? He thought uneasily. Just then, he heard his mother get up and slap Roose Bolton hard across the face.

"ROBB!" She called out, just as Black Lothar advanced on his wife with a hidden dagger.

Just as he noticed the band exchanging their lutes for crossbows.

Just as he heard the drunken roar of an enraged Greatjon.

Just as he felt a bolt enter his shoulder…

---

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Robb screamed, stabbing in the dark with his combat knife; the one he had started to sleep with twelve years ago, as he woke up in a cold sweat.

After a few moments getting his bearings straight, figuring out that he wasn't in the Twins anymore, but rather on a makeshift rack in the medical bay of the Ghost, he dropped his knife and ran his hands over his head, trying to get himself calmed down from yet another nightmare.

He could recall what happened; the screams and gurgles of his bannermen as they were set upon by the very men they had been dining with, the muffled sounds of battle as the Freys and Boltons were slaughtering his drunken soldiers one by one and setting their tents on fire, the blood-soaked dress of his dead wife as he clutched her punctured womb, and finally, Roose Bolton coming between him and his mother, uttering his chilling words as he stabbed him in the heart.

The Lannisters send their regards.

His breath was still shaky, he noticed, but at least his heart wasn't beating like crazy in his chest anymore. He then instinctively touched the scar on his chest, right where his heart was.

It was still there; all of them were still there. The scars that reminded him of his old life, the one he had left behind so long ago.

The scars that reminded him of willful Arya, graceful Sansa, smirking Theon, brooding but kind Jon, wild Rickon, adventurous Bran, his proud mother, and his just father.

The scars that reminded him of the war, of friends and family that died or betrayed him.

The scars that reminded him of his failure, of his decision to put love over duty.

Those scars would be there forever with him, he reckoned, until the day that Death came to reclaim him and he joined his family again in the afterlife.

No, he reminded himself bitterly. There is no afterlife, remember? Only the nothingness of oblivion. They're all gone, dust. Arya, Bran, Rickon, Talisa, mother and father, my unborn son…

His somber reverie was interrupted by the lights turning on, and he turned to face the doorway to the corridor of the ship, where he saw the ship's pilot, Hera Syndulla, standing, watching him with concerned eyes.

"You alright?" She asked, in a tone of voice that reminded Robb of his mother.

Robb nodded warily, still a little shaky from the experience. "Yeah. A bad dream is all." He waved off.

"You were screaming, sir." She reprimanded. "That's something more than a bad dream."

Robb snapped at her. "Aye, it is. But if you'll forgive me, I'd rather not talk about it." He held her piercing gaze equally, his Tully blue orbs meeting her emerald, Lannister-like eyes. Both stared at each other, unwilling to back down until Hera sighed and shook her head.

"As you say, sir." She answered, and Robb didn't fail to detect the sarcasm in her voice, indicating to him that she reserved the conversation for a later date.

Let her, he thought. She'll get nothing out of me.

"At any rate," she continued saying, "we're coming up on the Phoenix Home's coordinates in about fifteen minutes. I'd recommend you get ready." With that, the green-skinned Twi'lek pilot sauntered off back to the cockpit.

Twelve minutes later, he was back on his bunk, now wearing his spacer clothes in the most presentable fashion he could make them. Finding absolutely nothing to do during the rest of his wait, which was now three minutes long, he settled on taking out his sword, given to him all those years ago by the man who saved his life and started to clean and polish it.

It gave him a kind of solace, polishing his Mandalorian steel sword, which he had named Grey Wind after his beloved direwolf. The ancient runes of the First Men were carved on one side, spelling the sword's name, while the runes on the other side could roughly translate in Basic, "Winter Is Coming".

He let himself get lost in memory, as he reflected on the ancient words of his former House. Unlike many mottos and sayings, in Westeros or in this galaxy, which were threats and boasts, the words of the Starks were a warning; a warning to all men and women that no matter how good things seem today, trying times will always come, and one must be ready to weather the long night.

He oft wondered if Jon and Sansa were still alive, and despite his pessimism, he sometimes even wondered if his sister managed to retake their home from Bolton's clutches and be declared Queen by their bannermen, as his brother was the ever dutiful one, probably defending the Wall against whatever outside evil threatened Westeros.

Robb grimaced involuntarily when he thought of Jon. Over the years that had passed while he struggled to find a place in this galaxy- in this still, relatively new and alien world he had found himself living in, he had come to realize something important, something he would have never even thought of when younger.

Jon, out of all the Stark children, was the one who should have been King in the North, not him.

It was Jon who was most like their lord father; stern, honorable, just, and above all, duty-bound. It was Jon who knew how to be diplomatic and how to get two hostile factions to agree with each other, whether it be him and Theon or Arya and Sansa. Robb knew that if Jon had been King, and not him, he wouldn't have made the mistake of sending Theon to his father, and he would have found the prettiest Frey girl possible and done his duty.

Hera's voice sounded out over the ship's PA system, interrupting Robb's thoughts.

"Attention all hands, we are dropping out of hyperspace in 3…2…1."

Robb wiped the excess oil off his blade, and put it back in its scabbard, as he felt the slight lurching of the ship coming out of light speed. He stood up, hooked up the sword to his belt, and waited.

---

About ten minutes later, he was walking down the corridor of the Phoenix Home, the light carrier serving as the flagship for the similarly named Phoenix Fleet. It was modest for a flagship, he mused as he made his way up to the bridge, but what could you do when you had no funding, no resources to draw upon, and no major power left in the galaxy to back you?

As the old saying goes, the beggar can scarcely afford to be picky.

Robb frowned as he continued walking. True, the rebellion was growing every day, but so far the victories had been all minor; insignificant. The Empire was continuing to gobble up system after system in the Outer Rim and Wild Space, and so far, not so much as even a dent in their operations had been made.

Robb gritted his teeth. He knew that there was not much they could do, however. Not until a significant enough victory had been won that other worlds would throw in their support to this cause.

Hopefully, the information he had could be the key to such a victory.

He walked into the bridge towards the holotable, where the fleet's commander, Jun Sato, was busy talking to an aide. The commander was an older human man, likely in his early fifties judging by the greying hair, and had the air of a veteran soldier about him, most likely from his days fighting in the Republic Navy. Sato looked up, and upon seeing Robb, broke into a slight grin.

Robb did not return the smile, instead settling into that grim, stoic mask he always had in place; the one he had forged for himself ever since the Red Wedding.

"Blaviken." He greeted. "I've been wanting to meet you for some time now, though admittedly under better circumstances than this."

"Likewise," Robb admitted, albeit a little bit gruffly. "And please; no more code names. I'm getting sick to death of everyone speaking in code. Call me Robb, instead."

Sato frowned, obviously displeased at Robb's disinterest in maintaining proper military protocol by calling him 'sir' or 'Commander'.

Robb couldn't care less. Perhaps twelve years ago he would have been just as cordial and formal, but now he found himself wanting more and more to be brief and blunt with people, rank be damned.

That is, of course, if he was willing to talk to them in the first place.

"Alright…Robb." Sato began unsurely. "We thank you, first, for your critical role in providing information to us these past few years. But to more important matters, recently you said that you had vital information to share with the rebellion; intel that could change the course of the war itself if I recall you saying."

"Aye," was all Robb said, before he plugged in the flash drive that he had taken out from his pocket and put it in the terminal. Immediately, the room went dark as various documents, shipping manifests, and highly classified messages between various high-ranking Imperials.

"Around four years ago, my contacts in the mining guilds and the military began to feed me information about an above-top-secret weapons project." He began, pointing to security footage of a Lothal mine, showing workers digging out what looked to be a giant, green crystal. "All over the Outer Rim, it appears sixty-four of these large crystalline structures have been excavated and removed off-world to an undesignated location. I've also found evidence of massive amounts of doonium being shipped to the same undesignated location" He then pointed to several of the shipping manifests. "They weren't easy to get, but I've acquitted several manifests all with an unknown vector pointing towards somewhere in this location." He pulled up a map of the galactic plane, pointing to the general vicinity of Geonosis. "But the strange thing is, around two years ago, the vectors suddenly shifted to this location." The map pointer shifted from the Geonosis system to somewhere around Scariff.

"Interesting." Sato mused. "What about the encrypted messages between the Emperor's lackeys."

Robb sighed. "I've spent months trying to decipher the messages, and have only had marginal luck. There was one message I decrypted that caught my eye, though." He put the message up front, blocking out everything else. He saw Sato read the contents of the comm between Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin- the very brutal Oversector Governor of the Outer Rim who reminded Robb of Tywin Lannister- and what looked to be an important Imperial scientist; one Orson Krennic, Director of Advanced Weapons Research. He saw as Sato's eyes went wide, before shutting off the holoprojector and staring at Robb in contemplative silence.

"The Deep Space One Orbital Battle Station," Sato repeated slowly. "It would explain why the Genosians were all wiped out if the Emperor wanted to keep something secret."

Robb grits his teeth in anger. Of course, the Empire would have done something so dishonorable and completely unnecessary as wiping out an entire species to keep a secret. As time went on, it seemed that Imperials easily surpassed the Boltons and Lannisters in terms of cruelty and avarice, and they waved it away with the excuse that they were 'bringing order to an unruly galaxy'.

"But how powerful can this weapon be?" Sato continued. "Sixty-four giant kyber crystals? If my Jedi friends are correct about even one of those things, five dozen would-,"

"-be enough to destroy an entire populated world." Robb finished grimly. "You'll have to send a recon team to investigate the matter at Scariff."

"And will you head this scouting mission, Mister Stark?" Sato asked him, though to Robb it sounded more like an order, to which he shook his head fiercely.

"No. Contrary to popular belief, I was only feeding information to this rebellion, not actively participating in field operations. Make no mistake, Commander, that while I hate the Empire with every fiber of my being due to the sheer inhumanity the Emperor and his lackeys display, that doesn't make me necessarily ready to lead an army." Not after my failure as a king and a general.

Sato pressed onward at Robb. "We could use a gun and mind like yours if even have of what we've heard about you is true. You can trust us."

Robb sighed. "I no longer blindly place trust in men." He said sadly as he left to exit the bridge. "I can now only place my trust in steel and fire."

Robb squared his shoulders and walked away from the bridge, leaving a frustrated Sato behind as he returned to the hangar bay, unaware of a shuttle called the Phantom touching down inside the hangar bay of the Phoenix Home.

Unaware that his fate would be bound up with the nascent rebellion against the Empire.

Unaware that a time for wolves was about to begin in the galaxy.

---

Notes:

A/N: Well, another chapter down, another day saved.

In regards to Robb, as to why he still has a sense of justice; remember, he's spent twelve years in the galaxy, now. I can guarantee you that he wanted nothing more than to either off himself again or drown himself in booze his first few years after his resurrection into this frankly strange and terrifying new world. However, he is much more reserved, pragmatic, and cautious that he was in canon, due to his experiences with betrayal and tragedy. A part of his reaction with the crew is going to focus on the relationship between everyone. And rest assured, some of these relations will be frosty, at first, with regards to Ezra, whom Robb will see first as nothing more than a petulant, angry child that should be grateful that he still has family, friends, and a familiar place to call home, while Ezra will see Robb as cold, distant, and overly demanding.

Till the next.

Chapter 4: Ezra 1

Maul. Vader. Palpatine. Tarkin. Pryce. Travus. Kallus.

Ezra kept repeating those names to himself, the ones he had been repeating ever since the disastrous mission to Malachor, out of the watchful ears of his now-blind master, Kanan, overbearing Hera, and, as much as he denied it to himself nowadays, beautiful, fiery Sabine, whom he may or may still have feelings for.

Ezra paused and recollected his thoughts. What was Sabine to him, now? True, he had stopped flirting with her years ago, and over time they had developed a particularly close bond- an outsider would say almost or just as close as the bond between himself and Kanan, but he was so unsure if he should regard the artistic Mandalorian warrior as a friend…or something more. He was equally unsure what Sabine thought of him, the street urchin turned Jedi Padawan.

He stared down at the Sith Holocron in his hands. So far, only he knew that it was on this ship, and it had taught him a great many things about the Force and how to fight.

Some would say that the Holocron was whispering poison in his ear; honeyed words of sweet nothings. Fools, he'd say. Every day, he grew more powerful, stronger, faster, and more skilled with a blade than he had while just under Kanan's tutelage. Soon, he'd even be strong enough to take on those he hated.

Those monsters who had taken everything from him and more.

Maul. Vader. Palpatine. Tarkin. Pryce. Travus. Kallus.

"YES. YES. YOUR HATE GIVES YOU POWER, FOCUS, STRENGTH!" The Holocron hissed at him. "YOU WILL BEND THE GALAXY TO YOUR WILL. IN TIME, YOU MAY EVEN BECOME...EMPEROR." it breathed.

Ezra was caught off guard by that. An emperor, him? The street rat from Lothal's capital? It sounded almost too good to be true. And yet…

He saw it playing out in his mind's eye; whether it was a wild figment of his imagination or a faux vision planted there by the presence within the Holocron was irrelevant. He imagined himself as a just and honorable monarch- a ruler who was loved by his subjects and respected and feared by his enemies. He saw an empire built not on intolerance and oppression, but one built on justice and trade.

He even saw Sabine ruling by his side- his warrior-queen, who would bring fire and blood to their enemies, and art and music to their friends.

He snapped out of his reverie. No, he thought. One man should not have the power to dictate the fate of an entire galaxy. What if I end up like Vader? Or Palpatine? Power-mad and tyrannical?

He also knew that Sabine would never go along with it. She was the essence of freedom- untamed, unbound, and creative. She was big on letting people figure things out for themselves, and not so big on others controlling every aspect of one's life. To chain her in the fetters of royalty… to Ezra, it would have been akin to putting a wolf in a cage.

Speaking of wolves…

Ezra was entirely unsure of what to make of the newest addition to their crew, the warrior who called himself Robb Stark. So far of what he could make of him, he was distant, aloof, and anti-social, to say the least. The man preferred to keep to himself, eating his meals in private and taking to read or clean his sword whilst others were holding conversations with one another. One day, when Robb was out in the bay, stripping and cleaning his blaster, Ezra decided to probe him with the Force.

It wasn't like the presence he felt around Kanan, or the recently-departed Ahsoka; light and full of warmth. It wasn't like what he felt with Maul; a raging inferno that threatened to consume everything around it. It certainly wasn't like what he felt with Vader; an empty nothingness akin to a black hole.

No, Robb wasn't nothingness, or light, or fire. Robb was cold, ice, winter. And like winter, it seemed that he could calmly wait until releasing his full fury upon an opponent.

An example of this would have had to be when Ezra was witnessing a sparring match between Zeb and Robb a few days ago. Unlike himself, who preferred the more aggressive Ataru style of lightsaber combat, or Kanan, who relied on Soresu almost exclusively, Robb preferred to stand back and analyze his opponent, before utilizing a style of swordplay that exploits an opponent's weakness.

And he wasn't above the unorthodox, either. The Grey Wolf would use anything at his disposal to gain an advantage, whether it would be flash grenades, dust, dirty punches, kicks, or anything. He even said as much to Kanan, once.

"An honorable fighter is a dead fighter, Jarrus. I'd much rather be living with a 'dirty' kill than dead with a 'moral victory'."

That had set the two off into a philosophical debate, with the two ending up just 'agreeing to disagree'.

Ezra decided to put away the Holocron for now, instead opting to step out of his room and go to the cargo bay. Along the way there, he ran into a fuming Sabine.

"Hey, Bine!" he greeted, as she just huffed her way past him. "Okay? What's eating you?"

"Who do you think?" Sabine snapped, motioning to the cargo bay. "Mister 'High, Mighty, and Boorish', that's who!"

"Let me guess." Ezra quipped, rolling his eyes. "Robb's being in one of his usual grumpy, solemn moods, again."

"That's not even the fucking half of it," Sabine grumbled. "You remember earlier this morning when I was showing everyone on the ship my new painting?"

"Not easily forgotten, that," Ezra replied. Nearly everyone on the ship had congratulated her on her new canvas painting; a painting of a fiery phoenix rising out of a burning Imperial cog.

"Well, brilliant me was thinking that our new, brooding member of the crew would like it as well. So, I went to his room to show him. Do you know what he said to me? 'A warrior shouldn't waste her time on frivolities.'" she fumed, mocking Robb using her best impression of his voice. "And apparently, you and I are 'green knights of summer, children more interested in playing at war than fighting in it.' I'm sorry, but he's forgetting one crucial detail- we saved his ass on Lothal!" Sabine ranted. "You know what, fuck him! I'm going back to my room." With that, she went into her room and slammed the door shut.

Ezra sighed and turned back to walk to the cargo bay. The truth of the matter was Robb didn't get along well with anyone on the ship save for Zeb, and Rex whenever he was called upon for a mission. Technically, Robb was under his command, as he was a lieutenant and commander of the cell's ground operations until Kanan could get back on his feet, which was doubtful.

On the other hand, Robb seemed to give respect and loyalty to only those he thought deserved it, which was pretty much narrowed down to a few people, and he certainly wasn't on the list, despite him outranking Stark.

He spotted Robb near the loading ramp, doing what he always did when he was bored; cleaning that damned sword of his. He walked up to the older man, still preoccupied with wiping down his blade.

"Stark," he greeted, trying to be courteous and brief.

"Bridger," the older man replied evenly, never taking his cold blue eyes off his task.

"Heard you argued with Sabine. Or, more accurately, chastised her for things she isn't even doing wrong," Ezra cut to the chase, crossing his arms.

"No," Robb corrected, "I'm simply giving her advice befitting of a warrior." He stood up to his full height and faced Ezra, his ice-blue eyes gazing into Ezra's sapphire-blue orbs.

For a moment, Robb looked not like a warrior, but a king to Ezra.

"And now I will give you advice, too," Robb droned. "You have the makings of an excellent leader, Bridger. You care about the men under your command, you are loyal to the crew, and you do not second guess yourself. As does young Wren," Robb complimented, to which Ezra felt a slight twinge of pride.

That twinge was gone with what he said next.

"However, you are also arrogant, reckless, and to put it mildly, petulant. Your demeanor when you don't get your way is often that of a pouty child."

"And you aren't petulant?" Ezra snapped. "You sit in here and brood all day and night, the only time we get to communicate is when we're on a mission, and you actively avoid any sort of relationship with us!"

Robb's eyes narrowed at him. "You don't know a thing about me, Bridger. Where I come from and the errors I've made. And I suggest that if you wish to remain on good terms with me, you will no longer test me."

Ezra scoffed at the older man. "How can your past be any worse than what I or Kanan went through? What did Sabine or Hera go through? What Zeb went through? You talk of petulance and fear, yet the only one I see acting like a coward is you, Stark."

Robb closed on him so fast that Ezra barely had time to reach for his lightsaber, their faces now mere inches apart.

"Your parents were ripped from you, yet you had a home to return to. Wren's uncle was killed right in front of her by her superior officer, yet she still has her clan. Hera's people are oppressed, yet she still has her father," he spat, the spittle landing on Ezra's face. "Kanan and Zeb come closest to what I went through, true enough, but they weren't pulled into oblivion as they watched everything they cared for ripped from them one by one. They didn't wake up in a place so far from home, so strange compared to the world they once knew, with no way to get back. They didn't have to spend five years learning everything again from the ground up, with no one else to teach them or count on them." Robb glanced down to see him clutching his lightsaber, holding it against his gut.

The Grey Wolf laughed, yet it was a laugh without any mirth or warmth.

"Oh, this is rich; you're threatened by me." His expression turned dark, and for a moment Ezra was reminded of Vader. "So, you think you'd be the first to try to kill me or the hundredth? The thousandth? Well, let me tell you something, Ezra of House Bridger." He began to poke his chest, making him back up several paces. "I've been wanting to die ever since I got to this galaxy! I've been wanting to rejoin my wife and family in oblivion for nigh on twelve years now! But the Force will not allow my death, be it in old age or sleep or war, though I do not know why! So, you want to be the man to kill me?" Robb grabbed Ezra's saber and pressed the cold metal handle further onto the skin. "Well, do it! Take your saber and gut me right now! I'm a threat to you and your entire family, right? DO IT! KILL ME! KILL ME! NOW! KILL ME!"

Robb beat his chest screaming for Ezra to kill him, and in that moment, Ezra didn't see a warrior, a king, a wolf, or even a threat.

All Ezra saw was a broken man, consumed by years of immeasurable rage, grief, and pain.

All he saw was the man whom he could become.

And in that instant, all the whisperings of the Sith Holocron, the illusions of power and grandeur, the anger and loathing he felt for himself, his master, for Robb, and for all his enemies, vanished away like morning dew, and he dropped his lightsaber to the floor. What had happened to Robb, that he had become this broken, brooding mess?

As if reading Ezra's thoughts, Robb looked down at him, his features now looking tired and worn with age, and spoke with a defeated voice.

"Do you want to know why you can't kill me, Lieutenant?" He asked rhetorically. "It's because I died a long time ago when I was young." With that, Robb brushed passed him, back into the main corridor to presumably go to his room, grabbing his sword along the way.

Ezra collapsed to his knees, trying to get a hold of his emotions and center himself. Was this his destiny? Was he to become like Stark, trying to hold on to everything only to lose it? To become something that cold, distant, and utterly broken?'

Was it the Holocron leading him to that fate?

All of a sudden, Ezra had the urge to throw the ancient Sith artifact out of the airlock and forget about it for the rest of his days. He did not think of it at the time, but he knew the looks of concern and dread he got from the rest of his team, particularly from Sabine and Zeb, had always been warranted.

At that moment, Ezra thought of the wounded, pleading men he coldly killed, the ship of Imperial scientists he callously blew up on the pretense of them fighting on the wrong side, the sick thrill of causing one Imperial captain, who was stationed on his homeworld at the time, pain by cutting his arm off with his saber before putting the man out of his misery- because it began to bore him.

He thought of the arguments he was getting into with Hera and Sabine more and more about his behavior, on and off missions.

He thought of the glares he both gave and received from Zeb, a man whom he thought of as an elder brother.

At that moment, in that one clarifying, horrific moment, he realized something.

He was no better or more righteous than the men he hated.

The Force nudged him in the direction of the balcony, and he looked up to see Sabine staring down at him, her brown eyes full of shock and worry. He took a deep, shaky breath before speaking to her. "How much of that did you see?" he asked.

"More than enough." She answered, her voice soft and lined with concern. "We should tell Hera about this. She needs to hear about what kind of man Stark is."

"Already have," Hera said as she walked into the cargo bay. Even Kanan, as blind as he was, could not have missed the fury on her face. "Ezra. Sabine. Details. Now."

Ezra knew better than to question Hera in this state, so he recounted all that had happened that morning, leaving no detail, great or small, out. Then Sabine recounted her argument with Robb to Hera, who kept a contemplative, if angry, face the whole time. When she spoke, her voice was full of iron resolve.

"We are going to talk with him. All of us." She commanded. "There is absolutely no excuse for his behavior, especially for a veteran soldier like him."

Ezra rubbed the back of his head. "Honestly, I think Zeb should be the one who broaches this topic to him. He's closer to Robb than anyone else on the ship."

"But not close enough to curb his behavior." Hera shook her head. "I'll talk to the others about this. In the meantime, Sato has a mission for us. Be prepared to receive the op order within 2 hours."

With that, Hera turned and walked into the cockpit. Sabine eventually followed her, giving Ezra one last, lingering gaze full of sorrow before leaving. After a moment, Ezra, too, left the cargo hold, his mind burning with questions, but one stood out among the rest; something Robb had said to him.

"It's because I died a long time ago when I was young."

---

He dreamed the night before the mission, which was a rescue operation, having fallen in a fitful sleep due partially to Zeb's snoring, partially due to the malevolent whispering of the Holocron, and partially due to Robb's words.

He walked through an unknown camp, in an unknown land on an unknown planet. Banners flapped gently in the summer night's breeze. Some banners showed a fist gloved in plate armor. Some showed mermaids and bears and giants. Some standards showed a white son blazing on a black field, while others were inscribed with a bloody red-flayed man on a white cross. The most prominent banners, however, were that of a snarling grey wolf's head on a snow-white field.

It was the same wolf emblazoned on the armor of Robb Stark, Ezra realized.

The soldiers themselves were strange to Ezra. They did not carry any of the familiar weapons known to any denizen of the galaxy, nor were there any signs of modern technology to be found. Instead of blasters, they carried maces, swords, spears, crossbows, and polearms. Instead of plastiod, they armored themselves in plate armor, mail, or padded jackets. But all knew hardship, it seemed.

He walked closer to the center of the camp; a ruined stone fortress by the look of it. He stepped inside and saw what looked to be the commanders of the army- for they dressed in far better armor and wielded better weapons than most in the camp- surrounding a tall, brash, grim-looking young man, sitting on a stone bench with an older woman that must have been his mother. There was something familiar about the young man, though he couldn't quite place what it was, yet.

"The proper course is clear," One of the commanders, who was wearing the sigil of a trout on his armor, declared to the rest of the camp. "Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his."

"Renly is not the King." The young lord spoke with a raised voice.

The commander with a fish sigil frowned at him. "You can't mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord!" he scoffed. "He put your father to death!"

"That doesn't make Renly king." The young man corrected his subordinate. "He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis!"

"Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?" The commander asked him. Before the young lord could respond, his commanders broke out into an argument. Some favored declaring for the elder brother, Stannis, while others touted Renly as the right choice. After a moment of this bickering, a giant man rose and bellowed, reminding Ezra of Zeb, somewhat.

"My lords. MY LORDS!" He shouted, getting the others to quiet down. "Here is what I say to these two kings." For his answer, the giant man spat on the ground, to the cheers and laughter of the men around him. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis, neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong! And piss on the Lannisters; I've my belly full of them." He got more chuckles out of that one. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, but now the dragons are dead." He drew a massive greatsword and pointed it at the young, familiar-looking man. "There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to; the King in the North!" At that, the giant man knelt before the young lord, who looked uncertain for a moment, then rose to his full height.

"I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle, and their iron chair, too! The King in the North!" Another lord declared the young man as his king, bending the knee.

"Am I your brother, Robb, now and always?" Another lord, just as young, asked him.

ROBB?

"Now and always." The now apparent younger Robb answered his friend, or perhaps it was his brother.

The other youth took his sword out and bent the knee. "My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, from this day, until my last day."

An older woman from the back raised her mace and shouted for all to hear. "The King in the North!"

Soon, the entire camp took up the cheer, bending their knees and raising their swords before this one boy, Robb Stark.

As the vision faded into another, Ezra could still hear Robb's lords shouting for him, praising him.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

The dream started to twist and distort. He saw many images, incomprehensible to him.

He saw a man who looked much like Robb getting his head cut off, on the orders of a boy-king.

He saw Robb, wounded and bleeding, getting stabbed by one of the generals from the previous vision.

He saw a man who looked to be Robb's brother fighting off a massive horde of…creatures…with a sword made of fire.

He saw a beautiful woman with silver hair, riding a great, fearsome black dragon, leading an army of many nations and peoples.

He saw a young boy being pushed off a tower by an older, blonde man.

He saw a mad old king on a throne of iron, shouting at everything and everyone.

"BURN THEM ALL!"

He saw Coruscant, Kashyyk, Dantooine, Lothal, and other worlds, once bright and vibrant, turn lifeless, cold, and icy.

"BURN THEM ALL!"

He saw two Jedi fighting on a planet made of fire and smoke.

He saw a beautiful woman giving birth to twins before dying.

He saw a burned and maimed man being put into a suit of black armor. Vader.

"BURN THEM ALL!"

He landed finally in a snow-covered valley, with ice-topped mountains on every side of him. He looked around to find any sign of life.

Of anything that grew in this desolate landscape, where the winds of winter howled relentlessly.

So far, his search was relentless, but upon closer inspection, he could spot something in the center of the valley, about a good kilometer away.

Trudging through the ankle-deep snow, while the cold winds bit through him despite his best attempts to keep warm using the Force, he made the slow trek to the object in the center, which was quickly becoming apparent to be a tree as he got closer.

A very large, white tree, at that, with blood-red leaves.

When he got close enough, he could see a face carved into the side of the tree facing him, smiling, yet weeping 'blood' from its eyes. Around the tree, he saw round stones circling it in some sort of pattern. From the tree, itself, Ezra could feel some sort of residual Force-energy. It was as if the tree was timeless, able to see past, present, and future without blinking one of its unmoving eyes.

As soon as he got close enough to the tree, Ezra felt compelled to touch it He laid a hand upon the ancient tree, on the bottom of its laughing mouth.

That soon proved to be a mistake.

For as soon as he withdrew his hand, he saw a vast horde of what he could only describe as zombies surround him, all in various states of decay. Some of the undead were relatively fresh corpses, barely showing any signs of decay. Others were almost nothing but bones and scraps of skin and armor.

Some of the corpses were stormtroopers, and some of them were rebel fighters. Some of them were clones. Most were human, and many were alien, but all of them had one defining, chilling feature.

They all had bright, lifeless blue eyes.

To his deepest horror and utter revulsion, he saw his friends amongst the undead. There Hera stood, with one lekku cut off and half her face missing. There Zeb stood, with his guts removed and one of his eyes stabbed out. There Kanan stood, his right arm dangling uselessly, hanging there by a tendon.

There Sabine stood, bald and rotting, her mouth lipless and decaying.

The dead soon parted, and out of the new opening, four riders strode forth on decaying black horses. These newcomers were not undead, that much Ezra could tell, but from what he saw, they were still just as dangerous, if not even more so.

Three of them were much the same; skin so pale it looked blue, fine white hair flowing from their head, and white beards adorning their gaunt faces, with each of them carrying some sort of sword staff, wearing black armor.

The fourth was different.

Instead of white hair, he had a ring of horns adoring his bald skull, reminding Ezra of Maul, initially. Instead of pale blue skin, his was white as the snow itself. Instead of a sword staff, he carried a wicked-looking battle ax. Ezra had a gut feeling that this was the leader of all the undead.

The leader of the undead looked at him, and now Ezra truly got a good look at him.

At first, he thought him to be Maul or at least a doppelganger, but when he got a closer look, he could not even give voice to his horror.

The thing up on that horse was himself, his facial features twisted and gaunt, his normally lively blue eyes cold and bright.

The evil version of Ezra looked upon him in derision and made a motion with his hand.

After that, all hell broke loose, as the horde of zombies swarmed upon him.

Ezra drew and ignited his saber, its brilliant green hue lighting up the darkness before him. He utilized all his skill fighting the endless waves of undead, all his power, all his strength. But it seemed like each weight he cut down was replaced with five more, and soon he was dragged to the ground.

He could feel their teeth chew upon his flesh, their hands ripping him apart limb from limb, their swords eviscerating his guts.

The last thing he saw before waking up, was the undead Sabine ripping out his throat with her teeth.

He never screamed as loud as he did now.

Notes:

A/N: Another chapter done!

Yeah, if you can't tell already, Robb is kind of a hypocritical, dysfunctional prick after his death. A major part of his story arc is going to be having to realize that despite everything being ripped apart from him, he isn't the only one on the Ghost who's lost everything they held dear. He's going to have to realize that he isn't the only broken man on this ship

The scene between Robb and Ezra with the former shouting his desire to die is based on the 2007 Beowulf film.

I was initially torn between Ezra discussing Robb's meltdown with Kanan, and the scene I eventually put in. I ultimately decided to put the dream sequence in. No, don't worry, there won't be a galactic-scale White Walker invasion (unless you want it.)

One thing that's changing is that Ezra is realizing the Holocron's malicious effect on him a good while before it happens in canon. Robb provides the example for him of a man who had everything yet lost it all due to pride and arrogance, which is what the Sith are all about.

I hope I'm developing the pairing between Ezra and Sabine adequately. I confess romance was never really my strong suit.

This chapter is dedicated to Ron Glass. May your soul wander freely through the 'Verse, now, Shepard.

Chapter 5: Sabine II

A bloodcurdling scream woke her up in the early hours of the morning.

Sabine quickly sat up, immediately regretting it as she hit her head on the top bunk, uttering a few choice words as she got out of bed in her pink shirt and black shorts. She didn't know what was going on, but the sorry son of a bitch was going to pay for waking her up like this.

Running out of her room to see what the commotion was, she stumbled right onto Kanan- or, more accurately, the blind Jedi Knight stumbled into her.

"Sorry," Kanan muttered as he blindly made his way in the direction of Ezra's room. Now, Sabine could hear a distinct whimpering, as well as Zeb frantically saying something she couldn't quite make out. When she saw Hera and Kanan rush into the room, she followed suit and was greeted by a ghastly sight.

Ezra lay on the floor, cradled on the floor in the fetal position, his normally olive skin paler than snow, and his eyes wide and unseeing. All he was doing - could do, it seemed, was repeating the same phrase repeatedly, shivering while doing so.

"The cold, the cold, the cold…"

And even though the temperature and climate aboard the Ghost were regulated, Sabine could have sworn she felt an unearthly chill wrap around her.

"Ezra, wake up!" Zeb yelled, frantically shaking him. "Damn it all, why won't he wake up? Karabast! WAKE UP."

"Move aside!" Hera commanded the Lasat warrior, who let go of Ezra and stood up, backing out of the way as Hera and Kanan knelt beside their ward- some would go so far as to say their adopted son.

Hera cradled the young man in her arms, gently rocking him back and forth, while her green eyes stared into Kanan's face mask, wide with fear. The next words she uttered from her mouth chilled Sabine to the core.

"Kanan, he's ice cold."

Those words stunned everybody in the room. When Kanan finally spoke, his words were full of trepidation. "This isn't some ordinary nightmare, then. It must be a manifestation of the Dark Side." He clarified. "Everyone else, get back. I'm going to try calming him using the Force."

"Will that work?" Sabine asked him. Frankly, she was worried about her teammate. Sure, at first, he had been this annoying, trash-talking street urchin with an obvious crush on her, but over the years the flirtations had ceased, and their bond, which had begun on shaky grounds, had blossomed into friendship, even sibling-hood.

But in the far recesses of her mind, something whispered to her that it could become something…more. Should be something more.

As hard as she tried to deny it to herself, she had to admit that the boy who stowed away on their ship over three years ago, was fast becoming a handsome young man. She often caught herself staring at him whenever she saw him shirtless, usually after the orphan-turned-Padawan got done after a hard day of training with Rex, Zeb, or, very seldom, Robb. He had turned, it seemed, from a scrawny, wiry youth into a lean, ripped man, scarred all over from the many battles the rebels fought against the Empire. But it wasn't just physical appearance that seemed to attract her to her slightly younger teammate.

He was still somewhat reckless and arrogant, true enough, but he was also fiercely loyal, courageous, and genuinely cared about the well-being of others. He was protective towards his friends and fierce in battle.

Still, though, he had some of his boyish charms. He was still a wisecracker and smooth talker at heart; she remembered once when he had successfully managed to get two farmers to settle their differences, all by buying them a few pints of ale and getting them to talk about their grievances with him.

Even with all the arguments lately about his newfound streak of ruthlessness.

"I honestly don't know," Kanan confessed, snapping Sabine out of her thoughts and into the present. "I've never tried this technique before. But nothing else so far is working…"

"…so, we have nothing else to lose by trying," Hera finished. "Except for possibly his life or sanity," she sighed. "But if you think this is the way, I trust you completely."

Sabine held her hands to her mouth, closing them into nervous fists as Kanan put his left hand on Ezra's forehead, breathing ever slowly until it became a steady rhythm. Ezra soon stopped the muttering, and his breathing slowed down to match Kanan's. His bright blue eyes widened in fear and began to relax, and the tone of his skin slowly returned to its natural olive coloring.

Eventually, Kanan and Hera let go of the youngest member of the crew, and Ezra sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes while Sabine let out a sigh of relief she didn't even realize she was holding in.

"By the Old Gods." Robb whistled, having snuck in past Sabine while she was concentrating on the commotion. "What in the name of the Father was that?"

Kanan turned his head to the sound of Robb's voice. "An ancient technique taught by my master. She only used it once, on another Jedi who was plagued by some Darksider's magic. It's inherently risky, for both the Jedi who's performing it and the person it's being performed on. You could lose your life or your mind," he clarified. The blind Jedi Knight then whispered, barely audibly, "I was afraid that I would have failed him, again."

"I know of something similar," Robb said. "But it's a power only a few on my homeworld possess, and it's more or less used to bond with beasts than it is to cure night terrors."

Ezra groaned, and everyone turned to him, with Hera wrapping him up in a motherly hug.

"By the Force, I thought I lost you there for a moment. Please for the love of the Maker, don't scare us like that again."

Sabine's closest friend nodded, still a little shaken by the nightmare. "I'll keep that in mind next time." He attempted to joke, but the humor was extremely thin.

"Ezra." Kanan began, in that fatherly voice of his. "That was no ordinary nightmare or even one borne of traumatic stress. That was some sort of manifestation of the Dark Side, and it was affecting you in one of the worst possible ways."

Ezra looked like he was about to snap at Kanan, but then appeared to remember something and calmed down. "I know, master." He leaned against the bulkhead. "I tried to wake up, but I couldn't. All I could do was lay in that cold wasteland, with those…things…all around me."

"What things?" Kanan asked. Sabine looked on at her friend with concern in her copper-brown eyes.

Ezra sighed. "I guess I'll have to start at the beginning if it will make any sense." He looked around at everyone but kept his eyes on the ever-stoic Robb, which Sabine found strange.

"The dream started with me walking through this military camp, on a world I didn't recognize. Kanan…the people on that planet were primitive. They didn't even have slugthrowers!"

"What kind of backward-arse planet doesn't even have hyperdrives, let alone firearms?" Zeb asked before he was elbowed sharply in the gut by Sabine, who shushed him as Ezra continued with his tale.

"I ended up walking to the middle of the camp, which was a large, stone fortress of some kind. In the great hall of that fortress, there were these nobles, for a lack of a better word- all grim, fierce, and fiery. And in the middle, I saw you."

Everyone turned to see where Ezra was pointing, and to Sabine's surprise, he was pointing at Robb, who tried keeping his stone mask on, but Sabine could see something behind it.

It was the shock of recognition, of being found out.

"You were there, arguing with your lords." Ezra continued. "They declared you their king after one of them pointed out that 'the North' had ruled itself for thousands of years. 'The King in the North', they called you." Ezra paused and seemed to gauge Robb for a reaction before continuing again. "I then saw many different places and events, all unfamiliar to me. They ranged from Robb getting stabbed in the chest by one of his lords to two Jedi fighting on a volcanic planet. The one thing that tied those visions together was an old madman shouting 'Burn them all'. Finally, I arrived in this valley." The young man involuntarily shuttered, before speaking again. "It was…dead. Cold. Lifeless- except for one thing. There was a large tree in the middle of the valley; white with red leaves, and it had a laughing face on it, weeping blood. I could feel the tree was strong with the Force, and so I went to touch it." He drew a deep, shaky breath. "And then those…creatures…surrounded me. They were all dead, and yet they still walked," he lowered his voice, still obviously afraid of whatever those zombies were. "And all of you were among them, zombies like they were. And then I saw the things leading them. Beings made of pure ice, riding on dead horses. I saw their leader, and at first, I thought it was Maul, due to the horns on his head. But then I looked at his face….and it was me. He commanded his minions to attack me, and I tried to fight them off, but they kept coming at me, and when they finally dragged me down to the ground…you guys ripped me to shreds with your hands…and your teeth." He took a few more shaky breaths, before looking at Robb again. "Is it all true? Were you a king?"

Robb didn't answer him, he just stared at everyone with that same hard look on his face. Hera stood up and crossed her arms.

"I think you owe us an explanation, Robb." She chided. "When he mentioned your role in his vision, you knew what he was talking about."

"I don't think-," Robb began, clearly trying to dodge his way out of his, as he had done multiple times in the past.

Sabine wasn't having it.

"Listen here, burc'ya!" She yelled, moving between him and the door while poking him in the chest. "I have had it! Ever since you joined half a year ago, you've done nothing but be spiteful towards us when we don't deserve it. You don't eat with us, talk with us, or do anything with us. All you do is sulk in your hole and feel sorry for yourself. I don't know whether you are too proud or just a coward, but this ends here! My friend wants answers…needs answers; answers that you have! And you think you're so high and mighty that you won't give him those answers? Fuck you!" She spat.

Anger flashed in the Grey Wolf's eyes, and Sabine thought for a moment that Robb would try to strike her, although it was quickly quashed by the realization that Zeb would rip him in two if he tried. But then, she saw him do something so unexpected it seemed surreal.

He laughed.

And this was no bitter, mirthless chuckle, either; this was a hearty laugh, full of memory.

Robb stopped laughing. "You remind me of my sister." He said, a slight smirk still on his face. "She was just as willful and wild as you are." He moved over and took a seat on Ezra's bunk, pulling a silver pendant out of his pocket, which was in the familiar shape of a wolf's head. He studied the pendant for a moment, lost in memory, before turning his gaze upward to meet the crew.

"Sabine is right," he spoke, his voice now tired again. "I am a coward. Every one of you has done nothing but show me acceptance and courage, and I still shit on your honor, turn you away, if only to shut out the pain. You do deserve answers, young Bridger. Painful and hard as they may be for me."

Robb seemed to steel himself before beginning his tale of how he came to be here. "Ezra is completely right on where I come from. My home world has no true name, though some of the maesters were wont to call it 'Planetos'. The continent where I was born, however, is called Westeros, which was divided into Seven Kingdoms ruled by one king, and I was the proud son of its northernmost, largest kingdom, simply called 'The North'."

How creatively named, Sabine sarcastically thought as Robb continued.

"I was the son of the Warden of the North, Eddard Stark. My mother was Catelyn, and I grew up with five brothers and sisters; Jon Snow, Sansa, Arya, Brandon, and Rickon, along with the ward Theon Greyjoy. The Starks had ruled the North for over thousands of years, and under my father, the North loved us, for we were men of honor and justice. We were, for the most part, a happy family; we had our disagreements to be sure, but when it mattered most, we were a pack." He smiled at the memory, but then the smile soured. "That all changed the day King Robert Baratheon rode into Winterfell to name my father his Hand; his chief advisor. That was the day the wolves began to die."

Stark then began to recount to them everything in detail. He told them of Bran's crippling by Ser Jaime Lannister, of his father's capture and execution by Joffrey Baratheon, the new king and secret bastard of Jaime, of the devastating conflict known as the War of the Five Kings, which saw entire kingdoms laid to waste. He told them of Theon's betrayal and murder of Bran and Rickon, and the Sack of Winterfell. He told them about his wife, Talisa Stark, whom he had met as a medic. He finally told them, after what seemed to be a moment composing himself, the hardest part of his tale.

"Near the end, I was winning every battle I fought." He began again. "Stannis' defeat at the Blackwater, however, coupled with the loss of Winterfell and my folly in breaking my oath to Lord Walder Frey, changed things irrevocably. The Tyrells cemented their alliance with the Lannisters, and now I was outnumbered nearly six to one. I was cut off from my kingdom by the Ironborn, and Tywin was whittling down my numbers little by little. It was then, when I was planning a great assault on Tywin's stronghold of Casterly Rock, to swing the war back into my favor, disaster struck again. Rickard Karstark had murdered two of our hostages in cold blood, out of some twisted desire for justice, and he repaid his deed with his head. His son, Harald, never forgave me and marched his troops- nearly a quarter of my remaining troops- back home with him. I couldn't assault the Rock without those men, and so I went crawling back to Lord Frey, to beg for his forgiveness. And so, he agreed, for a price; my uncle Edmure Tully would marry Roslin Frey in my place. I had thought that things were going to finally change for our family."

"But they didn't." Kanan calmly observed. Robb nodded.

"No, they did not. Unbeknownst to me, Lord Frey and one of my chief advisors, Roose Bolton, were plotting with Tywin, conspiring to have me killed, with Bolton becoming Warden of the North and Frey becoming Lord Paramount of the Riverlands." He looked at the floor. "Weddings in Westeros are supposed to be sacred affairs, protected by the laws of gods and men. To break the sacred rites of hospitality is to invite eternal damnation on one's soul. But such matters mean little too ambitious men such as Bolton. When my men were drunk, and my lords and I gathered and feasted in the great hall, they sprung their trap. The Boltons and Freys turned on us, slaughtering us with swords and crossbows. My wife…" He drew in a shaky breath as he steadied himself with both his hands. "My wife was stabbed to death by Black Walder. She was carrying our son…killed before he could have ever been born. I crawled to her, bleeding heavily from my wounds, and found the strength to stand, as Lord Walder mocked me for breaking my oath and my mother implored me to leave the castle- as if leaving were possible at that point. I tried to speak to her, to reassure her that everything would be alright when Roose stepped in between me and my mother. He whispered to me 'the Lannisters send their regards', and plunged his dagger into my heart." He paused, letting everything sink in for them. Sabine's anger and disdain for the man evaporated in a second, replaced by shock.

No, it couldn't be. How could a man die and be brought back? He had to be lying, there was no other explanation!

As if to silence the unspoken criticism, the older warrior took off his shirt, revealing a hard, scarred body underneath. The scars told of battles won and lost, ranging from cuts to punctures, but the most shocking was the puncture wound on his chest, right above the heart.

It looked like it had pierced all the way through.

The silence in the room was deafening. After a few tense moments, it was Hera who finally spoke up.

"I…" she began, obviously trying to find the right words. "I don't know what to say. I've never heard of a man coming back from the dead, before. Kanan?" The Twi'lek pilot asked her constant companion- and her not-so-secret lover, per Sabine.

"No," Kanan answered immediately. "Per the Archives, before they were destroyed, it should be impossible. And as far as I know, the Sith never succeeded in their immortality experiments. Maybe Robb could offer us an explanation." He offered, though it seemed to just frustrate the Grey Wolf.

"I don't bloody know why I came back!" he snapped. "And I certainly don't know why I came here, to this galaxy! Maybe it was a freak accident, maybe it was 'the Will of the Force'. I. Don't. Fucking. KNOW!" Robb clenched his fists, then unclenched them. "I've spent twelve years in this galaxy trying to figure it out. And I'm no closer to the answer than I was before." He looked around, with a tired, defeated visage. "At least…at least you all know why I'm so bitter, now." He shook his head and walked to get out the door, presumably to head back to his room to brood.

This time, Sabine didn't stop him.

She couldn't stop him.

"That pendant," Ezra spoke quietly, at last. "It must be the only thing he has to remind him of his home."

"And I thought I lost everything on Lasan," Zeb affirmed. "At least a few Lasat survived that catastrophe. Him, though…

"…he was dragged here from the netherworld against his will," Hera finished. "Regardless, he should realize that he isn't the only broken person on this ship."

"What do you propose?" Sabine asked, eager to hear out her plan.

"A family should hold no secrets from each other," Hera answered. "I want us to sit down after this next mission. There, everyone will talk about their past, counting each one of their memories to the others until the present day. No secrets, no holds barred." Hera shook her head. "We have too many enemies now to be fighting a war amongst ourselves."

"I agree," Kanan stood up, gripping Hera's hand for support. Together, the two made their way out the door, and into their room.

Chopper bleeped something furiously, to which Zeb sent a scowl his way. "No, flaying Robb alive isn't the way to teach him some manners, you sadistic little bucket of bolts."

The crazy droid just bleeped and booed some more, to which Zeb replied. "I don't care how much fun torture is for you, the answer is still 'no'."

The psychotic astromech did his best impression of a 'harumph', and shocked Zeb, laughing maniacally back to the cargo hold, with a now-furious Zeb chasing after him, yelling "That's it, you're going straight to the scrap pile, droid!"

Sabine chuckled at the antics of the two, before realizing that only she and Ezra would be left in the room. The two regarded each other silently for moments, unsure of what to say.

Ezra was the first to break the awkward silence. "I dunno about you, Bean, but I think I've had enough sleep for tonight. Wanna grab some breakfast?"

Sabine shook her head. "Nah, it's alright. I could use some more sleep, honestly. You woke me up early, remember?" she playfully chided, a smirk gracing her features.

Ezra shrugged. "Suit yourself." He got up and trudged his way out of his room. Before he could go any further, he stopped and turned around. "Thanks for checking on me, by the way." He fell silent again. "Good night, Sabine."

With that, he turned and walked off towards the mess, with Sabine gazing after him, a slight, affectionate smile gracing her lips, as she regarded the young man whom she may or may not have feelings for.

"Good night, cyar'ika," she whispered.

Notes:

A/N: Well, that's done with.

Yeah, not a lot of action in this chapter, but I wanted the confrontation between Robb and the crew to happen soon. Granted, he still has a long way to go in accepting them as "his pack", though perhaps that will change soon. Don't worry, he isn't completely getting back to his old self. He's still more cold and ruthless towards his enemies than he would have been in the War of the Five Kings, and that's going to cause tensions with the more idealistic members of the Rebel leadership such as Mon Mothma.

Next chapter is much more action-oriented, and will start where SWR Season 3 starts; the rescue at Naraka prison.

After that chapter, I plan on a Kanan-POV chapter. After that, who knows?

Till the next!

Chapter 6: Hondo I

Hondo whistled an old tune. It was one for which he did not quite remember the lyrics, but he remembered the rhythm well enough.

Time eats away at all memory, both collective and individual, so if one asked Hondo where he first heard it, he would have most likely replied that he could not remember, but he had been singing it ever since he was a child. It was a simple song about a man who slept with a beautiful woman and the woman's husband who killed him in a duel. It was a song still sung most commonly in the Outer Rim, most notably among those well-traveled, such as himself.

Whistling this tune brought Hondo back in memory to the good old days when he was a king among pirates, and his men were the scourge of the Outer Rim, giving other crime lords like Jabba and Prince Xizor a run for their money. Now…

Now he was a shell of his former self, stuck rotting in an Imperial prison, with a disgraced Ugnaught miner, who went by the name of Terba, as his only company.

"Quit whistling that damned song already!" Terba grunted in his native tongue, clearly annoyed with Hondo, again. "I've spent three fucking months in this damned cell, listening to you reminisce about the 'good old days' and whistle the same fucking song over again! So, for the last karking time…SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Hondo gave Terba his trademark grin, one which he knew sent most 'honorable' men into a teeth-gritting rage. "Terba, Terba, my friend." The old Weequay pirate began. "Have you no love for the classics? This song was written thousands upon thousands of years ago, by men far more cultured than you or I."

"Cultured?" Terba snorted, incredulously. "The song is about a guy fucking another man's wife, and then getting cut down by his sword. How in the good name of the Force is that 'cultured'?"

"Still, far better than what the bands play nowadays," Hondo countered, pointedly ignoring Terba's question. "What's the name of the band most kids are now listening to, 'Beastie Boys'? There's no life in that garbage! No sense of true rhythm or style!"

"You shut your whore mouth!" Terba squealed, with Hondo bemusedly letting out a fake gasp. It was so easy to get under the Ugnaught's skin it was almost pathetic. "The Beastie Boys are the best band that's come out of this decade! Better than the shit you sing constantly, at any rate."

A long silence passed between them before Terba looked at the door. "So, you said that someone was busting us out of here. You know who it is?"

"Aye, I do," Hondo nodded. "He's an old friend of mine. Met him a few years back on Garel, before the Empire invaded the place. He's a former street urchin turned Jedi and Rebel Agent."

"Now I know you're makin' shit up," Terba grunted. "Everyone in the damned galaxy knows that there are no Jedi left. The Inquisition saw to that if I recall correctly."

"That's where you are wrong, my…scented friend," Hondo chastised. "I know a Jedi when I see one and trust me when I say that Ezra Bridger is the genuine article."

"I'll believe that when I see him," Terba snorted, still apparently unconvinced. "Speaking of which, when is he busting us out?"

"Hmm, good question. From what he said-," He trailed off as he heard footfalls outside of his door, but the sounds were not of stormtroopers marching down the hallway, or of officers walking to and from their tasks. No, these sounds were of a group of people running, their voices quiet and controlled, as if they feared that they would be caught by the guards. As they got closer, he thought he heard voices outside their cell. Hondo shushed Terba, in order to hear better.

"6609. This is the cell, Sabine, you're up," a muffled voice sounded outside his door. Even though he couldn't quite make out the owner, he was certain of who it was. Finally, the boy had come for him!

Well, him and his companion.

"Ugh. I still can't believe that we're busting this guy out of prison!" he heard Ezra's female Mandalorian friend complain to him, to which Ezra seemed to have a ready reply.

"Trust me, Bean, we need the information he has," he spoke with all the confidence and authority of a commander.

"You heard the boss, open the door, Bean." Hondo heard the Lasat, Garazeb, tease Sabine, who just seemed to moan.

"Don't encourage him, Zeb," she retorted. Mandalorians. Always so…laconic in their humor.

"Well, he is in here because of us," he heard Ezra try to reason, only for a newer, more stern and mechanical voice to speak up.

"That bugger brought whatever trouble he's in upon himself. Need I remind you that he's betrayed you and your friends multiple times in the past?" the Kuati-sounding voice spoke.

"Nope. But like I said, we need him right now." Ezra's voice retorted before the door slid open, and the rebels stepped into the cell. Hondo got up to greet them all, ready to flatter them but was stopped dead in his tracks by the black armored hulk standing right behind the Lasat and the Mandalorian.

The Grey Wolf himself.

Oh, sweet karking kriff. Okay, stay cool, Ohnaka. You've smoothed your way out of tougher situations. I mean, you did capture and ransom a Sith Lord, after all! How hard can it be to woo a guy who's known to repay treachery for sticking the traitor's head on a pike?

"Purple-guy, Mando-girl!" he exclaimed, much to the chagrin of the two rebels. "And…Ezra Bridger, can that, truly be you? You've grown into quite the young man!" he complimented, not entirely out of falsehood.

"Hondo, it's good to see you, too," the boy greeted him back. Hondo acknowledged him back, before turning to greet the last person on this planet he was expecting to see.

"And finally, the one and only Robb Stark!" he tried to flatter. "You're not mad about that one incident…are you?"

"You mean the one where you left me to fend off a battalion of stormtroopers, by myself, while you ran off with the treasure that you promised to split with me?" Robb calmly asked, crossing his arms. "Or the one where you gave me only a tenth of the promised reward after you 'swore' you would give me a quarter?"

"Er…the former." Hondo sheepishly admitted, while the Lasat snickered and the Mandalorian girl just sighed.

"Oh no. I only languished in an Imperial prison for half a year because of that, before Saw Gerrera busted me out as I was set to be executed. Water under the bridge, I swear it." Robb sarcastically swore, waving his arms around for effect. "But, if you want to make it up to me, you'll come with us."

"And you better have the information you promised," Sabine added, threatening him.

"Great, another person you've screwed over! Is there anyone you haven't met that you haven't tried to cheat?" Terba snapped, waving his fist at him. Honestly, Hondo could safely say…no.

"Who's the pig?" Zeb asked him, pointing to Terba.

"Oh, him?" Hondo began nonchalantly. "That's Terba, the source of my information." He leaned in close to Ezra. "You guys wouldn't believe the secrets he knows!"

"You're right; I don't believe you." The Lasat deadpanned. The Mando-girl also seemed to share in his enthusiasm, or the lack thereof.

"Oh, what fun," she sardonically stated. "Now were rescuing two people."

"Hey, that's twice the fun." Ezra attempted to joke, or diffuse the situation, rather, while Robb just snorted.

"More like twice the trouble," he grumbled, before shooting his head up in alarm. "We've got company."

"There they are! Stop-," A Stormtrooper rounding the corner attempted to command before he was shot dead in the chest by Ezra. A flurry of blaster bolts erupting out of the carbines of the fallen soldier's comrades was the expected response, and Hondo, Terba, and their rescuers hightailed it out of there, heading to what he assumed to be the landing platform.

"Specter 4, this is 5. Change of plans, we're going to need a '44 Scoop at the landing platform."

"On my way, Specter 6," came the mechanized voice of the ship's pilot, who Hondo forgot the name of already.

They came upon an elevator, which would take them to the lower levels, straight to the corridor that would lead to the platform.

"Here, make yourself useful, for once," Robb said, handing him his modified SE-14r pistol.

"Ohhh!" Hondo exclaimed, examining the weapon, his mind already spinning with possibilities. "I haven't seen one of these babies in a long, long time. This should fetch a nice price on the black market." He was now practically salivating. A weapon belonging to the infamous Grey Wolf, scourge of the Empire? Oh yes, the credits would practically FLOW into his account.

"You do anything with it, I'm taking your hand as recompense," the Grey Wolf calmly warned him.

Hondo gulped, failing to notice Terba trying to reach for one of Sabine's blasters, before the young warrior slapped his hand away, as the Lasat behind them growled at the little piglet.

Soon after, the elevator stopped, it's destination having been reached, and the group began making their way to the landing platform, which was suspended over a near-bottomless chasm.

The Imperials knew how to make prisons and fortresses near impenetrable, mused Hondo, for this maximum-security prison was built into the cliff face of a massive gorge; there was only one major way in and out, not counting access hatches and service doors, and that was the landing platform.

Three stormtroopers appeared around the bend, and three dead stormtroopers hit the floor after successive blasts from Sabine, Robb, and himself. Hondo eyed the SE-14r again.

"Oh, I'm definitely keeping this!" He exclaimed, much to Robb's apparent displeasure.

"No, you aren't." The wolf growled before Ezra interrupted them.

"C'mon, this way!" He shouted, leading the others down the hallway to the platform. Standing in their way was a squadron of stormtroopers, all firing their carbines at the group, filling the space in between with deadly red fire and the smell of burnt metal, and what Hondo saw next reminded him of days long past.

Ezra holstered his blaster and drew his blade, its hue a blazing, brilliant green, immediately launching into action as he spun in the air like a whirling dervish, before bringing his blade down on the nearest trooper. The hot plasma seared through plastoid, fabric, flesh, and bone alike in an instant, as the trooper was bisected by the green blade before Ezra moved onto his next target.

The troopers fired frantically at the young Jedi, their volume of fire increased for a few, brief moments, but nothing they threw at him could stop the Force-powered young man, as he cut, sliced, and thrust his way through each and every one of the Empire's troops, their cries of surprise and horror cut short by the blade of the Jedi.

"Is that really Ezra?" he exclaimed in amazement at his abilities. "He reminds me of the Jedi of old, now!"

"Most of the time," the Mandalorian girl replied wistfully, though Hondo could pick up something else in her voice. It was soft, barely noticeable, but it was there. What it was, Hondo could only really guess at, though most learned men would have probably said 'affection'.

Wait, was she…in love with Bridger?

Before he could continue that train of thought any further, the doors to the platform outside opened, and Hondo felt himself being shoved, as Terba sped past him.

"Sorry, you old bastard, but the deal is off!" the Ugnaught miner shouted at him. "I'm taking all the credit. YOU can continue to rot here and sing that damned kriffing song!"

"What do you mean 'the deal is off'?" Hondo shouted, incredulous. Of course, everyone has a price, even Ugnaughts. "You greedy little pig!"

"I'm free, bitches!" said pig happily snorted, as he threw his arms in the air in apparent joy. "Do you hear me, you Imperial shits, I'm kriffing FREE!"

"Terba, WAIT!" Ezra shouted, spotting the danger right as Hondo did- an AT-DP waiting for them on the platform. "There's a-."

His warning was cut short by the AT-DP firing its main gun, and Terba's life was cut short as he disappeared in an explosion of fire, dust, debris, and blood, with some of it raining down on the group.

"Well, what do you know?" Hondo attempted to joke. "I guess the deal is off." The only thing that his joke earned, however, was a deadly glare from Zeb and an elbow in the gut from the Grey Wolf, who then looked at the walker.

"We have to do something about that walker!" Zeb shouted from behind cover, as a trio of stormtroopers had joined the walker on the landing platform, firing at them from behind some cover of their own.

"Well, whatever we do, we have to make it quick, or we're not going anywhere!" Sabine shouted back as she threw a thermal detonator at their pursuers, which destroyed a portion of the corridor they had come out of when it blew up, blocking off the troopers in the building and allowing the rebels a momentary reprieve from that angle.

"Don't worry, Sabine. I got us into this mess, I'll get us out," Ezra offered, but before he could do anything, he was interrupted by Robb.

"No. You are in command of this mission, Ezra. The team depends on you for guidance. Let me take this one," the Grey Wolf said, an eerie calm surrounding the armored warrior. Ezra looked like he was about to protest, but then tersely nodded. "Alright, but if you die…" Ezra warned.

"As the old saying among the Ironborn on my homeworld goes," Robb began, inexplicably removing his helmet and sitting down facing the walker. "What is dead may never die."

The Imperials stopped firing at them, apparently confused by the Grey Wolf's behavior.

"Uh, Robb? What are you doing?" Ezra asked, apparently confused. "I don't think sitting down in the middle of a firefight is going to…" The boy trailed off as he looked at Stark, his blue eyes going wide at what he saw before him. "Oh, sweet kriffing hell…"

"What, boy, what is it?" Hondo ran over an asked, before he saw what Ezra was talking about. He gasped as he looked at Robb, and saw one of the most disturbing sights he would ever see.

Robb's eyes, which he remembered being cold, blue sapphires, were now completely white.

Suddenly, a bone-chilling scream erupted from the far end of the platform, where the Imperials were.

"AARRRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHH! GET OUT! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! PLEASE! NAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHH!" Came a panicked, desperate voice. Out of the walker's access hatch tumbled the driver, who feel a good twenty feet onto the ground, much to the shock and horror of his comrades, as he was still clutching his helmet-encased head. He promptly sat up, however, and calmly removed his helmet.

"Revan's balls," one trooper cursed, running over to his friend. "What the kriff happened to you, Rorrick?"

"Man, it was like some sort of demon was possessing you!" Another trooper spoke up, worriedly. "C'mon, Rorrick, we need to get you to the medic."

The driver who fell out of the walker smiled at his two friends, but this was not a smile of thanks, from what Hondo could tell.

This was a smile of malicious intent.

As Rorrick was being helped up by one of his associates, he suddenly grabbed his combat knife, jabbing it into the jugular of the first trooper, before grabbing the dying man's blaster carbine and shooting the second one point blank in the chest.

"What the kriffing hell?" the sole trooper remaining said, turning around to face the driver before also being shot in the face by the apparently psychotic driver, who looked around at the carnage before blinking and snapping back to reality. Rorrick let out a wail of horror and despair, collapsing to his knees in shock, his mind apparently unable to process what he had done to his comrades before Hondo turned his attention back to the Grey Wolf.

His eyes were now back to normal, and he had put back on his helmet, handing his rifle to Sabine, before advancing on the poor sap, presumably to put the man out of his misery.

"YOU!" the distraught trooper pointed to Robb. "YOU DID THIS, YOU EVIL SON OF A BITCH! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" he screamed in rage, pointing his carbine at Robb, but by then it was too late anyway.

The Grey Wolf swatted the man's rifle out of his hands, before picking him up by the throat and holding him over the ledge.

"I did." his mechanized voice stated, calmly, yet darkly. "But you won't kill me. The Force will not allow it…yet."

"What do you want?" Rorrick asked him, his voice now coming out as a choked whimper.

"What do I want?" Robb answered, rhetorically. "What the same as my friends want; Palpatine's head on a pike. And more- to go home, namely, although that's impossible. Now, it's my turn; what do you want?"

"To be free!" the man gasped

"So, you can report me to your superiors? No, I think not." the Grey Wolf snarled. "You Imperials are below my contempt. You talk about bringing order and peace, yet all I see you do is beget more bloodshed and misery."

"What makes you better than us, then, huh?" Rorrick spat, the glob landing on Robb's face. "What makes you different?"

Hondo swore that Robb must have narrowed his eyes when he said this. "The difference is, Imp, that I don't massacre villages. I don't murder those too weak to fight- not like you."

"Please…" The Imperial begged him. "Just let me go."

Robb paused for a moment and appeared to think it over, before bringing his prey somewhat closer to him, still suspended over the chasm, and gave him his dark, malevolent reply.

"That…is a very poor choice of words," was all he said, before releasing his grip on the man.

Rorrick screamed all the way down, his voice growing distant as the chasm swallowed the pilot up.

After that, there was nothing but silence, as the Grey Wolf turned to face the crew and Hondo, who was sure that he had a little piss coming out of him at that moment.

"What?" he snapped at them, apparently expecting another berating from them.

"Robb," the girl began. "That was…a little unnecessary, don't you think?"

Before the Grey Wolf could retort, Ezra's commlink started to chirp.

"Ride's here," he stated urgently, just as the rest of the Imperials were bursting through the blockage in the corridor. "Get ready to jump!"

What?

"Wait, 'jump'?" Hondo asked, incredulous. "Why do we need to…"

He was cut off by Zeb, as the Lasat practically dragged him over the edge. Hondo screamed, but only a millisecond later, found himself face down on a familiar durasteel hull. He chuckled loudly as he entered the Ghost, which blasted off out of the atmosphere, and eventually into hyperspace once it left Naraka's orbit.

Ah, yet another successful escape by Hondo Ohnaka, he thought, pleased with the outcome of the events as he sat down near the dejarik board in the bay. This…is going to be fun!

But despite his thoughts, he could not help but shudder as he thought of the events of the day.

Robb Stark. Now, there is a man who was not to be crossed. But is he a man…

Or a monster?

Notes:

A/N: Done! Finally! After a couple rewrites and delays, not to mention Christmas and New Year's, I'm finally finished!

When I said more cold and ruthless, I meant it. No, he's not kicking puppies and generally other Stupid Evil crap, he's simply far less merciful and good-natured than he was in the past. Think of him as the Anti-Vader, another broken, bitter, and ruthless man. Now, there IS a sort of honor to him, however queer it might seem, just as there is this strange sense of honor with Vader.

Yes, the Beastie Boys exist in this galaxy, too. I was inspired to put this in after seeing a funny piece of Sabezra artwork on Tumblr, which featured Sabine listening to one of their albums.

Oh, and a fair warning, a major plot twist is coming up in the next few chapters involving Robb and a certain character. For those of you incredibly observant, you might have picked up on this in this chapter. If you do know what it is, DON'T mention it in the comment section. PM me the answer and I'll write you back.

Otherwise, have a great New Year, and may the Force be with you.

Chapter 7: Kanan I

Summary:

A/N: Another chapter is done.

More clues I've dropped in this chapter for the big reveal that's coming up next chapter, which will, of course, be a Robb POV. Why is Sabine singing that song? How does the Bendu know Robb? What is that tree he mentioned? If you know the answer, again, don't put it in the comment section. PM me your guess or answer, and I'll confirm or deny it to you.

Now, I wanted to develop the father/son relationship between Kanan and Ezra in this chapter, as well as throw in some Kanan-x-Hera moments as well. Hope I did alright in that regard.

"It's Always Summer Under the Sea." belongs to Ramin Djawadi, HBO, and George R. R. Martin. I do not claim to own it in any sort of way.

Until next we meet…

The world was grey.

For Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight and former Commander in the Grand Army of the Republic, the world was nothing but various shades of grey. Once, it was full of color, but ever since Maul took his sight on that accursed Sith planet, all he could see was various shades of grey.

All he could now feel was despair, self-loathing, and an overwhelming sense of guilt for Ahsoka's death. Hence, he shut himself off from everyone, Hera and Ezra especially. It pained him, but what else could he do? He couldn't see, so he couldn't fight, and he certainly couldn't afford cybernetic eyes, not with the scarce funds the Rebels had.

Kanan.

There it was, that voice again, calling him out into the wild.

I see you.

He didn't know who it belonged to, or where it even came from. All he did know, however, that whoever the voice belonged to was extremely powerful…and ancient.

Come to me.

"Kanan," a more familiar and comforting voice spoke from behind. Kanan could not see anymore, but he didn't have to. He knew Hera's voice and soothing presence, even if blind "I was hoping to see you at the briefing." She informed him, her voice full of concern.

Kanan didn't speak for the longest moment. How could he, after all that's happened?

"I heard Ezra's doing well," he opted to say instead, deliberately avoiding her unanswered question.

"He has been stepping up," Hera informed him, though Kanan could detect the annoyance in her voice directed at him. "But…uh…you know, he blames himself for whatever happened to you and Ahsoka."

That brought on a whole new level of guilt and shame for Kanan. Ezra blamed himself? No, it wasn't his fault. How could he have known Maul's nature- the insane former Sith had blinded everyone to his true intentions.

"Well, I don't," he stated with a pained clarity. "I never have."

Hera's voice became steel. "Try telling him that," she icily replied, before receding footsteps told Kanan that she had turned around and walked back to the briefing room, presumably to vent.

He sighed. She was right. Ezra deserved to know that he didn't blame him for what happened on Malachor, no matter what Ezra might have thought of his own role in that matter.

He stood, a little shakily, and began to make his way back to the Ghost, trying not to stumble into anything in his grey, unseeing world. Along the way, he tried to make out the presences of everyone in the Force.

So far, everything was a blur when they were farther away; his connection to the Force not what it once was. True, he had rescued Ezra from that Dark Side-induced nightmare, but even that had been an act borne of desperation, not faith.

"Jarrus," another familiar voice spoke, this one nearly void of emotion.

Speaking of faith.

Robb's presence chilled him to the bone as if Chopper Base was suddenly subjected to the worst blizzard in a decade, despite its location on a dry, rocky world. Darkness and light swirled around the former king as if the conflicting, dualistic nature of the Force was embodied in this one man. He wouldn't go as far as to say that Stark was the same as Vader or the Inquisition, however. The man had some form of honor, that much was clear. But it was also very clear that the Grey Wolf did not share his view on how to win battles and defeat one's opponent. He repaid kindness with courtesy, and betrayal with death.

A man to be wary of, that was for certain.

He nodded to where he thought- felt, rather- the man was.

"Stark," he greeted evenly, crossing his arms.

"I've come to tell you that your Padawan is looking for you. He says he's got something to tell you, something that he's been wanting to get off his chest ever since you pulled him out of that nightmare." the Grey Wolf informed him, obviously in a hurry to get somewhere, despite the careful concealment in his voice.

Kanan vaguely wondered for a moment if Robb had been hearing the same, ancient voice he had been hearing, as well, calling him out into the desert.

"Alright," he nodded instead. "I was just on my way to talk to him. I guess this just gives me some extra impetus." he attempted to joke, trying to regain some of his old charisma, though he felt that his attempt at humor fell flat with this man when Robb didn't say anything.

"Indeed..." was all the Grey Wolf said before sighing. "Look, Jarrus, I'd love to stay and chat, but I really must be going. I've important business to attend to." Stark brushed passed him, clearly intent on getting somewhere. Kanan turned around.

"Robb!" he called, and he heard the footfalls of Robb's armored boots halt. "May the Force be with you."

He didn't hear Robb acknowledge him in a verbal way, but he did hear the pause before the footfalls began again, fading away until he heard the tell-tale roar of a speeder bike starting up, indicating that wherever Robb was going, it was far and off away.

Again, he wondered if Robb had heard the same voice he had.

Soon enough, after a few moments of walking slowly as to make sure that he would not bump into anything or anyone, he soon came to Ezra's door. He hesitated at first, unsure about how to begin the conversation, before he took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"Come on in." His apprentice greeted when the door slid open. Kanan heard a shifting of sheets and assumed that Ezra had been laying down on his bunk when he knocked on the door.

"Heard you wanted to talk to me about something," Kanan said, leaning on the bulkhead while trying to face his Padawan. He heard Ezra sigh, and an overwhelming sense of guilt and shame suddenly hit him. He quickly attuned himself to whatever Ezra had to say.

"What is it?" he asked, curiosity and trepidation seeping into his voice, in equal measure.

Ezra sighed. "Remember what happened on Malachor?"

Kanan nodded, unsure where this was going.

"Well, I told you that I got rid of the Sith Holocron almost immediately after that, remember?" he started to explain, the guilt increasing in his tone, which began raising red flags in Kanan's mind.

"Yeah, I remember," he replied, the concern now rising in his voice. "Why?"

Ezra did not respond to him with words. Instead, Kanan heard his student get up and go over to his dresser. He then felt something being placed in his hands as he heard Ezra sit back down.

The object was smooth, made of what felt to be glass and bronzium. It was pyramidal in shape, and Kanan could feel the malevolent presence of the Dark Side seeping out of it.

No, he thought in abject horror as realization dawned on him. It can't be…

"The Sith Holocron?" he began slowly, still trying to come to terms with it. His shock only increased when he felt one of the edges of the pyramid was out of alignment. "You opened it?"

Ezra's answer was quiet. "Yeah, I did."

"Ezra," Kanan began. "You know that only those who use the Dark Side of the Force can open this." Please, tell me you're not walking down that path. Please tell me that it was Robb or Maul who opened it.

"I know that!" Ezra suddenly snapped. "But what else was I supposed to do, without you to teach me? To guide me? I had nothing else to turn to! I needed to get stronger, better, to protect all of you!" He began to yell. "And with it, I was winning battle after battle." But as soon as his yelling began, it subsided. "I needed to be stronger…so I wouldn't hurt you again. Any of you."

Kanan felt whatever rebuttal he had melted away. Now, at last, he understood. Ezra blamed himself for everything that happened on Malachor and was trying to amend for what he perceived to be his error…in the worst, most desperate way.

So instead of yelling at him, the elder Jedi pulled him into a hug, his arms wrapping fully around Ezra's slimmer frame. "I never blamed you, Ezra." He whispered to his apprentice, comforting him as the younger of the two Jedi broke down in sobs. "I've never blamed you for any of it. Neither has Hera or anyone. So please, don't blame yourself."

"I…" Ezra sniffled a few choked sobs. "I thought you would have been angry with me."

Is that what he thinks? "No," he replied, close to tears himself as he removed his mask from his face, making sure Ezra saw him, even if he couldn't see Ezra. "No. I was afraid for you. I was terrified that you had lost your way."

He heard his ward take deep, shaky breaths- the air hitting Kanan's chest before he calmed down. "I was…until I talked to Robb the other day…and the nightmare."

Of course, Kanan realized. Ezra began to reject the Holocron, and whatever was inside it didn't want to let its grip on him go, so it enthralled him in a nightmare, hoping to break him.

His course was clear. The Holocron needed to get out of here, as fast as possible, and as far away as possible. The only question was how. As far as he knew, Maul was most likely searching for it; from what he knew of the former Sith who blinded him, the man was the very definition of obsessed.

Come to me.

The mysterious voice again spoke to him, commanding him to find it.

I have what you seek.

Kanan felt the Holocron in his hands again. Somehow, Ezra's rejection of the darkness within tied to the Grey Wolf, but how? It wasn't like he could get any answers out of the man if he asked; even when Robb had confessed to them about how he came to be, he still preferred to keep to himself always.

And his abilities… Zeb had described to him what happened on Naraka, that Robb didn't just take control of the mind of an Imperial trooper- he had dominated and tortured him mentally. And then, the Grey Wolf callously threw said trooper over the edge of a landing platform, apparently just because he was bored. But how did he have those abilities, to begin with?

Kanan remembered that he had once tried to probe Robb, to test him for Force-sensitivity. And the Force did push back, somewhat, but unlike what he felt from nearly any other Force-user, the Force emanating from Robb felt primal.

Raw.

"You know, I can't let you keep this." Kanan reminded Ezra at long last, who had let go of his embrace.

"Yeah," he sniffed. "I know." Kanan couldn't see Ezra's sheepish grin, but he did feel the guilt and shame emanating from his apprentice washing away, replaced by relief. "I don't need it anymore." Another long silence passed between them before Ezra burst it again. "Kanan…thank you…for everything."

He could not help but smile as his heart warmed.

"You too, Ezra. You too," he replied as he exited his room.

As he left the Ghost, he distinctly heard singing coming from Sabine's room. It was a sweet, yet mournful song.

"It's always summer, under the sea. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh…"

---

The desert was a conundrum, Kanan found, as he trudged his way through the sands and rocky outcroppings of Atollon, trying to use the Force to find his way towards the source of the voice even as krykna spiders followed him at a distance, obviously viewing him as a food source or a threat.

He didn't really feel like correcting them.

It was about an hour of walking later, as he really started to feel Atollon's heat bear down on him when he felt the ground give way to some sort of depression.

"You out here, too?" he heard a familiar, stentorian voice call out to him. He then heard the tell-tale footfalls of Robb Stark's armored boots walking towards him. "I take it you've been hearing the same voice as well, calling you out here."

"Yeah," Kanan confirmed. "The question is who, though, or what?"

"I don't know," Robb replied. "But we're going to find out, one way or another."

"Agreed," Kanan agreed with Robb, and so the Jedi and the former king began to call out, hoping to find whoever called them out there in the first place.

"Hello?" the Jedi Knight cried out, trying to find whatever summoned them there.

"Anyone out there?" Robb called. "We're here to answer your summons."

"We can sense your presence!" Kanan added. "Come out!"

Just then, the ground began to rumble in front of them, and out of it rose…something, judging by Robb's trailing off

"By the Old Gods and the New…" The Grey Wolf quietly swore. Whatever the thing that summoned them was, it must have been big. Kanan could feel the Force practically flow from whatever this gigantic being was.

"Hello there." The giant thing boomed, it's voice carrying over the coral mesas. "Ah. The two of you heard my call. Good. The imbalance between you two woke me from the deepest of slumbers."

"Imbalance?" Kanan repeated, not quite sure what this being was getting at.

"Yes…" The thing drew out. "Your presence is like a violent maelstrom on this quiet world."

Kanan sucked in a breath. "You're a Fore wielder!" He exclaimed, kneeling before it. "But...not a Jedi."

"Hmm." The being harrumphed. "Jedi and Sith wield the Ashla and Bogan, the Light and the Dark, true enough. But I…I am the one in the middle. The Bendu." The creature called himself. "Now, what do you call yourselves?" The thing- Bendu- asked them.

"I am Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight." Kanan greeted first.

"And I am Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell," the wolf greeted next, a measure of impatience creeping into his voice.

"Hmm…I sense great conflict within you, both," Bendu observed. "Your thoughts dwell on your apprentice, while yours dwell on the family you lost.

"How do you know?" Kanan asked, confused as he pulled out the Sith Holocron. The Bendu must have seen it, for he began to chuckle.

"Oh, Kanan Jarrus and Robb Stark, I have been watching over all your lives, with a thousand eyes and one." The object floated away from Kanan's hands, and into Bendu's. "Ah, what's this? Interesting."

"Careful with that!" Kanan warned. "It's-," he was cut off as he heard the telltale sign of it opening. "-dangerous."

"How so?" the Bendu asked him, obviously intrigued, though Kanan couldn't be sure whether he was playing with him, or not.

"It's a Sith Holocron," he explained. "It's an agent of evil. My student had been using it, and I'm still afraid of whatever effects it might still have on him."

"An object cannot make one good or evil." Kanan heard a graveling sound as if the Bendu was shaking his massive head. "The temptation of power, forbidden knowledge…even the desire to do good can lead one down that path. But only you can decide to follow it or not. And from what I have seen, your apprentice has rejected it, utterly, thanks in no small part here to Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell."

"Not always," Kanan replied quietly. Me being blind can't be changed.

"Ah, so your conflict becomes clear, but yours, Robb Stark, remains clouded..." the Bendu trailed off. "Both of you will be tested. You, Kanan Jarrus, will remain here with me, and you, Robb, will go into the cave behind me. There is a tree growing in there, one that will answer your unanswered questions…mostly, and help you to restore your own balance."

Kanan could sense Robb's confusion, and then resignation, as the former King in the North got up and walked to the cave entrance.

"Do not worry about Robb, Kanan Jarrus," the Bendu reassured. "He might be stubborn and sulky, but the fire within him is still there, buried deep underneath."

"It almost sounds like you know him." Kanan inquired.

"I did, once," the Bendu confirmed. "But that is a tale for another time. First, let's start with this." He sensed the Bendu motion to something "I assume that is what you think is keeping the krykna away?"

"The resonator, yes." Kanan nodded, to where he put the resonator in the ground. So far, the tonal metal poles were really the only effective defense against the krykna.

But why wasn't Robb attacked?

As if to answer his question, the Bendu picked up the resonator…and promptly crushed it between two massive fingers.

NO!

"Hey, HEY!" he yelled in desperation. "What did you do?!"

"I am helping you." the Bendu replied calmly.

"That," Kanan seethed, "was the only thing protecting me from those creatures! And you destroyed it!"

"You believe that," the Bendu retorted, "but you must learn to see things differently, now."

Kanan scoffed. "Look, I can't see anything! Not anymore!"

"No." the Bendu gently rebuked him. "You are unwilling."

"Are you saying there's a way to restore my vision?" the Jedi Knight hysterically asked him, though also not without hope.

"Your physical sight…no." The Bendu answered. "That cannot be healed. But I can teach you to see if you are willing to learn."

The Force is the answer, came Bendu's true, mental reply.

Kanan took off his face mask. The world was still grey, but there was a smote of light coming through the greyness He took a deep breath, and faced the mysterious being known as the Bendu.

"What must I do?" he asked his resolution firm and stood. "So, tell me, how must I restore my sight?"

"You must be empty; there is only the Force," Bendu informed him. "Now, turn, and walk forward."

Kanan did so, reluctantly. "I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

"And why not?" the Bendu asked, inquisitively.

"Because of the spiders," Kanan answered, annoyed. "I hear them."

"Ah, so sound relates them to you. What else?" the ancient being asked.

"I can feel them in the ground, their vibrations when they move," the blind knight answered him, still walking forward.

"Indeed, you are perceptive," The Bendu mused. "Are they close?"

Kanan paused for a moment. He didn't sense any krykna around. "No." He answered the Bendu. He was sure of it.

"Continue on then." The Bendu commanded, seemingly satisfied. "How else do you relate to them?"

"From before, in the caves," Kanan answered. He didn't really want to revisit that memory, not when it had almost cost him the lives of his team, most notably Rex's. "A foul smell, old, decayed. It was as if they had the stench of death about them."

"Ahhh…a fascinating description," Bendu replied wistfully. "You see much for being blind."

"Well, that's because I saw them…" Kanan argued. "When I had my sight."

"Then picture them, in your mind," the ancient Force-wielder instructed. "Are they close now?"

"No..." Kanan replied a bit more irritable than he should have. What was the point of all this?

"Are you sure?" Bendu inquired, a knowing edge in his voice. Now Kanan was truly on edge. He reached out with his hand…

…and felt a smooth, hard shell while hearing a frightening clacking sound coming from nibbling beak and mandibles.

Shocked, Kanan backed away. "What should I do?" he asked Bendu, afraid for his life.

"What do you want to do?" Bendu inquired back.

"Run!" was his honest answer, but then he heard a scuffling behind him. "But there's another one behind me."

"Ah-ha!" the Bendu exclaimed! "You are beginning to see! Now, be empty, and continue onward!"

Kanan nodded and gulped, but as he stood still, he noticed something. The krykna, violent, aggressive species that they were, were doing something completely odd.

They were remaining docile- curious if anything.

"Why aren't they attacking me?" he asked, caution and confusion mixing equally in his voice.

"It is not in their nature," the Bendu informed him, to which Kanan again scoffed.

"It has been in my experience," he replied to him, to which he heard Bendu shook his head.

"It is because you do not see them, my Jedi friend. Look closer," he commanded. Kanan shook his own head frantically.

"There's nothing!" he replied. "I can't sense them!"

"Look within," Bendu replied, gently. Kanan redoubled his efforts and deepened his connection to the creature.

"I sense…" he began. "Fear."

"The spider's?" Bendu asked. "Or someone else's, perhaps?"

Kanan looked within himself. He saw faces flashing before him.

Ezra.

Hera.

Sabine.

Zeb.

Chopper.

Robb.

Maul.

Vader.

He saw Ezra falling from a station in the clouds. He saw Atollon base wither and die under the green fire of Imperial cruisers. He saw the cold, calculating face of an Imperial Chiss admiral, clothed in a white uniform, surrounded by various works of art.

"Ezra!" he exclaimed in terror, activating his lightsaber, it's sapphire blue hue beginning to make itself known to him.

"No." he realized. "It's not Ezra, or Robb, or the spiders. It's…me..." Now, the solemn truth rested heavily on him, and the greyness of the world finally peeled back. "That's how they see me. Fear, anger, grief, hatred," he deactivated his saber. "That's how I see myself."

The world, once blurry, became more and more clear, and even though Kanan could no longer see the physical world, he saw the Force itself flowing through everything.

And it was beautiful.

The living Force flowed and ebbed throughout the spiders, the rocks, the sand, and the coral, giving off more vibrant color than anything he ever saw with his real eyes. Sabine would love to see this, he thought wistfully.

"Ah, your sight returns!" the Bendu declared triumphantly.

"I distanced myself from everything. From the Force, from Ezra, and from Hera," he replied, feeling guilty for his actions. Perhaps…though…perhaps what happened on Malachor wasn't his fault, any more than it was Ezra's or Ahsoka's.

Perhaps, he should take his own advice, and forgive himself.

"Your connection to the Force allows you to see in ways that others cannot. If you can see yourself, you will never be truly blind, Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight," the Bendu advised him.

Kanan smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in what felt like years. "I understand." He replied, and then turned and began making the trek back to the base, where he saw his family's Force presences beckoning him like a warm light.

"Where are you going?" Bendu asked him, amusement in his voice.

"Home. My family needs me." He replied. By the Force, he would not abandon Hera or Ezra, ever again.

"And what of Robb, hmm?" The Bendu pressed.

"You said it yourself, this is a test he must face alone," Kanan replied, confident that the Grey Wolf, no matter how surly he was, could face whatever Bendu would throw at him.

"And what of the spiders?" the ancient being again pressed.

"I can see them, so there's nothing to fear." the knight replied, his confidence building with every step.

"And what of this?" Bendu asked his final question, holding aloft the Sith Holocron. Kanan stopped, a smirk forming on his features.

"Keep it," he simply replied. "As a gift."

He heard the Bendu's bemused laughter and his soft reply to the Holocron.

"Now, let's go see how Robb is faring in the cave, my friend."

Kanan walked on, his countenance one of determination and confidence.

The world would never be grey for him, again.

Notes:

A/N: Another chapter is done.

More clues I've dropped in this chapter for the big reveal that's coming up next chapter, which will, of course, be a Robb POV. Why is Sabine singing that song? How does the Bendu know Robb? What is that tree he mentioned? If you know the answer, again, don't put it in the comment section. PM me your guess or answer, and I'll confirm or deny it to you.

Now, I wanted to develop the father/son relationship between Kanan and Ezra in this chapter, as well as throw in some Kanan-x-Hera moments as well. Hope I did alright in that regard.

"It's Always Summer Under the Sea." belongs to Ramin Djawadi, HBO, and George R. R. Martin. I do not claim to own it in any sort of way.

Until next we meet…

Chapter 8: Robb II

For being such a dry, sandy world, the cave Robb now found himself in was surprisingly damp, as if this were the only spot on this damned rock with actual running water. Supposedly, there was a great tree in the middle of this cave that would be able to help answer his questions, although whether Robb could trust the Bendu was another matter, entirely.

The ancient being didn't seem to be plotting any sort of betrayal, but then again, he hadn't thought Theon or Roose to be craven traitors, as well, with the former costing him his brothers and his home, and the latter costing everything else. So, Robb was wary of the ancient Force-wielder, if not downright distrustful.

He eyed the holes the krykna had dug into the side of the cave with caution. From what Kanan had told him about these spiders, they were not a threat to be trifled with. So far though, the krykna had refused to attack him, preferring to stay in their coves and rest, instead.

How much longer is this cave, he thought with a bit of impatience, as another sharp turn came up ahead. It feels like I've been trekking through this damned tunnel for over an hour now.

Patience, Robb, came the Bendu's mental reply, everything will be made clear once you reach the center.

"You keep telling me that." Came Robb's sarcastic reply as he avoided tripping over a root. Due to the low-light conditions, and the fact that he was trying to conserve power in his helmet, he couldn't make out what color the root was. The fact that he hit a tree root was surprising in itself. It seems, however, he did not have to wait long, for as he rounded another bend, he could spot a faint, soft light in the distance- the visor filtered out the worst of the glare coming off the damp, tan rock.

The light got brighter the closer he got to the source, and now he could hear the gushing sounds of running water, meaning that there was a stream nearby, and where there was running water, there was vegetation.

Life.

A few more meters and Robb stepped into something wet. He looked down to see that he had stepped into the stream. Looking up, he saw that he had finally reached his destination, and what he saw…

He had no true words to describe the emotion.

Standing in the middle of that cave, surrounded by green grass and a bubbling brook, awash in the pale moonlight coming through an air hole in the cavern ceiling, was a large, white tree covered in red leaves.

The tree Bendu had been talking about…was a weirwood.

"How?" he whispered, taking off his helmet and walking shakily towards the ancient tree. "How?"

"How do you think?" came the bemused, yet soft reply of the Bendu. To Robb's further shock, the Bendu did not appear to him as a giant, stone creature, but rather as a large, black raven, perched on one of the large boughs of the tree.

This raven was unlike other ravens, however, for it had three eyes.

"It was brought here, eons ago," Bendu continued. "After humanity took to the stars."

"Impossible." Robb stuttered. "My homeworld lies beyond this galaxy! Beyond this universe!"

"Or so you think," Bendu chuckled knowingly, threatening to drive Robb up a wall. "Do you remember the day you and Jon scared Sansa down in the family crypts? Or when King Robert came to Winterfell?"

Robb froze up. How could this creature know what had happened all those years ago? How could the Bendu know his life's detailed, private memories- memories that he had only shared with his brothers?

"No more riddles," he growled. "No more tricks. How do you know what I did during those days? How can you know my memories?" his voice picked up in an octave, and he pointed toward the three-eyed raven in frustration. "Who. Are. You?"

The raven seemed to sigh. "Oh, Robb," Bendu spoke, his ancient voice seeping through the cavern, as though he bore the burden of the galaxy itself, and had been doing precisely that for a very long time. "I remembered a time when we laughed and smiled at each other when you and Jon taught me to wield a bow. I remember a time when you told me never to give up, even after I was crippled."

The raven hopped down from the bough and flapped to where Robb was. Then, in a blinding flash of light, the raven was gone.

In its place was a boy- no, a man Robb thought he would have never seen again...

His own younger brother.

"Bran?" he whispered, scarcely believing his now tear-filled eyes while he looked at his brother, who looked like he had aged only ten years, walking again. Suddenly, everything that had happened to him and their family- father's execution, the war, Theon's betrayal, the Red Wedding, his resurrection…everything…came crashing down upon him, and as he embraced his brother in a tight hug, he did everything possible to prevent the sobs from wracking his body.

"I missed you, too, big brother," Bran gently greeted back as he returned the embrace, his voice sounding less deep and mysterious, and more like a man of the North.

"How is this possible?" Robb asked, wiping away a tear from his eye. "I thought that Theon killed you and Rickon. Hung your burnt corpses above the gates of our home."

"He didn't," Bran corrected him, sighing as he did so. "He killed a couple of farm boys that looked like us. We had escaped north, Rickon went to the Last Hearth, whereas I went beyond the Wall to find the Three-Eyed Raven, Brynden Rivers."

"How are you able to walk again?" Robb exclaimed, his voice still shaky. "Maester Luwin told us that your injuries were impossible to heal."

"For a mortal man, in that time and place, aye, they were indeed impossible to heal," Bran nodded solemnly, then smiled in wistful remembrance. "But for an immortal Force-wielder, who apotheosized after his role in the final battle? Well, everything is possible with the Force. Here you stand again, after all," Bran's smile turned into a sad frown. "I remember hearing the details of your death from Sansa, and what they did to your body from Arya," he shook his head. "So many evils were visited upon our family, that by the time we defeated the great darkness only Jon, Arya, Sansa, and myself were left standing."

Robb's heart fell upon hearing the news. Rickon was dead, too? His laughing, wild little brother, a babe in all but age…cut down by the cold, unfeeling world. Did the gods know no end to their cruelties?

Were they all dead?

Robb shook himself out of his thoughts, and concentrated on Bran, again, before nodding to the tree behind him. "How did the weirwood get here, Bran? How is it that you are here, in this galaxy, as an immortal, powerful being, no less? How are you walking?"

Bran rubbed his chin. "It would be far better if I showed you. Or rather…if you talked to our family?"

What?

Robb stuttered again for a few moments. "H-how? Our family is dead, Bran. Lost to the void of Oblivion," he finished, sadly. "And it is all my fault."

Bran chuckled, bemusedly. "Robb, there is no death. There is only the Force. And it flows throw everything. The rocks, the trees, the stars…even the sword you carry. And brother, it flows through our family like it does no other," he pointed to the tree. "You are a warg, Robb. You know this already, and I see your skills have surpassed mine when I walked in mortal flesh, although your use of it on sentient life somewhat concerns me. But you are also a greenseer. The last greenseer. You can enter the nexus of the Force and see paths, past, present, and future, that no other Force-sensitive can see without the aid of powerful objects." His brother took his armored hand, and with a strength that surprised Robb, walked him over to the wierwood. "Take your hand, Robb. Lay it upon the tree, and you will learn."

Robb looked at his brother, confusion etching his features. "Learn what?"

Bran's face became like stone and his eyes were like hard chips of ice. "Everything," he said, before nodding to Robb, commanding him to do as he asked. Robb took a deep breath and placed his hand upon the white root of the ancient tree.

Almost immediately, he felt himself being carried through time and space, looking at events both strange and familiar.

He saw his father's execution.

He saw Jon beating the pulp out of someone in Bolton garb.

He saw himself being stabbed in the heart by Roose.

He saw Jaime comfort his sister as they were both buried alive.

He saw Jon again, wielding a sword that glowed red, facing down a horde of monsters.

He saw Arya slitting Walder Frey's throat.

He saw Bran's fall from the Broken Tower.

He saw Theon save his sister from being riddled with arrows.

He saw a silver-haired woman on the back of a mighty black dragon, commanding it to burn thousands upon thousands of undead.

He saw Kanan and Ezra face off against a black armored warrior wielding a red lightsaber.

He saw hundreds of armored Mandalorians kneeling before Sabine, who was wearing her armor decorated in the colors of her house.

He saw Bridger pick up an ancient mask.

He saw a blond-haired young man and the black armored warrior from before, now unmasked and pale.

He saw an impossibly large battle station firing on a helpless planet, obliterating it in an instant.

He saw two Jedi warriors clash on a burning world, their sapphire blades contrasting with the crimson and onyx landscape.

He saw a woman on her deathbed giving birth to twins, a boy, and a girl.

He saw the Imperial cog burn, a phoenix rising out of the ashes.

He saw a pair of cold, blue eyes, and a lifeless planet covered in ice and snow.

Finally, he felt himself land in a green meadow. The sky was a familiar shade of dark blue, the air crisp and cool, and around this meadow stood a mighty forest, evergreen with pine and crimson with heart trees.

And in the center of this idyllic paradise, sitting and laughing and running and playing….

…was his family.

His pack.

He walked- no, stumbled, rather- over to them, his feet picking up speed and his breath shortening with every step until at last he breathlessly embraced his wife.

"Talisa," he sobbed, the dam of his emotions now fully broken. "I'm here, my love. I'm here."

"Robb," she soothed her weeping husband. "Shhh, it's alright, my dear."

He refused to let go of her, wanting to hold on forever in fear of her being ripped from him again until a strong, calloused hand on his shoulder caused him to pause and turn around.

He stared into the face of his proud, just father, his dutiful, fierce mother, a much older Arya, and Jon, the latter looking older than even their lord father, wild Rickon, sweet Sansa- who had also visibly aged well beyond when he saw her last, gentle Hodor, and a boy who could not have been older than two.

His son.

Tears still brimming his eyes, he looked around at his pack assembled around him. "How is this possible?" he asked, his voice now hoarse. "I died and saw nothing. I landed in a strange place, with none of you there around me," he turned to Jon and Arya. "How are you old and grey? What in the name of the old gods is going on?"

Jon chuckled slightly. "Well, brother, that's what happens when you pass at the ripe old age of seventy-five."

Seventy-five?

"Seventy-five? What in the blazes are you talking about? It's only been twelve years since my rebirth into the galaxy!" Robb replied, feeling more and more confused.

Arya frowned. "Typical of Bran to keep something a secret," she sighed. "Robb, you didn't travel to a different…dimension…or whatever. You were sent forward eight thousand years in time."

Robb's legs dropped out from underneath him, and he almost fell backward, if not for the strong hands of his father and Jon easing him down into a sitting position so he could catch his breath. He had been sent forward in time eight thousand years, and had not landed in a completely different world as he had thought for all these years. He didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or do both.

In the end, he could do neither.

All he could do was look at them all with a broken, sorrowful expression.

"I failed you, all," he whimpered, feeling less like the man he became, and more like the boy he once was. "I fought for our family, and I only ended up bringing ruin to you all."

"Robb," his father began, in his fatherly tone of voice. "You did not betray our family. You did not burn Winterfell to the ground, or massacre your men at the Twins. You were not responsible for the outbreak of the war, nor were you responsible for the sins of those truly responsible."

"But I trusted Theon," he replied brokenly. "I trusted my generals, and in my arrogance and pride, I didn't see the daggers in their smiles. I chose you over my kingdom," he said to Talisa, who placed a comforting hand on his shoulder whilst his mother knelt beside him. "And because I chose you over my people, I killed us all. And now I'm back," he looked around for an answer, his dejectedness at long last surfacing. "Why?"

"What does it matter?" Jon interjected. "You're alive, again. You go on, and fight for as long as you can, and clean up as much shit as you can."

Robb shook his head. "I thought I knew how to do that, but I don't. Jon, I've done horrible things just to survive; murdered, stole, extorted people. I've even tortured a man with my powers," he shook, remembering well several instances where he had used his warging powers, first discovered a few months after his rebirth, to ill-effect, including his torment of that Imperial walker pilot. "I failed."

"Good," his mother replied, softly. "Now, go fail again, my son."

"How?" he asked again, looking around for another answer.

"By accepting these 'Specters' as your new pack," his father answered him, in a tone that brokered no argument, the way only Eddard Stark could. "Remember what I taught you, Robb. When the snow fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies…"

"…but the pack survives," he finished, slowly gaining some of his composure back. "I honestly don't know if I can do that. It's been so long since I trusted anyone."

"Then start now." his wife commanded, cupping his face with her hands. "Robb, you cannot go on being forever broken. You must make yourself whole. Promise me, Robb," she asked, wiping a tear from his eye. "Promise me that you will move on with your life."

"I will, Talisa," Robb promised, though it sounded hollow in his ears. "I promise you, for the sake of our family and our son."

"Good," she gave him a tearful smile, then let go of his face. "It is time for you to go, Robb."

"Go?" he replied in confusion. Suddenly, everything began to fade out, as his family waved at him. Everything soon began to disappear, as he felt himself being pulled back to the weirwood tree.

"We will always be with you, my son." He heard his father's voice echo in his mind. "We are one with the Force, and the Force is with you, always."

He soon found himself back at the weirwood, staring at Bran, who was holding some sort of pyramid-shaped object.

"No!" Robb cried frantically. "Let me go back! I want to be with them!" He tried to touch the tree again, only to find that it would not let him go back.

"It doesn't work like that, Robb," the older Bran shook his head sadly. "If I left you in the netherworld for too long, you'd slowly start to fade, not just in body, but also in spirit. You'd eventually become something nameless and shambling, unable to remember yourself or others."

Robb cast his eyes down. "But I was home, Bran," he attempted to explain. "I was with my wife and my son, with mother and father. With Jon, and Arya, and Sansa, and Rickon."

Bran shook his head, again. "Your home is not there, Robb," he rebuked, placing the pyramidal object in a nook on the tree. "Your home is now with the crew of the Ghost. Let them in, Robb. You cannot afford to shut yourself in and play the bitter loner, anymore," Bran now stood in front of him, looking at him, and through him. His brother-called-Bendu sighed and rubbed his chin "I have seen many paths to the end of this war with the Mad Emperor. Many of these paths involve suffering and pain, but all of them revolve around a few key figures; Bridger, Wren, you, the Son of Skywalker, and Vader, to name a few." Bran pointed up towards the sky. "To liberate the galaxy from Palpatine's grasp, Robb, you must find our homeworld. There, you will find the keys needed to break the back of this so-called Empire."

"Where is our homeworld?" Robb asked him, to which Bran wearily shook his head.

"I cannot tell you that, Robb. I can only show you the road to your destination, you must traverse the path yourself. And you must do so relatively quickly," his voice became like iron. "The mad fool Palpatine has unleashed something in the Unknown Regions, something that can and will wipe out all life in this galaxy if not stopped. Something…familiar..." Bran looked towards the entrance of the cave. "You must be leaving. Your pack needs you."

"What about you?" Robb asked him. He didn't particularly feel like losing his only remaining family member.

"I am an immortal Force-wielder, Robb," Bran laughed bemusedly at him. "I go where I please and do what I want. Do not trouble yourself with me," he nodded, then transformed into his raven state and flew out of the cave, but not before giving one last farewell. "Remember, Robb, the Force will be with you- we will be with you, always."

It was sometime later that a renewed Robb Stark stepped out of the cave into Atollon's desert, the night sky painted black and blue against the dull red hues of the sand spires. Robb looked towards the moon, his pendant in his left hand, and his right hand gripping the hilt of his sword. He wondered if Palpatine had gotten his message, yet. That no matter what the tyrant threw at them, it would never break the sons of winter. His days were numbered, and sooner or later, his head would be rotting on a spike for all to see. He looked down at the pendant in his hand, the clasp he had retained from all those years ago, and smiled in remembrance, and for the first time, hope for the future.

"C'mon, let's go home. Our family is waiting for us."

Notes:

A/N: Yay! Another chapter is done.

So, Robb has learned his brother is a shapeshifting, immortal Force-wielder, and that he actually hasn't been transported to another dimension, rather, he jumped forward in time 8,000 years from the Red Wedding. Hopefully, the plot twists paid off.

As you can see, I am setting more plot twists and turns up. For whom and how, that is for me to answer, and for you to speculate.

Now, Robb will learn to accept his new pack, but that doesn't mean his ruthless streak will go away. He was raised in a medieval society, after all, one that is far more brutal and chaotic than the one presented in Star Wars.

Also, I've seen the new clips for "Trials of the Darksaber", and I must say, Sabine and Ezra have a lot more in common than previously thought, and that Kanan is right for being hard on her, especially when she thought she was being clever by using that repulsor.

I haven't decided on which POV to go with next. I am thinking either Pelleon, Sloane, Vader. Now, if I go with Pelleon, first, it WILL tie heavily to what we saw in Hondo's POV. Actions do have consequences, after all, and Robb's will have consequences.

Till the next, and remember, the Long Night is coming…

…and the dead come with it.

Chapter 9: Sloane I

There was something about hyperspace that was, oddly enough, soothing for Rae Sloane, Vice Admiral and Commander of the Imperial Fifth Systems Fleet.

The kaleidoscopic hues of blues, blacks, and whites, all swirling and dancing like a whirlpool near the shore of a northern coast, reminded Rae of something out of a painting. Chaotic, yet orderly, in its own way. Blue also reminded her, however, of a most frustrating, yet intruding, opponent- the former Jedi Padawan Kanan Jarrus.

She had met the younger man years ago, on Gorse, posing as one of Palpatine's agents. Incidentally enough, he had helped her expose a conspiracy involving the local Count, but that did not mean she had to trust the man, let alone regard him as an ally, as she had come to find out was a terrorist and a fugitive.

But the crimes committed by himself and his little crew didn't compare to the atrocities perpetrated by that butcher, the mysterious and bloodthirsty Grey Wolf.

She had seen the after-action reports. Entire squads on Lothal and several other worlds had gone missing during their patrols. Officers were dragged off during the night, and when the rescue teams had found them, they found grisly sights; heads of Imperial personnel, lined up alongside roads, gates, or stuck near monuments on pikes, with chilling messages written in the blood of his victims. It had gotten bad enough on Lothal at one point that entire companies were becoming borderline mutinous, refusing to go out on patrol where they were sure a monster was waiting to take them out, predictably leading to a rise in insurgent activity on the planet.

Oh, Pryce and Tarkin both had tried the usual methods, of course. Riot control, brutal suppression, and even scorching entire villages, all to find just one man. Rae snorted in contempt. There were times when the rod had to be required to maintain peace and security, true enough, but it seemed more and more that nearly everyone in the Empire, His Grace included, was forgetting that there was a carrot part of the equation, too. Rae didn't like the Rebellion; they were committed to bringing back a corrupt, damned near anarchic system that was responsible for so much chaos and upheaval in the galaxy, after all, but she saw why a man would be pushed into extremism- keep prodding him too far, he loses his fear of you, decides he has nothing left to lose, and starts slitting throats, preferably yours. No, it was far better to temper the rod with the carrot, the iron fist with a velvet glove. A ruler, in her opinion, needed to be just and stern when it required, but also merciful and compassionate when needed.

A good example of this would have been from one of her mentors, the Empire's greatest military mind, Grand Admiral Thrawn.

She remembered the lesson well; she attending the Senior Naval Officers Academy on Anaxes, listening to the then-Fleet Admiral give a lecture on strategy and operational doctrine. Most of her fellow classmates were either senatorial brats, only getting in due to their wealthy connections, or piss-pots who brown-nosed their way into the academy. Only herself and two other students, Gilad Pelleon and Voss Parack, were there by any sort of merit, at all, and had thus made an impression upon the admiral, or so he said. She had learned much about the finer points of logistics and strategy, then, but the greatest part of his lesson was at the end when a student had asked him what to do when conquering an opponent. The answer he gave stuck with her to this day.

"When your enemies defy you, you must serve them steel and fire. When they go to their knees, however, you must help them back on their feet. Elsewise, no man will ever bend his knee before you, and any fool who screams 'I am your king' is no true king."

She had applied that philosophy ever since, with every foe she subdued If they surrendered, she helped them back to their feet, addressed their grievances, and generally turned them from enemies into allies. If they did not surrender, they were put to the sword as to no longer trouble the system, and galaxy, any further.

But this reason was not why she was out here, in the far reaches of the Outer Rim near Unknown Space, to conquer other worlds and bring them into the Empire's glorious fold. No, the reason her fleet was here was due to an urgent, top-secret matter.

A matter that was given to her by Lord Vader himself.

She had met the dark warrior and right hand of the Emperor only once when she was still a cadet aboard the Defiance, and she saw firsthand what the ruthless Dark Lord of the Sith was capable of when he had executed her training instructor Pell Baylo for treason.

Needless to say, the cyborg Sith Lord terrified the kriff out of her.

The Emperor scared her even more so. Oh sure, His Grace had come off as congenial and friendly to her, if not without a sarcastic wit, but staring into those piercing yellow eyes convinced her that he had more cruelty in his ring finger than even Vader had in his entire body.

"You seem to be rather on edge, ma'am," the captain of her flagship, Gordon Uthbar, pointed out as her flagship, the Star Destroyer Ultimatum, continued to sail through hyperspace towards its coordinates, a long-forgotten system in the Outer Rim known only to a few in the brass and the scientific division of the Imperial Military, snapping her out of her thoughts for the moment. "You haven't said a word ever since Lord Vader gave us this mission."

Rae said nothing for a moment, contemplating on what to say, before finally giving a response.

"I don't like it, Gordon," she replied, her voice terse as they neared ever closer to their destination. "We should be supporting the Grand Admiral's campaign against the rebels in the outer systems- the true threat, may I remind you. Instead, we are stuck here doing some errand for Lord Vader, who I am sure has more pressing matters to attend to, currently." She quipped. "What could be so important here that it warrant's the attention of HIGHCOM, the spooks, and the Ruling Council, all at the same time?"

"I don't honestly know, ma'am," Gordon replied respectfully and truthfully. "But if you recall, Lord Vader was very adamant about keeping this an utmost secret. Whatever the egg-heads found on that rock has everyone tight-lipped, almost as much as that damned battle station Director Krennic keeps wanking off to."

Rae had to suppress a smirk. It was well known many of the old-breed, or rather those who were privy to the knowledge, like Gordon was, were very much disdainful of Director Orson Krennic's pet project, Project Stardust as it was known to meddlesome interlopers, the Death Star to those who were aware of the weapon's true nature, calling it a waste of resources and personnel in private, away from the prying ears of the ISB spooks and Inquisitors alike.

This was the one area Rae had to disagree with her friend and subordinate; if the Death Star was what it took to finally secure peace and prosperity in the galaxy once and for all, then it was worth all the cost in credits and manpower. Her family had lived through the horrors of the Clone Wars, surviving a Separatist invasion of her homeworld, Ganthel, during General Grievous' Core campaign. She remembered living off rats as the city was reduced to rubble, and as the bodies of troopers, droids, and civilians littered the streets. She remembered the aftermath of that battle, where the Republic and the Jedi had been too weakened to re-establish order on the planet, enabling the rise of slavers and pirates. The Empire, on the other hand, was quick to stabilize the situation, driving the scum off the world, hanging the criminals who dared beg for their lives after enslaving and torturing so many people. And yet, for all its military and economic might, the Empire couldn't conquer everything…yet.

No, the Death Star was a necessity. A very much evil one, in Rae's view, but if it took the deaths of thousands of malcontents to secure the lives of trillions for a better tomorrow, then in her view, it was worth it.

"We're coming up on LX-777, now, ma'am," one of the ensigns reported, and soon enough, the blue tunnel of hyperspace gave way to white streaks and eventually regular stars, as the fleet pulled out of hyperspace and into real-space.

The planet before them looked the same as many other worlds; azure, blue oceans, swirling white clouds, mixtures of green and brown earth covering the planets four continents, and two polar ice caps. What was unique about this world was the fact that it had been uninhabited for over five thousand years. No one knew quite what happened, but many of the Empire's top scientists believed some sort of ecological disaster had wiped out the planet's ecosystem, and whatever sentient life was located on that world, taking millennia to recover to a habitable state.

"We're receiving a transmission from the planet's surface, ma'am," the communications officer informed. "Priority clearance: Ion-One-Gamma."

Rae froze where she stood. So, Lord Vader had sent her here to meet with a member of the Inquisition? What would a Jedi-hunter be doing out here, in the middle of nowhere?

She chose not to voice her surprise, and instead nodded to the communications officer. She turned to Gordon. "Captain, you have the bridge. If this little meeting requires me to travel to the planet's surface, I want the fleet to continue to hold this position. Meanwhile, I must have a chat with this Inquisitor."

Gordon saluted her sharply, which she returned, and then turned sharply on her heel to walk towards the communications room. Reaching the holographic display table, she punched in the priority code and the designation number of the person, or persons, calling her.

The image that popped up on the holoprojector was that of a human male in his early forties, his hair black, and silver, with a neatly groomed beard covering his face. His smile was toothy, for the lack of a better word. He appeared to be charismatic, a smooth-talker, and his eyes, she would reckon, would be quite inviting, if not for being colored the typical sulfuric yellow of those who adhered to the Dark Side of the Force.

This was the new Grand Inquisitor, Malleus, formerly known as the Seventh Brother.

"Ah, there you are, Admiral," the Grand Inquisitor began, a honeyed voice seeping out of his mouth. "I was wondering whom Lord Vader would send. Lo and behold, he sent the woman who brought down Count Vidian."

"Grand Inquisitor," she greeted back, her voice now void of emotion. She certainly didn't need one of the Emperor's pet psychopaths reading her emotions. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Forgive my surprise, but I certainly did not expect a member of the Inquisition out here on LX-777, let alone the head of the order."

"I go wherever my Lord bids me to go, as do you, Vice Admiral." the dark-sider countered. "And in matters such as this, it was only natural that Lord Vader sent me here."

"With all due respect, Grand Inquisitor, what matters would those be?" Rae asked him, respectfully and patiently. Impudence would not serve her here, not if she wanted to be on the receiving end of strangulation through the Force.

Malleus shook his head coyly. "Tsk, tsk, tsk, Admiral. You and I both know that I can't discuss matters of such importance and secrecy over a simple hologram. I will await your arrival in a standard hour, at my base camp. I will transmit the coordinates to your shuttle."

With that, the Dark Jedi closed the link and left Rae Sloane feeling very confused, and somewhat alarmed.

What in the kriff is going on down there?

---

The cold, crisp air of LX-777's northern moors on the westernmost continent was evident to Rae, chilling her to the bone even though it was supposed to be summer, here. Apparently, the research team sent here had established several camps around the planet, with their base camp here in the north, near an old, foreboding castle.

Looking at the castle, Rae wasn't even sure the word old even began to describe it.

The ancient fortress had to be tens of thousands of years old and looked like it would be there for thousands more. The castle was huge, easily twice the size of an Arquitens-class light cruiser, and had a chilling look to it, with carvings of fierce wolves decorating its gateways and walls.

She didn't know why, but something about this place seemed…mystical, as if it were out of an old fantasy novel.

"Are you Force-sensitive, perchance?" The Grand Inquisitor asked her, also fascinated by the ancient castle nearby.

She shook her head. "No, sir. But there is something curious about that place, I have to admit."

"I am inclined to agree with you. When I first arrived on this alien planet with the research team, I felt the power of the Force reside most strongly with this place, and so I ordered them to set the main camp, here," he pointed out as they began walking towards the fortress, flanked by several Death Troopers, who were becoming more and more common as security personnel for top-secret projects. "The excavations into the fortress haven't disturbed much. I wanted this place to be left intact as much as possible."

"What have you found, sir?" she asked him, making a mental note that he didn't seem as violently destructive as many of the other Inquisitors she previously worked with were.

"Ah, several items, my friend. But I think it's best to show you rather than tell," he proclaimed as they walked through the gateway, the actual gates having long since rotted away to nothing.

They stepped into the largest of the buildings, and into a room that the veteran admiral could only assume was a throne room of sorts, with a portable holoprojector and several tables in the center. At the very end of the hall, on a dais of black stone, sat a grey and white throne, decorated with the same motif as the carvings outside; that of a wolf. And on the top of this throne, words were carved into it. She couldn't make out the words, as they were written in a different alphabet other than Aurebesh, yet something about them made the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

It was as if she had seen those words and that sigil, before.

"Why am I here, Grand Inquisitor?" she finally asked, the cold, ancient fortress finally getting to her. "Why did you bring me out here to this desolate place, on this desolate rock?"

The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow. "Yes…" he began. "I suppose it's finally time that I tell you what's going on here." He motioned to several scientists, who promptly brought the holoprojector to life. "About six months ago, our excavations at the ruined wall to the far north yielded several discoveries, the most prominent of which was this," he started, pulling up an image of an obsidian dagger, jagged and shimmering with ebony light.

"An obsidian weapon?" she asked, a bit confused. "I'm afraid I don't see the significance of such a primitive tool."

The Inquisitor smirked. "That, my dear, is because you do not perceive things the way that one who is sensitive to the Dark Side of the Force would, like I do. And this weapon…this weapon was oozing dark energy. I took it before Lord Vader, and he granted me permission to study it. I sent it off to our research laboratory in the Unknown Regions, at Vector Prime."

Rae sputtered. "Vector Prime?" she repeated, making sure she heard right. "That's all the way in the middle of unknown space, smack dab in the middle of those Vong savages!"

Rae was nothing but a student of history, and she knew well of the nomadic, tribal barbarians known as the Yuuzhan Vong, whose invasion into the galaxy three thousand years ago, unified the galaxy against a common foe, and resulted in three hundred trillion dead beings, a thousand worlds ravaged beyond hope, and the near-extinction of the Vong themselves.

"That's precisely why we put it there," Malleus defended. "Those savages are, or were, too busy fighting and raiding each other, leaving our researchers to work in relative peace," he scratched his beard. "The progress was going well for around three months, and then…" he trailed off, a look of grave concern passing over his features. "And then, the reports stopped coming in. It was only in the last month that I found out what happened."

He pressed a button on the holoprojector, and it immediately cut to a video feed from a laboratory on Vector Prime, dated from about three months ago…

Various technicians and doctors in lab coats were gathered around a large, cryogenic tube of some kind.

"Of all test subjects in Project: Blackwing," the lead technician was beginning to record. "Test Subject 117A seems to react well to the dagger. I am cautiously optimistic that the Grand Inquisitor's project in creating an army of Force-sensitive warriors for his Imperial Majesty will yield results greater than we've expected. However, we must be cautious."

"Sir!" one of the technicians yelled. "Our subject is waking up from cryosleep."

"Excellent!" the lead scientist exclaimed. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

The researchers all gathered around the cryogenic chamber and began the warming sequence.

Warning lights blared, the chamber opened, and out of the pod stepped out a being that once looked to be a Zabrak male.

Once.

Instead of being the proud skin color of his people, he was utterly pale, the flesh itself looked to be made of ice.

Instead of his eyes being either green or brown, like most Zabraks, the being's eyes were bright, cold blue.

And it did not speak.

Not when the scientists were ogling it, congratulating themselves on a job well done.

Not when the being suddenly grabbed the nearest technician and snapped her neck, turning the cheers into screams of horror.

Not when it coldly slaughtered all the scientists in there, before raising its hands…

And raised the scientists back up, but not as humans. Rather, they became mindless creatures, driven by only a desire to kill and serve their new master.

Malleus promptly cut the video feed, as Rae fought back the urge to throw the gruel she had for breakfast, earlier. She didn't know what to say, or believe, now. Hell, she was almost ready to believe that a new Emperor would pop out from under a bridge.

"The entire station on Vector Prime was lost," the henchman of Darth Vader informed nonchalantly. "The entire planet became locked in some sort of ice age. Soon after that, we started hearing rumors that entire Vong clans, domains, even, were disappearing without a trace. There have even been rumors of those savages uniting again under a single leader," he sighed. "I had hoped to present the Emperor with a new type of super-soldier, one that would not have cost near as much money as that damned Death Star that fool Krennic keeps on insisting as the 'final solution', and one that would have yielded better results. Instead, we may have a huge problem on our hands."

One borne of your arrogance, Rae thought bitterly, as the Grand Inquisitor turned back to face the window.

"I have already informed Lord Vader on this matter," he spoke, more quietly on the matter than he had before. "And now I am being summoned to help deal with the rebel threat in the Outer Rim. Obviously, this is to be my punishment for my failure."

Vader must still have some use for you, Rae snidely thought, or you would have been dead already.

"What of my role in this matter?" she asked instead, keeping a lid on her thoughts. She didn't particularly entertain the notion of being sliced in half by a lightsaber.

Malleus rounded back to her, again. "Your mission, handed down by Lord Vader, himself, will be to counter any move made by the Vong- prevent them from uniting and striking at us while we are preoccupied with the rebellion," he commanded. "And ultimately, put a stop to whatever madness we have unleashed before it can grow in size," he closed the distance on her, and Rae felt distinctly uncomfortable when his eyes bore into hers, a few mere inches between their faces. "I know your thoughts, Admiral. You think that the 'war' with the rebels is far more important than this." He waved his finger. "One; your mentor, Thrawn, will handle the Rebellion. Two; it ultimately doesn't matter who rules from Coruscant, when dead men and savages come invading from the east."

With that, the Inquisitor turned and walked out of the keep, leaving behind a very confused, and afraid, Rae Sloane.

---

As she walked out of the keep, she saw a bird fly past her, straight on into what appeared to be a tunnel of some sort. The bird kept cawing at her, beckoning her to follow further inside. Despite her mind screaming at her to be cautious, her curiosity got the better of her, and so she followed the bird into the tunnel, which appeared to be a crypt of some sort. Her guards around her, tough as they were, were beginning to get fidgety in such a place, and it was easy to see why.

Dozens- hundreds- of statues lined the walls, each one of a human king, a wolf near his side, and a sword on his lap. The statues seemed to judge her harshly, each one condemning her as someone unworthy, and all the while, she swore she heard a strange, low chanting.

King. King. Winter.

King. King. Bridge.

Queen. Queen. Warrior.

Jedi. Jedi. Savior.

Ice. Fire. Ice. Fire.

The chanting in her mind got louder and louder, as her guards became increasingly nervous, informing her that they should start making headway back to the shuttle. But she couldn't stop- her feet seemed to command her to move further into the tunnels.

KING. KING. WINTER.

KING. KING. BRIDGE.

QUEEN. QUEEN. WARRIOR.

JEDI. JEDI. SAVIOR.

ICE AND FIRE. ICE AND FIRE. ICE AND FIRE.

It was a long, antagonizing moment longer when they finally reached what the damned bird was leading them to.

The statue the bird landed on, next to one holding a fiery sword and one with a mask, was another king, but this one was different.

The grim-faced, granite statue looked the facsimile of a young, fair man, his eyes eternally set in a foreboding pose, as if watching over this tomb along with the rest of his forebears and descendants. The statue seemed to look right at her, judging her silently. Something about him, however, seemed...familiar...

YOUNG WOLF.

GREY WOLF.

KING.

KING.

KING.

She looked at the bird on last time, and her eyes opened wide in shock, as she gasped out her horror.

The raven had three eyes.

The last thing she saw before passing out was her guards running towards her in alarm. But that was not the last thing she heard before losing consciousness.

"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"

Notes:

A/N: Another chapter done! Hooray!

Alright, I ultimately decided to go with Rae Sloane, due to the fact that she's actually perfect for this fic. She's a character I don't see too much in SW fanfics, and her character description in media paints her like one of the few decent Imperials there are.

I wanted the audience to see an Imperial's point of view; i.e someone good who's fighting for the wrong cause for what she believes to be righteous reasons. Many people forget that while we can see the Empire is obviously evil, many within can't. They only see that Palpatine ended the war, brought an era of peace and security to the Core Worlds, and got rid of the warmongering space wizards. Rae is one of those people, and as such values stability and order to be greater than liberty and independence.

I'll be the first to admit, my OC, Malleus, is kind of poorly developed at this point. That should change the moment he comes on scene into the Galactic Civil War proper. His motives, besides ostensibly protecting the Empire and galaxy from his massive fuck up, are unclear. He is a dark-sider trained in the Sith arts, after all…

Originally, I wasn't planning on having the White Walkers making a comeback. As one pointed out, "The Night's King can't read a manual to save his life". However, after reading up on Project Blackwing and Undead Troopers, as well as tying this crossover in with the EU, they were a threat that I truly could not pass up. How the new Night's King will manage to expand his forces? You'll find out in a later chapter.

Till the next chapter, and remember, the Long Night is coming…

…and the dead come with it.

Chapter 10: Hera I

Hera was exhausted.

Between the nearly botched mission at Reklam Station, the constant demands of a growing rebellion, and the increasing stakes her crew was often put in, she was beginning to feel the wear and tear, even more so than when they lost Ahsoka.

Perhaps…she did overreact when she demoted Ezra back down to Lieutenant and stripped him of his command for the time being. After all, he did see his team back in one piece, and he delivered those Y-Wing bombers to General Dodonna as promised. On the other hand, though, he had deliberately ignored her direct orders to wait for reinforcements, and thus had nearly gotten Rex killed. Not to mention he did lose the Phantom, which did nothing to ease her headache.

She didn't know. Maybe she was being far too hard on him. Maybe he needed to learn some more about the dangers of recklessness.

Fat chance of that, she thought with a wistful and affectionate smile. Look at the man he considers his second father.

Currently, Kanan and Ezra were on a supply run to Arkanis, leaving the Ghost to herself, Chop, Sabine, Zeb, and Robb, while Rex was busy training the new recruits coming in. She silently wished, though, that they'd find a replacement for the Phantom, soon. Perhaps they'd hit a stroke of luck, and find an old shuttle that could use a quick fix up and one of Sabine's paint jobs.

"Brt wort wurt burt bort," Chopper bleeped, coming up behind Hera as she was leaning in the Ghost's pilot chair.

"Hm?" she asked tiredly, finally noticing the feisty little droid. "Oh, sorry Chopper. I was…" she yawned. "…just trying to get some rest."

"Blllllrrrrrrtttttt wort wort wort!" Chopper responded, waving his mechanical appendages around for dramatic effect. Hera rolled her eyes at her oldest friend.

"Well, of course, you don't need rest. I do. Besides, you can't tell me the back to back missions haven't drained your power cells," she countered, smirking when the astromech made an annoyed sounding beep.

"Bort wut roto ree to rut," Chopper informed her. Hera's eyebrows shot up in amazement.

"Really? Mr. 'Grouchy, grim, and bitter' is actually training with our resident Mandalorian artist?" she repeated, becoming intrigued at the notion. "I've got to see this."

She quickly got up, ignoring her aching, protesting muscles, and hurried down the ladder to the cargo bay.

"All I'm saying, Lady Wren, is that you might be better at marksmanship, electro-mechanics, and linguistics than everyone else on this ship, but I bet good money that I can beat you any day of the week in a sword-fight. Double if it were matters involving strategy and tactics," Robb was boasting. Hera noted that he wasn't being grim, serious, and generally a prick to everyone else on the ship. Instead, he was being…congenial.

Friendly.

The most foreign thing about all of this was the look in Robb's eyes; his blue eyes weren't their usually cold, hard sapphires.

Rather, they had become warmer, softer azure seas.

"Oh-ho. Is that right, 'your grace'?" the young Mandalorian challenged back, making a mock bow before him. "Then, by all means, prove it."

Robb shrugged, grabbing a couple of wooden swords that Kanan and Zeb had made a few years back and handing one to Sabine.

"Alright, little one," he teased, earning a glare from the defiant warrior. "Rules are; three hits win the match. You beat me, you get to paint my room. I beat you, you get to teach me Mando'a. Deal?"

Sabine nodded, and the two saluted with their swords. Robb immediately went to a low guard position, his sword angled down and to the front, while Sabine adopted a high guard, her blade angled above her head.

Sabine struck first, her blow aimed for Robb's head. Robb parried the blow, sidestepping as he did, and brought his blade to her midsection. The younger warrior blocked it just in time, and then another one as Robb swung his sword around and aimed another strike at her shoulder.

"You do not strike, my lady!" he mocked, smirking as he kept up the offensive, "You fail!" He then switched to a defensive posture, letting Sabine land blow after blow against his sword.

"You're the one who's about to flail, di'kut!" Sabine cursed in Mando'a, clearly getting frustrated as Robb parried, batted aside, or just flat out avoided her blows.

"Says the girl who's failing to even land a hit on me." He jested as he sidestepped another blow and landed one of his own on Sabine's back. "That's one. Two more, and I win the match."

Hera heard Sabine curse under her breath, as Robb immediately went back on the attack, this time not letting her catch a break. All it took was for Sabine to slip up, missing what should have been an easy parry in Hera's eyes and winced when Robb hit her again on the shoulder.

"Two," he said, again adopting a defensive posture. "I hope you haven't forgotten how to speak your own native tongue," he mocked.

With a wordless battle cry, Sabine launched herself at her mock opponent, raining blow after blow down against Robb, who just kept avoiding and dodging her strikes, treating it as a game. Hera recognized what he was doing easily enough; he was getting into her head- messing with her mind so that she would make sloppier, more frequent mistakes.

And it was working.

The young daughter of Mandalore slipped up when she overcommitted on one strike, missing Robb by a parsec. When she corrected and turned around, her eyes shot up in surprise, for Robb's blade was already at her throat.

"Three," he smirked. "I win."

Sabine frowned at him, before shoving her wooden sword into Zeb's hands, much to the Lasat's confusion, before huffing at the former king.

"Fine. I'll teach you how to speak the language."

Robb nodded in appreciation. "Thank you. And if you desire, I can teach you how to improve your sword work," he smirked again. "Who knows? You train with me long enough, you might even be able to knock Ezra down a few pegs. Wipe that cocky grin off his face."

A ghost of a smile graced Sabine's lips. "Alright, Stark. You have a deal. I teach you Mando'a, you teach me how to get better with a sword."

Robb nodded again, as the two shook hands. The pair soon parted ways, and a few moments later, Hera found herself conversing with Robb in the cargo hold, along with Chopper.

"So, where did you learn to fight like that?" Hera asked him. "I'm pretty sure Sabine's old clan trained her in some blade-work, and yet you beat her like she was a novice."

Robb shrugged. "My father taught me, along with our master-at-arms, Rodrick Cassel. I've trained with steel ever since I was seven, to be frank," he informed them. "I was good enough with the sword, I suppose, but Jon…now, he was a true swordsman," he said, a smile full of memory graced the son of Winterfell's lips. "I daresay that he was nearly as good as some of the legendary knights such as Arthur Dayne and Jaime Lannister."

Hera was curious, now. "What was your family like? Truly?"

Robb sighed in contentment. "Well, Arya was, like I said a month ago, free-spirited, rebellious, and wild; she would have gotten on well with Sabine, I imagine. Bran was just as curious and free, although he later grew more somber after being crippled. Rickon, now he was the wild one, and I suspect underneath the fiercest of us all. Sansa was graceful, made friends easily, and saw the good in just about everyone. She loved singing, dancing, and just being the best lady she could be, in general," he looked up towards the cockpit, his smile faltering a little. "Jon was the spitting image of our lord father, in both appearance and personality; he was grim, just, caring, and dutiful. He always felt like an outcast, though. Our mother didn't think highly of him being a 'bastard'," his smile then truly soured. "The less I speak of Theon, the better."

Hera nodded and kept her mouth shut, understanding what Robb meant. It wasn't easy dealing with betrayal, especially by those considered family.

Kanan, Sabine, and herself had experiences in that department.

Robb's chuckle broke her out of her musings. "There was this one time that Jon, Theon, and I decided to pull a prank on Sansa, so we had Jon cover himself in flower and hide in the crypts, while Theon and myself got the younger ones, telling them that 'we found something wonderful down there'. We head down to the crypts, past the statue of Torrhen Stark, when Jon jumps out and tries to scare everyone."

Her curiosity piqued again. "Did it work?" she asked.

"With Sansa…definitely. She ran out of the crypt screaming her bloody head off. Bran expressed amazement, Rickon was still fast asleep, and Arya…" he began chuckling again "…she just turns to me with this frustrated expression on her face, points to the entrance, where Sansa had run out of, and says in the most annoyed voice I heard from her, 'You're scaring the baby.'"

Hera began to chuckle and then began to laugh along with Robb, failing to hear the laughter of the remaining two crew members as they joined them in the hallway. The raucous laughter soon ceased, and Robb's smile faded somewhat.

"That was the day before we heard King Robert was coming to Winterfell. It was a much happier time for all of us, then."

"You had a wonderful family, it sounds to me," Zeb spoke up from behind her, crossing his arms with a warm smile on his face.

Robb's smile returned. "And I have one equally as amazing, now," he admitted. The Twi'lek pilot saw the former king pull his pendant out of his pocket. "My father once told me, long ago, that it is the lone wolf that dies, and the pack that survives. For the longest time after my death and rebirth, I thought him a fool. I, the lone wolf, carried on, while the pack was hunted down and slain. But it was after meeting you all that I began to see the truth in his words." He put the pendant back his pocket. "Alone, each one of you is formidable, but could never take on a lone garrison by yourselves, let alone an empire that stretches across the stars. Together, however, with your hearts and minds set on one purpose, you can bring down even the mightiest foe."

"Your father sounded like a wise man," Sabine observed, though Hera could also detect a slight strain of jealousy and longing in her words. A twang of sorrow and motherly affection shot across her heart. No one on the ship knew the exact details of what had happened between Sabine and her clan, but from what she could tell, they didn't exactly part on speaking terms, and much like Robb, she, too, at first preferred to spend unhealthy amounts of time alone in her room, distrusting everyone on the ship.

She often wondered if any of them knew how similar and broken they all were.

Robb nodded, an affirmative to Sabine's unspoken question. "He was. He was a just, yet kind ruler, and a stern but loving father. He did not primarily rule through fear and hatred, like Tywin Lannister and your Emperor do, although he did have to set an example from time to time. No, he instead was respected and loved, from the common man to his lords, and everywhere else in the realm, they spoke of how just and honorable he was." His face sobered. "And that honor cost him his life." He looked around. "When are we supposed to be back on Atollon, again?"

"In about 24 hours, approximately," Hera replied, also acknowledging his unasked question. "And before you ask- yes. I'm putting the ship on autopilot for now. Force knows we could all use the shut-eye."

"Can't argue with that logic," Zeb agreed, a bit enthusiastically. "With all the missions Sato's been pushing on us, my fur is starting to smell like a Wookiee's backside."

"And that's different from your normal smell how, exactly?" Sabine joked, smirking when Zeb made a half-serious scowl at her before stomping off to bed, muttering something about 'damned snarky teenagers' along the way. "But I've got to agree with him. We've been running ourselves ragged this past month, and I even haven't found the time to paint anything," she complained, before nodding to Hera and Robb. "I'll see you both in the A.M. Night." With that, she sauntered off to her room.

"Night, Sabine," Hera called out to her surrogate daughter, turning back to Robb. "And I hope you're going to get some sleep, as well."

Robb shot his hands up. "Don't worry, Hera. I will." He turned to walk back to his room, but not before giving Hera an affectionate smile.

"You know, Hera, you remind me of my own mother. She was just as fierce and protective as you are when it came to her children," he complimented. "So, trust me when I say that Ezra and Sabine are lucky to have you and Kanan as guardians," he nodded to her. "Good night, Captain."

She nodded back, a smile gracing her lips. "Good night, your grace."

---

Hera was walking through a palace, or perhaps it was a temple of some sort, on a city-world of trillions of sentient beings.

She figured the world to be Coruscant, for she recognized the outline of the Senate Building and 500 Republica in the distance. Therefore, she reasoned, the building she must be walking through was the Imperial Palace, formerly the Jedi Temple of old. She was young when her father took her to see Coruscant, then the beating heart of the Republic, but as the memories came back to her, she could remember where most of the buildings and districts lay.

As she continued walking inside the cavernous hallways of the seat of the Empire, she noticed something…odd.

Firstly, were the stormtroopers. Normally, one would expect the legions to be armored in all white, or red in the case of the Home Guard, but the color of the plastoid on these troops was tan, with orange and yellow highlights decorating the armor.

Secondly was the Royal Guard, who normally would be carrying some sort of polearm and concealing themselves with an intimidating looking mask, according to the briefings provided to her by the loyal bodyguards of Palpatine. These men, however, only wore something similar to a Mandalorian helmet or forwent helmets altogether, and instead of being dressed in blood red and black, they garbed themselves in white cloaks and bronzium plate. The most curious thing, however, was that these men were not wielding force pikes or halberds.

They were wielding lightsabers.

Thirdly, and perhaps the strangest thing, were the banners hanging from the walls. One would expect the flag of the Galactic Empire to look like it always had these past eighteen or so years; a jet black and stark white cog on a crimson field, intended to intimidate and impress. The flag that hung from the rafters and the balconies now, however, was starkly different.

A stylized phoenix, the color of the rising sun, flew against a background of sand, with a wintergreen bar gracing the bottom of the banner.

It was then she heard distant cheering, coming from what was obviously the main audience chamber. She walked at a faster pace, curious to see what the hub-bub was about in this place. A few twists and turns later, despite never having been to the palace before, she soon found herself at her destination.

A massive throng of people, ranging from humans to Twi'leks, to Wookiees, and everyone in between, were cheering and chanting. As Hera knew she was in a dream, she could not make out what they were saying…at least, at first.

At the far end of the great hall, there sat a throne atop a dais of marble. The throne itself looked monstrous- made from what appeared to be melted steel swords, and seemed as if it wanted to cut the man who sat upon it currently.

And the man who sat upon the throne did not look to be Palpatine, who Hera knew to be old and decrepit. Instead, this man was covered head to toe in bronzium plate and grey robes, the highlight of his attire being the mask he wore, which looked battle-scarred and old. To his right stood a man in his fifties, tall and able, a pin of a hand clasping a sword clasped to his doublet. To his left sat a woman in Mandalorian armor, her colors being that of Clan Wren, and a strange-looking lightsaber attached to her belt. She saw the man on the throne of iron take off his mask, his black-bearded, tan face starting to show…

---

KER-CLANG

Hera awoke to the violent rocking of her ship being pulled violently out of hyperspace, and of the klaxon alarms blaring in her ears, as she quickly got up and ran to the door, noticing that the emergency power had come on.

"Ion mine!" She heard Sabine shout in alarmed frustration. "Bastard was waiting for us at the waypoint. Pulled us out with an interdictor field straight into a couple of ion mines."

"Kriffing great!" she heard Zeb yell, as they ran to the cockpit. "All I'm was asking for was once, just karking once, that things go smoothly! But no, it can't ever be kriffing simple, can it?"

"Stow the cussing, Zeb!" Hera ordered. Bickering wouldn't do any good in a situation like this. "We need to think our way out of this mess. I didn't think the Empire used this route, often. And it's well scouted by our forces."

"Because it wasn't," Robb observed calmly. "We aren't being pulled in a belly of a Star Destroyer, nor is a light cruiser moving on an intercept course. There is, however, another freighter that's getting ready to board us."

Just as he finished, they heard a metallic clang near one of the Ghost's airlocks, indicating that, indeed, another craft had coupled with it. The crew exchanged one look at each other, then made a mad dash for the airlock, grabbing their weapons along the way. To her pride, her team got armored up and ready in record time, and soon rounded the corner-

-to find a nervous Chopper surrounded by three old, decrepit service droids wielding blasters, and behind them stood an equally aged Zabrak, his skin black and covered in red, jagged tattoos. His demented smile showed off his yellow, near-rotting teeth, and his sickly yellow eyes, red-rimmed and bloodshot, gleamed with a madness and desire for vengeance she seldom saw in a man.

"Ah, so our honorable captain and her crew join us," he spoke in a gravelly voice. So, he was an old madman….

Great.

"Please, forgive me for not introducing myself to you," he mocked. "I am Maul, and you and your Jedi friends have quite a few things I seek. Now, please, I really don't wish to harm any of you, but if you do not lay down your arms…then…well…I'll kill all of you, starting with this astromech," Maul threatened, pointing his lightsaber at Chopper's dome, as the droid warbled in alarm.

Hera's eyes widened in recognition. Of course, this must be the former Sith Lord who blinded Kanan and betrayed Ezra. She then narrowed her eyes. Oh, how she would like to make him pay for all the shit he's pulled…

"Begging your pardon," Robb spoke up before Hera could continue that train of thought and end the bastard in front of her. "What is it, exactly your seeking?"

"If I'm not mistaken…Mister…?" Maul began, inquiring to know what his name was before continuing any further.

"Stark," Robb simply replied, crossing his arms and holding his ground. Hera noticed that Robb had put his stoic mask back on, and his eyes were back to being cold sapphires. She knew, from all those months serving with him, was that it meant either one of two things; he was withholding something, or he was plotting to kill you.

For Maul's sake, she hoped it was the later.

"Well, Mister Stark, if I'm not mistaken, you are the hostage, and I am the hostage-taker. So, I frankly do not see how that gives you the right to demand anything of me."

"Not demanding, asking," Robb corrected him. "If it's on matters related to the Force, I could possibly help."

Maul laughed, cruelly and without mirth. "And how could you possibly help me in this matter? What I seek involves the use of Holocrons, one of the Jedi, and the other of the Sith. I hardly expect for someone like you to know something about that," he arrogantly assumed. "But…the Force surrounding you does intrigue me if I had to be honest."

Robb just stared at him. "True," he admitted. "I don't know much in the way regarding the nuances of Jedi and Sith artifacts, knowledge, power, or wisdom, but I do know one thing; I am a greenseer."

Hera didn't know what he had just said, and by the looks of it, neither did Maul.

"A…greenseer?" the former Sith Lord drew slowly, his look equal parts amused and annoyed. "I see. Pray tell, what is…greenseeing, exactly?"

"A Force ability few now possess," Robb calmly explained, and now Hera was curious to see where he was going with this. Truth be told, she didn't know whether Robb was being genuine or telling Maul a lie. "We can see visions of the past, present, and the future far more clearly than other Force-sensitives, without the use of aides like Holocrons," he continued.

Maul rubbed his chin, and to Hera's eye, he looked honestly intrigued.

"Ah. So, I assume your way would be less…risky, then?" he asked him. The Grey Wolf nodded.

"Aye. But it will also take longer. Days, at the worst," Robb pointed out, putting his arms behind his back. "The way I see it, sir, you have two options for you. One promises you something quick and easy, true enough, but it is also potentially fatal. The other will offer the same, or better, results, but at a far lower risk, though it will take longer than the first option," he scratched his beard. "And if one doesn't work, you can always default to the other one. So, either way, you still win."

Maul glowered at him, obviously reminding him of someone. "You know, you sound like a Jedi I fought over the years," he sneered. "I'm beginning to wonder if you aren't related."

Robb shrugged. "Not really. I'm far too ruthless and pragmatic to be a Jedi. Though I still do have a code of honor, if that means anything."

The former Sith appeared to mull it over, rubbing his chin for a few, thoughtful minutes, before finally deigning to respond. "You will come with me, unarmed." He began, wagging a finger in Robb's face, and to the Grey Wolf's credit, he remained as stoic and taciturn as ever, refusing to even so much as blink in Maul's presence.

What he did do, however, was unstrap his sword to his belt and hand it to Maul, also allowing himself to be handcuffed by one of the decrepit old service droids. Maul nodded to the droids, and the marched off into the old freighter with their captive, before Maul turned back to Hera, Robb's sword still in his hands.

"I still want those Holocrons. And I still want to see my apprentice bring them. I will send you the coordinates once we reach our destination," he warned, before turning back, walking to his ship, which a few moments later detached with a click, separating the remaining crew from the now-hostage Robb and his captor.

Hera turned to her crew, her voice filled with iron determination.

"Get Kanan and Ezra on call, now. We're going to meet up with them on Atollon, and find out where Maul took Robb."

"And then?" Zeb asked, his voice full of grim seriousness. Hera looked him in the eye and told everyone what they needed to know with a look. But just for good measure, she spoke her thoughts allowed.

"We are going to wherever he took him, rescue Robb, and ruin whatever Maul's planning. Nobody tries to harm this family. No one."

Notes:

A/N: Ahhh, so good to be back!

Alright, this is where things start to diverge significantly from canon, and for good reason. Robb must have a reason for being in this story, after all, and not just to sit in the background while canon.

More foreshadowing coming from this story, as you may have noticed. I was honestly debating whether to put the dream sequence in here or not, but then I remembered the significance of dreams from both Martin's work and Lucas' story. Kudos to those who can guess what throne is being referred to in this story, and why it would be used in the main audience chamber in the Imperial Palace.

So, Maul has appeared, and instead of taking the entire crew hostage, he only takes one of them hostage, while threatening to kill every one of them if they don't live up to their end of the bargain. And the crew knows this is no idle threat.

Hopefully, I'm doing the Kanera pairing justice as I am doing the Sabezra pairing in this story.

Finally, a shoutout to my biggest reviewers and supporters; BrutusPrimus, HHunter101, Ahsokafanboy1138, Wikked Grin, ja54591, and especially MandoCommander.

Till the next!

Chapter 11: Robb III

Dathomir was a curious planet, Robb silently mused, if not a dead one.

To be sure, there was life here in abundance. Rancors stalked the strange, red-misted forests, either searching for food, mates, or competition, while their natural prey either scampered off to hide somewhere or openly challenged the beasts if they were strong enough. The trees themselves reminded Robb somewhat of weirwoods, though these trees were black and deathly-looking, by comparison.

However, there were no sentient beings on the planet. No civilization that would respond to them, be it by customs officials or by gunfire. Only the crumbling ruins of once-bustling villages, and the bleached white bones of whatever intelligent life-forms once lived on this planet.

And it seemed Maul knew the reason why.

To Robb, what passed for normal for the buggered former Sith was apparently to be as chatty and threatening as possible, like he never had a friend he didn't end up cutting down in a day of his rotten life. As they got closer to the main village, however, the Sith Lord grew quieter and quieter, as if he were walking through a graveyard.

An apt description for such a place, Robb mused to himself as he stared at a skull, yellow with age and eternally grinning.

"I take it you know what happened here," Robb asked at long last as they came to the main village, which was now nothing more than burned out huts, overgrown weeds, and more bones. "You've been pretty quiet since we touched down on this rock."

"Yes…" Maul drew out at last, evidently not pleased with his prisoner's apparent disrespect. "Palpatine happened," the former Sith Lord spat, his visage contorted in contempt for the Emperor. "That bastard murdered my brother, slew my mother, destroyed my home, and used me as a weapon to be cast aside once better prospects came into being for him," he seethed, before calming down somewhat.

Robb immediately thought back to all the people who betrayed him or his family. The Lannisters, the Karstarks, the Freys, the Boltons…

…Theon.

He stopped the train of thought almost immediately and groaned inwardly. Great, he was starting to sympathize with a man who made the Lannisters seem humble and kind, by comparison. He instead elected to say nothing, only nodding before Maul grunted and beckoned him to follow. A few more kilometers due west and they finally reached their destination- a massive cave, with a stylized, roaring woman's head carved around the entrance.

"What is this place?" Robb asked his captor. "It feels…old, and rotting."

"This," Maul began, his eyes full of remembrance, "is the hall of the Nightsisters. They were once the most powerful and cunning of the witches on Dathomir, and as such were a threat to Palpatine and his plans. Now, they are nothing but ghosts and ash. I wonder sometimes if the dead can weep over their lost glory? I know I do. They were…like a family to me," the former Sith Lord mused aloud.

"I'm sorry for your loss, truly am," Robb deadpanned, unimpressed with what he viewed at the Darksider's apparent attempt at guile. "But I want to know why you brought me to this place."

Maul glared at him. "This place sits atop a Force Nexus, the largest on this planet or anywhere in the sector, really. The Nightsisters came here to practice their arts and meditate on the nature of the Dark Side. I theorize that your so-called 'greensight' can work with any such nexus."

"And the access point to such a nexus?" Robb warily asked him and narrowed his eyes when Maul grinned coyly at him.

"An altar in the middle of the cave," he cryptically answered, before beckoning him to follow. "Come and see."

The inside of the cavern looked like it had belonged to some sort of cult, alright. The dark, misty cave was dimly lit with torch scones and eerie green light orbs that seemed to defy the laws of nature. And in the middle of this cave was an altar of granite, carved with ancient runes and pulsating with dark energy.

"And here we are, Master Stark!" Maul enthused, sweeping his arms wildly towards the altar. "Now, all we must do is wait for my apprentice to bring the Holocrons as promised, and then…well, then you will do as you are promised- "

"-or you will kill us all. Like you've repeated to me incessantly for the past twelve hours, now," Robb sardonically deadpanned, rolling his eyes at the former Sith Lord. Granted, it may not have been the brightest idea, but he had to admit that getting under the Darksider's skin was kind of fun. "But, I pay my debts, as do my friends. So, don't fret, my Lord of Dathomir," he mocked, which lead the former Sith to stomp over to him until their faces were mere inches apart, and Robb could feel Maul's rancid breath as he stared evenly into angry yellow eyes.

"I have put up with your mocking and your snide remarks for long enough," Maul seethed. "No more. The next time you speak like that to me again, I'll remove your tongue."

"Threats. How charming..." Robb retorted, opting to take a seat next to the altar instead of continuing the conversation with the old lunatic, anymore.

He sat there for what seemed like hours, watching Maul pace and fret. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, again. Soon enough, however, he finally heard the telltale whine of sublight engines powering down and the groaning of landing struts hitting the hard dirt. He wanted to sigh in relief- his pack had come for him.

"Ah, it seems our guests of honor have arrived." Maul quipped, adopting another coy grin as three figures stepped into the cavern.

Ezra and Kanan were expected, of course. Both of them were holding what Robb assumed to be the Holocrons, one an azure cube, the other a crimson pyramid, and both looked particularly displeased by the sight of the former Sith Lord.

Sabine, however, was not expected to be there. And she was looking like she was ready to eviscerate Maul with her bare hands.

"There you are, Master Jedi!" Maul exclaimed, waving his arms around for good effect. "Just follow the sound of my voice."

Ezra reached for his saber, apparently ready to cut Maul down for the insult, on top of the other crimes he had committed against them, but Kanan, ever the level-headed one, merely put a hand on his surrogate son's shoulder and calmly spoke to the demon who blinded him.

"We've upheld our end of the bargain, Maul," he pressed, with himself and Ezra placing the Holocrons on the altar. "Now, uphold yours and let our friend go."

The demon held up his hand. "Patience, my blind knightly friend," he mocked further. "My apprentice and I must first gain what we seek, and that is where your friend Robb comes into this with his powers. Once we have our answers, you and your friend may go."

Ezra snarled, crossing his arms. "Why don't I believe you?"

Before anyone could respond, Robb held up his arms. "My brothers, my lord, please. We waste time bandying words and threats. You will have the answers you seek- all of you," the lord of Winterfell exasperated. "But I first must know exactly what you seek."

That appeared to calm Ezra down, somewhat, though the young Lothalian still cast a wary glance at Maul. "Well, you know that both Kanan and I seek a way to destroy the Sith and bring balance to the Force."

"You are ambitious as ever, apprentice!" Maul attempted to flatter, though he was cut off by a growl from Kanan. "As for myself, I seek something far more simple," he spoke while he squared his shoulders. "My time is nearing its end, and the only mark I have made upon the galaxy was being Mandalore's leader for a brief period."

"Aruetyc demagolka!" Sabine cursed in Mando'a. Robb quirked his eyebrow at her reaction, though said nothing as Maul continued to speak as if she had not spoken up at all.

"All I want is closure, Lord Stark. A satisfaction that at least one of my goals had been met before death claims me."

The Grey Wolf tersely nodded, despite the vagueness of the answer, and turned to Sabine, who was still glaring daggers at the former Sith Lord. "Do you have anything you seek, Sabine?" he asked her a bit more gently than he had with Maul. "Anything at all?"

The normally proud, fierce, fiery, and willful Mandalorian woman crossed her arms and turned her head. "I have nothing that I seek."

A lie, Robb thought, and a bad one at that. He only needed to look into her normally lively amber eyes to see the truth; they had suddenly grown hard with the remembrance of loss and betrayal of the deepest kind.

"Are you sure?" he repeated the question. "There was a reason you came here, and it wasn't just to glare at Maul."

Sabine closed her eyes, and when she spoke, she did so only in a hushed whisper, barely audible to Robb's ears. "Absolution," she whispered. "I seek absolution."

Robb nodded, desiring not to press the issue any further.

"Alright," he proclaimed, kneeling before the stone slab, which had begun pulsating with green energy, presumably in some reaction to the Holocrons being placed upon it. "Here goes nothing."

Bran, if your listening right now, please don't let me fuck this up.

He placed his hands upon the altar, and immediately felt the familiar effects of traveling through the netherworld of the Force, and his mind's eye opened to the paths before him.

---

He first landed on a world of sand and rock, with twin, blazing suns scorching the white and tan desert. As far as Robb could see, the signs of life were few on this planet; so much so that it made Dorne seem like a paradise in comparison. Oh sure, there was a bustling spaceport in the distance, and some nomadic tribes who undoubtedly squabbled and fought with other tribes and the settlers here over precious resources such as water, which apparently was being farmed out of some sort of weather vanes, dotting the arid landscape like strange trees, but other than that, the apparently sane sentients had opted for greener, and cooler, pastures.

One such farm was only a few meters away from where Robb was standing, and if he was hearing right, was the location of a rather heated argument between two older gentlemen.

"For the last karking time, Kenobi; GET OFF MY KARKING PROPERTY!" the younger, angrier man shouted at the elder, hermit-looking fellow, who apparently was named Kenobi. "You've caused this family enough grief and heartache already! I'm not letting you drag Luke off on some damned idealistic crusade just so he can get killed."

Kenobi sighed. "Owen, by keeping Luke here for 'a few more seasons', you are only increasing his resentment towards you, and will drive him into seeking out other ways of exploring the stars. You seem to forget he has inherited his father's sense of adventure, the desire to travel to new places and see new worlds, as well as his sense of justice."

"And where did that get Anakin, huh?" Owen pressed Kenobi. "I'll tell you where it got him and his wife; dead! They died because of your meddling, your oh-so-precious Jedi and your bullshit prophesizing! If they had just stayed here if they had just put family before your precious Republic…" Owen trailed off for a bit, before fixing Kenobi with a hard look. "Luke would have never been an orphan, Ben."

Ben Kenobi's own gaze hardened as well, and his posture stiffened. "Anakin was my brother, too, Owen. Every day, I weep for his death at the hands of Vader, just as I weep for the death of my master, for Satine, for everyone I've ever lost because of the Emperor," the older man rebuked while he stepped closer to Owen. "But you cannot keep Luke from his destiny, Owen. He is a Skywalker, and he will be the one who will destroy the Sith; every day you keep him from his destiny, the Empire comes closer and closer to finding him. And if they do find him, the last, best hope for saving this galaxy will be gone."

Owen just continued to glare at Ben for the longest moment, before turning his back on him and angrily trudging back to his house, but not before throwing a parting shot his way.

"For the last time, Obi-Wan, stay away from my property, or you'll find a slug going through your head. No one is taking away Luke. No one."

---

Robb felt himself being pulled out of that vision, and into another. He next landed on a world that much reminded him of home. Snow covered the ground and the pine trees, and off in the distance he spotted majestic grey mountains, while he heard the howling of wolves in the distance.

For all its familiarity, however, he knew that this was not his home, for in the distance sat a fortress, Mandalorian instead of Northern in design and layout. Something pulled at him in the direction of this fortress, whether it was the Force or just plain instinct didn't matter. The Mandalorian guards manning the gates to this compound wore armor painted grey and gold, and the sigil adorning their armor and banners was that of Clan Wren; a black phoenix rising, wings displayed and elevated.

So, this must be Sabine's home, then, Robb thought to himself as he stepped through the door. He passed through the throne room, which reminded him strongly of Winterfell's Great Hall, and into the inner courtyard, which unlike the rest of the castle, was green and living.

He mused that this area, full of green trees and running water, served a similar function to the godswood in Winterfell, and in front of a great oak tree knelt a woman who looked much like Sabine, only older by some good twenty-or-so years, far less colorful, and far grimmer than the young woman he knew.

"Blessed manda," the woman began praying, "watch over our proud clan. Keep watch over my husband in his foul captivity. Guide my son on his path as a loyal warrior. Let my brother's spirit join you in your glorious fold. Help Manda'yim through these dark times..." Here the stern woman faltered, and Robb could hear differing emotions in her voice:

Pain.

Disappointment.

Regret.

Betrayal.

Longing.

"…and bring our daughter back into our fold. Show her the error of her ways, and help her to strive to regain her lost honor and soul. Let her cleanse herself of her treason and her shame."

Realization struck Robb, then. So, this was Sabine's mother, then.

"Countess Ursa!" one of the guards shouted. "My lady...summons from Sundari! Viceroy Saxon demands you update him on the status of our monthly tribute."

The countess scowled at the guard, who immediately bowed in trepidation of her scrutinizing gaze. "What more does that craven bastard want? He makes my husband a prisoner, he makes my son a glorified bodyguard, he forced me to declare my own daughter an oathbreaker and disown her lest I risk my clan's destruction, and yet he asks me for more?" she ranted. "If the Empire did not back him, I swear upon the bones of my ancestors that I would have cut his throat the minute he sided with that aruetii, Palpatine, over his own blood," she spat. "At least Maul had a concept of honor, no matter how primitive it was."

The guard must have been frowning beneath his helmet, for he expressed disapproval. "My lady, with all due respect, Sabine did betray us by designing that weapon for those outlanders. The same weapon they used to kill your broth-"

"I know full well of her treason!" Ursa snapped at him. "But she is of my own blood- she is my daughter! If I executed her for her crimes, I'd damn myself and the clan as a kinslayer. That is why I banished her from Krownest- it was the only recourse available to me!" she yelled, her stentorian voice on the verge of breaking with emotion before composing herself. "I will be there to answer the viceroy in a few moments. Just…please…let me pray some more."

Robb scowled. It seemed no matter where you went, the game of thrones was played- that vile political game that set men at each other's throats, tore families apart in bids for power, and cause the ruination of entire civilizations.

And sadly, he knew, the game would continue to be played, for there would always be the power-hungry and the corrupt.

And with those thoughts, he pulled himself out of the vision.

---

He came back to reality in a flash, gasping the dry, stale air of the cave in a deep, sucking breath.

"What is it?" Maul demanded of him. "What did you see? Tell us!"

Robb took a few more breaths before electing to answer. "I saw, first, a desert world with twin suns," he began, focusing on Ezra and Kanan, particularly. "There, I came across an argument between two men about a boy named Luke Skywalker, whose father was a Jedi named Anakin, and whose mother was a woman named Padme. One was a man by the name of Owen, who was the boy's uncle, and the other was an old hermit going by the name of Obi-Wan Kenobi, or by the nickname of Ben. I only caught the end of their argument, really, but it seems that Obi-Wan thinks that this Luke is the one who will destroy the Sith."

Kanan's mouth dropped open. "Master Kenobi is alive?" he asked no one, in particular, surprised and relieved in one setting. "Master Skywalker had a son, with Senator Amidala? "

Robb nodded, not at all surprised that the blind knight knew whom he was talking about. "Aye, it seems so," he replied. "But you need to fill me in; who were Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker?" he inquired politely, all the while noticing the dangerous gleam forming in Maul's eyes.

I'm going to regret giving that man my sword.

"They were some of the greatest Jedi our order ever produced," Kanan informed him, his tone full of remembrance and reverence. "Fine swordsmen, superb tacticians, and cunning warriors. They were responsible for more victories for the Republic than any other Jedi combined," he said, then laughed a little. "I particularly remember an incident where I actually impressed Master Kenobi by pointing out the flaws in the emergency code system."

Robb nodded, getting the picture that these two were quite the formidable pair. "Whatever happened to them?" he asked. Kanan's face soured into a frown.

"Master Skywalker died defending the Temple when the clones attacked it at the end of the war- he was cut down by Vader himself, from what I heard," he shook his head. "As for Master Kenobi, no one knew what had happened to him. He was rumored to be dead, of course, but from what I've heard, they never recovered his body as proof. Now I know he isn't dead."

"As do I." Maul interrupted, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "You see, Mister Stark, this was my hope- that at least one of my enemies remained in reach for me to destroy so that at last I could die knowing that my life wasn't a complete waste," he drew, as his grin turned malicious. "And now I know that he watches over the prophesized Chosen One who can assist me in destroying Palpatine and his pet, Vader, unfortunately, your services are no longer required, Ezra Bridger."

Ezra growled as the two Jedi drew and ignited their blades. "Thought I smelled a trap."

Sabine agreed with the Padawan, drawing her twin WESTAR-35 blaster pistols. "Didn't I tell you that this stank from the start?"

Robb glared directly into Maul's eyes, cold sapphires meeting with hot, golden lakes of fire. "I'll give you one chance, Maul," he warned him, really wishing he had his sword on him right now. "Yield, and live. Fight, and die." Behind him, the altar became alive with green energy, and ghosts danced around the cavern, green and sickly and wrong.

Maul laughed, his voice cruel and hard. "What do you have to threaten me with, Stark?" he mocked. "Your fists? Your wit? Your friends?" he pointed, and Robb saw out of the corner of his eye a horrific sight.

One of those ghostly figures had rammed itself into Sabine, taking possession of the young Mandalorian warrior, and now the two Jedi were trying to fight off their possessed friend, Maul's droids, and the ghosts at the same time.

Robb snarled. "You knew this would happen!" he accused, eyeing his sword dangling on Maul's belt. Already, his mind was hatching a plan. It was stupid, dangerous, and it required to keep Maul talking.

But it just might work, provided that the bugger remained distracted and he wasn't carved in twain by a lightsaber.

"Of course, I did!" Maul shouted in triumph, now apparently too arrogant to activate his lightsaber and cut him down, instead boasting about his inevitable victory "Kenobi will be mine to kill! Skywalker will be mine to master! And I will crush those pretenders on Coruscant once and for- "

Robb immediately seized his chance, sprinting full speed at the Zabrak Nightbrother, who reacted far too late to stop him. The Lord of Winterfell tackled the Lord of the Sith to the ground, and in doing so, freed his sword and scabbard from Maul's belt, wrestling the blade free and rolling up into a fighting stance, the dark metal of the Mandalorian steel bastard-sword drank in the light of the cave around it.

Maul sneered and rose to his feet, activating his crimson-bladed weapon, glowing with an unhindered malice and rage that reflected upon its owner.

"It matters not if you die kneeling," Maul snarled, "or die standing. You cannot stop me from reaching my destiny." The former Sith adopted his own fighting stance, this one aggressive and offensive in tone. "And now it begins."

Robb shook his head. "No," He began, echoing his father from all those years past, "now it ends."

Notes:

A/N: And this is where I stop. Fooking cliffhanger, mate!

"Legacy of Mandalore" heavily inspired me to write in one of the visions, here. I was quite surprised by Ursa's character, as I was expecting her to be much like a female version of Randyll Tarly (one of GoT's biggest cockbags). Instead, herself and Clan Wren felt more like House Stark. The only main complaints I had were that they made Ezra yet again act like a complete tool and that Sabine nearly got herself killed turning her back on a man who's the literal definition of "dar'manda". (I was also quite annoyed by the fact that Saxon thought he could just walk right into the Wrens' home, guarded by hundreds of soldiers, and simply execute every family member there with only four guys.)

Next chapter will focus on either Ezra or Sabine, with the chapter after that dealing with any potential fallout.

On an unrelated note, has anyone heard that they have discovered a habitable solar system with 7 Earth-like planets, only 39 LY away?

Until the next, and remember to keep the Resol'nare.

Chapter 12: Sabine III

Darkness- that was all that she could see.

Silence- that was all she could hear.

Cold- that was all she could feel.

She should have expected it, she bitterly thought to herself. She should have seen that thing coming right for her, but she was far too busy fighting off that aruetii's droids that she was blindsided by it. And she mocked Ezra for his lack of situational awareness, at times. Oh, how the tables have turned, she groaned inwardly.

She sat down, hugging her knees to keep herself closed and warm. By the manda, it was kriffing cold in here- wherever here was. Hell, she'd even argue that her home planet of Krownest was a warm, tropical paradise by comparison.

Sabine

She shot her head up. There was someone in here, with her, calling to her.

"Yes?" she called back to the endless void. "Who's there?"

Sabine…the voice called out to her again, louder this time. Sabine sprang up to her feet, walking this way and that, looking for the source of the voice. All she could see, however, was nothing but endless darkness.

"Show yourself, voice!" she commanded at long last, frustrated that she seemed to be getting nowhere.

"SABINE!" the voice now yelled. Something about it seemed familiar to her…it was as if she knew whom the voice belonged to…

No, that was impossible. He was long dead, slain by the hands of the Empire and its sympathizers…with her weapon.

She felt a fiery warmth wrapping around from behind her, and out of the corners of her eyes, she noticed a baleful orange glow. She slowly turned around and saw a wall of flame, the fire dancing, twirling, and roaring as if it had a mind of its own. And in the middle of this fire, hung on a cross, beaten within an inch of his life, and left nearly naked for all to see, was her dear uncle, the man she always looked up to and confided in when she was just a young girl.

Lucius Wren.

"Ba'vodu?" she exclaimed, not quite believing her own eyes, which she was sure had gone as wide as saucer plates at seeing her deceased uncle.

"Why?" he pleaded with her in a broken voice that echoed around the nothingness, his own amber eyes filled with betrayal and sadness. "Why did you do it, Sabine? Why did you build that monstrosity for them? Why did you break your oath?"

"Uncle, please," she begged. "I didn't have a choice! I didn't know that they would use it on you and our people! I tried to save all of you!"

"So, you tried to save us by fleeing?" her uncle's tone turned accusatory, and his gaze turned to cold steel. "By running like a coward instead of standing your ground like a true Mando? Perhaps they are right when they call you dar'manda!"

"No, uncle, you don't understand! They were too many, my mother didn't even want to hear my side of the story -" Her desperate plea was cut off, however, as the form of Lucius rose higher above her, and the wall of fire raged into an inferno.

"The Empire is destroying everything!" he roared, flames now shooting out of his mouth and eyes, his skin starting to peel and blister, as it became one with the flames. "Manda'yim is in chains! You have forgotten your purpose!" he berated, as his form melted into the flames and the inferno now spoke with a multitude of voices, all of them from her past.

Her mother.

Her father.

Her brother.

Her uncle.

Her fellow cadets.

Ketsu.

The crew of the Ghost.

"You have betrayed us! You have forsaken us!" they all roared in unison. "BURN!"

As the flames closed in around her, as the heat became unbearable and the flames started to lick her skin, she screamed at the top of her lungs.

---

She woke up next lying face down in the sand, the sound of cheering and yelling reverberating all around her. She struggled to her feet and looked around. It became immediately apparent that she was in some sort of arena in a desert world, as the people here were all tan, and wearing clothing appropriate for such arid conditions.

"Citizens of the noblest and ancient Free City of Meereen!" an announcer from one of the podiums was calling out. "Welcome to the Great Pit of Daznak! From across Dragon's Bay and the whole world come fighters to prove their mettle! From the noble Westerosi Knight to the fierce Dothraki screamer, they come for one thing, and one thing only- the glory of combat!"

The crowd roared their approval, as black banners flapped all around the stadium, their sigil a three-headed dragon breathing flame.

"Who will triumph in our first match?" the announcer asked of the throng. "The disgraced Mandalorian warrior, thrown from her homeland and clan to wander the stars?" He pointed to her. "Or the last of the Nightsisters, who is seeking to restore their ancient ways and greatness?" he pointed to the end of the arena, towards her apparent opponent. The warrior woman was scantily clad in red fabric, with black, tribal tattoos covering her face and arms. In her hands, she wielded some sort of halberd, the material it was made from looked like beskar.

It was then Sabine felt something hanging off her right hip. Confused, Sabine tugged at the object and looked at it closely. It was a lightsaber of some sort, that much was clear, but it wasn't of the kind Kanan or Ezra wielded, which had round hilts and no guards to speak of. This one had a semi-rectangular-shaped hilt, and the guard reminded her of the guards seen on the falchions most of her people preferred to wield in melee combat.

No, she thought with dawning realization and horror, it can't be!

She found the lightsaber's ignition switch and pressed it, and the blade cackled to life, its hue jet black cracked it white streaks.

The Darksaber, the legendary weapon of Clan Vizsla and the symbol of the old rulers of all Mandalorian Space…and she was holding it.

Wielding it.

"You seem nervous, little girl," her opponent mocked her, sashaying as she walked towards her. "What's the matter? Big bad Mandalorian afraid of a little Jedi weapon?" the Nightsister joked as she twirled her halberd menacingly.

Sabine glared at the Dathomirian witch. "Who are you?" she demanded, bringing her sword into a fighting stance.

The Nightsister laughed, cruelly, and without mirth. "Come now, Sabine," she tittered. "Who do you think, other than the sister currently possessing your body at the moment?"

The wayward daughter of Clan Wren barely had time to register what she said, for, at that moment, the arena went dead quiet. From the biggest pavilion, a single clap was heard, and the crowd roared to its feet.

It was also the moment the Nightsister chose to strike, swinging at Sabine's head in a downward arc. The warrior artist barely had time to counter, rolling out of the way of the menacing polearm and back into a fighting position. She immediately went on the offensive, swinging the Darksaber this way and that, hoping to catch her opponent off balance. The cruel dark-sider just swatted her feeble attacks away, however, chortling as if this were a game.

Maybe this was all it was to the deranged spirit, Sabine mused as she was immediately put on the defensive again, trying to parry and dodge the Nightsister's halberd…

…and struggling in doing so.

Every thrust she took was batted aside. Every counter she made was followed up by another attack. Every swipe she took was parried. The dark-sider was simply too quick for her.

"Pathetic," the witch hissed. "Your skill with a blade is lacking, young one," she pressed. The witch then swung her halberd with all her might, and knocked the Darksaber out of Sabine's hands, to the delight of the crowd.

"Listen to them!" the witch cackled. "They think you are weak and afraid." She sneered. "Face it, girl. No one loves you. No one cares for you. Your mother abandoned you to please the Empire…"

"Shut up," Sabine snarled, pulling out her blasters and firing at the witch, who just seemed to evade the bolts with inhuman ease.

"…Hera and Kanan only care about what you bring to the Rebellion," the dark woman pressed. "You think they care about you as a person? Ha! The minute your rebellion succeeds they'll cast you aside to wonder on your own, just as your mother did!"

"I said...SHUT UP!" Sabine repeated...and was rewarded for her efforts with the back end of her opponent's halberd to her face, knocking her flat on her back.

"What's more…" her opponent drew, coming to stand over her. "That cute boy you like so much…the one who follows you around like a love-sick puppy…" her grin grew malicious. "He doesn't deserve you, a coward and a traitor, a woman who just wants to shirk her responsibilities to everything and everyone and live in her artistic heaven…"

"No…" Sabine stuttered, as she now lay on the ground, with the tip of her opponent's weapon resting on her throat. "I…I…I don't-"

The Nightsister rolled her eyes. "Oh, this is rich. You're going to tell me now that 'you don't like him like that', like some teenager in denial, aren't you?" the witch mocked, and pressed the blade point further into her neck, drawing a little blood. "You seem to forget the fact that we are in your mind, right now, girl. I can see all your deepest, most intimate thoughts, and I know how strongly you truly feel for that Loth-rat," she smirked. "But no matter. Once he gets a load of what a real woman looks like- and feels like- he'll drop you in a heartbeat and come slobbering over to me like the good little beggar he is."

Sabine winced and prepared herself for the end, but as her opponent raised her weapon to strike the scion of the Avenger down, she suddenly remembered something the monster had told her.

I am in my mind…

I can control my environment, which means…

Sabine bucked her hips, sending the witch sprawling off her into the dirt. She sprang to her feet almost immediately and ran to where her weapon was. Picking up the ancient blade, she stared her opponent down, as the witch glared at her with deranged madness.

"I will not lose to you, oathbreaker!" the thing spat. "Our due must be paid! The Nightsisters must rise again!"

"No," Sabine corrected, "they must not." She remembered the things Robb showed her, the way the Grey Wolf kept his calm and his footwork steady. She applied the same principle here, as she batted away the Nightsister's strike almost effortlessly.

"How?" the Dathomirian pondered allowed, fear creeping into her voice. "How are you able to resist me?"

"Like you said, witch," Sabine replied, blocking another strike of the halberd, "this is my mind. I control what happens in here. You have no power here."

The Nightsister snarled. "Foolish girl! Do you know whom you are dealing with?"

"A relic of a bygone age. Nothing more," Sabine replied, as calm as still water.

Suddenly, the ground started to crack open, and light poured through, golden and orange in hue. And beyond the cracks, she could hear a voice calling out to her, urgent and pleading.

"Sabine!"

"Ezra…" she breathed as her heart skipped a beat.

"Sabine, snap out of it, I know you can fight it! I trust you!"

Sabine froze, her breath hitching.

He trusts her…

They all trust her…

And she trusts them, as well…

With newfound courage and serenity, Sabine focused on her opponent before her. The deranged witch snarled at her and charged full tilt, the point of her halberd leveled at the Mandalorian warrior. Sabine adjusted her footwork, and when the moment came...when the crazed Nightsister was on the verge of running her through, Sabine sidestepped the thrust, and using the witch's momentum against her, cut through her neck, the hot plasma searing through the unprotected flesh and bone.

The sister's head flew off her shoulders, landing a few feet away from Sabine's feet, an angry and shocked grimace being the final, eternal emotion set on its face, as the body remained standing for a few, tense moments before collapsing to the ground in a twitching heap.

Sabine stared at the head for a moment, as the audience around her erupted into a roar of approval, chanting her name to the distant stars above before she noticed the light in the ground growing bigger and bigger at an ever-increasing light.

She let out a sigh of relief as she let the light take her, and was torn from this strange world…

---

Sabine…wake up…

The first thing Sabine saw was a blurry shape kneeling over her, as dull red light poured in through her vision.

"Bine!"

The shapes cleared up, and she soon came to realize that she was outside the Nightsisters' cavern on Dathomir, and the blurry shape kneeling over her was none other than Ezra.

"Ezra?" She asked groggily. "What happened back there?"

"You were possessed by one of those things," he explained to her, clutching both his lightsaber and what appeared to be the Darksaber. "You grabbed this old lightsaber here and started to attack me and Kanan. It was only after I pushed you out of the cave that you began to fight whatever was controlling you."

It all came back to Sabine in a rush at that moment. Her uncle, the fight in the arena, the light…

She looked around. "Not that I'm not glad to see you and all, Ez, but where is everyone else?"

"Kanan went back into the cave to help Robb fight off Maul. Hera and the others are on the ship," he informed her as he stood up. "And I'm going back in to destroy that altar. Those spirits are too dangerous to be let loose."

Sabine got to her feet, albeit a bit unsteadily. By whatever gods there were, she was sore. "I'm coming with you," she declared. Call her stubborn, but there was no way she was going to let any of her family die, not while she could help it.

Unfortunately, Ezra could be just as equally stubborn, as he shook his head emphatically. "No way. Those spirits will possess you again. You go back to the ship."

Sabine huffed, putting her right hand on her hip in a defiant pose, and fixed him with a challenging stare. "Since when have I ever started listening to you? I can handle myself, you know?"

Ezra grits his teeth, muttering something about 'stubborn fucking Mandalorians' before throwing his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine! You can come and help, but do realize that if anything happens to you, Hera will throttle me, understand?"

Sabine smirked. "I'll be sure to break my leg so I can see that," she ribbed in good nature, though Ezra didn't seem to share the humor, instead opting to groan and motion for her to follow.

They raced back into the cave, with Ezra still clutching his lightsaber and the Darksaber, and soon found a surreal scene.

Robb and Maul were still going at it, striking, parrying, and countering each other, neither gaining ground nor giving it. Not even the addition of Kanan had turned the tides of the battle, and now all three were trying to end the fight whilst avoiding the Nightsister spirits, who were intent on claiming a host on their own.

Sabine saw Ezra dart straight to the altar, lightsabers in hand, dodging this way and that to avoid the ghouls coming straight at him. Soon enough, he had reached the altar, and with swords in hand, he brought down the blades with a mighty cry.

The ground shook beneath Sabine's feet, throwing her and the others off balance, and suddenly, a flash of light erupted from the altar, followed by a concussive shockwave that threw her and the others to the ground. As Sabine felt the wind get knocked out of her, she could distinctly hear the screams of the Nightsisters, being pulled back into oblivion, before the silence settled over the cavern again.

Coughing, Sabine managed to sit up, and to her great alarm, Maul was already up before her, walking on a still-down Robb Stark, who was trying to get up and reach for his sword. The insane Sith Lord kicked the blade out of reach, stepping on Robb's hand in the process. Sabine grimaced when she heard Robb's sharp cry of agony, as she also heard several fingers breaking due to the pressure of a durasteel foot pressing down on them.

"What were your words, again, Mister Stark?" Maul spat, as he came to be on top of the former king, his blade once again ignited and ready to kill. "Now it ends? I think now I very much agree. It will end…for you…" he mocked as he raised his sword for the cut that would end Robb's second life.

Springing into action, Sabine drew her combat knife out of her sheath, and raced towards Maul with the speed of a falcon, ignoring the protesting, aching muscles in her legs and arms. She switched her grip on the blade to a reverse grip, and when she got close enough, drove the dagger deep into his back, right in between the third and second rib.

The Nightbrother grunted, apparently equal parts shocked and enraged that someone had the gall to strike him like that, let alone one who was not Force-sensitive. He turned around, spotting her, and with an incensed snarl, grabbed her by the throat in a vice-like grip.

"You…" he seethed, "little…Mandalorian…bitch! I'll gut you for that! But first, I'm going to make sure Bridger hears you scream!"

He tightened his grip on her throat, and Sabine started to see a red haze as she struggled for breath, desperately trying to pry Maul's talons off her neck. Through the red mist, she saw him raise his blade once again, this time apparently to strike her down.

Just as she was about to lose all consciousness, his grip on her neck slackened, and she fell to the ground in an undignified heap. Taking a moment to catch her breath and gulp down some badly needed air, no matter how hot and stifling, she then shakily rose to her feet…

…and saw a familiar dark steel blade coming out of the back of Maul's head, the sword splitting his mouth, nose, and half his face wide down the middle, as the former Sith Lord gurgled blood, before being slowly shoved off the sword, collapsing on the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Darth Maul, former Sith Lord, Warlord, Crime-Lord, and Scourge of Mandalore, was dead.

And his killer, Robb Stark, holding his bloodied sword with one hand while his damaged hand hung uselessly at his side, stared coldly at his corpse.

"Goodbye, my lord," he spoke at long last, his voice filled with nothing but contempt for the villain. "May history forget you ever existed."

He kicked the corpse once to make sure he was dead, and after that, sauntered off to rejoin Ezra and Kanan, who was by now just getting up.

Sabine stared at Maul's corpse and mused on Robb's words. True, no songs of this duel would be sung, nor would historians write of this battle, but Robb was wrong in one regard; history would remember the villain, as much as it pained her to admit it to herself. Granted, he would be remembered as a usurper and a coward in Mandalorian history, a footnote to the reign of the Duchess Satine Kryze and the rise of Gar Saxon as Imperial Viceroy, but he would be remembered, regardless- a black name in all of Mandalorian culture.

A name that was just as black as hers.

Shaking her head, she cleared that line of thought out of her mind, before walking to rejoin Robb and the others.

"A few weeks on the mend, and you'll be as good as new!" Ezra was encouraging him.

"Thank the gods for modern medicine, then," Robb replied, having sheathed his sword and now clutching his damaged hand. "Where I came from, this would have taken months to heal or it would have required an amputation, in the most extreme cases."

"Don't know how you did it, but I'm thankful Maul isn't going to be around to trouble us any longer. We have enough to worry about without him coming into our lives," Kanan complimented.

"Thank Sabine for that," Robb corrected him, nodding to where she had joined them. "I'd be dead if not for her. And for that, you have my gratitude," he complimented and looked back outside the cave. "Maul's ship needs a new owner, and a new paint job, methinks. What better gift for the woman who ended the life of the tyrant who ruled over her people than his vessel?"

Sabine was flabbergasted. Her ship? A Korm'k-class fighter/bomber, that she could take on her missions where the Ghost wasn't required or needed?

How could she say 'no'?

"I…accept, I guess..." she replied, still a little dazed.

Kanan nodded at her. "We'll figure out a name for it later. As for now, I'd very much like to get out of this cave and off this rock."

"No argument from me, here," Robb agreed while Ezra nodded, and began to make their way out of the cave.

As she started to make her way out of the cavern, Sabine spotted something lying in the dust, a few feet away from the altar, something familiar…

And it seemed to call to her.

Walking over to where it was, she picked it up to examine it. She inwardly grimaced when she realized it was the Darksaber. Half of her wanted to throw it down the nearest chasm and forget about it for the rest of her days, never to be seen again. But the other half…the other half wanted her to hold on to it, at least until they got back to the Ghost where she could give it to Kanan or Robb for safe-keeping.

And still, there was something inside her that whispered that she had done the right thing by holding onto it.

"Sabine? You coming?" Ezra yelled back at her.

"Yeah! I'm coming!" she yelled back, running to catch up to the group.

All the while still holding her family's ancestral weapon, unaware of the destiny the Force had ordained upon her, as a large, three-eyed raven watched with great curiosity and interest…

Notes:

A/N: Another chapter down, another day is done.

Many of you may wonder why Sabine would have landed in Meereen in her second 'vision', while she has never even heard of the city beyond Robb's limited stories about it. My answer to that is that those in the afterlife can perceive time and space differently than we can, and thus the dead Nightsister would have learned about Planetos.

The conversation between Sabine and her uncle was heavily inspired by the newest season of Samurai Jack, and the end of the duel between Maul and Robb echoes that of the one between both Jon Snow and Karl Tanner and the one between Ned Stark and Arthur Dayne. Not as emotionally evocative as the end of "Twin Suns", I know, but dead is dead, and Maul will be forgotten by the denizens of the galaxy, at large. He loses the duel proper, true, but still kills Maul in the end. Also, to those wondering why Maul would have ignored the warnings the Force would give him in regards to the danger…well, anger kind of works funny in the way duels go. Yeah, it can aid you in a fight, true enough, but if you get too angry, you get tunnel vision.

Yep, Sabine gets Maul's ship AND the Darksaber. I'll give you three guesses as to what she is going to name it…

I gave the uncle the name "Lucius" based on my finding that the Wrens' names seem to be all based on Latin or Romantic names and peoples.

Till the next…

Chapter 13: Sloane II

If there was anything that could describe the Chiss accurately, it was that they were, almost without exception, a bunch of condescending, xenophobic stoics, and it was making her already stressful job even more damned difficult than it had to be. And it was on days like this that made her wish that her old mentor was here to at least soothe over negotiations…

On second thought, judging by the reactions of the name 'Thrawn' on Csilla, perhaps it would be better if she was the one to talk to them.

"I understand your concerns, my lord," she again stressed. "But the Empire does not wish to conquer or annex the Chiss Ascendency. All we are asking for are the star maps to the regions beyond your border to the west."

The ambassador she was talking to, a particularly haughty Chiss Aristoca named 'Formbi', merely quirked a thin eyebrow at her, taking a sip of his wine while doing so, deigning to wait a few moments before setting down his drink and answering her question.

"Indeed, Admiral," he tutted, "but you will forgive me for doubting your word. You Imperials have a remarkable history of turning your back on your promises, after all." he reminded as he folded his hands in his lap. "Take, for instance, the Lasat. You promised them that you would leave them alone if they gave the Emperor hostages and agreed to pay annual tribute. Not even a half-year later, you slaughter the hostages, stop taking the tribute, and wiped out nearly every man, woman, and child on Lasan, just so you could resettle it with more 'proper-thinking' human colonists from Corulag."

Rae's gaze hardened. "I had nothing to do with that."

"But Palpatine did," Formbi corrected, "as did Governor Tarkin. What is to stop you from using our star charts to launch a surprise attack from the rear?" he questioned. "Just because we have a …ambivalent relationship today, does not mean that we won't be enemies tomorrow."

Rae sighed. "Your concerns are understandable, my lord. But we are currently faced with a far greater threat," she again stressed. "I've received word that the Yuuzhan Vong- your long-time enemies, are rallying behind one leader."

Formbi's own gaze hardened, his red eyes boring into Rae's brown ones. "Where did you learn of this?"

"Does it matter?" Rae threw the hard question back in his face. If these Chiss wanted to play twenty questions with her, she was more than happy to oblige them.

"It absolutely does." Formbi pressed. "If it is a matter of dire security, as you say it is, then there should be no secrets between us. So, tell me- how…did…you…learn…this."

Rae grimaced. On one hand, she'd be giving away vital state secrets. On the other, she needed those star maps. It was a matter of priorities, and her answer would determine whether she got to keep her rank, and her head.

"We sent a couple of scout ships out into the uncharted territories. They reported back to us that the Vong were mobilizing and that they were gathering their forces," she told a half-truth, then she leaned forward. "Now it's my turn again; what are you not telling me."

Formbi continued to glare at her, but his lips, ever so stoic, curled up into a slight smirk. "You are very perceptive, Admiral Sloane. I recognize traces of Mith'raw'nurudo's genius imprinted on you," he complimented, but then his smirk settled down back into a frown, and he shifted in his seat ever so slightly. "It's not just the Vong who are rallying behind this mysterious force," he said after a moment, his voice going uncharacteristically quiet, and Rae had to strain herself to hear him. "The Ssi-Ruuk, the Yethvena, the Killiks- nearly every damned barbarian tribe and culture is rallying behind this being, and we don't know who or what he is, only that it is a male, that he is a human, that he possibly could have been a Jedi at one point, and that he's been doing this for nearly twenty years, now."

Rae's eyes went as wide as saucer plates. A Jedi? In the Unknown Regions?

A part of her wanted to say that it wasn't possible, that Lord Vader and the Inquisition had been extremely thorough in wiping out or converting the Jedi Knights who survived Operation: Knightfall and Order 66, but her experiences with Jarrus and his annoying Padawan had taught her better. It was entirely possible that a survivor of the Purge could have fled into the Unknown Regions, sought shelter with one of the friendlier Yuuzhan Vong clans, and then began to coalesce the races into a sort of coalition, building it for nearly twenty years in preparation for an invasion of the galaxy, in some elaborate act of revenge.

Rae's blood ran cold, and the air went as chilly as the damned crypt on LX-777. If what he was saying was true, this possible rogue Jedi had an army of billions under his command, an army that could very well overrun the defenses in the border regions.

And that wasn't counting what was supposedly coming after that- the dead men and their freak of a master.

Once more she cursed the rebellion in the Outer Rim. Every day they still existed, more and more resources had to be expended and allocated to defeat them. Every month they propagated their nerfshit, more and more systems came to question the rule of His Majesty. She silently berated Krennic under her breath for being such a slow, egotistical fool. If he had completed his project by now, they wouldn't even have to worry about any damned revolt in the Rim, and could concentrate their might to where the real war was about to begin.

A war she was going to have to fight on her own, for the time being.

She squared her shoulders and addressed the Aristoca with the grace and authority of a Vice Admiral of the Imperial Navy. "I thank you for this information, Aristoca Formbi," she thanked him. "But if we can get to the matter of the star charts? I cannot go risking my men to go in blindly, after all."

Formbi sighed. "Very well. The charts will be uploaded to your fleet's database within the standard hour," he relented, summoning an aide who walked briskly to where the two were sitting. "And should you need it, there is a library here in the capital you can consult if you want more information on the tribes living in the Unknown Regions."

Rae stood up and bowed politely to the Chiss aristocrat. "I thank you, my lord, in your cooperation with this matter."

"And I thank you, Admiral Sloane, for being such a polite guest," he bowed back. "I hope your mission to the savage wastes is a resounding success."

---

Csaplar was supposed to be the warmest city on the otherwise deathly cold planet of Csilla, which made it the ideal choice for off-world traders and merchants, and it was also the capital city for the Chiss homeworld.

Apparently, no one had thought to inform her that warm for a Chiss wasn't the same as being warm for a human, as she wrapped her standard-issue cold weather jacket around her a little tighter, as she and her Death Troopers made their way via speed-cab to what was considered the most secure, intact, and largest library this side of the Galaxy; the Expeditionary Library, located deep beneath the ice in between Csaplar and As'ciel, and operated by the Expeditionary Defense Force.

Rae had no doubt that Formbi would have informed the guards manning the entrance to the library that she had access to their treasured information. If he hadn't, she didn't have any doubt that if the guards tried to detain her, or worse, the Ascendency would bring the wrath of the Emperor down upon them. She had to suppress a smirk as they were coming up on the end of the ice tunnel leading to the facility. Even the "last free nation" knew when to acquiesce to the wishes of the Galactic Empire, as it should be.

One of the Death Troopers garbled something at her and nodded at the end of the tunnel. The entrance was nothing special; just a large pair of sturdy durasteel doors... with two EDS soldiers guarding the place looked vigilant and weary, their rifles at the low-ready position and set to kill.

"Halt, outlander," one guard commanded, as her and her entourage waked up to the durasteel doors. "No one can enter without prior authorization from one of the ruling families."

"I have the proper credentials," Rae informed, handing him her code cylinder, which now contained the code Formdi gave her, used for accessing the library.

The guard nodded at her, and walked over to the terminal near the door, plugging it in. After a few seconds, the light turned green, and the massive doors slid open. The guard walked back to her, nodding as he handed her the code cylinder.

"Everything is in order, Admiral Sloane," he informed. "Please, if you have any questions, ask Tris at the desk, ma'am."

"Understood," she replied and soon walked past the guards and into the library.

She was immediately struck by the size of it. Normally, a modern library would be no more than a large room, complete with holodisks and holoscreens for viewing materials online. This library was the size of a standard docking bay found on most models of Star Destroyer, with four walkways located along the walls that were accessed by steep stairwells. In the center of the library was a large, rectangular table made of snow wood, with enough seats to sit twenty people in comfort.

But the thing that struck Rae most that everything in here was that there were books on the shelf. Not holodisks, not tapes, but actual, paper, leather-bound books, cataloged by their area of study, from anthropology to botany to histories of worlds heard and unheard of.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" a voice spoke from behind her. Rae turned sharply on her heal, just as her Death Troopers raised their weapons at the source of the voice.

"At ease!" she commanded the overzealous commandos. "This one isn't a threat. Stand down." She turned to the source of the voice, who was Chiss female, her expression somewhat annoyed at her. "My apologies. My guards can be a little overzealous when it comes to my protection. I am Vice Admiral Rae Sloane of the Imperial Navy. May I have your name?"

The Chiss crossed her arms. "My name would be unpronounceable to your Basic tongue. Therefore, you may simply call me 'Tris'. I'm the chief librarian in this facility, and I'd appreciate it if your guards remained at a comfortable distance from me."

Rae nodded. "Of course, but do understand their presence is non-negotiable in the eyes of my government."

Tris nodded tersely. "Understandable. It would reflect poorly on us if we were to attack you, here. Now, back to my original question; can I be of assistance to you?"

"I need information about the species in the Unknown Regions, in particular, the big ones. The Vong, the Ssi-Ruuk, pretty much everything and anything you have," she informed the librarian, who merely quirked an eyebrow at her.

Were all Chiss so ineffably stoic and smug?

"You do realize that's literally days' worth of reading, right?" Tris asked her. "And I highly doubt that you have days to spend here in this library."

Rae sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine. Just…get me the basic histories of the major species then."

Tris nodded, but before she could turn and walk to the history section, something tugged at Rae; a memory of a long-forgotten crypt in an ancient, grim castle, and the stone face of a kingly statue.

The King in the North, something seemed to whisper to her. Find the King in the North.

"Excuse me!" she called out to the librarian, who turned back and stared at her with a face made of chiseled stone. "There is something else I need for you to get me."

"And that is?" Tris asked, tapping an impatient foot.

"A book covering the history of a planet we've recently re-discovered. I don't know what the inhabitants of that place used to call it, but our scientists have taken to calling it LX-777," Rae revealed, hoping beyond hope that her head wouldn't roll for this.

Tris nodded slowly, biting her lip. "And where, exactly, is this planet located?"

Rae thought long and hard about that one. So far, only those in the highest echelons of the Imperial military and scientific community knew about the planet's existence. And Lord Vader had made it very clear to her that he would like to keep it that way.

"I can't give you the planet's location, miss," she informed her, trying not to sound condescending. "But I can give you the description; it has four continents, standard gravity and atmosphere, mostly average climate save for the northern regions, and a lot of castles."

Tris appeared thoughtful for a moment as if remembering something before her eyes lit up in recognition. "I think I know what planet you're speaking of, now, ma'am. Wait right here," she commanded and turned sharply on her heel to stride forth to the history section of the library, leaving Rae behind in her wake.

Not ten minutes later, the graceful Chiss librarian returned with five books in her hands, dropping them on the table in front of Rae.

"Here you are," she indicated, her voice dry. "Try not to spill any caf on them, please? Heaven knows you'll need it slogging through all that."

Rae waved her off, eager to begin her work. "Yes, yes. Thank you, Tris, for your help. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to be alone for a little bit."

The librarian nodded, probably eager to get away from the offworlder, and walked off to presumably where her desk was. Rae turned her attention back to her books, and started on the first one that came to her attention, The Yuuzhan Vong- History and Culture in the Modern Era…

---

She was drinking her fourth cup of caff when she had finally finished Killiks- A Treatise. She rubbed her tired eyes in annoyance- she never knew how her mentor could do it, going on for hours studying his enemies in excruciating detail without getting tired or breaking a sweat. 'Know your enemies, Captain Sloane,' he had said to her at the Academy, 'as intimately as you know yourself. Not simply their battle tactics, but their history, their philosophy. Their art. You do that, and there will be no foe that you will not conquer.'

I wonder what the Grand Admiral would think about a foe who had no art to speak of, she thought as she took another sip of her caf, suppressing a shudder as the images of that monster and its barbaric attack on the research station on Vector Prime wormed their way through her mind.

The thing had twisted their bodies, broke the scientists and their guards alike with inhuman ease. What horrified her the most is that no weapon seemed to harm it, bouncing off its icy skin like impenetrable armor. And then…that monster had resurrected its victims, like a puppeteer, twisting the corpses into something foul and vicious. In her study of history, she had read something similar; a foul plague that had struck the Outer Rim during the Mandalorian Wars called the rakghoul plague, where the infected turned into mindless, feral beasts, driven only by the will to kill, devour, and spread the infection...

She heard her commlink beep and took it out to answer it.

"Ma'am..." came the voice at the other end. "You've been there for quite a while, now. Five standard hours, to be more precise."

"Pish-posh, Gordon," she waved off, suppressing a yawn as she set down her second-to-last book. "I'm almost done here, anyway. Just one more book to go and I'll be done, here. Meanwhile, continue to hold your position outside the system."

"Roger that, ma'am," he replied, as crisp as ever. "Usual schedule, then, for shift change?"

"Yes," Rae responded. "We're still keeping SOPs as long as we're here. Just keep the fleet away for the time being. I'll let you know if shit goes south."

She could hear a sigh at the other end. "Understood, ma'am. Uthbar out."

She put the commlink back in her pocket and rubbed her hands over her tired face. It wasn't as if she wasn't used to this sort of tediousness- far from it. It seemed nearly every day for her was filing and going over paperwork of some sort, either compiled from the captains of her vessels or stacked to be sent off to Oversector Command, which was then sent onto HIGHCOM. But the amount of information in these books was staggering. So far, she had learned of what the barbarians in the region did, what their history was, their culture. She even read a few pages detailing Yethveni cuisine, for crying out loud, and she honestly didn't know if it would help her at all.

She didn't have her mentor's talent for picking out the small details, after all.

She turned her attention to the last book, which, compared to the others, was dusty and old, with pages yellowed from age and wear, bound in worn, brown leather. In gilded, ancient lettering were words in Aurebesh, indicating to her that this must have been a translated work.

The Histories of the Peoples of Valaryos, by Grand-Maester Martin.

Valaryos. So, that's the actual name of the planet, Rae thought as she opened the old book, ignoring the rather drool preface and skipping right to the table of contents.

"Let's see…" she began looking. "I landed on the western continent, so Westeros would be a good start," she realized, looked under the heading labeled 'Westeros'.

"Hmm…The North looks promising," she whistled. By the Force, there were a lot of noble houses detailed in the section. She began to scroll down. "Let's see…House Umber, no. Not House Giantsbane, either. Glover, no. Bolton, no. Mormont, negative. House Stark…"

Right next to the words was a picture of a snarling, grey wolf.

There. That's the one I'm looking for.

She flipped to the section that detailed the history of the ancient northern noble house-scratch that, royal house, and began to read:

The history of House Stark is a long history, and could fill an entire library the size of the Citadel alone should one dedicate himself to detailing it. For now, we will cover the essentials, detailing times of critical importance and major events.

House Stark began as a vassal house to the Dustins of Barrowton, but through changing circumstances, and a truly dire threat, came to prominence in the North by the time of the Long Night, which saw Brandon the Builder, with the aid of his allies, drive out the accursed White Walkers from our lands, and erect the Wall to keep them out; a Wall which stood until the early days of Jon II the Great, who decisively defeated the White Walkers once and for all. Brandon then founded the seat of House Stark, Winterfell, and from there ruled as Kings in the North for eight millennia unbroken. Under the wise and just rule of the Starks, the men of the North enjoyed prosperity and were united in their repulsion of the Andalic invaders from the East. It was only when the Conqueror, Aegon the First, arrived in Westeros with his war-dragons, did King Torrhen Stark bend the knee. Thus, the Starks became Wardens of the North for three hundred years until the time of the barbaric devastation known as the War of the Five Kings.

Rae let that sink in for a moment. Apparently, these guys were the stuff of legend... and dogged if their longevity as a noble house was any indication. She took another sip of her caff and continued.

The War of the Five Kings saw the kingdoms of Westeros rent apart, and the cost was especially dear to House Stark, as it lost over half of its beginning family. No one knows the true reasons why the Lady Catelyn captured Tyrion Lannister, but what is certain is that it ignited a conflict between the Great Houses that would only be rivaled by the Second War for the Dawn in terms of devastation. After the execution of Lord Eddard Stark by the hands of Joffrey the Illborn, his eldest son, Robb, called the Young Wolf by his men, rose in revolt, and retook the ancient crown of his forbearers. His campaign has been studied by many in our order and has been called one of the greatest tacticians of the old era. It was he who defeated Ser Jaime Lannister outside of Riverrun at the Whispering Wood, though Jaime's host was much larger than his own. It was the Young Wolf who defeated the Lannister reserves at Oxcross and proceeded to sack the Westerlands. Every time he faced battle, his enemies were thrown into disarray, and every time Lord Tywin tried to catch him, he slipped away like a wolf in the night.

However, as tactically competent as he was, he was shortsighted and arrogant, as he was only a boy of seventeen when he went to war. It is often said that the Young Wolf won the war in the field, but lost it in the bedchamber.

When King Robb married the Volantese woman Talisa Maegyr, he broke his promise to one of his chief allies, Lord Walder Frey, and his trust in Theon Greyjoy proved disastrous, as the betrayer sacked Winterfell and put most of the inhabitants to the sword. And secretly unbeknownst to the Young Wolf, his allies, Walder and Roose Bolton, conspired with none other than Lord Tywin to kill him and usurp his throne. And so, they did. On the night of April 24, 300 AC, they sprung their trap at the wedding between Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey, in the Twins, slaughtering the King, his wife, their entourage, and most of his army, in a black event that became known as the Red Wedding. So the king died, not in glory, but in tragedy, and his kingdom would not be restored until a year later when his brother Jon retook the North from the Boltons in the Battle of the Bastards…

Rae stopped right there for the moment, letting the information sink in while staring at a picture of the king in question.

It was the same king as she saw in that tomb.

She rubbed her head. Why did she need to find this? What possible reason or entity wanted to find it? A dead king long past on a planet long forgotten? It didn't make sense…unless…

The Grey Wolf.

No one knew what the terrorist looked like, but one of the messages that he left behind after his butcheries were the exact same phrase as the words that this ancient house had prided themselves on.

Winter is Coming.

Rae didn't know what it meant, but from the wording, it sounded like a warning. To whom, though, or what? It was a question she needed answering, but she figured that this Grey Wolf might be descendent of these Starks, and was looking for a possible resurgence of the ancient house.

Speaking of winter…

She flipped to a section in the Westerosi History titled "The Wars for the Dawn.", and nearly spat out her caf in horror at what she saw gracing the image page.

There, before her, staring at her with cold, blue eyes, was a painting of the same creature that had destroyed Vector Prime.

The Night's King, the heading read, Leader of the White Walkers, and Commander of the Host of the Dead.

"The Long Night is coming, Rae Sloane," a voice spoke out of the emptiness, powerful and commanding, "and the dead come with it."

Rae shook her head, and when she looked back up, the voice was silent. She looked back down at her book, and a shudder when through her spine.

Is that what's happening? She asked herself. Are the Vong fleeing whatever is rising out of the east?

She didn't know the answer, but her gut churned in dread, telling her that this war between the Empire and the Rebellion was but a sideshow…

And that the great war to come would make the Clone Wars look like a cakewalk.

Notes:

A/N: Well, another chapter complete! Sorry, this one doesn't have any action in it.

So, Rae finds out about the past of the planet Robb comes from and the identity of the Night's King. Now, few know this, but originally, I was planning on having the planet as Medriaas, the homeworld of Valkorian, but I changed this for some pretty glaring reasons, namely that there was no way that House Stark would work with the Sith, considering those fuckers make the Boltons look sane by comparison. Now, there is a reason why Valaryos is devoid of all life and will be expounded upon in later chapters.

As for how the Chiss have that information? Well, the Chiss are extremely isolationist and powerful, but also extremely curious. Therefore, it stands to reason that they would have documented and collected works on Valaryos, and then promptly hid that information from the rest of the galaxy.

Now, who is the Promised Prince who will lead the galaxy against the Night King in the Third War for the Dawn? Will it be Thrawn? Vader? Luke? Or someone else entirely?

Till the next!

Chapter 14: The Protector of Concord Dawn

Cu'bikahd was an interesting game, Fenn Rau mused, certainly more interesting than the more widely popular dejarik.

The grizzled warrior, a former bodyguard to Duchess Satine Kryze and founder of the Protectors of Concord Dawn, current prisoner of the nascent rebellion against the Empire, studied the eponymous holographic cube, noting the position of his blades, which were colored cyan, and those of his opponent, colored orange. Normally, if anyone in this damned pathetic excuse for a military would play a game of strategy with him, he would welcome it.

That is, if they weren't a kriffing dar'manda oathbreaker and traitor, like the one sitting across from him now.

He had met the infamous White Phoenix on Concord Dawn, when she and that Jedi, Jarrus, were seeking retribution for the attempted murder of Jarrus' lover, Hera Syndulla.

Fenn had to suppress a sneer. Syndulla's near-death incident was the cause of two enemy combatants engaging each other in hard contact. It was war, nothing more, nothing less. To think Wren had the gall of accusing him of cowardice…sometimes he wondered if he could have throttled the traitor right then and there, given his lack of restraints at the moment, were it not for the guards and the fact that her crew would go to great lengths to avenge her.

Especially that cold, dead-eyed Grey Wolf.

He had heard the stories about his brutality from the guards, rumors about how he mutilated the bodies of Imperial stormtroopers and officers, sticking their heads upon pikes and painting chilling messages in their blood, all to warn the Empire that their tyranny would no longer be tolerated.

Fenn scoffed. Robb Stark was a fool. The Empire was too vast, too technologically advanced, and too powerful to ever take down. Many nations had tried to fight the Emperor and his fleets and legions- all of them were either eradicated or made to serve the will of Coruscant and its master. One man, no matter how good, could never hope to tackle such a beast.

No one could.

He took his mind off such brooding thoughts, however, and refocused his attention back to the game at hand. He was immediately intrigued, however, when he saw the strategy his opponent was attempting.

Or the lack thereof.

"Blade to Cubeface-4?" he inquired, somewhat amused at her boldness. "That's a brazen strategy. You play with far too much bravado."

Sabine smirked at him. Oh, how I want to rip it off. "Strategy is an art, Rau," she boasted, making that irritating comparison to her love of the arts. Again. "Maybe I'm just luring you into a false sense of security."

Fenn guffawed. "Ha! There's nothing false about it. Blade to Cubeface-2," he indicated to the droid, who moved the piece accordingly, knocking out Sabine's key piece and turning the entire board Red.

Score one for the loyalist.

"I win," he bragged, smirking back at the traitor. "You know, I've bet your game has slipped since you fled Mandalore." he gloated as he let his smirk settle into a frown. "Why do you keep coming back here? You and your friends have imprisoned me. My men have orders to give you safe passage through our system, so what more can you want?"

Sabine didn't answer him, at first, instead motioning to the droid with her head. "Reset the board, Chop," she commanded, before deigning to answer him. "I want what we've always wanted, Rau; for you and your Protectors to join the Rebellion. To fight the Empire."

Fenn scoffed. Really? Again? This was what her little social call was about? Alright, he'll humor her.

"I made a deal with the Empire to survive," he stressed, not expecting her to understand. He didn't care. "I made a deal with your rebellion to survive. But joining you?" he spat, pointedly ignoring the fact that her amber eyes had hardened into steel. "My only true loyalty is to Mandalore, something I don't expect you to understand," he insulted, causing her to glare at him. "You know, though, I do admire your persistence. You would have made a good Protector, where it not for your treasonous past."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Not this, again."

"You know, you can still redeem yourself," he pressed, not entirely sure why he was doing this. "If I were released, we can join forces and fight not for the rebellion, nor for the Empire, but for Mandalore."

He saw the wheels turning in her head, as she folded her hands in front of her mouth and adopted a thoughtful expression. She looked like she was about to reply when they were both interrupted by her Lasat companion; Zeb, he thinks he called himself.

"Sorry to interrupt your playtime, but Hera needs you on the bridge," he commanded, turning to glare at Fenn. "Both of you," he added with much hesitancy.

Fenn's eyebrows shot up in surprise. What would she want with him? Certainly, not a social call- he did almost kill her, after all, and he doubted either her lover or her adopted son had forgiven him entirely for that. Still, if the Rebels were needing him that badly, it had to be something of importance. Besides, it certainly beat sitting in his cell for another month or so.

"So, shall we?" The traitor asked him tersely, beckoning him to follow her.

Fenn snorted. "As you wish, Wren."

---

CR90 corvettes were not large ships, Rau discovered when they made the short walk to the command center. At only a scant one-hundred thirty meters long, and armed with only two dual laser cannon turrets and four single cannon turrets, it could not stand against even an Arquitens-class light cruiser, let alone an Imperial-class Star Destroyer.

Then again, it's role was not intended to be a battlecruiser, was it? No, it's role was primarily to slip in and out of blockades and to act as an anti-fighter platform.

A perfect vessel for these rebels, then, he thought amusedly as he was brought to the bridge of the Liberator.

"Journeyman Rau," the commander of Phoenix Squadron, Jun Sato, greeted him nonchalantly as he came to the bridge.

"Commander Sato," he replied just as dryly, eager to just get this over with and back to his cell, away from these fools. "Why did you bring me up here, Syndulla?" He turned to the leader of the squadron's fighter wing. "Did you rebels suddenly decide to warm up to me?"

"Nope," Hera fired back. "Just making sure you aren't about to plant a dagger in our backs."

Dagger in their backs? What the hell is she talking about? Fenn thought incredulously before the Twi'lek captain punched in a few keys, and the display table lit up with a projection of a planet, with swirling purple clouds and a huge chunk of the southern hemisphere blown to kingdom come.

Concord Dawn.

"We've lost contact with the Mandalorian base on Concord Dawn, about five standard hours ago," Hera informed, and Fenn swore that the air dropped a few degrees in temperature.

Sato turned his attention to him, and he swore he could feel the sudden cold evaporate in the heat of his glare. "Rebel command is concerned that you and your Journeyman Protectors are setting a trap for us."

Wait?

What?

Fenn fumed. How dare they question a Mando's sacred honor? When one swore an oath, one was expected to keep that oath to the point of death, or forever be cursed as dar'manda, a man without a soul.

"Impossible," he spat. "My men are loyal to my word, and my word alone. Your safe passage through our space is secure. If you've lost communication, something's happened."

The traitor stepped forth. "I'll go check it out," she declared with certainty and finality. He was almost taken aback. Was the White Raven truly loyal to this cause? He cleared his head of those thoughts. No, you fool, he mentally chided himself. She's simply using them for her own ends. Regardless, my men will never listen to her…

"I should go with you," he requested, beginning to hatch a plan. If this worked, he could be home free, doubly so if he turned the tables, captured Wren, and brought her to the Kar'a for trial. "They're my men, I can talk to them."

"Wait a minute…" the Lasat grumbled. "Isn't this bugger our prisoner?" He complained.

The blind Jedi, Kanan, smirked. "More like our very cranky guest," he snarked. Rau had to chuckle slightly at that, though last time he had seen Jarrus, he had his sight.

He wondered what had happened these past several months while he was cooped up in a prison cell.

"Alright..." Hera drawled out, apparently distrusting of him. "He can go, but he stays in binders. You're in charge of the mission Sabine. Take Ezra and Chopper, and do a recon sweep of their base. But you are not to land or engage. If you encounter trouble, I want you to come right back home," she commanded, then looked pointedly in Bridger's direction. "And try not to lose the Phantom II? We just got that thing."

"Understood, ma'am," Bridger sighed, then walked with Sabine and their droid to their new replacement shuttle, already painted and ready to fly. Rau's mind went into overdrive, as his heart soared with elation at the news.

Wren, she would be more cautious around him, that was for certain, but Bridger? Oh, the boy may have been a good warrior, he'll give him that much, but from what he had heard, the orphan from Lothal was still socially awkward and somewhat naïve. If he could get Bridger alone for a few minutes.

"With your permission, ma'am," a deep, Kuati-sounding voice rumbled out of the back of the war room, and Rau froze in his tracks. "I'd like to accompany Ezra and Sabine on their mission."

"Any reason why, Robb?" Hera asked the black armored man, and Fenn's heart sank. If Stark was going to be going on this little mission of theirs, escape was going to be much harder than originally anticipated. Wren and Bridger he could handle, but Stark was nothing if not hyper-vigilant. Untrusting except for those closest to him, and unlike the rest of the crew, he had no qualms about using deadly force as a first option. A true, hardened killer in the midst of a ragtag group of farm boys and idealists.

Rau grimaced. Great, just when he thought he was getting out of here.

"I don't trust Rau," Robb said, pointing a thumb in his direction. "The man is dangerous, and Sabine and Ezra will have their hands full just doing the recon sweep. Besides, I've been coupled in on Atollon for far too long while you were having all the fun."

Hera snorted. "Having a run in with the best commander the Empire has to offer isn't my idea of fun, nor is Sabine almost getting herself captured during that mission to Skystrike, nor is half my crew nearly getting killed on that planet full of old battle droids," she sighed. "Alright, Master Chief, you have my permission to tag along on the mission. Just make sure the kids don't do anything reckless."

Robb flashed her a cheeky grin. "If they're anything like their parents, Hera, they have nothing to worry about."

The Twi'lek pinched the bridge of her nose. "That's what worries me, especially with Ezra taking after Kanan."

Robb shot her a sharp salute, which she immediately returned, and then began to stalk his way towards where Rau was standing, still in binders. Cold sapphires gazed into stormy oceans when Stark got close enough, and when he spoke, he spoke in a voice that was void of all the emotion he had conveyed to Hera. Of course, he wasn't in his little pack, Rau mused to himself.

"Well, Journeyman." The wolf spoke, beckoning him on. "Shall we?"

---

Concord Dawn wasn't too far from Atollon, at the very heart of Mandalorian Space, therefore only taking a couple of standard hours to travel.

Fenn mused silently to himself, as he sat across from the Grey Wolf while Wren and Bridger were manning the cockpit. According to the star charts, more than a thousand systems in the Northern Outer Rim lay under the suzerainty of Mandalore, making it almost as large as the territory controlled by the Hutts in the south. Once, the Mandalorians were the masters of the entire Rim, an empire that was feared and respected in equal measure, and made the Republic tremble in terror, before the Grey Knight, Revan the Butcher, and his Revanchists turned the tide and crushed them at Malachor. Ever since then, the Mandalorians had seen their ups and downs, but only fairly recently had they seen their decline and subjection under the Empire. Once more, Rau cursed House Vizsla. If not for Tor's lust for power and Pre's recklessness, Manda'yim would have remained strong and proud under the wise leadership of Jaster Mereel, the last true Mand'alor.

He had only heard stories about what Mereel was like from his mentor, Kal Skirata, but from what he had heard, it was the last time Manda'yim was truly strong and whole. Satine had tried her best in the aftermath of the devastating conflict with Death Watch, those traitors, but her overly idealistic ways and stubborn refusal to change her stance had alienated her from much of her support from the ruling clans, who became so enraged by her policies that most stayed neutral, turned to mercenary work, or outright joined Death Watch. Despite all this, he was still loyal to the throne, and thus joined the Journeyman Protectors; the ancient and revered militia which mostly kept the balance in Mandalorian society.

He smiled in slight fondness at the memory. As eventual leader of the Protectors, he could decide whom he would fight for and when. Fortune had it that the Kyr'tsad initially joined up with Dooku and his so-called "Confederacy of Independent Systems", which made his choice rather easy; he had signed his forces on with the Galactic Republic.

Oh, what battles there were. Flying through the skies and through the vastness of space, cutting down vulture droids like a scythe through wheat. Slogging it out on the ground with legions of clones, ripping through battle droids left and right. It was like the times of old come anew, and the spirit of his ancestors flowed through him.

But in the end, it had all been for naught. Mandalore fell to the Death Watch, Satine was killed by Maul, the Republic became the Empire and slaughtered it's Jedi protectors, and Gar Saxon assumed power as Imperial Viceroy, styling himself as "The Hand of Palpatine".

Fenn gritted his teeth. Clan Saxon; those men were the very definition of dar'manda. When Pre lost his head, they found a new leader in Maul. When Maul was driven off the planet, they sided with the Emperor and assisted him in the brutal subjection of their own homeland. To say that he despised them greatly…well, that would be like pointing out that space was black.

"What is your problem with Sabine?" Robb's quiet voice brought him out of his musings. The Protector looked at the Grey Wolf, his eyes gleaming like cold lakes.

Fortunately for Rau at this very moment, the door to the cockpit was closed, leaving just himself and Robb in the passenger section, so he was able to give his opinion of her freely and truthfully, without having her meddling Jedi friend step in and lambaste him over things he did not understand.

But then again, when has that stopped him before?

"Dar'manda," he spat, the word slipping off his tongue like oil. "She and her whole family are nothing but traitors and turncoats."

"And you are good and true?" Robb questioned back. "From what I heard, when you and your men saw the Empire's legions bearing down upon your worlds, did you valiantly raise up arms against them? Or did you tuck tail like a beaten dog and prostrate yourself before them, just so you could meek out a meager existence on some remote planet?"

Fenn's eyes narrowed in anger, and his nostrils flared. "Be careful with your words, Stark. It's easy to call a man a craven if he's in chains."

"And what would you do if you were out of chains, hm?" Robb quirked an eyebrow. "Try to gut me? Strangle me? Your chances of that are slim, especially if you underestimate me. And even if you do manage to strike me down, my friends would pick up my blade and avenge my death. Sabine, especially." Robb calmly informed him as he flexed his right hand. "She saved my life, you know? Stabbed Maul in the back when I lay before him, helpless and injured. I'd be dead if not for her. She has more than earned my trust and loyalty."

Fenn sputtered, not quite believing what he was hearing. "You can't trust her, she's-"

"-honorable and forthright, which is more than I can say for some," Robb replied calmly to the veteran Protector.

Fenn gritted his teeth. "She's an oathbreaker, Stark!" he seethed. "She forswore her sacred vow made at the Academy, and ran like a craven when Mandalore and her clan needed her most."

"Does the Force smile upon those who keep their oaths to men they know are evil?" Robb juxtaposed to him. "Aye, I will admit, Sabine is still something of a summer knight, green as grass itself. But what she did at the Academy- standing up for what she knew was just- that takes courage, Fenn of Clan Rau, and I notice the same kind of courage and honor in her and young Bridger, both."

Fenn said nothing for a long moment, his thoughts churning and boiling until at last, he drew slowly.

"Tell me…Stark…you speak of honor and courage, and yet how honorable is it to butcher soldiers merely doing their jobs like cattle? To mutilate their bodies and paint messages in their blood? You are nothing more than a bandit and a bully. You see fit to lecture me on bravery, yet you hid from your crimes every kriffing day, thinking that by joining this band of idealistic fools and idiots you somehow atone for your crimes!" he ranted. "Well, let me tell you exactly what you are doing, Stark; you aren't helping anything! The Empire is infinite! For every patrol you butcher, they raze a settlement to the ground. For every officer you hang on a cross, they do the same to some farmer and his family! And sure, the fools in the Rim might love you for it, but in the Core, they burn your effigy. You can't win!" he snarled, his breath now coming out haphazardly. "No one can. Not against Palpatine."

Robb hooded his eyes for a moment- just a brief, antagonizing moment, before he glared at Rau, again. "You're wrong, Rau. I do not hide from my crimes- I live with the consequences of them every day. Every night, I am haunted by the faces of my past, both the people I failed and the young men whose lives I have cut short. Every one of them drives me forward. Aye, I will not lie, I am not a good man, anymore, not by a long shot. But I will continue to fight, Fenn, so that the truly good men and women of this galaxy have a chance to live, to experience life in all its joys and sorrows." He corrected, then pointed to the cockpit. "And the Empire is not as all-powerful as you think. If they were, the rebellion should have been stamped out long ago, but it hasn't. Even with every loss, every defeat, it continues to grow and grow." He paused for a moment. "I was once a lot like you; a cynic who didn't believe in anything or anyone, just content to drink my life away in some cantina on a backwater planet. That is until the day I saw what Bridger and his kind can do," he said, pointing to the cabin. "They made me believe in something worthy, again. They made me see that there is still something worth fighting for."

Fenn said nothing, instead choosing to contemplate Robb's words as the ship pulled out of hyperspace, the door to the cockpit sliding open to reveal Concord Dawn before them.

"Whoa..." Ezra whistled. "What happened here."

"Numerous civil wars happened here," Sabine answered, her voice filled with sadness. Fenn, despite his dislike of her, could only agree with her solemnly as they pulled closer to the planet's orbit.

"Mandalore has weathered many trials in the past," he explained. "We will weather the Empire and this rebellion."

"Too bad we can't seem to weather our people not wanting to work with one another," Sabine replied, pointing to the broken southern hemisphere. "Face it, Rau, the clans haven't gotten along with each other since the death of Jaster Mereel."

Fenn could only nod. Gar Saxon may have been named Viceroy by the will of Palpatine, but he was, by all accounts, a usurper. Perhaps one day, a true leader could claim the throne and lead their people to greatness once again.

Perhaps.

"Concord'vaar'tur Abiik'bral, ibici Prudi Rayshe'a. Gedet'ye me'vaar ti gar?" Sabine keyed to the airbase on the third moon of the planet, as their droid conducted a planet-wide recon scan, and Bridger appeared to be reaching out with what the jetiise called the 'Force'.

An alarmed wobble from the droid alerted everyone in the shuttle, as Bridger turned worriedly to his friend.

"Bean, how big did you say this base was?" he asked, his voice growing full of trepidation. Now Fenn was growing alarmed. What was going on down there? What had happened to his brothers-in-arms?

Sabine repeated the transmission a third time, and again, not receiving any response from the airbase.

"Sabine…" Robb began, keeping one eye on Fenn. "I think it's time we get out of here."

"No!" Fenn snarled. "Not until I find out what's happened to my men!"

"Hera ordered us not to land…" Sabine began to protest but was cut off by Fenn.

"I believe your orders were to find out what happened to the base!" he snapped. "You can't very well do that from here, can you?"

"You aren't our superior, Rau," Ezra snapped back. "Besides, if they aren't responding to anything we try, they're most likely either dead or trying to ambush us."

"I already told you, boy," Fenn rebuked, "my men are loyal to me! How can they be plotting an ambush if I'm not there to command them to?"

"ENOUGH!" Robb's yell cut through the rising tension, silencing everyone onboard. The Grey Wolf turned to Sabine. "Look, Hera's orders were to find out what happened here. That takes priority over staying in the air. All we are doing by staying up here is failing in our mission."

Sabine turned to him, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You do realize that I'm in command of this mission, right?"

Robb nodded. "Of course, but as a senior non-commissioned officer, I can still advise you on what to do and not to do," he pointed out to the moon. "Besides, if Hera yells at you for this, I'll take the blame. Tell her our mission parameters changed due to unforeseen circumstances. Which, in all honesty, they probably have."

Before they could continue the discussion further, Chopper warbled something in alarm.

"Ship incoming!" Ezra yelled. "I don't recognize the class."

"I do," Sabine groaned. "Kom'rk-class fighter/transport. IFF bears two markings."

"Which two markings?" Robb asked worriedly, although Fenn probably already knew the answer.

"One's the Imperial cog. So, we know they aren't friendly. The other…" her voice trailed off. "The other is the sigil of Clan Saxon; a black serpent on a red field, eating its own tail."

Fenn's eyes narrowed. "What are they doing all the way out…" he trailed off, realizing the implication. "No…."

"Rau, what is it?" Sabine asked, her voice filled with worry.

"We need to get down there, now!" he yelled, moving towards the control console before being shoved back into his seat by Robb.

"And we will. We have to if we want to evade them because somehow I get the feeling it's faster than us." Robb said, pointing towards the window, where among the backdrop of black space and distant stars, they could make out a single point of light growing bigger and bigger. The crew took the hint and dove toward the moon below

"Set down in one of the canyons." Fenn pointed out, waving his hand to a rocky outcropping on the planet's surface. "Their sensors can't track us in there."

With the grace of a falcon, Sabine swiftly turned course and headed for the gorge, choosing to land on a flat patch of earth with an outcropping of limestone over it.

As soon as the ship landed at the end of the canyon, and it was safe for the party to disengage the landing ramp, the oathbreaker turned to the crew.

"Alright, since the last plan went south, we're going with a new one," she informed as she programmed coordinates into her vambrace. "Chopper, you stay here and make sure no one spots the ship. We'll call you if we need backup. Rau, you'll accompany Ezra and me to the main Protector's encampment. Robb, you'll provide overwatch for us on one of the cliffs surrounding the base."

"Roger," Robb sounded off, hefting his DC-15s, and copying the coordinates to the base before exiting the shuttle.

"Well, Fenn..." Sabine fixed him with a stare. "You wanted to find out what happened to your men. So, you lead the way."

---

Fenn had almost forgotten how arid and dry this little moon was. Even though it was the early evening, the temperatures here were still sweltering. Fortunately, the place where they had set it down was only a couple of clicks away from the base, so they didn't have to walk too far.

He was growing more anxious by the minute, though he wouldn't show it in front of Sabine and her Jedi companion. His mind raced with all the possibilities, as he tried to ignore the pit of dread that had been forming in his stomach ever since Syndulla told him that his men had broken contact with them.

Soon enough, they ascended over one of the hills that surrounded the base, and before him…

No. His mind screamed as he surveyed the damage before him.

Laying before them was the base of the Protectors, or what was left of it. Buildings once housing dozens of men were burning, the orange flames illuminating the evening sky. Everywhere, the bodies of his men were scattered, broken, and bloody.

He wanted to claw his eyes out right then and there, so he could erase the sight of his brothers' twisted bodies from his mind. He wanted to throttle that traitor on the spot, then use her broken corpse to beat Gar and his men to death. But in the end…

…all he could do was drop to his knees in disbelief and curse everything around him.

For the Journeyman Protectors- that ancient and noble order of guardians- was no more. Destroyed by an Empire, capricious and malevolent.

He had failed, again.

Notes:

A/N: Well, that was a pretty long chapter, eh?

In truth, this is probably the greatest amount of exposition I've done so far, but it's all for a reason. Fenn Rau, while an awesome recurring character, doesn't have much backstory as far as it goes, asides from bits and pieces told by Pablo and the rest. So, I made up my own for him.

It never made sense for me that Hera wouldn't consider the possibility that the Protectors might be…well…dead, and that if you are going to recon an area, you need to do a COMPLETE recon of the area, not just aerial. Besides, something about her plan…to me it felt like it allowed no room for contingencies, which is essential in planning an op, but what do I know? I was only a scout for three years of my life.

Yep, Robb has been promoted to the rank of Master Chief Petty Officer. I didn't want to give him an officer's rank (there are enough of those), but I felt that his personality would fit in well with that of a crusty old Senior NCO.

I based the Clan Sigil of Clan Saxon on the Norse version of the Ouroboros, just as I based Clan Wren's sigil off a version of Odin's ravens.

Mando'a, for those wondering:

Cu'bikahd: Mandalorian board game. Involves knives, patience, and cunning.

Dar'manda: Without Soul. Used as a colloquium for referring to Mandalorians who have lost their sacred honor, and are thus viewed as soulless traitors.

Kyr'tsad: Death Watch. A group of Mandalorian extremists who believed in returning to the glory days of the Crusades under Mandalore the Indomitable.

Komr'k: Gauntlet.

Concord'vaar'tur Abiik'bral, ibici Prudi Rayshe'a. Gedet'ye me'vaar ti gar?: "Concord Dawn Airbase, this is Specter Five. Please respond, over?"

Kar'a: Name of an ancient, legendary council. Now used to describe the council of clan chieftains and counts, which decide on matters of the gravest emergency, such as the election of the next Mand'alor.

Manda'yim: The homeworld of the Mandalorians

Mand'alor: The warrior-king of the Mandalorian people.

Mando'ade: The Mandalorian people.

Mando'a: The language is spoken by those residing in Mandalorian Space alongside Galactic Basic.

Jetiise: Jedi.

Till the next!

Chapter 15: Ezra II

How?

Ezra was damned sure that question was burning on everyone's mind as they toured the ruins of the once proud Protector Base.

Everywhere he looked, bodies lay on the ground, most of them Protectors, and a few others he couldn't identify. The barracks, the fuel depots, the hangers- everything had been put to the torch and burned to oblivion, the carbon scoring suggesting that a frigate had passed overhead after the defenses went down.

"Specter 5, this is Specter 7," Robb spoke to them over the comms. "I don't know about you, but I'm not picking up any signs of life. It looks like our Saxon friends went to town on these guys, over."

"Acknowledged, Specter 7," Sabine answered, as Rau picked up a helmet with a cracked visor, obviously belonging to one of his friends. "I'd advise we keep comms to a minimum, over."

"Understood, Specter 5. 7, out," Robb confirmed before some muttering from Fenn took his attention.

"Cratering from rockets, blaster strikes from above," he muttered and shook his head angrily. "Definitely an ambush from another clan, alright!"

Well, that explained a lot, he supposed. Still though…

"I don't get it," he confessed. "Why would Mandalorians attack other Mandalorians? I thought you guys were one nation."

Sabine sighed. "It's…complicated, Ezra. To make a long story short, the clans have always fought against one another for one reason or another," his best friend informed him before she turned back to Rau. "Listen, Rau, I'm…"

"This is all your fault!" Rau spat at her, the venom clear in his eyes. "Were it not for you and your rebels locking me up, I could have prevented this!"

"We didn't mean for this to happen, and you know that!" Sabine protested. "They were my people, too, Fenn."

"Don't you lecture me about your people!" Fenn snarled, wagging an accusing finger at her. "What do you know of loyalty or honor?"

Ezra narrowed his eyes, and found his right-hand straying near his lightsaber, sensing hostile intent coming from the Protector. Fortunately for them both, however, Sabine acted first, taking off her helmet and glaring Rau down.

"I am not your enemy, Rau!" she rebuked. "None of this makes any sense! Why would Clan Saxon want to annihilate the Protectors? What would they have to gain from it? The Protectors are loyal to the throne, and recruit from the best warriors from within every clan and house!"

Ezra was getting more and more confused the longer this conversation went on. He made a mental note to study up on Mandalorian culture and politics the minute he got back to the Ghost.

Well, that is, if Hera didn't end up demoting them all in a fury.

"Specters 5 and 6, this is 7," Robb sounded off on his comms again, sounding equal parts annoyed and alarmed. "I hate to break up your lovely argument, but you might want to know that there's an Imperial probe droid bearing down on you from the northwest, over."

Ezra sensed it, as well, and his Force-enhanced reflexes allowed him to duck just in time, right before the first ruby red bolt sailed over his head.

"Karking hell!" Sabine cursed, firing her blaster at the floating android. "It's trying to transmit our position!" she screamed as they dove for some cover, behind a stack of durasteel crates.

Ezra closed his eyes, and sunk himself into the currents of the Force, reaching out for the infernal machine trying to desperately kill them. Finding his target, he latched on and felt his brow furrow as the droid frantically tried to free itself from invisible, vice-like talons.

"Sabine…" he strained, "shoot that thing, please!" He could almost feel the thing start to rip his arm out from his socket. "Any time now would be nice!"

"Working on it!" she yelled back. He heard three zinging shots in quick succession, and the droid's presence in the Force abruptly ceased, as he opened his eyes and saw the probe droid reduced to smoldering wreckage.

"You think it got off a transmission?" he asked Sabine, who shrugged and gave her witty, sarcastic answer the way only she could.

"Well, either we're fine, or there's a squadron heading right for us. And judging by our luck, it's probably going to be the latter." she deadpanned.

"Good point," he admitted. "We're leaving." He keyed in his coms. "Chopper, start spinning up the Phantom."

"Whomp boro wump ba wump," was the reply from the cantankerous droid.

As they were leaving, however, Ezra noticed Fenn stay put where he was. He stopped in his tracks and rolled his eyes. Great, just what they kriffing needed right now!

"Fenn," he heard Sabine beg him, "we need to get moving."

Fenn scoffed. "I have no intention of leaving. Certainly, not with you!"

Ezra heard an exasperated sigh come out from Sabine's speakers in her helmet. "You know the Empire is on their way!" she yelled at him. What came out of Fenn's mouth next, however, put them both on alert.

"I've dealt with them before, and I can deal with them again, only this time I can use the location of your Rebel base as a bargaining chip," he taunted. "It's no less than you deserve after causing all this."

Ezra sensed alarm and anger flash through Sabine, as she quickly drew one of her blaster pistols and aimed it at Rau's head, as fast as lightning.

"I won't let you do that," she warned, her voice void of its usual warmth. In that instance, Ezra could not help but notice how much like Robb she now sounded...

...and he didn't know whether to be amused or afraid.

Regardless, he attempted to de-escalate the situation, whilst keeping his sword hand on his lightsaber.

"Guys…" he tried to warn him, putting his free hand on Sabine's shoulder. She seemed to let it linger for a moment, before shrugging it off.

"Last chance, Rau," she offered her final warning, her voice cold steel. "Come with us, or your corpse will feed the buzzards."

"Specter 5, this is Specter 7, over!" Robb's alarmed voice came out over the comms, snapping everyone out of their present tensions. "Be advised, I'm tracking seven air mobiles inbound right towards your position! I'd strongly advise you to get to cover-"

The transmission was cut off, which made the hairs on the back of Ezra's neck stand up. He would not give into fear and panic, for he was a Jedi, but he couldn't help the sinking feeling in his gut that told him something had happened to a man he came to consider as an uncle.

"Heads up, here they come!" Sabine yelled, tracking them with her motion sensor. Sure enough, Ezra could make out four dots on in the sky, flying ever closer to them.

"Imperial Supercommandos..." Fenn spat. "We need to get to hiding, quickly!"

Ezra was in no mood to argue with that particular train of logic and soon found himself hiding in an alcove of some ruined barracks building with the others.

He knew that it wouldn't be long before they were found. This place had very few effective places to hide. Perhaps they could elongate it by hiding under the rubble, but he was doubtful that these Imperial Mandalorians were as stupid as the local garrison on Lothal. Besides, the Imperials had most of the advantages this time; they were outgunned, outmanned, and outmaneuvered. They needed to think of a plan, and fast, or else they were all looking at death or torture. He gripped the hilt of his lightsaber a little tighter.

Wait. That was it!

"Sabine, I've got a plan," he said hurriedly, shoving his lightsaber into her hand, cutting her off before she could so much as utter a word of protest. "I'm going to distract them, while you two get to the shuttle."

Sabine was adamant. "No, you dunderhead. We aren't leaving you behind!"

Ezra rolled his eyes. Of course, she wouldn't agree to it. "Bean, we have no time to argue. Those guys are probably on their way right now. You have to trust me on this."

Even though he couldn't see past her visor, he could practically feel the glare boring into his skull, and knew she was about to quip one of her sarcastic retorts right before she opened her mouth.

"Is this one of the times that I trust you and you amazingly pull us all through, or one of those times where I have to end up saving your ass? Because so far, you have a pretty half and half track record regarding the success of one of your harebrained schemes," she sardonically asked him, putting her hands on her hips for effect.

"Bean, please…" he begged, closing her hand around his saber, "If I don't do this, we're never making it off this rock."

Sabine hesitated for a moment, refusing to pull away from Ezra and his saber, before she finally relented and sighed, grabbing his lightsaber and clipping it on his belt.

"Alright, Bridger, but you owe me a solid if we make it out alive," she warned him.

"Deal," he replied, and with that, ran off to find the Imperial Mandos before they could find his friends.

He refused to think about the possibility of Robb being dead.

Soon enough, he had rounded the corner, and into his vision popped a Mandalorian commando.

Unlike the other Imperial Mandos, who were wearing stark white armor and helmets that edged closer to being Imperial than Mandalorian, the leader was dressed from head to toe in crimson and cream armor, the Imperial roundel on one shoulder, and the Saxon serpent on the other. Ezra took aim at the space just in front of this man, and fired, intentionally missing his target.

The Force urged him to run, as he felt the heat of a yellow blaster bolt zing right by his scarred cheek. Whoever these guys were, they were certainly no stormtrooper fresh from the academy. So far so good, he thought, now let's see if they continue taking the bait.

Sure enough, they did, as three of them surrounded him almost instantly. He held his hands up in surrender, dropping his blaster in the process.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot! I surrender!" he shouted, making sure everyone could hear him.

"Cuff him!" the leader's gravelly voice barked from underneath his ugly red helmet, and one of the commandoes complied, producing a pair of handcuffs and binding Ezra's hands together behind his back.

"Take him to the mess hall, he can rejoin his friend there," he commanded, but before the commandoes could take him away, he decided to ask his captor something; he needed to know whom he was dealing with.

"I'm sorry, who are you, again?" he asked. Obliging the young Lothalian's request, the Mandalorian took off his helm, revealing a weathered, stone face, with eyes the shade of ash and silver hair, cut in a typical military high-and-tight.

"I am Gar Saxon, Imperial Viceroy of Mandalore, and Chieftain of Clan Saxon- and you, rebel, are my prisoner."

---

He was shoved roughly into the mess hall, the muzzle of the EE-4 digging sharply into his back. Out of the corner of his vision, he could spot Robb, beaten and bloodied, but unbroken and unbent.

He thanked the Force he wasn't dead.

"So, boy..." Gar spat out- as if the term 'boy' was an insult. "Where are the others? Where is your ship? How many of you are there?"

"Hey, guys," he broke into his trademark grin, attempting to fool these guys. Too bad he didn't have time to study his marks. "I'm just a scavenger here by myself. Name's Lando Calrissian."

"Hence why we caught this wolf on the cliffs," Saxon mocked. "Do you think I'm as daft as some neophyte stormtrooper, boy? I'm an Imperial supercommando, not some fop from Corulag!" He nodded to two of his men. "Search the camp for their friends! Rebels rarely travel alone."

"Rebels? We aren't rebels!" Ezra denied. "We're just two scavengers looking for treasure. Pirates told us about this place."

"Dev…" Robb sighed, using Ezra's preferred code name. "He isn't being fooled."

"How astute, Grey Wolf," Saxon snarled. "Yes, I know well who you are. And rest assured, I will bring you to Coruscant in chains to be paraded before the Emperor, and after he takes your head, he will certainly reward me with a seat at the council."

Robb smirked. "If you say so…"

Gar ignored him and turned back to Ezra. "Regardless, every little lie you tell me contains a kernel of truth. So, I still get what I want. Now, you will tell me what I want to know, or I start blasting pieces off your friend here!" he snapped, ordering his men to aim their blasters at Robb.

"Ok, ok!" Ezra finally gave up some. "We were sent here by the Protector, Fenn Rau!"

Saxon's eyes gleamed at the name, and as he ordered his men to stand down, he turned his attention fully to Ezra, who began to fidget under his gaze.

Blast it, Sabine, where are you?

"You know," he intoned, his voice taking on a softer, yet more maddening edge, "I have planned to wipe out these damned Protectors for quite some time. After we killed them all, I allowed your ships to pass through this system, knowing that eventually, Rau would eventually come here to seek revenge," he sighed. "I admit, Rau not being here was a disappointment, but it did make killing his men much easier than what I was expecting."

"Why?" Ezra asked, his anger getting to him. "Why do this at all?"

Gar laughed. "Because they stood in my way. All their pining for the throne, and for what? The title of Mand'alor is a relic! Only the Emperor matters, now, and I am his hand."

The traitor then suddenly grabbed Ezra by the collar with one hand- impressive, he mused, for a guy that advanced in years, and brought him so close to his face that Ezra could feel the hot breath and spit land on his cheek. He was definitely going to the 'fresher first after this.

"I'm going to ask you for the last time, boy," he seethed. "Where. Is. Rau?"

"I don't know," Ezra snapped back, "and even if I did, what makes you think I would tell you?"

"Enough of your lies, rebel!" Gar roared, slamming Ezra down on the floor. "For your insolence, your friend will pay the price. I was hoping to bring him to Coruscant alive, but I guess a corpse will have to do!"

No.

Ezra thought fast, just as Gar took aim at Robb with his rifle. Slowing his breathing, Ezra reached out with the Force and nudged the rifle to the right. The shot fired right next to Robb's head, and Ezra felt Gar's confusion and frustration. Again, Saxon took aim, and again, Ezra nudged the muzzle off course. By now, though, Saxon had finally realized what had been going on and turned around to face Ezra, the sights of his rifle fully trained on him.

"You…" he drew dangerously, "have just become a much more valuable hostage, Jedi…"

Before Saxon could continue any further, a grenade was thrown into the mess hall, and exploded, producing a great deal of smoke and noise. The smoke quickly filled the room, blinding near just about everyone, but Ezra could feel a shining, familiar presence in the Force.

Sabine.

"What took you so long?" he coughed, running out of the hall with Sabine and Robb, who had somehow managed to recover his helmet and blaster rifle in the confusion.

"I was using strategy, it takes longer!" she complained, running full speed towards their ship. In the back, Chopper was frantically waving them on. Suddenly, however, the ramp lifted off the ground, and the ship took off.

Rau, Ezra gritted his teeth. Of course, the old codger would leave them high and dry like this- and take Chopper in the process. Come to think of it, though…maybe him taking Chop wasn't a bad thing…

"So, how's strategy working out for us, now?" he snarked back to Sabine, who sighed underneath her helmet.

"Not so great," she admitted.

He sensed them before he saw them, and activated his blade, now free of his binds and having received his weapon back from Bean.

"Sabine Wren," the Viceroy of Mandalore called out to his friend, as the four remaining commandos surrounded them. Everyone had their weapons leveled at one another, and the atmosphere felt tense. It was almost as if they were propped into a scene from an old holo.

"I don't know you," she seethed, but something told Ezra that she did indeed know him. Whether it was the Force or just intuition, he didn't know, but the way she tensed up near him was telling him this was the case.

"Oh, but I know you," the governor taunted her, "and all about how you've joined the Phoenix Squadron. I also know that your mother is looking for you!"

Ezra felt Sabine tense up behind him, and her voice had gone ice cold. "I don't believe you."

Gar snickered. "Sabine never told you about her family? Well, it appears she lies as well as you, boy. Her own mother stands with me and the Empire, now."

"I doubt you gave her much choice, aruetii." Sabine spat, causing the Mandalorians around her to click the safeties off their rifles.

Ezra was now thoroughly confused. What in the blue blaze was going on here?

"She came around herself after you abandoned the Imperial Academy, oathbreaker. Your cowardice shamed your clan's name and standing. Had you honored your word, you could be wearing this armor," He bragged, pounding his stark white and crimson armor proudly.

Sabine sounded unimpressed. "Thanks, but I prefer a little more color to my armor."

"You think yourself a loyalist?" Saxon sneered at her. "The Empire will make Manda'yim stronger than ever before!" He bleated proudly. Ezra rolled his eyes. He may not be stupid, but he sure as hell loved to monologue.

"The only ones who have gotten stronger under Palpatine are you and your fellow serpents, Saxon!" Sabine snapped, and Ezra felt the air around Gar go grim.

"Out of respect for your mother, I'll give you one final choice, oath-breaker," he warned. "Surrender to me, or you and your friends die."

Ezra was prepared. He held his lightsaber in front of him, ready to defend his friends from this rabble, and out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Robb was preparing to do the same. He could feel the sweat drip out of every pore- a combination of the heat of this accursed world and the fear men naturally felt when confronted with a mortal situation. His hands gripped the hilt tighter, the groves digging into the sensitive skin. Come death or victory, they weren't going to go without a fight.

"I surrender," Sabine's voice broke the rising tension like a sword cutting throw a rope stretched to its breaking point.

Ezra's mind ground to a screeching halt. What in sweet kriffing hell is she thinking?

"Sabine…" he tried to dissuade. "Don't."

"We have no choice, Ezra," she sighed in defeat, holstering her blasters…but not before nodding slightly in Robb's direction.

Frustrated, Ezra deactivated his saber and hooked it back to his belt, whilst Robb did the same with his rifle, though the way he did it had Ezra on edge.

It felt as if he was left out of some carefully laid plan, which, in all honesty, would not have been the first time.

Sabine took off her helmet and bent the knee before Gar Saxon, who must have been grinning like some damned lucky loth-cat, judging by the sudden smugness Ezra felt radiating from the man. The Imperial governor swaggered over to the young woman, his gait one of absolute confidence.

"Say the words," he commanded. "Swear to me your loyalty, from this day until your last day!"

"I swear…" Sabine began, then her eyes shot up in steeled defiance. "…that you're a FOOL! Robb, now!"

When she yelled that, Robb keyed something into his compad, and Saxon and his men feel screaming onto the ground, writhing in pain and clutching their heads, as if something had assaulted their ears with the force of a turbolaser.

Not wasting a moment, Robb drew his holdout blaster- which had been unseen by the Imperials, or anyone else for that matter- and set about his deadly work immediately, blasting each of Saxon's men in the head. Their armor, being made of cheap plastoid and not proper beskar, did almost nothing to protect them from the deadly bolts, and soon three men lay dead on the ground.

Saxon lay on the ground, trying to reach for his rifle, only to have it kicked away by the Grey Wolf, who must have been glaring at him with those eyes like winter.

"Now it's your turn, viper," Robb began, leveling his rifle at him. "Let us go, and you shall keep your life, for now. Refuse, and I put a round through your head like your other wannabe warriors there," he motioned to the dead Mandalorians. "Make your choice."

Gar snarled at him. "You denied them a warrior's death."

"As you denied the Protectors," Robb pointed out in a voice void of emotion. "It was only fair your men received the same treatment. Last warning; let us leave or die."

It was just then, they heard the telltale sign of engines whining behind them, but it wasn't the Phantom II.

"Oh, for the love of Lothal!" Ezra cursed as the saw the Imperial Kom'rk coming into view, making a beeline straight at them. "Out of the frying pan…"

"…and right into the fire," Sabine agreed grimly. Ezra knew that she could use her jetpack, get away from the rapidly approaching ship. But for how long, he wondered? Would she be able to outrun the vessel? And then there was the problem of her most likely refusing to leave him or Robb behind.

So that was it, then, he realized solemnly as Gar laughed and babbled something about how foolish they were. He tuned out the monologue, and focused on the ship speeding its way towards them, ordinance ready to be delivered on target.

And somehow, his hand wormed its way into Sabine's.

To his surprise, Sabine didn't reject his hand, nor did she yell at him for 'flirting'. If anything, she simply squeezed it tighter, as if telling him everything would be alright.

Be not afraid, young Ezra Bridger, Ezra heard a mysterious voice resonating in his head. It sounded like the Bendu, but…younger and less grand. For this is not the end. Not yet.

As if the voice had predicted their salvation, a steady stream of ruby red laser fire hit the Komr'k on the starboard side, punching through the armor and disabling the engine, sending the craft reeling in a death spiral as the pilots lost control of the ship. Off to the right, they saw the cavalry.

The Phantom had come back, and Rau with it.

"Gar Saxon!" The Protector shouted through the ship's speakers. "These soldiers are under my Protection."

"RAU!" Gar roared, and rose to his feet to ineffectually fire at the vessel, which Ezra and everyone else made a beeline towards, as Rau turned the ship around and lowered the ramp for a quick exfil

Robb jumped on first, clearing the gap without any problems. Then, Ezra made the jump as Robb covered him, the Grey Wolf firing on the Hand of the Emperor with steady precision, though his aim wasn't to kill, merely to suppress. The Jedi Padawan landed with the grace of a loth-cat onto the ramp, and Robb helped him into the ship. Finally, Sabine made the jump, using her jetpack as an extra boost to clear the widening gap, as Rau speed away from the enraged Saxon. She almost made it.

Almost.

A luck shot from Saxon's rifle hit her jetpack right in the center, causing her to lose her momentum and almost tumble out of the craft.

"Bean, no!" Ezra yelled and reached out with the Force to grab her.

He caught her just in time.

He pulled her back onto the craft and helped her to her feet. Still a bit shaky from the experience, she leaned on him for support, and as the ramp closed, they could only look at the increasingly shrinking form of Gar Saxon, still fuming.

"He shot my jetpack," Sabine sullenly grumbled, shocking Ezra out of his stupor as the ship pulled out of the atmosphere and into the inky black of space.

All at once, though, Robb started to laugh. It started out low, at first, then rose to become full and hearty. Then, Sabine started to chuckle, then Rau, and finally himself. Pretty soon, the entire cabin was roaring with laughter, chortling at the absurdity of that contradiction called war, which was beauty and horror mixed with boredom and terror.

After the laughter had died down, Sabine took off her helmet and faced Rau, sliding in the co-pilot's seat next to him.

"I thought you were leaving us behind," she told him, crossing her arms in a defiant pose.

"Well, I did consider it," he admitted freely, "but then I saw how dedicated you are to your people. How you were willing to die for them, even if they aren't Mandalorian," he smirked. "Besides, your droid threatened to slit my throat if we didn't turn around."

Ezra smirked as Chopper did his imitation of a proud 'harumph'. Maybe that droid does care for them, after all. Or maybe he'd run out of people to make miserable. Either way, the thought was very touching.

Fenn's voice grew softer. "You haven't forgotten our ways or your honor. That has earned my respect, and my loyalty," he informed, and for the first time, Ezra saw the man truly smile. Still, though…

"Don't take this the wrong way, guys," he said, interrupting the conversation, "but Mandalorians are crazy."

Fenn chuckled. "Crazy enough to join you, after all."

Sabine turned her head, equal parts surprised and relieved. "You really mean that?"

Fenn nodded. "If you will have me, that is."

It was Ezra's turn to smile. "I'd rather have you with us than against us," he admitted honestly, and he felt his heart pace quicken somewhat when Sabine turned to smile at him. In all honesty, he could lose himself in that smile and not care to come back, and he had a sneaking suspension, no matter how small, that Sabine possibly felt the same way.

Robb broke them out of their trance. "Welcome to the pack, Fenn Rau."

And with that, Rau pushed the lever forward, and the ship was vaulted forward into hyperspace.

They were going home.

Notes:

A/N: Another chapter successfully completed.

Alright, I normally don't do this, but I have very mixed feelings about the trailer for Season 4. On the one hand, we are getting the conclusion to the Mando War and Bo-Katan becoming Mand'alor. On the other…. they may end up killing off all the characters sans Hera, Rex, and Chopper in a GRRM worthy gore-fest, and that angers me beyond belief, especially with the knowledge that this is the final season, with purportedly only 15 episodes left (that makes me think they are rushing the story, but that's another topic).

One of the reasons why I don't like the 'All non-OT characters must die" ending is that; 1). It treats the galaxy as a very small place, where every major character will run into one another at some point. 2). It removes the flaws both Yoda and Palpatine have in their perceptions of the Force and makes them seem all-knowing when it was shown previously that clearly isn't the case. At all. And 3.) It's a cheap cop-out to preserve Luke's status as "The Last Jedi" when even in the EU, that was far from the case.

Anyway, I've gotten a new beta now in MandoCommander. Here's the start of a long and successful partnership.

Now, the reason why Robb was captured initially is that even the best soldiers can be surprised. And if you are wondering how Sabine was communicating with Robb? Well, let's just say that enclosed communication is a sci-fi wonder.

Until next time!

Chapter 16: Vendric I

The headaches came more and more frequently.

It wasn't that Vendric was particularly prone to migraines, or at least, no more so than any other Mandalorian. As a matter of fact, he considered himself a pretty healthy man, despite his relatively advanced age of forty-five. No, the reason why his head was hurting with increasing frequency was due to one particularly daft meathead.

His elder brother, Gar Saxon, Viceroy of Mandalore, Hand of the Emperor, and a hundred other titles Vendric didn't particularly care to list off, let alone think about.

The most recent headache he had experienced was due to this brother delivering the 'glorious' news that he had wiped out the Journeyman Protectors, and it was only made worse by his constant boasting about it as if he truly had anything to be proud of.

"You are a fool," he finally said, growing utterly tired of watching Gar pace around the bridge of the Kandosii II-class cruiser, Serpent's Wrath, as they made their way across hyperspace towards their destination; a volcanic planet in the Outer Rim from which very few knew about. And those who did…well, they were too frightened to speak of it, anyway. For on that planet resided a demon in the Emperor's employ, or so they say.

And now they were being summoned to meet with the demon.

Gar finally turned around, apparently deigning to finally address this question, as if he were barely worthy of his time.

"A fool? How so?" he asked, his voice still carrying an air of haughtiness.

Vendric intended to break that.

"You wiped out the Protectors," he began his lecture, "without any provocation or proof of their misdeeds. The Protectors, may I remind you, have guarded the throne of Mandalore for over two hundred generations and kept its peace, and you decided to eliminate them on a rumor."

Gar sneered. "It was no rumor, brother! The Protectors had been letting Rebels pass through our space through months, now! I did what had to be done in the name of our clan!"

"By wiping them out?" Vendric quirked an eyebrow. "Had you publicly discredited Rau in the eyes of our people, called into question his judgment, then we could have had him arrested on grounds of high treason, and installed a new leader for the Protectors, one more loyal to our interests. We would have solidified the support of one of the most influential factions in all Mandalorian Space. Instead, you went off half-cocked and razed their base to the ground," he kept his voice quiet, as always. He would not stoop to yelling, as Gar did. "You might have just succeeded in uniting every clan in the hegemony against us."

"We don't need the all the clans, Vendric," Gar boasted, completely missing the point. "We have the Empire and their resources backing us up. Besides, the Kasts are sure to support us."

Vendric sighed. "You are an even bigger fool than I thought if you think Palpatine will help us in any meaningful way. Maybe send a fleet, yes, but any more than that he will simply write us off as a lost cause. And the Kasts alone, though they are a sizable force, do not make up for the difference in numbers against the other clans; a lesson I expected you had learned, serving under Pre Vizsla," he corrected, striding closer to his brother, and fixed him with a glare with his silver eyes. "Father placed far too much trust in you." He whispered to Gar, who's coal grey eyes shot up in rage.

"You forget…brother…who is Chieftan of our clan, who is Count of Adderia, and who is Viceroy of Manda'yim! Do not forget your place as my second-in-command!"

"I would never forget, Aliit'alor," Vendric informed him nonchalantly. "Regardless, we must be more careful in the future regarding our plans. If we cannot hold Mandalore for the Empire, the Emperor will have us deposed and replaced. And that is something we cannot afford." He warned, then turned his back on his brother, heading straight for his quarters on the vessel.

He still needed to get rid of that damned headache.

---

It was only a standard hour later when they had reached their destination. To casual eyes, the planet Mustafar would appear uninhabitable. Dark clouds of thick ash and gas covered the surface almost entirely, encapsulating the world in darkness save for a few rays of sunlight. The thousands of active, roaring volcanoes constantly erupting on the surface of the planet provided the planet's only other source of light. Great rivers of molten lava flowed like water, and native life here was almost non-existent, save for two sentient races of lava miners.

If there were ever an actual hell, Mustafar would certainly fit the bill, Vendric mused as he and his brother made use of a provided Lambda-class shuttle- a courier sent for them by the lord of this world- to sojourn to the planet's surface. He mutely wondered what this darjetii wanted with them. Surely it wasn't a friendly chat, he thought. No, the reason must have had something to do with the Protectors. Vendric had to suppress a grimace. Of course, he would have heard about Gar's spectacular kark-up. Nothing escaped the notice of this demon for too long. He had eyes and ears all over the Empire, of course, all to make sure that the Emperor's vassals were doing his bidding.

Vendric was impressed. It showed cunning and political foresight, something Gar so clearly needed. True, he had taken Alrich Wren hostage and reduced Ursa's standing in the eyes of the other clans, due to her daughter's disloyalty, but Gar only did that because he had told him that wiping out the Wrens would trigger a rebellion against them, and it would give one of the other clans a legitimate excuse to try to claim the throne for themselves.

Fear keeps men alive in times of treachery, he had always said to his comrades and subordinates. Everywhere you went, you could not be sure whether the person you were meeting would be an ally or an enemy. Even here, on this hellhole of a planet, the vultures circled.

As they punched through the planet's atmosphere, Vendric could make out in the distance their destination- one lone, black tower that seemed to dwarf all the refineries and mining plants around it. As they got closer, Vendric could feel a slight tingle of existential dread settling in his stomach. It looked like it had not been designed by mortal hands, but rather that of the unholy and malevolent demons that were said to abide here. But everyone who had heard of this place knew that it was not the castle, no matter how evil looking, was to fear here, but the monster that resided within.

A monster whose soul was so black it was said to darken the room around it in shadow.

Vendric scoffed. The being who resided in here was a man. Granted, a powerful and dangerous wizard, but a man nonetheless. Nothing more, and nothing less. That being said, though, one had to take caution dealing with a being that could snap your neck with a single thought.

Vendric prayed to the manda that Gar at least had that much sense, to not go angering this 'Dark Lord'.

After a few, antagonizing moments, the ship landed on the black landing pad. The ramp lowered, and the two Mandalorians journeyed into the devil's tower, flanked by two stern-looking Noghri guards, covered in red plastoid armor and wielding force-pikes and energized shields. Before them, at the cavernous entrance to the demonic castle, stood a figure cloaked in purple and black robes, seemingly unaffected by the blistering heat and ash.

"Greetings, Viceroy Gar Saxon and Lieutenant Governor Vendric Saxon," he soothed in an irritating voice. "I am Vaneé, caretaker of this keep. I am here to escort you to the waiting chamber. This way, please. And, please do be careful, sirs. This castle can be a treacherous place for the…unwary."

With that, Vaneé turned around and beckoned them in, and they followed, still flanked by the two nameless Noghri.

The interior of the castle made him feel more uneasy, though he wouldn't show it to anyone around him, especially not to Gar. The inside of the castle was, for the lack of a better word, hollow. It was as if the designer of the castle built it to reflect its owner; a cold, empty shell surrounding nothing but the black void. Walking through those cavernous halls to the main waiting chamber, Vendric started to worry some. Although he wouldn't admit it, he still cared for his older brother in some fashion. If what he had heard about this darjetii was true, then Gar was going to have to find a way to avoid irking him, as it was well known among the highest circles that this being had a rather short temper when it came to failure.

"This is where I leave you," Vaneé informed them as soon as they reached the main waiting chamber, which was gigantic and empty, all the heat replaced by cold, frigid air being blasted from industrial grade fans above. "Be warned, my master will not be in a pleasant mood. I'd advise you chose your words carefully with him, Governor, or you may find yourself regretting it dearly."

With that, the butler strode away quickly out a side entrance on the far side of the chamber, leaving just the two Mandalorians alone for the time being.

They did not have to wait long.

A mechanical groaning sound marked the giant blast door before them opening, eerie white light pouring through the opening maw of the mechanical beast, and out of this light strode a shadow, clad head to toe in menacing black armor. From his shoulders hung a great, black cape, and his helmet reminded Vendric of the skull of some dead predator. What was most eerie, however, was the breathing that emanated from him. It sounded mechanical, labored, and deathly, like a deep-sea diver taken out of the water.

This was the Lord of Mustafar, the Emperor's Executor, and the Dark Lord of the Sith.

This was the monster known as Darth Vader.

Lord Vader strode purposefully towards them, a black shadow gliding on the polished steel floor of the waiting chamber. When he came to his brother and he, the Dark Lord growled.

"Governor Saxon," he boomed, his deep, baritone voice echoing around the chamber. To say that Vendric himself wasn't afraid of Vader would have been further from the truth. However, he noticed that he was handling himself far better than his brother right now, who had now lost all his earlier bravado and arrogance, instead now looking like he was on the verge of wetting himself.

"Lord Vader," Gar greeted back, his voice shaky and uncertain, and Vendric was sure he heard an audible gulp. The Dark Lord took no notice of this, as he chose to pace around them instead, like a tiger getting ready to strike.

"You seem…unsettled…" Vader mocked, turning his full attention to Gar once again.

Gar shook his head with a gusto. "N-no, my lord. Everything's going well in our sector. We had a…minor rebellion, but rest assured, my lord, I had it taken care of."

"Oh, did you?" Vader rebuked. "Do not take me for a fool, Governor. You wiped out one of the most ancient orders of your people. An order, might I add, your people loved. What is worse, you have driven an otherwise staunch ally of ours into the hands of the Rebellion, and now I hear rumors of dissent against your rule. On top of this, you managed to fail to capture or kill the traitor known as Fenn Rau," The Dark Lord spoke as he got closer to Gar, whom by now was sweating sheets. "Ever since we granted you rule over Mandalore, your government has been beset by crisis after crisis. First, with the defections from the Academy. Then, by the insurgency of the splinter cell that your kind calls the Nite Owls. And now I find that you have wiped out the one group that could have guaranteed your solidified rule?" He rebuked as he turned around to face the window. "I don't think that I need to inform you that the Emperor is most displeased by your apparent lack of intelligence. Perhaps it is time we find a new governor for your people? One who will not threaten the interests of the Empire by their own ineptitude."

"My lord, please…" Gar begged. "Just give me another chance. I'll-" Gar was cut off all the sudden, and he started to claw at his throat, throwing himself to the ground in an effort to break the invisible talons which were strangling him.

For the first time in his life, Vendric could say he was genuinely horrified. He had seen the effects of the Force firsthand when he had served in Death Watch, to be sure, but it was far different seeing it performed on the battlefield against one's foe, then in a meeting on one's brother.

"Fortunately for you, Governor," Vader rumbled, "the Emperor still has his use for you," the Dark Lord said and relinquished his grip on Gar's throat with the Force, and the elder Saxon gulped in precious, stale air. He attempted to stand on his feet, only to find Vader staring down at him.

"This is your last warning, Saxon. Do not fail us again, or your next trip here will be your last," he warned, as he let his brother stand on his own feet, then waved him off.

"Only the elder Saxon shall be escorted back to the ship," he commanded, just before Vendric turned to join his brother outside. Curious, he stood back, allowing Gar to go on without him, before turning to face the Dark Lord. Vader's heavy, mechanical breathing echoed throughout the chamber, the only sound in the room for what seemed like minutes before he deigned to speak to him.

"You fear me, yet you do not let that fear control you like it does your brother," Vader mused aloud to him. "Impressive, I must say. Most impressive..." he trailed off before turning back to him, "Do you know why I have ordered you to stay for a little while longer?"

Vendric shook his head. "I confess I do not my lord."

Vader took a moment, then leaned in closer, obviously trying to intimidate him with his greater height. "What do you know about the weapon known as the Darksaber?"

Vendric kept his face a stoic mask, as ever, but internally he was surprised. Why would Vader go mentioning that weapon? No one in Mandalorian Space had seen it ever since Maul had vanished at the end of the Clone Wars. If the Dark Lord was inquiring about it…

"It is, or was, the ancestral blade of House Vizsla, my lord," he answered. "It was designed and crafted by the Mandalorian Jedi Tar Vizsla, according to legend, and then taken back from their temple by Shae Vizsla, who became known as Mand'alor the Avenger, during the Sack of Coruscant three and a half thousand years ago. It was then kept in the family for generations until Maul claimed it. Truthfully, my lord, I know little of what happened to it after the Siege," he confessed. "If I may be so bold, my lord, why do you wish to know?"

Darth Vader wasted no time in replying, and what he said next honestly shocked Vendric. "Maul is dead, and the Darksaber is missing."

The younger Saxon brother quirked an eyebrow, hiding his surprise. "Indeed, my lord? How?"

Vader waved him off. "The 'how' is unimportant. What is important is that the weapon itself is missing, as our spies have discovered on Dathomir, reclaimed by someone unknown to us. Whether they be friend or foe, we do not know, yet, but if they should be a foe- if that sword ends up in the hands of the one they call Bo-Katan…"

"She could rally the entirety of the clans behind her..." Vendric finished grimly. That sword wasn't just a blade- it was a symbol. A symbol of a time when Mandalore had stood strong and united against all its enemies when they were proud and unyielding. Many would tear each other apart over such a symbol, and many would die over it.

A blade like that in the hands of his brother…it would potentially solidify their rule over the other clans. Still, he had to know…

"Why tell me this, though, my lord? Why not tell my brother? After all, he is the Viceroy of our world," he asked.

"Because your brother is a fool and an incompetent, not to mention arrogant and overreaching. I gave him another chance because the Emperor demanded that he remain Viceroy, but you and I both know that he will fail, again, and whether by the enemy's hands or mine, that failure will cost him his life," Vader explained to him.

Vendric could only nod in agreement. His brother had ignored his advice at almost every turn, thus far, and he could stand to be a trifle less arrogant.

"You, on the other hand, are the opposite," Vader continued, his voice booming. "I sense a certain cold pragmatism about you. An intelligence that could prove useful to the Empire, and to your people. Should your brother die, you will be named Viceroy in his place, am I not correct?"

"You are indeed correct, my lord," Vendric answered. It was clear where this conversation was leading…

…and the wheels began to turn in his head. For too long, he had lived in the shadow of that overbearing oaf, watching him piss away his family's power and standing, all to sate his ridiculous bloodlust. Granted, Vendric was no saint, either. He did enjoy a little torture from time to time- especially regarding Alrich Wren. He wasn't stupid, though. If word ever got out about his…activities…well, it wouldn't look good, would it? A peaceful land, and a quiet people. That was always what their father had taught them, and he had taken that rule to heart when he ruled Adderia in his brother's name. His brother, though, had taken that advice and shat on it, as always.

Vendric's lips curled upwards in a slight, grim smile. Oh yes, he would still point out his brother's errors, try to teach him reason, though it is futile, but now he would no longer actively try to save him, or run interference for him. The time had come for a new Count of Adderia and Viceroy of Mandalore, and if that meant the eldest had to die so the clan could live on, then Vendric would make that sacrifice.

The Dark Lord nodded at Vendric and turned back to walk into the light, a clear sign that he was dismissed from Vader's presence.

As he walked back to the ship, Vendric could not help but sneer, a break in his usually calm and collected façade. Gar would wonder why Vader had to speak with him, of course, and he would tell him what he would want to hear, but one thing was now abundantly clear;

Gar would screw up.

Gar would die.

And it would be Vendric Saxon who would be ruler of Mandalore and head of their household, which would stand for a thousand years more under his leadership.

He would make sure of it.

Notes:

A/N: Ok, this was kind of a short, filler-y chapter, but an absolutely important one. It will be integral to the Mando Civil War arc I will be doing later on. Now, my OC, Vendric, is based on Roose Bolton from Game of Thrones. I admittedly always found Roose an interesting villain; sadistic, creepy, and yet intelligent and cunning. Kind of like a Scottish vampire.

Now, as to why and how Vader found out that Maul is dead and his favorite Mando toy missing? Well, Vader is one of the greatest Dark Lords of the Sith to have ever existed, after all, so he would have been able to sense Maul's death in the Force, and an Inquisitor or ISB agent who was sent to investigate would have noted that Maul's corpse no longer had the Darksaber.

And we see here that not everything revolves around Robb and his Starkness.

Until next we meet.

Chapter 17: Robb IV

Robb found himself walking through untraveled halls, but not unfamiliar ones.

He had heard of the stories of the grandeur of the Red Keep, how its granite shone crimson in a certain light, and how the marble floors were as smooth as milkglass, but none of that compared to what lay before him.

At the end of the great hall that he strode in, upon a dais of black stone it sat, the light from the mosaic windows of the Seven washing the dark, sharp monstrosity in color.

The Iron Throne of Westeros.

It was said that the throne was forged by the breath of the great dragon, Balerion the Black Dread, comprising of a thousand swords which once belonged to the lords and kings who opposed Aegon the Conqueror. As he walked closer to the throne, he could not help but muse on his distant ancestor, Torrhen Stark, known as the King Who Knelt. He often wondered what went through Torrhen's mind, as he and his army of thirty thousand Northmen gazed upon Aegon's larger host of sixty thousand southerners and three large, nigh-invincible dragons. Certainly, he must have known that any attempt at resistance would have seen his army slaughtered and Winterfell burned.

Robb paused just before reaching the throne. So, that is why he surrendered. Torrhen did not give in to Aegon's demands to save his own skin; he did it to save his people and his family, and many of his kinsmen in Robb's day sneered at Torrhen, himself included.

"Hah, I knew it, Stark!" a sniveling, high-pitched voice called from behind him. Robb knew that voice, and in an instant turned around and faced his foe, his sword in hand. There before him was the usurper, the ill-born, the murderer of his father, Joffrey 'Baratheon', the so-called King of Westeros. "You Starks all speak of your honor and your piety, and yet just like your traitor father, you covet the throne for yourself and your family…" the boy king mocked. "Honestly, Stark, you barbarians should have just taken the damned thing when you had the chance. Admit it, Stark, the idea of power intoxicates you. It is the sweetest wine, after all."

"I want nothing to do with the Iron Throne, usurper!" Robb spat. "And I care nothing for the South!"

"That is apparent," another specter appeared, this one being none other than Tywin Lannister himself. "Had you taken the throne from us and held it, you could have forged a peace that would have lasted for a hundred years. You could have made the North the wealthiest and most powerful region in Westeros. You could have made the Seven Kingdoms great again. Instead, your selfishness nearly destroyed our country, ravaged by the raids and the invasions of barbarians from the east and the monstrosities from the Far North. Your petty need for revenge at all costs has graver consequences than you realize."

"Well, I can't say my father's wrong," Jaime appeared, smirking insufferably. "You claim to be different from us, but you've never really cared about independence. All you cared about was offing all of us due to daddy getting his head stuck on a pike."

"Stop…" Robb spat. "I am NOTHING like you."

"Yes, you are, boy!" Walder Frey yelled from somewhere in the back. "You are a hypocrite and a liar! You promised me my daughter's hand in marriage! You promised me a place by your side in your council! And what did you do? You pissed on your oath and on me for some Essosi cunny! What was I supposed to do? Let you shit all over my name like a damned cur? May you be damned to the Seven Hells for all eternity for your lies!"

"It would not have been the first time he's done that," another voice called out, this one hurt and full of sadness. Robb locked eyes with the newcomer.

Theon.

"Face it, Robb, you've always talked a good game. But you were always too self-absorbed, too proud, to notice anyone else's problems. To notice my problems…" he pointed an accusing finger at him. "Oh, sure, if Jon or Sansa had a problem, you'd be the big hero! But for me? Every time I tried to talk to you about something personal or tried to offer you advice, all you did was remind me of my place. That I was a fucking hostage to the 'great' lord Eddard Stark!"

Robb shook his head. "No…" He gripped his sides and fell to one knee. "It isn't true."

"But it is, isn't it?" a soft, quiet, yet cold voice called to him, and before Robb stood Roose Bolton. "Ah, yes, there it is. You want to kill me for driving a dagger through your heart. You want to make me suffer. To make men fear you," Roose regarded him without expression. "The others speak the truth. You are just as evil and malcontent as any of us. You don't slaughter entire patrols of soldiers because it brings aid to the smallfolk. You don't do it for justice. You do it because it's fun. Because in truth, at their core, beheading and flaying are the same. It makes men fear us."

Robb saw too late the daggers, and soon his enemies pounced on him, driving their blades deeper and deeper into his hardened flesh, but as he was being stabbed, their images began to shimmer and distort. Soon, he found himself looking not at his enemies, as he was unable to move. No, what he was looking at now was far more horrifying.

His killers were now wearing the faces of his new family.

---

Robb awoke with a start in a cold sweat, sucking down cool breathes of air. He took yet another moment to get his bearings. He was still in his room in the Ghost. He breathed a sigh of relief and looked at his wrist chronometer.

05:25, it read.

He threw off his covers and ran his hands through his beard, sighing deeply as he did so. Great, another damned nightmare. Ever since his talk with Rau a couple weeks ago, the nightmares had returned, though this time they never centered on the death of his family.

Rather, they were centering around his moral failings as a man.

Pushing asides such thoughts, he was suddenly startled by the onset of lustful moans and grunts coming from the next cabin over, where Kanan and Hera kept their bunks.

Oh, sweet merciful Old Gods, he thought with a groan as he got up and threw on a tan t-shirt and some running shorts, trying to ignore the sounds of the two making love. That wasn't a particular sound I really wanted to wake up to in the morning. He quickly tied his running shoes on and got out of his room with a haste, eager to leave Hera and Kanan to their…activities.

Outside the Ghost, and Chopper Base, the air was crisp and chilly, making it perfect weather to do some physical training in, before the sun fully came up and started scorching everything in blistering temperatures.

Robb started his morning exercise as he always did, by stretching out all his major muscle groups. After a good five minutes of doing this, he decided to take a good, ten lap run outside the base perimeter, using the tonal resonators as post markers. As he began to run, his mind naturally drifted to the nightmare from the night before.

Was it just a dream? It felt like it, as he felt no pain from being stabbed, but what if it was something more? What if Bran or someone else was trying to warn him of something? He frowned as he made his third lap, already getting a thin sheen of sweat. If it was warning him about something, could he try to prevent it?

Should he?

He had read countless stories, though, where that never ended well; attempting to mess with prophecies and omens almost always resulted in them being fulfilled. On the other hand, those who usually tried to implement them often misread them, often causing more harm than good in the end.

He remembered something that his uncle Benjen said to him and Jon many years ago when they were both still young pups. "Prophecy is a half-trained mule, boys," he had warned them, "for the moment you think you've figured it out and it might be useful, it ends up kicking you in the teeth."

He shook those thoughts out of his head and noticed two figures coming out of the base to join him on his run as he was finishing up. Ezra and Sabine, he realized with a smirk. Of course. Those two like to treat everything as a personal competition. When the two got closer, he stopped, not quite believing his eyes as his jaw dropped.

Ezra's hair was dyed a brilliant shade of green.

"Oi, look," one sergeant was yelling. "Lieutenant Bridger's become a cucumber!" he teased, leading to the rancorous laughter of his men. "Hey, sir! Did ya take a dip in the cabbage patch?"

Ezra looked flustered, his face a bright shade of red from embarrassment, making him look like a strawberry. Sabine, on the other hand, was trying not to snicker.

When they caught up with him, Robb had to chuckle. "I see Sabine managed to pay you back quite handsomely, Bridger. Green suits you better than black."

Ezra mumbled something out, probably meant to be a 'fuck you all', in Robb's eyes. The former king simply shrugged. "Well, I appreciate you two coming out to join me, but I was just getting finished up. I'll catch up to you two, later."

Sabine nodded. "Alright. We'll begin your lessons in Mando'a about an hour from now. In the meantime, we're just going to finish up our run, and then wash out the dye. Maybe."

Ezra rolled his eyes. "Oh, hardy har har, Bean. As soon as we get back, I'm heading to the 'fresher and washing this out," he said and turned his head to look at Robb. "Catch you later, Stark."

Robb did a mock salute. "You too, Bridger."

With that, the two young adults ran off, trying to see who could beat one another in a marathon. He laughed a little, then turned back to head to the base, intent on grabbing some chow before getting dressed for the duty day.

---

"Al…aliit?" Robb was struggling to say, as Sabine was teaching him Mando'a in the base's common room. So far, he was making significant progress on the basics of Mando'a, though the gender-neutrality of the words of the language confused him, at first. It was putting it all together that was tripping him up, now.

Aliit. It was the Mandalorian word for 'clan' and 'family', and was perhaps one of their most important words asides from manda, 'soul', and ijaat, 'honor'. The ancient people of that section of space took the values of family, duty, and honor very seriously, reminding him strongly of the values held dearly by his own people. He often wondered if there were Northmen who settled that area of the galaxy, and the conflation of outside forces eventually gave rise to the Mando'ade.

"Good!" Sabine encouraged. "Keep this up and you'll be speaking the language like a native in no time."

"I certainly hope so," he amused. "So, I take it Ezra managed to wash most of that dye out?"

Sabine snickered. "Yeah, although his hair will still shine green instead of blue for a while. Serves him right for hatching that harebrained scheme," she smirked, but her face softened. "Then again, if it weren't for his quick thinking, we wouldn't be standing here."

Robb felt his face contorting, as well, as he again pondered, deep in thought. Ever since he got here eight months ago, he had noticed something going on between the two youngest members of the crew. Every now and then, he'd catch one of them letting their sight linger a little too long at the other's retreating form. Or, he'd catch Sabine staring intently at Ezra whenever he was sparing with Kanan or himself, often while the young man was shirtless. Vice-versa with Ezra watching Sabine spar with Rex or, more recently, Rau.

And then there was the incident last week with them holding hands in the face of what seemed to be their certain death.

So far, though, no one had brought it up. Perhaps it wasn't as noticeable as the relationship between Kanan and Hera was. Then again, since when were kids as young as those two supposed to know how to express their feelings? For Sabine, he suspected it was a matter of stubborn pride, and for Ezra, he thought it a matter of social awkwardness.

Still, though, the matter had to be addressed. Robb knew all too well that it did a person no good to keep something bottled up inside oneself, especially strong emotion or attachment. It either boiled over until something explosive happened, or it ate away at you until you became nothing but a shell. So, he steeled his nerves and asked her, truthfully.

"Is there something going on between you and Ezra?"

The question must have hit her like a grain flail to the temple, for her eyes went wide and her head tilted back a few inches, indicating confusion and surprise before her amber orbs narrowed and she put her hands on her hips.

"I think you've got your signals crossed, buster," she warned him. "First, Ezra is my friend. My best friend, even my brother. That does not mean there's anything romantic between us."

"Uh-huh," Robb replied nonchalantly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her faux anger. "I may be older than you, but I'm not blind, deaf, or dumb, and I'm certainly no fool when it comes to romance. I can see the signs with you two as clear as day."

She snorted. "All right, give me one."

"I'll give you several," he offered instead, clasping his hands in front of him. "Every time myself and he spar in the gym or in the ship's cargo hold, I catch you staring at him, especially when he's shirtless," he held up one finger. "Every time you two hold a conversation, you tend to gaze deep into each other's eyes and drift off. And when said conversation ends, your gaze lingers after him," he held up yet another finger. "Then, we can't forget that episode of two weeks ago, when he took your hand into his own, and you didn't even reject him," he held up a third finger. "That's three, and that's just off the top of my head. I'd probably think of more, given time and a list to write them down on."

She suddenly stood up, her face beet red and fuming. Robb steeled himself for the inevitable tirade. If she was anything like Arya, he was about to get an earful about how he was wrong.

Sure enough…

"Well, you figured it out!" she ranted, crossing her arms. "The high and mighty Lord of Winterfell just couldn't go leaving it alone, could he? No, he had to go snooping into our personal lives! Well, what if I don't want a relationship with Ezra? What if I'm just happy being friends with him? What if I'm just content doing my part for the Rebellion and staying away from anything relating to a family?"

Robb looked at her earnestly. "Are you?"

She snarled. "Yeah! I am! Because it would mean that I wouldn't be betrayed yet again!" she yelled, her fists clenched so tight her knuckles were turning white.

There it was, the crux of the matter. She was putting up a strong, independent front, only to mask the pain and rage. But directed at whom? Or what?

Robb shook his head. "Sabine…" he began, "I know what it's like to be turned on by those closest to you, so do Hera and Kanan. I think Ezra has an inkling of it, as well. My own mother went against me, as did the man I once called brother." He looked up at her, as she by now was calming down somewhat, instead opting to cross her arms.

"You don't know what it's like for me…" she whispered. "No one really does."

"I don't claim to," he admitted, then sighed. "Sabine, I won't tell you how to live your life. But know that it's fleeting, and a warrior should die with no regrets on her soul, lest she is forsaken from the halls of her ancestors and gods. The gods have fashioned us for love, after all," he offered her a smile, but he knew better than anyone what a two-bladed sword that fashioning was.

Love was the death of honor and the bane of duty. What was honor compared to a spouse's love? What was duty compared to the feeling of a newborn child in your arms? Or the memory of a sibling's smile? Nothing but words and wind. The gods have indeed fashioned them for love, and it was their great glory...and their great tragedy.

And ultimately, everyone had to make that choice between love and duty and face the consequences of that decision.

Sabine nodded slowly, apparently still processing her thoughts. "I'll…uh…think about it. I think…I think we're done for today."

Robb sighed. "Right. Go on ahead, Sabine. I'll wait back here."

Sabine got up and walked back to her cabin, while Robb sat at the table, his thoughts churning on the recent conversation and the events that had led up to it.

Ever since their return from Dathomir, Sabine had been acting rather odd. The normally feisty, witty, and brave Mandalorian warrior had become…well, like himself, from before. Withdrawn, aloof, and quiet. It had gotten worse after the events on Concord Dawn three weeks ago, and that incident with those fools in the Iron Squadron certainly wasn't helping matters.

Something was eating at her, that much was clear, but no one, not even Ezra or Hera, could determine what it was. Only Kanan seemed to know what was keeping her wound up, and even he was mum on the subject when pressed by Robb, preferring instead to avoid the topic entirely, saying that 'she'll explain when she's ready'. Robb was still deep in thought when he was interrupted by the last person he wanted to hear.

"Master Chief, sir?"

Mart Mattin.

He gritted his teeth in silence. Of all the people who could bother him right now, it had to be this little arrogant shitstain. A person could say what they will about Ezra, but he was a person with a good heart and at least knew when to shut up. Mart, on the other hand, was an arrogant fool only concerned with glory, seemingly unconcerned with the lives of his crewmates or the entire Rebel fleet.

Or maybe it was just some misguided sense of vengeance for his dead father. He didn't know, and he didn't care.

"What do you want from me, Seaman Mattin?" he asked him, not turning his eyes off of the fool. He could see the fear in the boy's eye, and although he didn't relish it like he used to, he remembered all too well what had happened aboard the Outrider, when Mart refused to evacuate anyone or himself in order to rush headlong into a suicide attack on a light cruiser, and by doing so endangered nearly the entirety of Phoenix Squadron.

He had nearly killed him for that; Sabine and Ezra had to pull him off Mart, preventing him from strangling Commander Sato's nephew in rage.

"Sir, I-" Mart began to say before Robb cut him off.

"First, Mattin, you will quit calling me 'sir' and address me as 'Chief.' It is my rank, and I work for a living. Secondly, if this is just you telling me you need to find a 'Pricky Nine', I'm going to make the deck glisten with your sweat, I don't care whose nephew you are. So, quit your damned stammering and tell me what you need to tell me."

"Yes…chief," he gulped. "I just wanted to inform you that Commander Sato wants you to report to the command center."

Robb quirked his eyebrow. "Did he give any specific reason why?"

Mart shook his head empathetically. "Not really, Chief. He didn't say. All that he told me that it was urgent and it involved a guy from your past."

That got his attention. "Guy from my past? That's damned wide, you know? Did your uncle mention who it was?"

Mart again shook his head. "He did not, Chief. He only said that it was the same guy responsible for getting us all those munitions a week ago and that you might not be happy to see him."

Robb snorted. There was a whole list of people that he would not be particularly pleased to see. But what the hell? He could spare to entertain this person for a few minutes. He waved Mart off. "Alright, Seaman. Tell your uncle I'll be there as quick as I can. You're dismissed."

"Yes, Chief!" Mart hurriedly stammered and ran off to go tell his uncle that Robb was coming.

Robb took a moment to stack the books, then walked out of the common room and into the hallway, looking out the window to the munitions depot.

Quite surprisingly, they had been receiving triple amounts of fuel, munitions, foodstuffs, and other essentials at an increasing rate these past few weeks, thanks to a person they knew only as 'Iron-Fist', a mysterious raider and pirate who seemed to have sympathies with the Rebellion. Robb could only guess as to the identity of this mysterious stranger, and so far, all his guesses came up blank.

Soon enough, he came up to the command center. Straightening out his bodysuit, he entered without hesitation, and he saw Sato conversing with a hooded, lean figure.

"Ah, there you are, Master Chief. I was just finishing talking to our friend here about you. He apparently knows much about your homeworld, and wishes to speak to you about a development he's discovered, there," Sato greeted upon seeing him.

That floored Robb. How did this guy know where his homeworld was when he didn't even know himself? How did this guy know him?

He took a closer look at his figure. The man, for he was shaped as one, was tall and lean. Beneath the cowl of the hood, Robb could make out a silvery beard, and where human hands might have been, machine similes took their place.

"I beg your pardon, stranger, but who are you, exactly?" he asked. The stranger chuckled, though it was full of regret and sadness, but also…hope, perhaps?

"Some part of me had hoped that you had forgotten me," he said in a familiar voice to Robb, "but the more rational part realized that you could never have forgotten what I've done, brother."

Brother?

To answer his unspoken question, the stranger took off his hood, and Robb swore his eyeballs nearly popped out of his head.

Standing before him was the turncoat, the oathbreaker, the traitor.

Robb could find no words as he stared into the gaunt face of his former friend, Theon Greyjoy.

Notes:

A/N: PLOT TWIST, MOTHA FUCKAS!

Ok, if that hit you out of left field, apologies, but this is something I had always planned from the very beginning. Robb and Bran weren't going to be the only ASOIAF characters in this fic, and a big part of Robb's character development/quasi-redemption arc would have to be confronting the biggest mental block he has- his bitterness and rage over Theon's betrayal.

The nightmare scene was inspired by a conversation with Ahsokafanboy1138. Essentially, we spitballed the idea that Robb would be haunted by the guilt over his past misdeeds, and I wanted to make it more horrifying to him if the faces of his enemies shifted to those of his friends.

So, Robb notices something going on between Sabine and Ezra, even if they don't notice it themselves. Ultimately, however, he can't convince them to express their feelings. They must do that themselves, and it may take them some time still before that moment comes.

See ya in the next chapter!

Chapter 18: Theon I

They stared at each other from only a few feet away, yet to Theon, the gap might as well have been a vast chasm- a nearly unbridgeable gap separating them.

To Theon, Robb had hardly aged at all, though the boy that he had once known was forever dead, and in his place, was a cold, hard man. His hair was still a rich, dark shade of red, his eyes their piercing blue. As a matter of fact, the only real indication Theon could see that Robb had aged was the slight crow's feet he had developed, and the wrinkles on his still human hands.

A more hopeful part of himself wanted to run across the room and embrace him, but the logical side of him told him to prepare for an attack, as he was certain that Robb would not hesitate to try to end his life- he did betray him, after all.

Sure enough…

Robb launched at him like a hungry direwolf, tackling him to the ground and pinning him there like a bug. Theon felt Robb's rough, calloused hands wrap around his neck, attempting to strangle the life out of him.

"Robb..." he attempted to beg, choking out the name of his once-brother and would-be killer. Already, he could see the red haze creeping into his vision, and although his mind was becoming foggier, he could still see Robb's eyes, wild with murderous fury.

As soon as it began however, it ended, as Robb was dragged off him by four soldiers, each struggling to contain the berserker back, all the while Robb was hurling insults.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" he roared, trying to kill Theon whilst everyone else attempted to calm the enraged wolf. "YOU DARE SHOW YOUR FACE HERE? AFTER EVERYTHING YOU'VE DONE? AFTER EVERYTHING YOU STOLE FROM ME?"

Theon turned his head, unable to face Robb. How could he have justified what he had done to him when everything Robb thought of him was probably true? How could he have apologized, when the very nature of his crimes could be deemed unforgivable by many, if not most?

"Master Chief, stand down!" Sato barked at him. Robb still bore holes into Theon with his bloodthirsty gaze, but otherwise calmed down, nodding to the commander while shrugging the remaining soldiers off.

"Alright, sir, but understand that I'm not talking to that mother fucking whoreson unless he has something very, very important to say," Robb spat, never losing track of Theon.

Theon sighed. "Yes, I do have something important to say. Something that could change the course of this war for the better, and something that will interest you greatly, Robb."

"Doubt it," Robb seethed.

"We'll see," Theon simply said. Robb would know soon enough. He had to, or else everything would be doomed. He began pacing around the room.

"For years, now, I have been raiding Imperial convoys for the Rebellion with my crew. Weapons, medicine, foodstuffs, you name it. But it was on my most recent raid that I learned something of dire importance- something that set me on the path to finding you, Robb."

"Get to the point, Theon," Robb growled at him.

"I was just getting to it, Robb," Theon stressed. He knew he had done wrong. He had the scars of atonement to prove it a thousand times over. But still, it was never enough. A good act never washes out the bad, nor does an evil act wash out the righteous. He figured he would likely be still paying for his sins for the rest of his life, but that was neither here nor there. What mattered was the here and now. "As I was saying; on our most recent raid, we intercepted an Imperial research vessel. Nothing out of the usual, really, but this one was…" he paused, trying to find the right words. "Different."

"Different…how?" Commander Sato asked him, crossing his arms and quirking an eyebrow.

Theon rubbed his beard, colored silver due to all the torment he had endured at the hands of that beast, Ramsay.

"Well, for one, there weren't any stormtroopers guarding it," he began. "Rather, they were Deathtroopers."

That got everyone's attention. Sato's eyes shot up in surprise, while Robb's hateful gaze softened a fraction. Very few had heard of the Empire's elite commando force, and with good reason. They were fearsome, ruthless, and thorough when it came to black ops. Many rebel cells had gone silent in the past due to these mysterious and terrifying foes; the only evidence that they had operated in the area were usually burning buildings and broken bodies.

"How did you and your men defeat them?" Sato asked him, astonished.

"Oh yes, Greyjoy. Please regale us with your tale of your heroic exploits," Robb sarcastically added, waving his hands around for dramatic effect,

"Very carefully," Theon answered, deliberately ignoring Robb's barb. "I lost a lot of good men securing that ship. Too damned many, in fact. Fortunately for us and our cause, however, the Imperial research team did not manage to erase the data we needed…barely..." He reached into one of his pouches and pulled out a data card. It was a funny little thing, this card. So much information could be held on such a small object. It seemed quaint, really, that his men and the Rebellion itself went through all that trouble for such a small thing…a seemingly insignificant thing that could hold the key to the fall of empires. He cleared his head of such thoughts, though, and plugged the data card into the holotable.

Immediately, a holographic model of a planet came to life, its surface covered by vast oceans and four, large continents. This was their homeworld, found after so many trials and tribulations. This was the cradle of humanity itself.

This was Valaryos.

Robb's hateful gaze gave into one of disbelief and awe.

"How?" his voice had gone hoarse. "This…this can't be true. It has to be a lie!"

That was it. Theon had put up with Robb for quite long enough and was finally at the limit of his patience. Was he that myopic and so fixated on the past that he thought everything Theon told him was a lie?

"Why would I be lying about this, Robb?" he finally raised his voice, sweeping his hands to the holotable. "What reason do I have to deceive you?"

"You have every reason!" Robb snapped at him, pointing a finger at his face. "A traitor like you only knows how to lie and deceive!"

"Gentlemen, that's quite enough!" Sato barked, silencing the two bickering former brothers. "Master Chief, you are usually far more disciplined than this, and right now, you are acting like a spoiled child, fighting with his brother over a common toy!"

Robb turned to Sato, fury burning in his eyes. "That fucker is not my brother. He has never been. If you trust him, he'll end up selling you out to our enemies in a heartbeat, sir."

"It's just a risk we'll have to end up taking, Master Chief," Sato countered, "and regardless, I still need to hear the rest of the briefing." The older commander nodded for Theon to continue.

The thirty-two-year-old Ironborn sighed again. "As I was saying, we had found the location of Valaryos, the homeworld of our ancestors." He clarified, deliberately leaving out the part that Robb and himself were actually from Valaryos. Call it a hunch, but he had the feeling that Sato would not believe him. "It is a fairly average world, located in the Outer Rim near the Unknown Regions. More like Wild Space, really, as it is located about a hundred parsecs due west of Zeta."

"Curious, but aside from Robb now knowing where your ancestral home is, I fail to see how much help this is to the Rebellion," Sato informed, striking Theon as the type of man who did not like to be kept waiting.

"I was just getting to that," Theon informed them. "But first, let me ask you a question, commander; how well do you know the legend of the Katana Fleet?"

That really got the commander's attention. "Very well, as a matter of fact. My father used to tell me stories all the time about it, that it would have been one way for the Republic to restore its long-lost glory, and it was lost on its maiden voyage, with no one knowing where or why it disappeared." He fell silent for a while, obviously in thought. Two hundred ships, all Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers, didn't just vanish into thin air after all. "Why do you ask?"

To answer the commander's question, Theon keyed in a set of commands on the holotable. The graphical representation then lit up with a dull red glow, right in the Narrow Sea between Westeros and Essos.

"When we were pilfering through the Imperial's research data, we noticed that they had been interested in two key locations," he informed, pointing towards the planet. "One of which is here, in the sea between these two continents. The other is here, in the far north. Cross-referencing this with the last known trajectory of the Katana Fleet..." Theon punched in a few commands on the console, and the view zoomed out to show the position of the planet in relation to local star clusters. Almost immediately, a dotted line appeared, zigzagging from the shipyards of Rendili to its last known position at Ord Mantell before it blindly jumped into hyperspace for an unknown reason. The final dotted line passed through Valaryos, hitting it dead center.

Sato sat silent for a moment, apparently trying to process the information. When he spoke, his voice was full of resolve.

"If this fleet exists…if it is truly on your homeworld…" he trailed off for a moment before resuming, "this could be the thing we need to turn the tide of this war." He put his hand on his chin. "Do the Imperials know the actual location of the fleet? Have they found it?"

Theon shook his head. "No. From our interrogations and our pilfering, they haven't even found a hint or hair of it. Whoever hid that fleet did a remarkable job of making sure it stayed hidden."

"So, we still have time to find it, assuming you aren't leading us into a trap," Robb crossed his arms.

"Aye, we may," Theon answered. "But we may not have much time left. It is only a matter of time before the Imperials unearth what they are looking for...if they haven't already."

"And on top of that, the information we've received on both the TIE Defender factory on Lothal, as well as the confirmation that a superweapon is being constructed above Scariff, thanks to Saw Gerrara…" Sato trailed off again. "We need that fleet if we are to have a hope of winning this war." With that, he ordered the lights to be turned on again and nodded to Robb. "I will brief you and the Ghost crew in two standard hours on your mission. In the meantime, I believe Mr. Greyjoy has requested to speak to you in private."

Robb raised an inquisitive eyebrow but said nothing as Sato and most of his men left the command room, leaving just the two of them alone, with one guard watching over the pair in case anything went wrong.

"Robb…" he attempted to speak, but his former friend cut him off.

"Don't, turncloak," he seethed. "I don't want to hear any apology from you! It's far too late for that!" He pointed an accusing finger at Theon's face.

Theon sighed. "I wasn't about to apologize, Robb. And I know it would do little good, anyway. I was about to tell you how I came to be here, in this time, and of the danger that faces you."

Robb growled and started to pace like a wolf, before finally relenting, dismissing the guard before turning back to him.

"Alright, oathbreaker. What do you have to say? And be quick about it; I grow sicker every second I have to stare at you."

Theon rubbed his hand over his face. "Where to start? Well, I don't know if Bran told you, but I did not kill your brothers, nor did I burn Winterfell to the ground. That was all Ramsay Bolton's doing."

At that, he suppressed a shudder, though just mentioning that psychopath's name made his blood run cold. Over twelve years had passed, and not a night went by where he was not haunted by the specter of his tormentor and enslaver.

"Ramsay Bolton?" Robb questioned. "I had no knowledge that Roose had any trueborn children asides from Domeric, who had died shortly before my father was named Robert's hand."

"Ramsay was his legitimized bastard, and he embodied that title in every conceivable way." He corrected as he looked down at his hands, once flesh and blood, but now machine and metal. "I don't know how long he tormented me in the Dreadfort. Weeks, months, it mattered little. He broke me in there, Robb. Turned me into some pathetic little creature he paraded around and called 'Reek'."

Reek, reek, it rhymes with freak.

"No less than you deserved," Robb interrupted, glaring daggers at him, "I heard what happened after my death talking to Bran, including how Jon and Sansa retook Winterfell from those cravens. So, get to the point of how you wound up here, or I'm leaving."

Theon exasperated. "Fine. After I had helped Sansa escape Ramsay's clutches, I made my way back to the Iron Isles. To make a long story brief and to a point, I nominated my sister for the throne of the Isles, fled when my uncle Euron usurped her, gained an alliance with the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen, and eventually made my way back to Winterfell after I ended up saving my sister when she was held prisoner by our uncle. It..." he trailed off, as he swallowed hard at this memory, "it was where I fell, protecting Bran from the Night King. I did not reach any heaven or hell, though. I instead wound up on Arcadia, and from there, I soon found myself in the service of the Intelligence Minister, Duke Lund."

"You know Duke Lund?" Robb asked him. "I worked for him for a few years myself in his intelligence service, about a month after Saw busted me out of that Imperial prison. Strange, he never seemed to mention you to me..." he shook his head. "That old boar has some serious explaining to do."

"Probably it was because I only came into his picture months after you left his service to join the rebellion," Theon informed. "Anyways, he's the one who set me up with a ship and a crew, after I helped him in a certain matter that involved my hands getting replaced with…" He showed Robb his cybernetic appendages. "These. After that, I managed to get into contact with Fulcrum, and for years, we've been raiding for the rebellion, plundering and looting supply convoys heading towards bases in the Rim. It was only after my most recent raid that I was visited by Bran, who told me of the world's true name, and where to find you."

Robb's eyes dropped, his expression unreadable. "So, Bran trusts you? He's forgiven you, even after all that's happened?"

Theon nodded. "It would seem that way, but I assume that when you are an immortal, god-like being, grudges aren't really even a consideration, anymore," he paused. "Do you forgive me?"

Robb chuckled, bitterly and without mirth. "Theon, let me explain something to you. Out of all my siblings, you and Jon were the ones I was closest to. The ones I could trust with life and limb, beyond all doubt. When Jon left for the wall and father died, the only ones I had for true counsel were you and mother. You were to be my left hand, Theon! My most trusted ally! And what did you do?" he trailed off for a moment, before continuing. "Aye, maybe I was arrogant. Maybe I antagonized you too much and belittled your heritage, but how did that give you the right to betray me?" Robb fixed him with the coldest glare he'd ever felt. "In the end, Theon, it wasn't Roose's dagger, Walder's anger, or Rickard's lust for revenge that killed me. It was your knife that drove the deepest," he snarled, getting up out of his chair. "So, no, I don't forgive you. I will never forgive you, most likely."

With that, Robb left the command room, leaving Theon all alone to process his thoughts, his grief, and his sorrow.

---

It was a few hours later that he met the rest of the Ghost crew, and already he could feel their judging glares upon him. The pilot, the young Jedi, and the Lasat especially all regarded him like he was a piece of shit. The Mandalorian's face was one of stone, though he could probably guess as to what her feelings towards him were. Truly, the only one who didn't seem to judge him, ironically, was the blind Jedi, yet it seemed as if he was staring through Theon, piercing his very soul with those sightless eyes.

"So," Robb broke the tension, "shall we go over the plan one more time?"

The Mandalorian, Sabine, nodded. "From the information, Theon provided us, the security around this place is surprisingly not that tight. I propose we take two ships for this mission since we're taking on a lot more people than we usually do."

The pilot, Hera, nodded. "Sabine, Ezra, Kanan, and Rau will take the Starbird to the western continent 's tundra region here," she intoned, and pointed to the hologram, ironically right where Winterfell was located. "Zeb, Robb, and I will take the Ghost and investigate the energy readings coming from this sea," she told them, pointing towards the hologram, right towards the middle of the Narrow Sea. "If we run into any trouble, Theon and his vessel, the Remembrance, will act as a quick reaction force and rear guard in case of something extreme. Any questions?"

"How long is this op supposed to be, boss?" The Lasat, Zeb, asked of his captain.

"If all goes well, a couple of days," Hera answered. "However, be prepared to stay there at least a month."

"The most heavily guarded area seems to be in the far north, beyond the borders of the tundra, hence why we're avoiding it," Kanan spoke up. Not for the first time, today, Theon wondered just how that blind man could see.

"If it's the most heavily guarded, I say the Imperials are up to something in that area," the other Mandalorian, Rau, offered. "And if they're interested in something that barren and cold…"

"Whatever it is can't be good for us," Ezra finished. "Hey, we stole from stormtroopers, before. Why not stop now?" He joked though it fell flat with his intended audience.

"Because these places aren't guarded by stormtroopers, my friend," Theon answered. "They are guarded by the elite of the Imperial military. Naval Special Warfare. Deathtroopers, to be more precise. And rest assured, they don't miss unless they're ordered to. I agree with Kanan on this matter. The area beyond the northern wall should be off limits, for now."

Hera nodded at him, though she still looked a little leery of him. "Alright, I think we've about covered everything in this briefing. We leave in twelve hours, and it's going to be a long trip. Pack your things and sleep well, kids."

With that, the briefing ended, and soon Theon was left alone again. Well, almost alone- the Jedi Kanan was here as well.

"Funny," Theon mused aloud, "you are the first person today that didn't treat me like a total piece of shit, asides from Sato. Why is that?"

"I sense no deceit from you." Kanan simply answered. "There are strong feelings of grief and anguish within you; regrets for what you have done in the past," he spoke and sat down in front of him, in the chair opposite. "Robb, from what I have noticed these past eight or so months living with him, distrusts everyone that isn't a member of his pack. Once you get accepted, however, you are a friend for life. He is slow to forgive, however, and he never forgets an ill-turn."

"Tell me something I don't know," Theon snorted.

Kanan shrugged. "Robb needs to learn to let go of his anger towards you, that the Theon that betrayed him is not the same Theon I'm sitting in front of, now. But its something only he can change. You can show him the way, but he must walk the path."

Theon nodded, then he felt his face sour. He got up to look outside the hanger. In the distance, he saw black storm clouds on the horizon; a rarity for a desert world, and an extremely dangerous one, at that.

And he could not help the sinking feeling in his stomach that this represented an ill omen.

A portent that predicted that war would come to this little world.

And the lives of this crew would change forever because of it.

Notes:

A/N: Finally done with this chapter.

Yep, the Katana Fleet. The central plot point to Dark Force Rising is making its way here. And honestly, the rebels could use its firepower.

Now, we are beginning to see crucial things happening without the Ghost's involvement, such as Saw Gerrera's actions regarding the Death Star, and that without them, time marches on regardless.

Some very critical things are going to happen on Valaryos, mark my words. Things our heroes must discover about themselves, their pasts, and what kind of threat truly lies beyond the veil.

Now, as for Bran knowing the name of the planet they're from, well, let's just say that after the end of the TV series, they finally decided upon a name, and Planetos was immediately tossed out.

Till the next.

Chapter 19: Ezra III

Valaryos was breathtaking, Ezra thought upon the Starbird pulling out of hyperspace right next to the planet- the hologram of it did little justice to the real thing. The four continents, from the tall, narrow western one Robb and Theon called 'Westeros', to the broad, elongated eastern land known as 'Essos', to the dark green one called 'Sothoryos', and even the mysterious, dark land known as 'Uthlyos' looked like something out of a storybook.

"I've never seen so much color on a planet, before," Sabine whispered, already having fallen in love with this place. True enough, there were shades of green, tan, white, red, brown, and black in abundance, compounded with light blue lakes and dark, azure seas.

"It is indeed a thing of beauty," Robb's voice broke over the comms. "But the beauty of it lies on the surface. There, you can see everything in its entirety."

Ezra could only take Robb's word for it. From what the former king described of the North, it had some sort of cold beauty to it. Vast forests of dark green pine and oak, rolling moors and fields of grass, and rivers of the deepest blue, occasionally covered by endless fields of white snow.

"Have we been spotted by any Imperial ships?" Kanan asked Sabine, sitting in the chair behind Ezra.

"No," she informed them, a bit of concern seeping through her voice, the worry hitting Ezra like a brick. "Not even a picket ship. I'm picking up massive power readings from the area to the far north, though."

"Hence why we aren't going there, yet," Theon's voice broke through the comm. "Not picking up on any alarms or increased radio traffic from my end. And…" his voice trailed off. "I'm not picking up on any signs of sentient life, either, other than from that research station."

"Kanan…" Ezra began. Now he was starting to worry. He felt the Force practically gushing from this planet, but almost no sentient life. It was as if this place were abandoned centuries ago…or it had been cleansed of all sentient beings.

Call it déjà vu, but he was started to be reminded of Geonosis, somewhat.

"I feel it, too," his master and father-figure replied grimly. "Something happened here, long ago. I can still feel the after-effects of the Dark Side. But as to what happened, I do not know."

"But we will get to the bottom of it," Hera's voice boomed over the intercom. "Robb and Theon deserve answers. We all do."

Ezra could only nod his assent, as the Starbird and the Ghost dipped down into the planet's atmosphere, the former heading towards the tundra, whilst the latter headed for the large, crescent-shaped bay on the eastern coast.

Ezra could soon see why Robb loved his homeland so much; it was vast and wild, very much like he described. Open and free. As they landed and stepped outside into the cool, fresh air, Ezra took in his surroundings.

The sky was a dark, dreary gray, giving this place a rustic, ancient look. To the east of him lay a forest, old and foreboding. All around him were rolling hills and endless moors, rolling and green, and to the north…

To the north lay a castle that was easily the size of an Acclamator II-class frigate, it's imposing, double layered granite walls giving off an ancient and foreboding feeling, as if the fortress itself was the king of this land, judging everyone and anyone who dared trespass its domain. And he didn't know why, but it felt like the castle was calling to him, beckoning him closer and encouraging him to find out its secrets…

"Ezra?" Kanan's voice called him back to the here and now. His master followed his gaze, towards the ancient castle to the north. "You felt it, too?"

Ezra nodded. "Call me crazy, Kanan, but I feel as if that castle is…alive…somehow. Like there's a Force Nexus right underneath it, or inside it. I feel like it's...summoning us."

His master grimaced. "Well, whatever the case may be, we can consider it later. Right now, Rau's found something…odd."

Ezra's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "Odd? What does he mean by that?"

Kanan said nothing to his pupil, only turning around and beckoning him to follow. Now, the young Lothalian was curious.

A few hundred meters away to the west, they had reached their destination, where they meet Rau and Sabine. The trio was staring at a grisly scene; about thirty dead large wildcats, surrounding what appeared to be a dead wolf, in the middle of a large clearing. A gigantic wolf at that, Ezra realized, for the canine was almost as large as a young horse.

"What the hell happened here?" Ezra wondered aloud, taking in the carnage before him.

"Looks like some sort of territorial dispute that ended badly," Rau answered, though his response came out as unsure to the others. "Happens all the time in nature."

"I don't think so," Sabine countered, as they moved closer to inspect the dead wolf, which honestly reminded Ezra of the Loth-wolves back home. The young Mandalorian knelt beside the beast's corpse, examining it over several times before turning to the others. "Well, it's a she, for one, and it looks like a mother of cubs, judging by the swell of the belly and the fact it looked recently sucked on. My guess is that she was trying to protect her young."

"Ok, but where are the cubs?" Ezra asked the obvious question. "Could they have been…eaten?"

Kanan shook his head. "It's possible, but I don't think so. Wildcats like these don't devour prey on the spot."

"As an aside," Fenn continued. "we didn't see any other tracks, feline or canine, that came through this area."

"Which begs the question; where are the cubs?" Sabine pondered aloud. It was then that they all heard it; distinctive, high-pitched whining coming from a few feet away, from under a bush. When they reached the bush, they found the source of the noise; two scared, healthy young wolf pups. One's fur was a midnight hue, with eyes so golden you might have mistaken it for an animalistic Sith, at first. The other had a copper coat, and eyes the color of lilacs.

Ezra did not know why, but he felt a connection with the one with the dark fur. It was almost as if the Force had ordained him to find this lost pup, who was now staring deeply into his own eyes. And the copper one was doing the same with Sabine, as she picked it up and held it gently, like a mother with a newborn.

"What will they do now that their mother's gone?" Ezra asked his master, as he picked up the black pup and cradled it in his arms. To his own surprise, it did not bite or scratch him. He saw Kanan rub his beard, apparently trying to come up with an appropriate answer.

"Well, if you two hadn't found them, then I'd say those pups would have eventually starved to death, or worse," Kanan mused. "However, I don't think it was an accident you found them. Whether you realize it or not, you two, destiny and fate has brought us here. For what purpose, I don't know, but those two pups are connected to you, as is that ancient ruin, I suspect."

Ezra turned his head back to the ancient fortress. He furrowed his brow. The place felt strange, and yet at the same time, familiar, like an old friend he had not seen or heard from in ages.

It was then that Kanan's commlink beeped. The blind Jedi Knight, no longer hobbled by his disability, flawlessly picked up the device and answered it. "Specter 1, this is 2. Go ahead, over."

"2, this is 1. So far, we've found nothing in this ruined city Robb and Theon both call 'King's Landing.' I don't know what happened here, love, but so far…so far, we've found nothing but old bones and overgrown vines. Whatever happened here must have been…"

"Yeah, I've felt it, too," Kanan interrupted. "I can still feel the lingering after-effects of the Dark Side in places, here. Speaking of which, can you key Specter 7 in? We may have found something he may very well be interested in, over."

"And this something interesting is?" Hera asked them, her own interest perked up.

"A castle just to the north of us," Kanan answered. "Red granite, on top of a low hill. Two sets of walls; the first one is twenty-four meters high, the second one thirty."

The commlink went silent for a few, tense moments before Hera answered again. This time, however, her voice was quieter, as if she were humbled by something.

"Winterfell. He says that old castle is his home, Winterfell. And that…" her voice trailed off, apparently unsure if she should go for or against something "…and that he needs to see it. No matter how painful it is for him."

Ezra saw his father-figure's jaw tighten ever so slightly, then relax as he nodded. "I agree. If this will help him finally put the past behind him, and forgive all the wrongs done to him, then he needs to do it. He cannot, and will not, find balance otherwise."

Balance, Ezra mused silently to himself. It was the core tenant of what a Jedi strove to be, in harmony with nature and at peace with one's self, as Kanan had once said to him. Very few, though, had ever achieved total balance- a certain state of oneness and resiliency that not even the greatest of disasters could crumble. Most tried to find true balance and failed, for there were always emotional attachments, old wounds, and regrets. Human nature, in short.

The pup stirred in his arms. He did not know what to call him, yet, but he was sure that he'd think of a name when he got back to the Ghost.

He then grimaced. He was sure Kanan was fine with him and Sabine keeping the wolf pups, but Hera? How would she react to two young, wild cubs that would grow into large, fearsome predators? Especially with little room on the ship as it was? Perhaps they could have someone watch over them on Atollon when they went on missions, but that presented a whole 'nother slew of problems itself.

He cleared his head of such thoughts. Kanan believed that they were fated to receive these pups, and he had long ago learned to listen to him when he spoke of such things. It would work out in due time, and he would cross those troublesome bridges when he came to them.

Kanan's voice again brought him back to the present. "Well, looks like both Robb and Theon are on their way here. I recommend we start heading back to the castle." He said, pointing towards Winterfell. "We can perhaps use it as a base camp while we expand our search, and it would make for a good shelter, should any storms come to pass through."

"Plus, if these animals are any indication, the forest nearby should still be ripe with game." Rau pointed out as they began making their way back to the fortress. "And there's a river nearby. We could potentially increase the time we have to scour the world in search of this legendary fleet."

"We have to be careful, though," Sabine argued, as her pup squirmed a little in her arms. "If the Imperials get word that we're here, things could go south really quick."

The discussion ceased as soon as they walked through the gatehouse, with Ezra and his mentor pushing open the gates with the Force.

Strange, Ezra thought as they walked into what was presumably the outer courtyard, noticing the prevalent wolf sigils and statues adorning the place. The wood should have rotted away centuries ago, not to mention the iron and steel should have rusted away into virtually…nothing. It's like someone was here recently, and took it upon themselves to restore the place.

He was suddenly on guard. What if the Imperials were the ones who restored it? They were on the planet, too, after all. What if they were being watched closely by hidden camcorders, and listened on by secret transceivers bugged in this place?

No, he realized. The Empire was not expecting them; they could not have had the time to wire the place. Or…maybe…

What if the Force had preserved this place, somehow? Granted, it was a stretch, but given the Imperials' proclivity towards neglect and abuse, it somehow made more sense, especially given the fact that they haven't stepped on any bones, yet.

"It's kinda…colorless," Sabine remarked dryly, snapping Ezra out of his musings.

"Well, it's been abandoned for Force knows how long, Bean," Ezra offered. "I'm guessing during Robb's old days, it was a riot of color."

And Bendu's, don't forget, he reminded himself, as it was revealed to him and Kanan a while back by Robb that their mysterious mentor was none other than Brandon Stark, his younger brother.

Sabine snorted. "Unlikely. I don't know if you've noticed, Ez, but Robb isn't exactly the most artistic of guys. Besides, I have the feeling this place was pretty dour and grim, even when it wasn't empty of all life. Well, all life sans present company, that is..." she snarked, then fell silent as they heard the telltale whine of the Phantom II's sublight engines powering down and the craft beginning it's landing cycle. A few, tense moments passed, the very air itself going silent, and then the great iron gates opened up, to reveal the castle's long-lost son.

Ezra had seen Robb angry, brooding, joyful, sad, friendly, and nonchalant. He had seen him act with distrustful indifference to strangers, open-hearted warmth to friends, and ruthless brutality towards his enemies, but today…today was a first.

Today he saw him act in reverence.

The Lord of Winterfell stepped into his den, his breath hitched and ragged, his gait becoming unsteady as if he would collapse at any moment. The young Lothalian saw the Northman walk lost in memory, gently grazing his hands on every little stone and statue.

Ezra was unsure if he should follow him. One the one hand, Robb probably needed this time alone. On the other, he would also need a friend and brother to be there for him when the waterworks inevitably fell. After a moment of consideration, Ezra went with the first option, following Robb into the largest building, which he presumed to be the great hall, Sabine following a step behind him, and their wolf pups trotting alongside them.

His assumption proved correct, for they stepped into what appeared to be a huge dining chamber. He reckoned that the hall could easily fit half a thousand men inside comfortably, judging by the eight long tables. At the end of the hall, he presumed was the high table, for it sat on a raised platform, and had twelve seats, presumably for the king, his family, and his guests of honor. He saw Robb run a calloused hand along the wood, still looking as fresh as the day it was carved.

"This is where my family used to sit during meals," the lord of the castle whispered quietly, apparently aware that the two youngest members of the crew were following him. "Well, most of us. Jon and Theon had to sit in the back, due to being a 'bastard' and a hostage, respectively. My mother…" he trailed off, then looked off to the door on the right. "That door leads to the throne room, where my father used to receive visitors and handle matters of great import. We rarely used it, though, as we found this hall to suffice, usually." He then took a deep breath and continued walking on, with Ezra, Sabine, and their two pups towing along.

After walking through the bedchambers, the throne room, the kitchens, the lord's study, and the maester's solar, with Robb occasionally telling a brief, memory-filled story, they finally came back outside and through another gate, this one leading to a garden of some sort.

No, not a garden, Ezra realized. An enclosed forest within the castle itself, with pine and oak in abundance, and in the center of this wooded area, besides a pool of clear, blue water, stood the tree from Ezra's nightmare.

A weirwood, Bendu-no, Bran Stark, had called it, when the ancient Force-wielder had one day taken him into the caves of Atollon and showed him one such tree, explaining to him that they were conduits of the living Force, and were sacred to the ancient peoples of their homeland.

"This reminds me of the garden my family has in our own castle on Krownest," Sabine whispered quietly, having picked up her pup again and stroking its copper fur. "We didn't have any of those strange trees, though. It was an oak at the center of the courtyard that my family prayed in front of."

Ezra paused, taking in this new information with newfound clarity and surprise. This was the first time she's talked about her home, which he had assumed to be on Mandalore. Just how much did he really know about his closest friend, the woman he love-.

Stop it, he chided himself mentally. She doesn't feel that way about you. She views you as a brother, at most!

Does she?

It was so hard telling with her emotions, at times. One day, she'd be affectionate with him, the next, she would act closed off and distant. More and more, however, it had become the latter, and nearly everyone in the crew could tell that something was eating her up, but what, he did not know, and it frustrated him.

Robb walked right to the weirwood tree, his pace becoming more and more haphazard, and when he reached the foot of that mighty tree, he collapsed. And for the first time in his life, Ezra heard a sound from Robb he'd never thought he'd hear, before.

He was weeping; bitterly, and Ezra knew that he was at least mourning the loss of his biological family.

"I'm sorry…" he kept on repeating, his voice cracked and breaking. "I'm not the man you were, father. I've failed to live up to your sacred honor. If only we had never taken the southern road…"

Ezra's heart broke. He's seen plenty of strong men break in the heat of battle, or in its aftermath. He had himself grieved for lost friends and his parents- a pain which still hurt to this day, but never would he have imagined seeing this side of Robb, the stoic, taciturn former king reduced to tears, begging for forgiveness from his gods and his father.

Ezra took a deep breath, stepped forward towards where Robb was kneeling and did what his master had done with him in his own moment of greatest despair.

He hugged him.

Robb seemed taken aback by this, his cold blue eyes widening in surprise. He looked at Ezra, his own eyes burning with the one question he knew was coming:

Why?

"You're my brother," the younger man answered the elder. "You're one of the pack. And I will never abandon you. We will never abandon you, not as long as we're still alive."

Robb sat still for a moment, then Ezra felt the man's strong arms wrap around his shoulders, his face pressed into his collarbone.

"Thank you, brother," he whispered hoarsely. "Thank you all. For everything."

They both stood up, and it was then Robb finally looked at the two wolf pups that tailed Ezra and Sabine, his eyes widening in recognition, and hope, and breathed out one word;

"Direwolves…"

Direwolves, Ezra repeated in his mind. So, those what those pups were.

"Where did you find those direwolf cubs?" Robb pressed, now suddenly interested in the cubs as they came meandering over to him, obviously entranced by this lord of a house that bore their likeness on their banners and statues.

"Over in a meadow to the west of here." Sabine answered for them, "We found them underneath a bush, hiding from wildcats. Their mother was dead, and she was surrounded by a lot of dead wild cats."

Robb's gaze hardened. "I pray this isn't an ill omen. I received my direwolf in a similar way; his mother had been slain by a stag she had been fighting. Later, I realize that it was an omen for my own father's death at the hands of Joffrey. Regardless, however, whether you two realize it or not, those direwolves chose you. You are bound to them by spirit like I was with my own direwolf, Grey Wind..." he trailed off for a moment, looking at the pups, then back at the two young warriors. "Have you given them names, yet?"

Sabine smiled at her own lilac-eyed pup, who was busy playing with her brother. "I think I'll call her 'Runi'" she said affectionately.

"Runi. Mando'a for 'artistic soul', I believe," Robb replied. "A perfect name for your wolf," he complimented and turned to Ezra, "and what about yours?"

Ezra racked his brain, trying to think up a name. Ghost? No, that didn't really describe his wolf's personality. Plus, he didn't particularly feel like naming his direwolf after both the ship that was his home and Robb's brother's wolf.

Shadow? Although it certainly fit in some ways, since the pup seemed to follow him around like a damned shadow, that name carried far too many negative connotations for his liking.

He looked again at his raven-coated pup, Ezra's electric blue eyes meeting his wolf's yellow-gold ones. In some ways, looking at his wolf, he was reminded of his own stormy past, the grief and the rage he felt over the deaths of his parents and his friends, the betrayal he felt over Maul's deceit, but also the relationships he established with the crew, his newfound purpose in the Rebellion, his surrogate mother, and father, and Sabine. He was then reminded of something Kanan said, about the duality of the storm. That while the storm brought gales and lightning, it also brought water and life.

Suddenly, it clicked in his head.

Smiling, he got up and faced Robb and Sabine, who were looking at him with expectant gazes.

"Storm," he said, looking back down at the young direwolf. "His name is Storm."

Notes:

A/N: So, another chapter is done.

Now, some of you may be wondering why the hell Winterfell is in such pristine condition, when almost everywhere else it actually looks like nobody's inhabited the place for five thousand years or so. Well, when your brother is a literal god who's trying to prevent the end of everything, it's not much of a stretch to say that he might have been focusing on keeping Winterfell intact so any clues they might find would not rot away from the slow decay of time. (Yes, yes, laws of entropy and all that, but this is the Force we're talking about here.)

Yep, Ezra and Sabine now have direwolves, Storm, and Runi. Why did I decide to give them wolves? Well, you'll see…

As for the reason why they are at Winterfell, it's not just to look for the Katana Fleet. It will be here that they will discover truth; about themselves, about others, and about the true war, the only war that matters.

Until next time, and may the Force be with you, always.

Chapter 20: Sabine IV

Her mother's eyes were hard and cold, her face etched in icy contempt for her daughter.

Her brother's eyes were filled with fire, his face contorted in confused rage at her 'betrayal'.

Her father's eyes were filled with disappointment, and his face lined with regret.

In each of their hands was clasped a Mandalorian sword, pointing them towards the ground like executioners on judgment day.

"Dar'manda," her mother spat, as the cold whipped around them.

"Oathbreaker," her brother snarled, the knuckles on his hands going white as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.

"Kinslayer," her father intoned, his voice hoarse as if he had been weeping beforehand.

"Kill the traitor," all three said at once, their voices suddenly becoming monotone. They slowly started to advance on her, their blades slowly raising, ready to take her head.

She tried to run but found that she couldn't move. She felt the wind get knocked out of her, forcing her to her knees in a desperate attempt to suck down precious air. She looked up, only to find her brother standing over her, his sword on the back of her neck.

"Tristan…" she tried to beg, with tears in her eyes. "Don't…"

"You are no sister of mine," he retorted.

He raised his blade.

She closed her eyes.

The sword descended.

---

Sabine woke with a start, her breathing ragged and her heartbeat erratic. She put a hand to her forehead. Cold and clammy. Yep, she had woken up from a nightmare, alright. She rapidly blinked her eyes, trying to get her bearings and get the cobwebs of awakening out of her system.

As her focus returned, she could make out the room she was in; it was one of the bedchambers of Winterfell, a guest room for which she had been accommodated by Robb. She quickly swung her legs over the side of the bed, having foregone the covers due to both her intense training and the fact this room was surprisingly warm, despite no fire in the hearth.

Robb had explained to her that the castle was built upon underground hot springs, and the designer of this castle used the geological feature to heat the castle, using a system of pipes and tunnels that still held up sixteen thousand years later. Impressive, to say the very least.

She heard a sharp rap on her door. Thank the manda she was covered in her favorite pink shirt and black sleeping shorts, or else there were going to be problems.

Severe problems.

"Sabine, are you awake?" Robb's stentorian voice sounded through the thick wooden door.

"Am now," she answered, a bit annoyed at the obliviousness of the question.

"Good," the King in the North sounded satisfied. "Kanan wants you down in the great hall. He says it's a matter of utmost importance. And that everyone is showing up."

She quirked an eyebrow at that, as she began taking off her sleeping clothes. More important than finding this legendary fleet, or discovering why this place seemed to draw them in? She looked over at Runi, who wore the same confused expression on her canine face that Sabine did.

"I don't suppose you know what this is about, do you?" Sabine asked her young direwolf, who just responded by quirking her head inquisitively at her.

Sabine sighed. "I guess not."

She finished up putting on her beskar'gam, painted in all her favorite colors and designs, then headed out the door, where Robb was waiting for her, grim-looking and severe. She crossed her arms and stared him down.

"Ok, Robb. What is this about?" she asked him. Despite her not having Jedi powers like both her closest friend and her father figure, she could tell when something was wrong or off, and right now, the alarms in her head were going off like crazy.

"You tell me," Robb retorted, mirroring her pose. "Sabine, I don't know if you noticed, but ever since we got back from Dathomir over a month ago, you've been acting rather…how do I want to put it? Pensive? Withdrawn? Like how I used to be?"

She clenched her teeth and narrowed her eyes. "I have not!" She snapped, as she tried to deny the truth even unto itself. The truth was though…she was hiding.

From her so-called destiny.

From her biological family.

From everyone in her home space judging her when they had no right to.

Robb, perceptive as ever, clearly saw through her façade, and just snorted an "Ok", before sharply turning on his heel, leaving Sabine behind in a confused, frustrated huff. She ran her gloved hand through her bobbed, fuchsia-dyed hair, as she felt Runi nudge her leg. She started to go over the possibilities of what Kanan had deemed so important that it required everyone in the crew plus Rau and Theon to attend.

Did they discover where the fleet was hidden? No, it could not have been that. She would have been woken up immediately for that, and the atmosphere would not have been as grim as it was, now. She would say it would have been almost joyous.

Was Hera revealed to be pregnant? That would have been even more unlikely than the first. As an aside, if Hera was pregnant with her and Kanan's child, she would not have gone on this mission in the first place- as she would have been forced by Sato to remain on base.

She sighed, mentally exhausting almost every possibility, save for one, which she would not have even begun to consider, as it was so ludicrous. Her adopted family would never do that to her, or so she thought.

As she walked down the dimly lit halls of the abandoned seat of power for Robb's royal family, her mind drifted towards the events on Dathomir and on Concord Dawn. Why did she pick up the Darksaber in the first place? She certainly had no real need of it…well, aside from the remote possibility of going toe to toe with an Inquisitor or, Force forbid, Darth Vader himself. Plus, the baggage that came along with it alone made it undesirable in her eyes.

And yet…the blade still called to her, as if she were destined to wield it.

She frowned. She had to be imagining things. She was not Force-sensitive. She couldn't lift things with her mind or see the future!

Then, there was the matter of what Gar said to her; that her mother was looking for her. She had to suppress a scoff. The honorable Ursa Wren wouldn't take the time out of her constant politicking and power plays to give a whiff of concern about an oath-breaker and a traitor, not even if that traitor was her own flesh and blood.

All oaths must be upheld, she had once told her. A warrior is measured not by those they kill, but the words by which they are bound, and the fortitude in their hearts. Your honor is everything in this world, ad'ika. Never forget that.

She soon interrupted that train of thought the moment she entered the great hall and saw everyone sitting down. Even Hera and Zeb had come, for some reason; the only one who wasn't physically here was Theon, and even he was attending via hologram, courtesy of Chopper.

"Alright," she began, deciding to sit down next to Ezra at one of the tables, never taking her eyes off Kanan or Rau, who was looking awfully suspicious. "What is this about?"

Kanan spoke first, his voice calm and sure, but also carrying a knowing, ominous edge to it. "As you all know, we are here to retrieve the Katana Fleet and deliver it to Commander Sato. Hera?"

"We've managed to narrow down its position to somewhere in the southwestern bay, located near a large volcanic island," Hera stated. "I believe Robb and Theon would call this place Dragonstone if I'm not mistaken?"

"You are correct," Theon confirmed, crossing his arms. "Within maybe a week, we'll be able to locate its exact position, and then we can finally head back to base."

"But?" Ezra asked the unasked question that was on everyone's mind. There was always a catch, wasn't there?

Sure enough.

Hera grimaced. "Even if we do find the fleet, we don't have the men necessary to crew all the ships. I realize that the ships in this fleet don't require as much living crew as other Dreadnaughts do, but combined, that's still four hundred thousand sailors needed to make sure the fleet is operating at maximum efficiency. Atollon alone only has maybe a hundredth of that number available, and I doubt at this point we can find any available spare men from the other squadrons. We don't have the credits to hire any private military contractors, either."

"What of the Arcadians?" Zeb offered, to which Robb shook his head.

"As willing as King Lysandus and Duke Lund might be, they can't move without Hutt permission, as they are unfortunately under the sovereignty of the Grand Hutt Council, and supply much of Nal Hutta's security and naval might," he clarified, which was meet by curses under muttered breaths. The Hutts did rule over a good section of the Outer Rim, after all, and their illicit activities had built them a thriving trade empire.

Unfortunately for them, Jabba and the other four heads of the Great Houses had good, stable relations with the Empire.

"That leaves us only with one choice," Rau stated, his voice laced with grim severity. He nodded to Kanan, who promptly unclipped something from the back of his belt.

And Sabine's world ground to a halt.

No.

How can they?

At first, she couldn't speak. She felt…numb…for the lack of a better word. Then, she felt anger. White, hot, and burning. How could they do this to her? Didn't they know she wanted nothing to do with her clan? With the people who spat on her and shit on her honor?

She jumped up from her seat, the sudden motion startling Ezra, and fixed everyone with a glare.

"No!" she declared, her nostrils flaring and her eyes wide with rage. "I won't do it!"

"Sabine…" Rau began before she cut him off.

"I said no!" she snarled. "That fucking saber has brought my family nothing but pain ever since Maul took it!"

Fenn just simply pressed on. "Sabine, Maul used it to conquer and divide our people. You can wield it to do the opposite!"

Was he serious?

"Are you crazy?" she asked him, now beyond incredulous. "Wield it? If that's not the most ridiculous thing I've ever…"

"Consider what he has to say," Kanan cut her off, much to everyone's surprise. "I don't think it's a coincidence that this saber came into your possession, any more than it was with Robb and Theon re-discovering their home, or with you and Ezra finding your direwolves," he calmly advised, 'looking' pointedly at Runi and Storm, who had somehow picked up on the ambient mood and were unusually sullen. "Master Yoda once told me that 'nothing ever happens by accident'. It took me a long time to realize the truth of those words."

"Yeah, but, Kanan, that doesn't mean she can actually fight with it," Ezra pointed out, before realizing his mistake. "No offense, Bean."

Too late, di'kut.

"Oh, no. Go on, Ez. I wanna hear this," she fixed her closest friend with a glare that could melt doonium. Despite the fact she liked him, by the manda did his mouth run before his brain did, at times. Either that or it was a calculated ploy to get her enraged. If that was the case, then consider it mission fucking accomplished.

Ezra sighed. "What I mean is that it took me years to get to where I am now with a lightsaber, and as an aside, I use the Force."

"She might not be able to fight like a Jedi," Kanan cut in again, this time saving his apprentice from a potential, very much warranted smack in the face, "but she can definitely become proficient enough with the blade to fight with it."

"I already am proficient, with several blades!" she protested, already knowing that Robb had probably adopted an incredulous smirk on his otherwise stoic face. "As well as blasters, and explosives, and even javelins. But that? That is a lightsaber!"

"The combat training is only secondary to what that blade represents," Rau reminded.

Sabine rolled her eyes. "Right, right, you want me to lead my clan, and eventually all of Mandalore! I don't know if you realize this, Fenn, but I'm not exactly the most popular woman in the hegemony right now, let alone my family."

"That can change," Rau reminded.

"No, it can't," She rebuked, turning her head to discontinue looking at them. "None of you know what you're talking about!"

"I do know that family is important to the Wrens," He offered, putting a firm, yet gentle hand on her shoulder. "Just like it is to all Mandalorians."

She roughly shoved his hand away. "I already have a family! Here! In this castle! And my home is the Ghost! I don't need them!" she yelled, turning away from all of them. Why was it that all the men could not understand? At least she had Hera on her side.

"But we do," Hera softly corrected, shattering the myth Sabine had built for herself. "If there is a chance you can rally an army of Mandalorians to our cause, I'm going to have to ask you to do it."

"Hera…," Sabine barely managed to squeak out, shocked at this sudden betrayal.

"Family history can be painful," Hera soothed. "Believe me, I know. But we need men for those ships, and we need those ships for our attack on Lothal."

Sabine couldn't believe it. Here was her surrogate family, asking her to just drop everything and return to try to lead her clan and people.

"Hera's right," Kanan declared. "We need to ask you to do this, but that doesn't mean you have to." He held out the saber, offering it to her. "You could always walk away and forget about it. We won't force you into this."

She turned and weighed the options. They were giving her a choice. She could always say 'no', and completely forget that her clan ever existed. But…Hera ultimately had the right of it. This was their last option. If she refused, she could very well doom the Rebellion, and she'd be a traitor twice over.

If nothing else, she would relish the chance to prove her mother wrong.

So, with a heavy heart, she turned back to Kanan and gripped the hilt of the Darksaber.

"Alright," she sighed, "I'll do it."

She tried to tug it away from him, yet he still held a firm grip on it. Confused, she looked at Kanan, and even though he wore his eye mask, she swore she could feel him staring right through her. It was kind of off-putting, to be honest.

"Once people know you have this," he warned, "you will be challenged."

She huffed. "Alright, I get it. I'll try my best."

It was now Ezra decided, for whatever god-damned reason, to try to give her advice. "First lesson, Sabine; don't try. Just learn," he offered, and it was made worse by that smirk of his.

Fortunately for both, before Sabine could yank the Darksaber away from Kanan and show her friend how bad she really was, Zeb decided to put Ezra in his place.

"Ezra, you've heard the saying 'Hell has no fury like a woman scorned'? Well, I suggest if you want to keep breathing, you'd shut up and leave her the hell alone," he warned him.

Thanks, big guy.

"Regardless of how he put it, Ezra does have a point," Robb finally decided to speak up. "You have to be committed to this."

Sabine sighed through her nostrils. "Ok."

---

They had decided to train in the courtyard, as it was wide, open, and free of anything they could really damage or maim with a lightsaber. Minimize the damage, if you will. Sabine frowned. Did Kanan not trust her with this? Did he really think her incompetent when it came to swordsmanship?

Currently, it was Kanan, Ezra, Robb, and Rau who had decided to supervise or help with her training on the weapon. Or, they would be…if Kanan had not decided to play it safe and regulate her to training with fake, wooden swords they found in the fortress's dusty old armory, and that had been the routine for days, now, as Hera, Zeb, and Chopper left the other day to continue the search.

Currently, she was sparring against Ezra, having already badly lost twice in a row to both Robb and Kanan, despite their constant drilling of her form, and especially despite her repeated training with Robb from months before.

It wasn't to say that there wasn't a noticeable improvement; already she felt her motions were more controlled, smooth, and precise, and less like "a butcher hacking at meat", as Robb oh-so-gently put it to her at one point. But it seemed that no matter how much she improved, her betters were five to ten steps ahead of her, as Ezra's irritating smirk proved. He was deftly parrying her attacks, daring her to let go of her emotional control and do something stupid.

"That's not going to work!" Kanan yelled out to her, as she tried to hammer away at Ezra's defenses.

She grunted in response. "Working well so far!" she lied. As much as she hated to admit it, Kanan was right- simply trying to overpower her best friend was not going to work.

Ezra's face softened for a second, going from smirking to softly smiling. "I think you're doing well, so far," he complimented and was promptly rewarded with a well-deserved punch to the shoulder.

"Opinion duly noted," She sarcastically swore, as she continued to press her assault. The more she wore on his nearly impenetrable defense, the more frustrated she became. Soon, Ezra wasn't even parrying anymore; he was just avoiding her blows.

She finally had enough.

Uttering a wordless cry, she leaped at Ezra, bringing down the blade at his head.

And he simply stepped out of the way.

The White Phoenix soon found herself eating the dirty ground of the courtyard, falling flat on her face. And when she turned around to get back up, Ezra was right there, with that stupid stick resting near her chin and that stupid grin plastered on his stupid face.

"You over-committed," Fenn observed dryly, to which Sabine huffed in irritated annoyance.

"Oh, thanks!" she sardonically thanked him, swatting away Ezra's blade.

"Let's take a break for now," Kanan offered, holding out his hands to both of them.

Sabine threw down her practice sword. Fine! It wasn't like she was getting better anyway! She walked away from Ezra, who was called over by Kanan to help him with something. Not before long, however, Rau walked over to where she was, carrying a container of some sort.

"I brought you something," he offered, a knowing smile on his face. "Consider it an apology for me partially getting you into this mess."

She scoffed. "Partially? How about completely?"

"And to make up for it," he deliberated, "you can have these." He opened the box up, revealing to Sabine something that she had always wanted.

Mandalorian vambraces.

"Where did you get these?" she breathed, eagerly putting them on. They perfectly fit her, she discovered.

"Light shield, grappling line, darts, repulsor- all designed by our people, to combat the abilities of Force-users," He informed her and leaned in closer, smirking, and pointed in Ezra's direction. "Go knock down Bridger a peg or two. Wipe that smirk off his face."

Now it was her turn to smirk. Oh, she took it back. This was going to be fun.

She turned to face Ezra again, who had just finished talking to Kanan. He immediately eyed her vambraces. "Whatcha' got there, Bean?"

"More than you can handle!" she replied, brimming with newfound confidence.

Ezra grinned. "Alright, Bean. Well, if that's the case, I won't take it so easy on you this time."

The two opponents faced each other, saluting to begin the match. Ezra struck first, angling his blade high and bringing it down. Sabine parried the block and then did something that was technically cheating.

She used the repulsor on Ezra.

Her best friend tumbled back a few yards, losing his balance, obviously caught off guard by the sudden blast. As he tried to regain his footing, the young warrior swept his legs out from underneath him, causing him to fall right on his behind. Sabine smirked, holding her 'sword' to her opponent's neck. "And that's your head!" she gloated in triumph, while Ezra stared at her with a mixture of blatant annoyance and a hint of amusement.

"Well, that's hardly fair! Where did you even get those?" he complained, to which she shrugged.

"Special delivery," She told him, intentionally keeping it vague. He was smart- he'd figure it out sooner or later.

"HEY!" Kanan snapped at her, causing her to turn around and see an angry, blind, and scraggly Force-sensitive come stomping over to her. "You think this is some sort of game?"

Sabine grinned at him, her confidence running on high. "Not playing," she corrected, "just…outsmarting my opponent." Her grin turned predatory. "Care to take a shot?"

Without warning anybody, she activated her grappling line. The energized cord wrapped itself around the surprised Jedi Knight, and Sabine began tugging.

And tugging.

And tugging.

But Kanan did not budge.

Not even an inch.

Instead, he appeared to tire of her insolence, and, activated his lightsaber, cut the cord in half, pulling her down and towards him in the process. She hit the back of her head and saw stars for a few, fleeting moments. And when she regained her senses, she found a blazing blue blade next to her throat.

And for the first time in her life, Sabine was genuinely afraid that Kanan would kill her.

"Here's a history lesson for you!" Kanan seethed at her. "The Mandalorians lost the war against the Jedi. Sure, these tricks could amount to something, and even help you from time to time, but they will never keep you alive in the long run! Only training and discipline will do that!" he accentuated, deactivating his blade, and letting her stand up.

So, that was it, then. He didn't trust her.

At all.

With anything.

Just like her.

Only offered her criticisms and lectures, never praise or words of comfort.

Well, no more.

"The only thing I'm learning," she began, her voice quivering at first, but steadily gaining steam and fury, "is that Ezra must be really gifted to learn as well as he has from a lousy teacher like YOU!" She screamed at him, throwing her sword on the dirty floor of the courtyard and stomping off, leaving behind her so-called friends in a wake of confusion and sorrow.

---

She didn't know how long she wandered aimlessly in the godswood. Frankly, she didn't care. All that was left to her was her churning thoughts of her former home, of her old family. She had even left her direwolf with Robb to be alone for a bit.

What was she thinking? She couldn't wield the Darksaber, not like Ezra and Kanan could. She couldn't fight with a sword, not like Robb could. And she certainly could never lead or inspire men the way Hera could.

Her mother was right. All she was is a traitor, a turncoat. A woman without honor or soul. She had let her uncle die right in front of her - killed by the weapon she designed, all at the will of the sadistic headmaster of the Imperial Academy. Instead of doing the honorable thing and seeking vengeance, she decided to announce what had happened to everyone in the hegemony and fled with Ketsu the first moment she got. So why should she care about anything? No one cared about her, after all!

Ezra does. You know it. Let him in.

She shut her eyes, as she came to sit on a tree stump to look over at the heart tree nearby. No, she could never let him in. Not when the people she trusted most ended up betraying her.

"Sabine?" a familiar, somber voice spoke up from behind her. She didn't even need to turn to see who it was.

"Not now, Ezra." she half-heartedly attempted to warn away, despite knowing her dear friend wouldn't dare do such a thing.

"Look, I just wanted to say I'm sorry, for both me and Kanan." he apologized, maintaining his distance from her, yet it seemed to her that emotionally he was inching his way closer to her. "I've been what Robb calls a 'right royal prick' to you this past couple of days when you never deserved that. And I know how hard it is to learn under Kanan. Believe me, I do. But you should trust me when I say that he means well, because…he really does."

Sabine scoffed. "Does he? Do any of them?" she sighed, then stood up. "Look, I know how to fight, and I know that I can wield that blade. I just don't want everything that goes along with it."

"You mean your family?" he asked though it sounded more like a realization on his part. She finally turned to look at him. His eyes were filled with inviting warmth, and a plea to understand her.

"I'm a disgrace to them, Ezra," she admitted as her mother's scathing last words towards her echoed through her mind, "a traitor and an oath-breaker!"

He shook his head. "But you know that's not true, Bean. You are probably the most loyal and courageous person I've known."

You don't know how much that's not true.

"To them, it is!" she countered. "You don't know!" Her voice became a whisper. "No one does."

Ezra looked at her with great sorrow in his blue eyes, and something else. What was it? Love?

"I don't want to talk about these things!" she accidentally snapped at him, though it was more directed towards herself. "How can I go back there and face them? How can I possibly lead my people?"

Ezra hooded his eyes. "I'm sorry, Sabine," he apologized and turned, but not before offering her some advice. "Just know that… unlike Robb, or Kanan, or Zeb, or me, you at least have someone to go back to." With that hard truth, he turned and left, leaving Sabine alone once again in the godswood.

"Ezra..." she tried to call, just now sensing how much she had hurt her friend with her self-centered rant. She kicked the stump she had been sitting on, cursing her stupidity and short-sightedness, and sauntered off again, heading towards the heart tree- to pray, to clear her head, anything to take her mind off of the Darksaber and Ursa.

"He's right, you know," Robb's stoic voice called out to her from the other side of the heart tree, next to the pool.

"Come again?" she asked him, walking over to where he was. He was kneeling in a meditative stance, his eyes closed and his sword laid out before him. Besides him was Runi, who immediately jumped up and ran over to her mistress, happily wagging her tail and barking. She knelt to pet her direwolf and responded with a few ticklish licks to the cheek.

"Ezra's right," he repeated himself, opening his eyes and facing her. "You're acting like me right now."

She eyed him warily. "Explain."

Robb sighed. "You're shutting everyone out when they only try to help you, for one. Two, you've been doing almost nothing these past few days but mope about and feel sorry for yourself. You blame yourself for circumstances that were outside your control. And finally, your anger and frustration are causing you to lash out at everyone!" Robb fixed her with a stare that seemed to pass right through her. "Sabine, I don't know if you realize this, but before I met all of you, I had given up all hope. Sure, I was ambushing Imperials and helping protect the odd village here and there, but that was because I didn't know how to do anything else. If anything, I was only going through the motions; I was only doing it because the Empire reminded me of the men who took everything from me, and in my heart, I still had a burning need for revenge," he said as he stood up to face her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "The hope you and Ezra gave me saved my life. You taught me that there was still some good left in this world- good that was worth fighting for." He stared her right in the eyes, steel blue connecting with copper brown. "I want you to do something for me; don't ever, ever, be what I was, broken and bitter and angry. Be better than that. Be a better person than me."

With that, Robb stood up to walk back to the courtyard, but before he could, Sabine stopped him.

"Wait! I just wanted to ask you…" she paused, trying to convey the right words. "Back on Dathomir, you said you had another vision, after the one you had about Obi-Wan. What was it?"

Robb nodded, and sat back down, encouraging Sabine to sit next to him. She decided to oblige him.

"It was of your home, and of your mother," he informed. "She was praying to the great oak tree in your courtyard, asking your god for advice."

"Advice on what?" she asked him, eager despite not knowing why.

He sighed. "I think…I think she wanted the manda to forgive her for banishing you, and for you to find your way back to them again. She was regretful siding with the Empire, only doing so because if she hadn't, your father and your brother would be put to death by Gar Saxon."

She felt tears running down her cheek. "Then why did she call me what she did? Why did she believe what Saxon and the Imperials told her?"

Robb shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "There are things I still have to understand, as well. Demons I must eventually face on my own terms- one of them being my past."

"Theon?" she asked.

He nodded. "Aye, but I can worry about that later. Right now, we need to get you back to your training." He patted her shoulder. "I think Kanan's cooled off by now, as well."

She nodded, not quite feeling confident, but getting there. "Alright."

---

It was late by the time they got back to the courtyard. Nighttime, really, as the sky had become black, punctured by an endless sea of stars, the milky blue band of the galaxy, and the white-gray moon of Valaryos, which was in its full phase tonight, but that's not what was on everyone's mind right now.

Ezra noticed her first, giving her an encouraging smile, which she returned. Rau was next, nodding to her. And finally, there was Kanan.

His eye mask had been taken off, revealing his sightless, white eyes. He was currently in the middle of the courtyard, 'staring' at a very familiar-looking object. She walked over to him, her arms crossed beneath her breastplate, partially to keep warm, and partially because she was still unsure.

He finally looked up at her. "I owe you an apology," he said, glancing back down at the Darksaber.

"I can say the same," she agreed. Her mentor knelt, and picked up the blade, turning to hand it to her. She frowned. Was this a test? Was she truly ready? "Maybe I should continue practicing with the wooden sword," she offered. There was no way she was ready.

"Take it," Kanan insisted. "It's yours."

Sabine was shocked.

He trusted her, after all.

True trust.

With newfound respect for their leader, she took the sword in her hands. It felt ancient, battle-worn, but at the same time, as familiar as an old friend. And…she felt something. A connection with the blade, like it was destined to be hers.

"Ignite the blade," Kanan encouraged. Sabine did as he asked, and pressed the ignition switch. The blade sprung to life, a brilliant black falchion tinged with white cracks that danced along the surface, as the sword seemed to drink in the light around it with an unquenchable thirst.

And it seemed to weigh in her hands.

"It's a bit heavier than I thought," she pointed out, as she tested the sword out, waving it this way and that.

"Energy is constantly flowing through the crystal," Kanan explained to her. "You aren't fighting with a simple blade as much as you are directing a current of power. Your thoughts, your actions, they become energy. They flow through the crystal as well, and become a part of the blade," He took out his own saber and ignited it, saluting her and going into what Ezra called a 'Makashi' stance. "The blades will be drawn to each other."

She nodded, and readied herself, taking deep, calming breaths.

"Block high!" he commanded, striking from overhead. Sabine reacted immediately, catching Kanan's blue blade in the air, the two swords crackling and discoursing electricity upon contact.

"There's pull," Kanan lectured. "Can you feel it?"

Sabine nodded, keeping her eyes on him.

"That blade is old, heavy, but powerful. Respect its strength," he advised and disengaged.

"Low!" he barked and swung his blade at her legs. Again, she blocked, and again, the blades sparked and cracked.

"Middle!" he ordered, and Sabine parried a swipe aimed at her midsection.

"High! Middle! Low! Middle!" Kanan fired off rapidly as he swung his blade at her. Again, and again, she blocked the blade almost without effort.

"Good!" Kanan complimented, disengaging and backing off to his original position. "Let's work on a series."

The two duelists stared at each other from across the courtyard, saluting each other as they did so.

"Remember the forms we taught you," he reminded her gently. She nodded at him, and the dance commenced. "Take ready position; we'll start slow."

"One," he struck at her. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six."

Again and again, the Jedi swung at her, and again and again, she blocked each strike.

"Good. Now faster!" Kanan commanded. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six!" he barked out, increasing the frequency of his swings and decreasing the time he gave Sabine to react. Sabine was still managing to block the strikes, but just barely.

The next set was even faster.

"One, two, three, four, five, six!" Kanan swung his blade with an increased speed and agility. Sabine was now struggling to keep up. On the last strike, she lost her balance and fell straight onto her back.

"You're making this easy on me," Kanan chastised, disappointment seeping through his voice. She narrowed her eyes and got back up on her feet.

"Ready position," He commanded. He swung his saber at the same speed. This time, Sabine could predict his movements, blocking the swings with little effort, becoming used to the weight of the sword in her hands.

"The blade feels lighter, now," She observed.

Kanan nodded. "You're connecting with it. It's becoming a part of you."

They engaged blades again, and although Sabine could reasonably hold her ground for a bit longer, it was clear who had the upper hand.

"But you cannot solely rely on the blade," Kanan warned. "You must use all her skills together."

They clashed again, and Kanan soon capitalized on a mistake Sabine made, catching her blade and sending it flying out of her grasp.

"You'll have to do better," He sighed.

Sabine glared at him, then activated her grappling line, grabbing the blade and sending it back into her waiting hands. She engaged Kanan again with an unmatched fervor, but by now he was simply redirecting her blows much as Ezra had done earlier. Kanan caught her blade again and pushed her back, sending her sprawling on the ground.

Right onto her blade, which deactivated as it cut through her vambrace, burning her wrist and causing her to writhe in agony, as she screamed in pain. And Kanan… didn't ask her if she was hurt.

Didn't stop the fight.

He only lectured her.

"You aren't fighting me; you're fighting yourself," he rebuked, his voice stern and void of compassion, "and losing."

Sabine shot her head up in rage. Ignoring the dulling pain in her wrist, she grabbed her saber and began to swing wildly at Kanan, who just mockingly dodged every blow, not even bothering to activate his own saber.

"You're not committed to this," he mocked. "You should quit."

"I don't quit!" she snarled. "I never quit!"

"Really?" Kanan chuckled, his tone one of disbelief. "Because that's not what it looks like. You did run, didn't you?"

"No!" she rebuked. What does he know of her? She ran straight at him, intent on stabbing him. The older Jedi just sidestepped out of the way and grabbed onto her wrist, securing it in a vice-like grip.

"But that's what your people believe, isn't it?" he asked her. Sabine responded by grunting and twisting out of his grip, somersaulting in the air while doing it. She landed back on her feet, and resumed her desperate offensive against him, starting to force him back across the courtyard.

"You ran from the Empire, you ran from your family…" Kanan began mocking her again, still dodging her wild, erratic, emotion-filled swings, but this time she wouldn't let him speak his heresy.

"Lies!" she shouted. This time, Kanan activated his saber just as Sabine struck at him, and asked her the question that everyone in the crew wanted to know.

"SO, WHAT'S THE TRUTH?"

So, he wanted to hear the truth, was that it? Fine, she'll give him the truth!

"The truth…is that…I left to save everyone!" she finally admitted, for everyone to hear. "My mother! My father! My brother! Everything I did was for my family! For Mandalore!" she screamed, driving Kanan back further and further, as the latter was putting up an increasingly stressed defense against her onslaught.

"I built weapons!" she admitted as the memories of her terrible arc caster flooded back in. "Terrible weapons! And the Empire used them on Mandalore! On friends, on family! People that I knew!" She told them, her uncle's agonized, disintegrating face coming back to haunt her. "They controlled us through fear," she gave out a pain-filled, mirthless laugh, as the guilt came pouring out. "Mandalore! They fear the weapon I helped create! I HELPED ENSLAVE MY PEOPLE!"

She forced Kanan back further, towards the wall that separated the courtyard from the godswood. "I wanted to stop it! I had to stop it! I spoke out! To save them! To save everyone!" she yelled. With that, Sabine delivered a powerful kick to Kanan's gut, sending the Jedi Knight sprawling, his back hitting the wall. She came to stand over the Jedi, her blade ready to strike.

"But when I did…" she trailed off, her mother's scornful gaze as she declared her own daughter a dar'manda returned to the forefront. The tears began to well up in her eyes. "My family didn't stand with me," she admitted to everyone, as she lowered her blade and deactivated it. "They sided with the Empire and left me. They gave me no choice," Her voice broke as she collapsed to her knees, as Kanan brought himself up to his. "The Empire wanted to destroy worlds, and they did. They destroyed mine."

She could no longer contain the emotion and wept bitterly. Why? Why did things have to be this way?

Why did her mother side with evil itself over her own daughter?

She felt a gentle hand touch her pauldron, and she looked up, teary-eyed, to see Kanan, his sightless gaze filled with sympathy and understanding.

"The Empire rules through fear, and not everyone can be as strong as you've been. Your family is in a prison, one of their own making. It's up to you to help them break out of it."

Sabine stood, her legs shaky from grief, as she crossed her arms and looked around the area in despondency.

"But how? Why would they follow me? Why would they listen to an oath-breaker?" she asked in desperation.

"I know this is not what you probably want to hear," Fenn spoke, as he, Ezra, and Robb approached her. "But for the record, I would follow you, into the nine Corellian hells and back." At this, he bent his knee for her, bowing before her and declaring her his liege lady.

"So would I," Ezra declared, his tone grim and serious. "And I mean it."

Her heart skipped a few beats. Ezra, her brother, her best friend, her something more, was kneeling before her, declaring her loyalty to her.

"At last, I think we understand one another completely, Sabine," Robb spoke up, his voice solemn and sympathetic. He drew his sword and knelt. "If you would have me, I would swear my sword to your service, from this night, until the last night."

"You've come a long way in a short amount of time," Kanan complimented. "And know that no matter what path you choose, this family will stand by you, now and always."

Sabine looked around her as they all knelt before her, as Runi and Storm howled their approval to the moon, like bannermen kneeling before their queen.

Their Queen in the North.

Notes:

A/N: Longest chapter EVAR…complete!

Yeah, sorry about the length, but it was necessary. So, Sabine has finally embraced her destiny and accepted the Darksaber and the responsibilities that it carries.

Trying to keep Ezra and Sabine's relationship growing at a steady pace is, admittedly, difficult. You want to skip straight ahead to the kissing and…other…things, but you must keep it slow and steady.

For Robb's heart to heart with Sabine, I was inspired by two things; Samurai Jack and the trailer for the new Spiderman movie. I wanted to show just how much of an impact Sabine and Ezra have had on Robb, and that he doesn't want to see either of them turning into what he became.

Until next time!

Chapter 21: Robb V

Dawn had come early to Winterfell, and Robb woke up to a familiar sound; that of a direwolf's howl, for a moment, he thought it to be either his own or one of his siblings before he realized that it was most likely either Runi or Storm that was howling.

He sighed in contentment as he rose out of bed. He was finally back home, after all these years. He almost wished he could stay here for the rest of his days. Then, he soured. He knew for what purpose they were here; to retrieve the Katana Fleet. Once that task was complete, they'd likely have to head back to Atollon, and to be honest, his home was now the Ghost. Perhaps, though, once this war was over, he and some of his friends could resettle here, start a new colony, and rebuild this once great land to its former glory.

That is…if they won. If they lost, then he'd be returned to the grave, by the way of the gun or by the way of the noose.

He quickly set about his tasks; trimming his beard, cleaning himself down, putting on his armor, and then headed out of his room and down the stairs, towards the courtyard.

He thought over the events of the other day as he was making his way down. The release of what had been eating away had Sabine had been largely beneficial. For the most part, she was back to her witty, artistic self, though she was now carrying an air of maturity around her, and he had noted that she was taking her saber training with Ezra and Kanan far more seriously.

When he finally got down there, he found the two young adults, as well as Kanan and Rau, waiting for him, a bunch of dull, metal practice swords already on the rack and ready for use.

Kanan 'looked' at him, and nodded. "Robb. Good to see you're up."

Robb walked up to him and took his arm into his own, smiling at the blind Jedi Knight. "Likewise, Kanan," he complimented. He looked over at Ezra and Sabine, who were off in their respective corners, warming up before the training commenced.

And occasionally- just, ever so slightly- the two would exchange glances at one another, looking away when the other looked back.

Yes, Sabine, Robb sardonically thought, there is nothing romantic going on between you two.

"You notice it, too, huh?" Kanan spoke up, though his voice was lowered so as to not alert the two younger ones.

Robb nodded. "Aye. It's kind of hard not to. Good luck getting them to admit to it, anyway," he joked, as the two began to spar. It became immediately apparent to him, and Kanan, he suspected, that the two were soon not moving as two, but as one, their movements becoming more and more synchronized, like dancers who knew each other intimately. Robb immediately began to analyze their fighting styles, as well as their personalities.

Sabine was obvious. She was the very definition of fire; wild, passionate, and free, and the way she fought reflected that. She would try to keep her opponent off guard and be unpredictable in her movements.

Ezra was a bit more difficult to nail down, personality-wise, but he would have to say that he reminded him of air- when he was at peace, that was. Always left an impression, resonating with whomever he spoke to. When he was in battle, Ezra became the storm, furious and unrelenting, light and darkness in equal measure.

And, as it turned out, air always fueled a fire, and fire itself could create a storm if it blazed hot enough.

The two continued their dance, and although it seemed that Ezra was still the superior swordsman, it also seemed that Sabine was doing far better than she was doing days earlier, keeping up with the Padawan and countering his every move- though, he supposed, Ezra was still probably holding back. On and on it went, neither gaining an advantage over the other.

And then, it ended.

Sabine, deciding on a gamble, swept Ezra's legs with a sweeping kick. However, the boy had no intention of losing, and so as he was falling, he grabbed onto the Mandalorian warrior, sending both tumbling onto the ground, putting them both in a rather…awkward position.

Sabine had ended up on top, straddling Ezra right below his waist. The faces of the two young warriors were literally inches apart, staring into each other's eyes, and the only sound that could be heard was the heavy, labored breathing coming from them both.

Well, that, and the howling of the direwolves, as if their pets were approving of this.

Several long, amusingly embarrassing moments passed before they both broke contact and started to stammer out apologies to one another.

"Sabine! I'm so, so sorry! I didn't mean to…"

"No! No! It wasn't your fault, it was…"

Robb decided at that moment to cough, loudly, getting the attention of the two 'not-lovers', who quickly turned away, both of their faces turning a deep shade of crimson.

"Alright, I think that's enough practice for you two," Kanan spoke up before Robb could embarrass them any further. The duo of young warriors looked immensely grateful and skedaddled out of there as fast as they could, their wolves close in tow.

The Lord of Winterfell turned towards the blind Jedi. "Well, that was…something else."

"Yeah…it was." Kanan mused. Robb had to venture a guess that while the knight was not able to see it, he could feel the emotions those two emanated.

"How long has this been going on," Robb pointed to the spot where Ezra and Sabine had been sparring, although he realized Kanan probably wouldn't see it. "This…thing…between them?"

Kanan sighed. "With Ezra? Probably ever since he laid eyes on her, honestly. Back then, it was nothing more than a simple crush, as he was only trying to flirt with her. And honestly, everyone- including myself- thought he would grow out of it."

"But he hasn't," Robb observed.

Kanan shook his head. "If anything, his feelings for her have only gotten stronger over time- he's just better at controlling them now. But every once and a while, he lets his guard slip, and I can feel just how strongly he cares for her."

"And Sabine?" Robb asked.

"Well, she's a bit trickier," Kanan answered and rubbed his beard. "Initially, she didn't feel anything for Ezra. If anything, I'd say she was almost hostile to him. Not in the way Zeb was, mind you, but she'd often give him the cold shoulder, and complain to Hera and I that he was nothing more than a cocky, up-jumped beggar who had no place here. Come to think of it, you shared almost the exact same opinion of him when you first came on board."

Robb nodded. "Aye. He's not exactly good at making first impressions. But, then again, I wasn't exactly the most grateful type back then," he admitted. It seemed foolish, to look back on it, now. How could he have been so cold, so self-centered, so callous? He had a new, warm, inviting family right in front of him, and all he could think of was his past.

"No, you really weren't," Kanan agreed. "But that's beside the point," He scratched his beard again. "I'd have to say that her feelings for him grew steadily over time. I must say, though, that it was only really after their mission to Concord Dawn have I felt anything concrete from her. Ever since then, it's only become stronger."

Robb nodded, then felt his face sour. "This comes at a difficult time, though. Sabine is to lead her people, and if Mandalorian customs are anything like my people's, I wouldn't doubt some powerful count later down the line will have a marriage proposal for her in exchange for ships and troops," He warned Kanan. He thought back to his own broken promise to Walder Frey. How much would have changed had he kept his word? Now, he would never regret the time he spent with Talisa- he would always cherish her memory with a smile, but death and time had taught him that most times, the needs of the kingdom outweighed the wants of the king. "Besides," he continued, "I thought the Jedi had some rule against marriage."

"They did," Kanan affirmed. "But the old order is gone, and frankly not all traditions were meant to be kept. Here I am with Hera, after all," he paused, thinking of something, before continuing. "Besides, one of our core tenants is to 'live in the moment'. If we are too fixated on what might be or regret what once was, we'd never be able to enjoy what we have right now. I think somewhere along the way, my order had forgotten that, and ultimately paid the price for it."

Robb nodded, before motioning to the rack. "Well, now that we've got that out of the way, do you want to start with the basics, or go right to sparring?"

Kanan looked as if he were about to answer, only to be interrupted by the beeping of his commlink. The blind Jedi picked up the device.

"Go ahead, dear," he answered. Robb could never understand the abilities of true Force-sensitives, such as knowing instinctively who was at the other end of a communication line. In this case, he couldn't figure out how Kanan automatically knew it was Hera at the other end.

"Well, love, I've got good news and other news. Good news is that we're one step closer to finding the fleet, which Theon has triangulated to an area about ten clicks east of Dragonstone."

"And the other news?"

That other news ended up souring Robb's mood.

There was a bit of silence at the end of the line before Hera resumed speaking. "Theon wants to come to Winterfell and talk to Robb. He says he's got quite a few things that he needs to get off his chest, things Robb needs to understand, and that they should meet in the crypts."

Robb snorted. What was there to possibly understand? Theon had sworn to him that he would forever be his brother and right hand. He had given Theon his love and trust, and the whoreson repaid that trust with the blood of Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrick and the conquest of their boyhood home. And why meet in the crypts, of all places?

"Understood, Specter One. I'll be sure to tell Robb. Two, out," Kanan sighed into the comm, before turning it off.

"Don't have to," Robb began, as he began to steel his own voice. "I've heard everything. Now, tell me, is there any good reason I should have to listen to what that sorry son of a bitch has to say?"

Kanan crossed his arms. "Because I think this might help you find balance, and put the past behind you."

Robb snorted. "Balance? In case you haven't noticed, Kanan, I'm not like you or Ezra. I'm not a Jedi. And put the past behind me? What the flying fuck do you think I've been trying to do?"

The blind knight corrected him. "Balance isn't just a Jedi thing, Robb, and while you may have tried to move on from your sordid past, there is one thing holding you back, and that's the animosity you hold towards Theon and everyone else who did you wrong."

Robb sighed. "Do you know what it's like to grow up with a man you call brother? To sup at the same table with him, laugh with him, play with him? To see him proudly declare you his liege from this day until your last days? And then, hear about how he betrayed you? That he took your boyhood home by force and put many of the people you also grew up with to the sword? That he murdered your brothers and burnt your castle to the ground?"

Kanan shook his head. "No. But I do know what it's like to be betrayed by those you call family, as does Hera and Sabine, as you know. It took me a long time to forgive Rex and the rest of the clones for that, and even now, the events of that day still give me nightmares," he admitted. "But I came to realize that Rex was not the same man who gunned down my master, and from all my talks with Theon, I can sense no deceit or ill will from him. He genuinely seems a changed man from what you described him; humble instead of arrogant, and calm instead of impulsive," he offered and scratched his beard for what seemed the umpteenth time. "What I guess I'm saying is…give him a chance. Let him explain what happened, and decide from there whether you want to forgive him or not."

Robb sighed, still unsure about this. "Alright. Fine. I can make no guarantees, though."

Kanan beamed at him with a grin of reassurance and then left, leaving Robb alone to wait for the inevitable confrontation.

He only had to wait a couple of hours…

---

The crypts of Winterfell were a solemn place.

It was here that the old Kings of Winter, and later Wardens of the North, were buried, going back all the way to Brandon the Builder. Robb, however, had seldom traveled to the very bottom of these crypts, and in the times he had, it was never alone. It was rather easy to get lost in these tunnels, after all, and the roots of Winterfell ran deep.

As he made his way down, past the generations of unknown Starks who had come after him, he could make out a faint, soft yellow light in the distance.

Candlelight.

Theon.

The former king walked to where the source of the light was coming from, and soon enough, he found it.

Theon was standing in front of a statue, carved in the eerie likeness of his lord father, Eddard Stark, and around the statue of old Ned were similar sculptures, each representing a departed brother or sister. There was Jon, who clasped a burning sword in his hand. Right next to him was Sansa, then Arya, and Rickon…

And himself.

It is a queer thing, to stare at your own grave, knowing that you aren't buried in it, yet, at the same time, knowing that you did indeed die and come back. He stared at his stone facsimile for quite some time, scarcely believing that it was his bones buried in the crypt, his body rotted away in the earth.

"They never recovered your body," Theon spoke up in a solemn tone as if answering Robb's unspoken question. "They…we…constructed a tomb for you, yet we lay no one in it." His voice was lined with deep regret and pain.

Robb sighed, fully turning to Theon. "Why did you bring me down here, turncloak? What could you possibly have to say to me?"

Theon continued to stare at Lord Eddard's statue, as if asking the long-dead Warden for advice, before turning and facing his former friend. "I need to tell you why I betrayed you," he admitted. "I know that I don't deserve forgiveness- I've done too much for that. I just want you to understand why I did what I did."

Robb was silent, at first. Why would he want to understand? What could the traitor possibly have to say to make him see his side of the story? Regardless, though, he nodded his ascent, if only to entertain himself.

Theon stared off into the black tunnel as if retrieving some distant memory from the inky darkness, before facing Robb once more.

"When I got to Pyke," he began, "my only aim was to make you proud; to prove to you and my lord father that I had what it took. That I was a capable warrior to the ironborn and a loyal brother to you. When I stepped into my old home, the one I had not seen in nine, long years, I saw my father, waiting for me in the solar, facing the fireplace," He stuttered as if reliving some bitter memory. "Do you know what the first thing he said to me when he saw me was, Robb? It wasn't 'my son, I'm glad to see you'. It wasn't even 'Theon, it's been so long,'" he spat. "He took one look at me and asked, 'the gold price or the iron?'"

Robb remained silent as Theon continued to rant.

"Me. His only living son and he didn't even consider me family. None of them did," he shook his head. "To my blood family, I had spent far too much time among the Greenlanders to ever be considered a proper ironborn. Then, my father told me of his plan to invade the North. He had been planning it ever since Lord Eddard died, Robb; he never intended to accept your offer of alliance, for he reminded me of our house words. We do not sow, and that he would pay the iron price for his crown."

"And so, you followed the stubborn old fool," Robb growled.

"What was I to do, Robb?" Theon asked. "It was forbidden by the customs of our people to slay another ironborn, let alone one of your own blood! At first, I wanted to warn you about what was going to happen. But as I sat in my old room, my thoughts stirred, and conversations we had played in my head," he sighed. "I remembered being constantly reminded by everyone in Winterfell, including you, that I was only an outsider, an honored guest of the great lord, Eddard Stark. That at any time, he would have taken my head if Balon rebelled against him and Robert. Seven hells, Robb, Jon was better treated by your mother than I was!" he shouted, then paused to catch his breath. "My blood family blackmailing me emotionally didn't help matters either."

"So, that's why you did it?" Robb seethed. "You wanted to fit in with the ironborn? A culture of reavers, rapers, and murderers?"

Theon rolled his eyes. "Yes, Robb. A culture of raiders and thieves. But it was my homeland. Do you even know why we did that? It wasn't for fun, Robb- it was a matter of survival. No one on the mainland wanted to trade with us. 'A barren shit-stained pile of rocks', as they oh-so-gently put it. We were left with no choice in the damned matter! And please, spare me your lectures about how noble the North was in the conduct of war. Tell me, did Lord Bolton neglect to mention what his boys were doing in the Crownlands? How his troops- many of them Hornwood and Glover men- were burning septs and raping septas? How more than a few northerners lynched tavern girls simply for laying with Lannister men?"

Robb fell silent at that revelation. His own army was doing these things? He expressly forbade such acts against the common folk!

"Why? My rebellion was never supposed to harm the South. All I wanted was independence and justice." Robb tried to defend, to which Theon shook his head.

"So did my father, Robb. Maybe that was the problem, though. Everyone- you, me, Joffrey, the Lannisters. All of Westeros was obsessed with power and revenge," he spoke and looked at the statue of Jon. "The only one of us who saw things clearly was Jon. Only he saw that revenge and power plays for that damned pointy chair were worthless, that the only war that mattered was the one between the realms of men and the things that would see the realms destroyed. All the rest of us could think of was our rights, when he was the only one thinking of our duty; to serve the realm," he sighed sadly. "Maybe if we had listened to him and the Watch much earlier, Westeros wouldn't have lost so much," he whispered. He turned to face Robb again. "I…I have to get back to Dragonstone. We're close to finding the fleet. It should only be a day more, and then I'll get out of your hair."

Robb only nodded numbly, staying silent as Theon moved past him, out of the crypts. Several, bitter moments passed by, and during those moments, his thoughts churned. In his youth, he thought he was doing the right thing- achieving independence for his people and justice for his father. He had thought his dark path had only started with his resurrection.

Had he been wrong?

Was his cause just as ignoble and treacherous as the men he had fought?

Was he now repeating the same mistake, allying with the Rebellion?

He sat down in a frustrated, confused huff, burying his head in his palms. All he had now were more questions, and he was no closer to the answer he sought.

As if sensing his dark, brooding thoughts, the dimly lit crypts were suddenly brightened by a floating, otherworldly, glowing orb, bathed in radiant gold. It was as if a main-sequence star had somehow shrunk itself to the size of a handball and found its way into the tombs of the Starks.

"Greetings, Robb of House Stark," the orb greeted him formally. Its voice was feminine and soft, yet at the same time wise and ethereal...and familiar. "You seem troubled, my lord."

Robb scoffed. "Troubled? Try 'thrown into a maelstrom'." He sighed. He didn't know what compelled him to be honest with this…thing…but something in his gut told him he could trust it.

"You are upset with your friend." It observed calmly.

"'Friend' is a pretty strong word," Robb muttered bitterly. "He betrayed me years ago and killed many people that I knew and respected when he invaded our home, not to mention he butchered two farm boys and burned their bodies to fool the world into believing that he had killed my brothers.

"I see," the orb stated with simplicity. "And yet, I can sense he's changed from what you've described him. He's now humble, calm, and rational. What's more, he seems to be genuinely sorry for his crimes against you."

"I wish I could believe that," Robb ran his hand through his hair. "Who are you, anyway?"

"A guide," the mysterious being simply stated. "There is something I must show you, Robb Stark. Come and see."

The orb started to float away towards the exit, and after a moment of consideration, Robb reluctantly followed.

---

He had almost forgotten what a dark and mysterious place the Wolfswood could be. The canopies of the great oak and pine trees almost entirely blocked out sunlight during the spring and winter months, shrouding the forest floor in shadow. He could hear the rustling of the plants and the scampering of beasts as he trekked through the dimly lit forest, with only the strange orb as his guide.

"How much further?" he asked as he brushed yet another stray branch from his face.

"Not far," it replied. "You've been in these woods before, yes?"

"Aye," he answered. "We used to hunt game here all the time, my family and I." He had fond memories of going on the hunt with Jon and Theon, the way they would work together like a pack and hunt down boar, elk, or even hares in these woods, the thrill of the chase, and the immense satisfaction of the kill, and the full feeling they had in their stomachs after a supper of freshly prepared venison or pork.

He also remembered, with great sadness, that there were cotters, foresters, and hunters who lived in these woods, all of whom were sworn to either the Starks directly or the Glovers of Deepwood Motte. Now, due to whatever had happened in the past, the sounds of woodmen plying their trade had fallen silent.

The rest of the journey remained quiet, and soon enough, they had arrived at the destination- a large, man-made cavern, beneath the base of a small hill, opening like a gaping maw into a black abyss.

And Robb felt cold.

Now, this wasn't like the cold you felt on a winter's morn, nor was it the cold you felt after stepping out of a hot shower into a cool room. This cold was…evil, wrong, unnatural. It was as if the very warmth of his blood was stolen away.

"What is this place?" he asked the orb. "I have trekked through these woods numerous times, and I've never encountered anything like it."

"It is a cave, created in secret by cultists dedicated to Bogan, the Dark Side of the Force," the orb of light explained. "Here, they would sacrifice captured prisoners to the darkness, hoping for powers of their own. Over time, the foul acts here permeated this place, and it now serves as a domain of evil," the orb elaborated, then suddenly glowed brighter. "You must go in."

Robb stopped in his tracks for a moment. Go in there, to a place of obvious malice? The orb was either crazy or trying to deceive him.

"And why must I go in?" he asked the orb.

"You are still unbalanced, Robb of House Stark," it explained to him. "The cave will act as a proving ground for you, to see if you are capable of moving beyond your tragic past."

He looked back into the cave. Its darkness seemed to call to him, beckoning him into its wide, gaping maw.

"What's in there?" he asked the orb as he peered into the abyss, halfway expecting the darkness to peer back at him.

"Only what you take with you," the ball of light cryptically answered, then faded away, leaving behind a confused and frustrated Robb.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath as he stepped into the wide mouth of the cavern. Almost immediately, the darkness swallowed him, and he found himself blindly walking forward.

He was really wishing he was wearing his helmet right about now.

As he continued to stumble forward, he noticed a dim, red light up ahead, glowing like hellfire in the abyss.

Why does thou cometh here?

A voice, deep and powerful, sounded from the source of the red fire as if the cavern itself had a voice.

Perhaps you seek thy death? Mortal fool of flesh and blood, does thou not knoweth of oblivion when thou see it?

Robb said nothing to the voice, finally coming to the source of the glow; a blazing red fire that seemed to pulsate like a heart.

Ah, the fire realized, thou do know of death's deep, cold slumber. Mayhaps thou seeketh to return to her embrace?

The Grey Wolf drew his blade, on edge against this malevolent entity. "Who are you?" He asked the fire, as he held his sword in front of him.

The fire heckled at him, its dark laughter reverberating off the cavern walls. You are a myopic fool, it spat. Do you truly not know me?

At that, the fire's form started to twist and turn, forming into the shape of a man. A guttural, ear-splitting scream was emitted from it, as it started to form blackened, charred skin all over its form. Finally, it formed a face, shadowed and cindered.

It was his own.

"What kind of madness is this?" Robb yelled at the demon, who gave him a twisted and wicked grin.

I am the heart of darkness that exists in the hearts of men. I am the hatred and rage within thee, Robb of House Stark, the dark imitation explained, held out his hands, and out of thin air appeared a burning, steel sword. Can you destroy me, Stark? Then come at me, son of Winterfell! Come for me!

Robb struck at the demon first, swinging his sword in a high arc, aimed at cleaving the monster from shoulder to diaphragm. The monstrosity quickly parried his blow, laughing haughtily at the Grey Wolf.

Yes, that's it, fool. Fight me! it mocked him as it continued to deflect his strikes with almost no effort. Fight hatred with hatred, power with power, rage with rage!

Robb was starting to strain against this beast. Every swing he took with his sword began to tax him, whilst his opponent showed no visible sign of tiring. It was as if the demon was siphoning his own strength into itself. He had to end this fight. Now.

He batted away a swipe aimed at his head, and behold, the beast had left an opening. Taking the chance, he thrust his blade into the demon's heart, assured of his victory…

Only for the monster to simply grab the blade.

Robb tried to wrest his sword out of the monstrosity's iron-like grip, to no avail. The beast smirked at him and gripped the blade tighter. Soon, the unthinkable happened.

Grey Wind shattered.

A hundred, tiny shards of Mandalorian steel flew off in different directions. The blade that had served Robb for over twelve, long years was now dust in the wind.

And he was now at the mercy of this demon.

Who do you think kept you alive for all these years, fool? the demon shrieked at him as it pressed its assault on a now defenseless Robb, who was trying his damn best to avoid the sword. All you have ever done is because of me! All your accomplishments are due to me! I am the one who has kept us alive! I am the one who has ensured our survival! Everything you are is because of ME!

The doppelganger now had Robb backed up into a corner. In desperation, Robb looked for something-anything-he could use as a weapon, and just as the creature was about to strike, he spotted a glint a few feet away- another sword, lying on the ground, its white pommel in the shape of a wolf's head.

He rolled away to where it was lying, just as the demon's blade struck the spot where he had been. The Grey Wolf reached the sword, drawing it out of its scabbard, and raised it to block the incoming blade of the demon.

A reverberating clang sounded off in the cavern walls, and the two opponent's blades locked, each pushing to gain an advantage over the other. As they struggled to overcome each other, Robb gritted his teeth, with his new blade being pushed closer and closer to his face. And in that moment- that one, singular moment- the King in the North saw his reflection.

He had the same expression as his doppelganger's; that of hate and fury.

Clarity broke through to him, as his eyes widened in realization; he wasn't fighting a demon, he was fighting himself, his own darkness within him.

The darkness that had been consuming him ever since his father died.

And he was losing.

He realized then that he had been going about this all wrong. Hatred could not be fought with hatred. It was as pointless as trying to fight a blaze by throwing petroleum on it.

He then thought back to what Kanan said, to what the orb said. They had the right to it, he realized. Theon had changed, for he was now indeed more humble and compassionate, more forward-thinking and cautious, and genuinely remorseful for his past sins. Torture and time had seen to it that Theon received justice for his crimes, and he was now trying to make amends by helping Robb in earnest instead of hindering him.

Robb then thought of his own crimes, of the men he had cruelly put to death or tormented, all for fighting on the opposite side. He then remembered what his wife asked him in the netherworld…

Promise me you'll move on with your life.

Robb realized that he had not kept his promise- not fully. He had accepted the Ghost as his new home, and its crew as his new pack, but he was still stuck in the past, blinded in the way forward by his own hatred and malice, directed at those who betrayed him. He knew now what he had to do, and made the hardest decision he had ever had to make in his life up to that point.

He let it go.

All of it.

And in that moment, the demon was thrown back against the wall, landing with a thundering crack.

The beast rose, visibly angered at this turn of events.

What trickery is this, Stark? What cursed magic did you wring on me?

Robb sheathed his new blade in its scabbard, and promptly sat down, closing his eyes in a calm, serene gesture.

"No magic," he explained, calmer than he had ever been before. "No warging or greenseeing or the Force involved. I simply rejected your hold over me. Aye, you were, and are, a part of me, one that has consumed me for far too long. But now, I refuse your control over me any longer." He opened his eyes and looked the demon dead in the eye. "You have lost."

The demon snarled. It shrieked. It readied its own blade for another strike.

And promptly exploded in a brilliant flash of red light, its screeching essence giving one final, loud, and shrill cry, before dissipating back into nothingness, and the cave became dark and silent once more.

Robb looked at the blade he had acquired, this time going over it in detail as he drew it once more, as he made his way out of the cave and back into the Wolfswood. It was Valaryian Steel, much to his surprise. More to the point, it was a bastard sword, the quintillions curving upward, with the hilt wrapped in black leather, and the white stone pommel shaped as the head of a white direwolf, with rubies acting as red eyes. He sheathed the blade back into its scabbard, and upon said scabbard, carved in the runes of the First Men, was borne the name of the blade.

Longclaw

He paused. Wasn't Longclaw the ancestral blade of House Mormont? So why was it near Winterfell? And why did it have a direwolf's head as a pommel, and not a bear's? Could it be that Jon had somehow received it as a gift from a Mormont? He recalled seeing a similar sword his brother had been using in one of his visions. Perhaps this was the same sword, then.

Regardless, he dropped his old scabbard to the now shattered Grey Wind, and after he hooked up Longclaw to his belt, he set off in the direction of his boyhood home.

---

It was not even an hour later when he arrived back in Winterfell. Kanan and the others must have been inside the keep, waiting for him, but he could keep them waiting, for now. Right now, there was only one person he needed to talk to, and he spotted him almost immediately, making the last of his preparations to head back to Dragonstone.

"Got everything prepared?" he asked Theon, who suddenly turned around and looked at him.

"Yeah," Theon said, wiping the sleeve of his duster on his forehead. "A few more diagnostic checks, and then I'll be out of your life."

Robb shook his head, as he walked closer to him. "No, you won't."

Theon looked confused, and that's when Robb closed the distance and wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace.

"I forgive you, Theon," Robb spoke, his voice cracking with emotion, as he felt tears wet his cheeks. "I forgive you."

The slightly elder of the two surrogate brothers returned the embrace, and they both stood there for what seemed like an hour, just holding each other, letting past regrets flow out of them, and tears of joy that they had finally found in their hearts to forgive one another.

Their relationship wouldn't be the same. There were too many scars for that. But as of now, they were no longer enemies, but friends once more.

And Robb would not have it any other way.

For when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.

Notes:

A/N: Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm a BIT late with the update. Oh well, *shrug*. Here it is! Thanks to Ahsokafanboy1138 for the suggestion of having an argument between Theon and Robb. Also, emotions! Innuendo! Feels!

A big inspiration for this chapter was Samurai Jack. In particular, Jack vs Mad Jack (Seriously, go look it up on Youtube. It's one of the best-animated series I've ever seen.)

Now, just who in God's name was that floating orb? Well, the answer is...I'm not telling you, yet, sillies!

Now, why the hell was Longclaw in that cave? Again...wait and see. ;)

Until next time, Folks!

Chapter 22: Ezra IV

He stalked through the dark forest, the wind coursing through his thick, dark fur, as he tracked his prey: an old, wily snow hare. Granted, this would never be much of a meal, but his mother had taught him that a wolf mustn't be a picky eater, lest he let himself and the pack starve.

He sniffed the air and caught a scent in the wind. Faint, it was, but it smelled of fear, timothy grass, and wild herbs.

He began to prowl silently. It would do no good to alert the prey to his presence, after all. He kept his nose on the scent, inching closer and closer to where the rabbit was located.

Finally, he saw it.

The old she-rabbit was sitting there, near a tree in a shaded meadow, looking away from where he was located, and quite fortunately unable to smell him, as he was downwind of the hare. Nevertheless, her ears were perked up and alert, constantly straining to hear his footfalls or growls.

He crept slowly towards his prey, careful not to make any sound that might be picked up by the hare's rather excellent sense of hearing.

Slowly.

Slowly.

Slowly.

He was so close, now…

Just as he was about to spring into action, he felt a twig snap beneath his paw.

The rabbit's head shot up, and the two stared at each other, from no more than a few feet away.

The old hare moved first, running as fast as her little legs would carry her across the forest. It was clear to the direwolf, now- the stalking was over. Now came the chase.

Predator and prey ran through the forest, twisting and turning through long beaten paths in the early hours of the morning. The old hare could not outrun him, and neither could the wolf catch her. But although this hare was swift and wily, it did not worry the young direwolf, for it seemed to have forgotten in its panic one crucial fact.

A wolf never hunted alone.

As they rounded the corner past a large, white tree, a blur of sand-colored fur barreled into the hair, its strong jaws wrapping around her throat, crushing her windpipe easily.

The old hare didn't even have time to shriek before she died.

The wolf walked over to his sister, his yellow eyes staring into her violet ones, and together, they began to feast on the flesh of their kill…

---

Ezra felt himself awaken from the dream. It wasn't a sudden, pulling feeling, like waking out of a nightmare, but neither was it a peaceful, lucid thing, like waking out of a good dream. Rather, it was as if he had gotten done watching a holotape in the dark, and had turned on the lights. As if he had shifted from one reality to another.

He blinked rapidly, trying to get the cobwebs out of his eyes, and sat up in his bed, all the while feeling something strange in his mouth.

He tasted copper and iron.

The taste of blood.

He threw his covers off, grabbed a pair of orange pants off the floor, and looked out the window of his bedchambers. The rays of dawn were just beginning to peak over the horizon, with songbirds chirping happily, signaling the beginning of a new day on this planet.

He began his morning routine by performing five sets of ten push-ups, followed up by three sets of twenty sit-ups, and finally two sets of ten pull-ups on the curtain rod. Satisfied with his progress thus far, he threw on a black t-shirt and began his morning run, careful not to wake up anyone who still might be asleep at this hour.

He decided upon running around the entire perimeter of the ancient castle twice; about twelve hundred kilometers and all. Not much of a calorie burner, true, but it would keep him in shape, regardless. As he was running, his thoughts shifted back to the dream. What was that? Was it a premonition? No, he knew what a Force-vision was like, and this dream had none of the haziness, vagueness, or ill omens associated with most of the portents he received. And it wouldn't explain why he tasted blood in his mouth when he woke up.

As he finished his run, he made his way towards the castle courtyard to meet with Kanan, Robb, and Sabine, to begin training on his saber technique. His mind immediately flashed back to the events of yesterday morning, when he and Sabine had gotten rather…close.

He still couldn't quite believe it, to be honest. It was almost as if Bean had wanted him, when he had stared into her warm, inviting amber eyes. His own emotions were such a jumble at that time that he couldn't use the Force to get a proper bead on what she had been feeling.

Romantic feelings aside, he did notice that she was mostly back to her old, smiling, and witty self, although she now carried energy around her worthy of a leader- confident and bold. And he had also noticed something change in Robb, as well- he was much calmer and serene than he had been before. True, he was still the silent stoic he knew, but the darkness that had surrounded the former king as a cloak had shrunk into almost nothingness. Whatever had happened in that cave he had told them about had changed Robb for the better, in his opinion.

Speaking of which, wherein the nine Corellian hells did he get that new sword with the white wolf-head pommel, and what had happened to his old one?

When he got to the castle courtyard, he saw Sabine standing there, performing her daily calisthenics in a tank top that highlighted her womanly features, and a pair of training pants that accentuated the curve of her rear.

He desperately tried to ignore the heat building up in his cheeks, or the stiffening member in his pants.

She spotted him, and he noticed her cheeks were instantly tinted red in the space of a nanosecond. Of course, he realized. He was wearing a t-shirt that was a bit tighter than normal, which highlighted all his masculine features to her.

Mutual attraction and embarrassment, he guessed.

"Hey, Bean!" he chose to greet, walking up to her. Upon getting closer to her, he could see that something was troubling the Mandalorian warrior. "Is everything alright?"

She shook her head. "I had the strangest dream last night…" she began. "I had a dream that I was a wolf and that I had killed an old hare, crushing its neck with my teeth, and proceeded to share the meal with another wolf. After I woke up, I had the taste of blood in my mouth," she finished her tale, then stared at him. "Why do you ask?"

Ezra couldn't speak for the better part of a minute. When he could, his voice came out slow, and unsure. "I'm asking because…I think I had the same dream, only…I was the other wolf."

Sabine's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Really? You're sure?"

Ezra nodded. "I was chasing the hare that your wolf killed. What's more, Sabine, those wolves in our dreams? They looked an awful lot like our wolves."

Just as he said that Runi and Storm came trotting along the courtyard, the former carrying a rabbit's foot in her mouth, while the latter was licking his teeth, trying to get a clump of fur out. Both the two young warriors stared at each other, not saying a word. This was going from strange to Force-damned freaky.

He thought back to what happened on Naraka with Robb, and the way that the Grey Wolf could enter the minds of weak-willed men and animals. Could it be that he and Sabine had the same ability? It could be a possibility, although frankly, he couldn't see how. Sabine wasn't Force-sensitive as far as he could tell, and he couldn't recall any past Jedi who demonstrated that ability. He could influence the minds of beasts, and establish a connection with them, true, but he couldn't join with their mind.

Could he?

Before he could continue his conversation with Sabine, let alone his train of thought, he spotted Robb walking up to them.

"Ezra, Sabine," he greeted warmly. "Glad you two are up and about."

Ezra smirked. "Likewise, wolf," he returned. It was truly good to see the usually sullen man in such good spirits. "So, we going to start by sparring with swords, or with fists. Been itching to pay Bean back for that walloping she gave me during our last hand-fighting session."

Sabine snorted. "In your dreams, laser brain. You might be better than a sword than me, but I'll pound your ass to the ground any day of the week."

Ezra crossed his arms, adopting a playful grin. "Oh-ho-ho. Just you wait, Miss High-and-Mighty. I'll have you know I've been practicing with Kanan since then."

Before Sabine could retort any further, Robb laughed. "No, no training today, at least not this morning."

Sabine cocked an eyebrow while placing her hands on her hips. "Really? So, what did you want to do, then?"

The Grey Wolf simply smiled and tapped that new sword of his lightly. "I was thinking that you two come with me. There's been something I've been meaning to show you," he replied, before sauntering off towards a pair of heavy, iron doors. "I'd advise you two get on some warmer clothes, though," he called back. "It can get quite cold down in the crypts beneath Winterfell."

---

Robb was right, Ezra realized as he shivered slightly through his favorite orange jacket. These crypts were kriffing cold.

All along the walls of the crypts, lighted by candlelight, were statues. Monuments to the deceased Lords of Winterfell and Kings in the North, and as Ezra ventured further into the crypts with Sabine and Kanan, he swore he could feel the statues looking at him, judging his worth as a man.

It was sometime later that they found Robb, staring at a statue of a grim, long-haired man in his late thirties, clutching a greatsword made of iron. Next to that statue was a younger man holding a facsimile of a burning sword, then one of a young woman, then one of a woman with a mask, and finally one of a boy no older than Mart. As Ezra noted Robb's solemn face, something clicked for him.

These statues were of Robb's father and siblings; Eddard, Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Rickon.

"Is that…" he breathed near-wordlessly.

Robb nodded quietly, answering his question. "It is. The statues you see before you are of my family. My father and brothers and sisters…" He trailed off before he moved to the very last statue, and Ezra's eyes widened in shock.

"And myself," Robb finished.

Ezra could not help but stare at the stone doppelganger of his good friend and brother. He looked so young, dressed in armor fit for a king, with a sword made of rusted iron, gripped in one stone hand. Its eyes were ever set forward, gazing at nothing, yet seemingly looking at him. As if trying to tell him something…

It was then, that he sensed it. There was something buried in Robb's tomb. Something that was calling out to him.

"There's something in your grave," he declared, much to everyone's shock. Well, everyone except Kanan, that was, who kept a neutral, thoughtful expression on his face.

"Really?" Robb expressed his disbelief. "I was under the assumption that there was no one buried in it."

Ezra shook his head. "It's not a body. That I'm sure of. At least…it doesn't feel like a dead person to me. It's rather something…how should I say it? Not alive in the first place?"

He could feel Sabine roll her eyes at him "Oh, gee, real descriptive, Ez. You got any other brilliant deductions hidden up your sleeve?"

The young man sighed at his best friend. "Look, Bean, I don't know how to describe it. It's not dead, but it's something that's not alive, either. It rather feels much like a Holocron or kyber crystal, come to think of it."

"So, it's an object that has some residual Force energy," Kanan calmly observed. "It's something at least. Still, though, I don't think we should be poking around in someone's grave. The dead should have their rest."

Robb turned to Ezra's surrogate father with a quizzical expression on his face. "Disturb their rest? Last I checked, I'm still here, aren't I?"

Kanan groaned. "Fair point. What do you propose we do?"

Robb shrugged. "Dig it out, I suppose. Though I don't know how we're going to do that, as it will take hours, and we don't have the necessary equipment," the Grey Wolf quipped while looking at them both. "I suppose neither of you could use your powers and lift the slab?"

Kanan nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Yeah, we could. But I have reservations about using the Force like this," he warned. The blind knight turned to his Padawan. "Ezra, you ready?"

Ezra eagerly nodded, already wondering what might be buried in there, then admonished himself. A Jedi should seek neither riches nor glory, after all. But…if the Force willed him to find this tomb, then wasn't it worth it?

He closed his eyes and reached out with the Force. Underneath a few feet of dirt, he felt a slab of stone, locked in place by iron clamps. Carefully, they unlocked the clamps and then lifted them. Even with the Force, the thing was kind of heavy, compounded by the fact that they had three feet of solid Earth to contend with. But they were Jedi…

And size mattered not to them.

Slowly, but surely, the ground gave way, and the slab floated up and out of the tomb, as the two Jedi made sure to rest it safely nearby, to reclose the grave once they were done, here. The dead must still be respected, after all.

Once they were done, and the dust resettled, Ezra took out his pocket flashlight and shined it down into the grave.

There, he saw it.

At the bottom of the stone sarcophagus lay a simple set of bronzium-durasteel armor and grey robes made of mysterious material. On top of the breastplate lay a lightsaber, smooth and ornate in design, with a cross guard that had strange runes carved on it. But that's not what caught Ezra's attention the most.

What drew his attention was the helm that sat on top of the armor. It was battle-worn and old, colored red and grey, with a thin, black visor, and looked vaguely Mandalorian in design. There seemed to be something…familiar…about the helmet, almost as if Ezra had seen it before, but he knew he had never seen such a thing before in his life.

Carefully, Kanan and he lifted the armor, helmet, and saber out of the tomb, then set the slab and dirt back down over it. When the dust again settled, everyone looked at the discovery.

"An old set of armor and a lightsaber?" Robb asked. "Honestly, it doesn't seem like such a big deal to me."

"It may not be," Kanan agreed, partially. "But the Force wanted us to find this. For what reason, I can't say. What I can note, however, is that nothing that's happened here has been by accident."

"Hmm. Fair enough point," Robb relented.

"No…" Sabine interrupted as she took a good look at the armor set and saber. "It can't be…"

"What is it, Bean?" Ezra jumped up and asked her. He noticed her eyes had gone as wide as saucer plates, and her skin white as a ghost. "Do you know what this is?"

She nodded, a bit too frantically for his tastes. "I do. The armor and lightsaber belonged to the only outlander to ever truly conquer my people- the Grey Knight. Revan."

Ezra heard Kanan suck in a breath. "Revan? As in, 'Darth Revan'?"

Sabine nodded. "The same one, unfortunately. As kids, every Mandalorian is taught the tale of Revan the Butcher. It's supposed to be a story to frighten children, warning them against the path of hubris and dishonor, or the Butcher would find them and make them pay for their sins."

"Wait, hold up." Robb interrupted, holding his palms up for dramatic effect. "Who in the bloody seven hells was Revan?"

"I've almost forgotten that you're a relative newcomer to this time, Robb," Kanan jokingly apologized. "Well, Revan was probably one of the most influential figures in galactic history. As my master told me, he led his faction of Jedi into battle against the Mandalorians four thousand years ago, when the Council refused to get involved. His tactical and strategic genius was second to none, comparable to Thrawn's, even, and he soon turned the tide for the Republic. Eventually, the war ended in the space above Malachor, where he decimated the Mandalorian fleet and slew Mandalore the Ultimate in single combat."

"He's also the Jedi who turned Manda'yim into an irradiated desert," Sabine spat. "He's the reason our people have to live in bio-domes on our home planet."

"I don't think anyone denies what he did was cruel, Sabine," Kanan amended. "But I'd argue at that point, he ceased to be a Jedi. After all that, he took his apprentice and half the Republic Fleet and disappeared into the Unknown Regions to track down what we later learned to be the True Sith. But when he returned, he had become a Sith Lord, himself," he lectured. He closed his clouded eyes, apparently in thought. "But even as a Sith, Revan wasn't a monster like most of them. Ruthless, cold, and calculating, yes, but he didn't kill out of personal pleasure or bloodlust. There was always a method to what he was doing," he sighed. "Back to the history lesson, though. For three years, he conquered much of the Republic, until his apprentice turned on him. He was then captured and mindwiped by the Council- something Master Yoda always said should never happen, again- and went on to eventually destroy the Star Forge, which was a weapon of immeasurable power, and kill his old apprentice, Malak. He then disappeared again, never to be heard from until the Great Galactic War three hundred years later, where he died on Yavin Four, and finally became one with the Force." He finished, frowning. "But that doesn't explain why his gear ended up here on Valaryos, and in Winterfell, of all places. No offense, Robb."

"No offense taken, my friend," Robb said, nonchalantly. "Hmm. Perhaps Revan had a descendant. Someone fond of him, and took his armor here to be buried."

"Possible," Kanan agreed. "He did have a child with the Jedi Bastila, after all, but the Shans disappeared from the public record almost three thousand years ago. And that still doesn't explain why someone would have buried his armor in your tomb."

"True..." Robb relented, closing his eyes in thought. "Perhaps it's time I should use my greensight, again, and unravel this mystery. I know enough to look for the answer, now, and perhaps I'll discover something else along the way."

"Sounds like a good plan," Kanan affirmed, then his comlink went off. Hera, Ezra knew. "But it will have to wait for another time," he finished as the device beeped. Ezra's master took the commlink and answered it. "Go ahead, dear."

"Well, love, we have some good news," Hera replied. Ezra could hear the relief in her voice…and something else. "First thing's first; Theon and Zeb have found the Fleet. It's precisely ten klicks northwest of Dragonstone."

"I knew you guys could do it!" Kanan smiled. "But I sense you've something else to tell me."

"I do, dear," she confirmed. Hera's voice was lower, now, and filled with something that Ezra couldn't quite place. Hope? Longing? Anxiety. "Love, do you remember when we were having…fun…before we came here to Valaryos?"

"Not easily forgotten, that," Kanan joked. Ezra just rolled his eyes. He didn't need to know the details of his surrogate parents' sexual life. But…he was also curious as to what Hera had to say, next.

"Well, love, I've been having…issues this past week. Issues that are related to pregnancy. Dear…we're going to have a child."

The room fell silent for the good part of a minute, and when Kanan finally found his voice, it was full of surprised joy.

"I…I honestly don't know what to say. I'm so happy right now I'm speechless! Hera…we're going to be parents…" he breathed.

"I know, love," she affirmed, and Ezra swore he could mentally picture her giving him a heartwarming and comfortable smile. "But for right now, we need to focus on the task at hand. Get back to us at Dragonstone as soon as you can, okay?"

"We will, Hera," Kanan confirmed. "I love you, dear."

"I love you, too, Kanan."

With that, the commlink turned off, and Ezra's adoptive father sat down, his breath ragged and heavy. "Force above, I'm going to be a father…and I thought being blind was the hardest thing I would have to go through."

"If there is anyone here truly worthy enough to be a father, Kanan, it's you," Robb said as he put a hand on his shoulder. "You've survived tougher challenges, and I've seen the way you've molded Ezra into a worthy young man. I'll believe you'll do fine. Congratulations."

Kanan nodded. "Thanks, Robb. You're a good friend, you know that?"

The Grey Wolf shrugged. "I try to do what I can. Now, we need to get this armor out of here and the ship packed up. Need to link up with your missus and the others at Dragonstone, after all," he joked, then sighed, looking back at the statue of Lord Eddard. "One day, though…we may yet return. Once this war is one, we may return…"

---

It was nearly evening once they had gotten everything packed onto the Starbird for their journey south to Dragonstone. Ezra was now sitting in the front passenger seat with Sabine taking the helm- it was her ship, after all.

"Gotta say…" he opened up, smiling slyly at his closest friend. "That armor fit me perfectly."

Sabine cocked her eyebrow at him. "Really? You tried on Revan's old armor and it fits you like a glove. Forgive me for saying this, Ez, but I've heard better nerfshit from Mart."

"It's the truth, I swear," he held his hands up in mock surrender. "But seriously, I'm going to miss this place," he confessed, as Storm came and hopped on his lap, curling into a ball to go to sleep.

"Yeah, I feel the same…" Sabine replied, her voice soft. "Ezra, what do you think it will take to win this war?" she asked him, her voice full of sincerity.

He thought for a moment. "I don't honestly know," he confessed. "Robb seems to think that killing the Emperor would be enough, but what if it isn't?" he trailed off for a moment, a sudden, horrid thought occurring to him. "What if we're fighting the wrong kind of war in the first place?"

Now it seemed Sabine was taken aback. "Ezra, you know what Palpatine has taken, from all of us. Your parents, my uncle, Zeb's people, Kanan's master."

He shook his head. "Sabine, I know all that, and I didn't say that we shouldn't fight them. I just got this feeling, though… I don't think the Empire is the worst evil we've encountered, yet."

"Then what is?" she asked him.

"Truthfully? I don't know. All I know is that I've got a feeling…that there is something out there worse than the Empire."

---

Notes:

A/N: A short and kind of filler-y chapter…but one that will be ultimately important in the long run. So, Ezra is now in possession of Revan's armor and lightsaber, the kids are having wolf dreams, and Hera is preggers, but who is the baby…. Ok, it's Dawn. Thank you to Meldy-Arts for letting me use your fan-baby for Kanan and Hera.

Now, will Sabine and Ezra talk to Robb about having those dreams? Will Robb find out what connects Ezra, Revan, and Winterfell? And just what in the fuck happened to all the people on Valaryos. Find out next time!

Also, if anyone is wondering where I was, well, let's just say, Season 7 of Game of Thrones is very addicting. Now, night gathers, and now my watch begins…

Chapter 23: Theon II

It was ages since he last stood on this spot, looking at the setting sun to the west.

It was here that he announced to the remaining Ironborn loyal to his sister that they would go on a mission to rescue her. His idea had been met with scorn, at first, and one of his men had even attempted to kill him.

Theon closed his eyes, and let the memories wash over him, as painful as they were. His mission had ended in success, but the victory was bitter. Although he had freed his sister, he still had a debt to pay to the Starks, and so bid her a final farewell, setting off for Winterfell. It was there he had made his last stand, slaughtering dozens of wights before being brought down by the Night King himself while he was protecting Bran.

He listened to the waves crash against the rocks, to the seagulls crying to one another as they searched for food, and to the seals happily chortling in the distance. He may be commanding a space vessel, now, but his heart had always belonged to the sea, and his soul to the Drowned God. He still heard the call of the sea, beckoning him to brave its dangers and reap its rewards. He smiled slightly to himself. Mayhaps there were new seas to explore on distant worlds beyond known space. Mayhaps…

"Oi, Theon!" a familiar gruff, yet friendly voice called out to him. He opened his eyes and turned to Garazeb Orrelios, or Zeb, as the Lasat preferred to be called. "Robb and the rest are going to be here in about thirty minutes. We should make sure the submersible we found near the docks is prepared for the journey down."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You managed to get that thing working? That damned sub has to be over four thousand years old."

Zeb rubbed the back of his neck and groaned. "Yeah, depends on what you mean by 'working'. Will it take us to where the fleet is? Yeah. Will it hold enough air for a return journey to the surface? Gonna have to say…no…on that one."

Theon shook his head. "Getting to the fleet is all I really care about. Nonetheless, we should also make sure to have underwater gear on hand. If there is a hull breach, I don't want to take any chances, and I'm sure Hera would agree with me."

Zeb nodded. "Aye. The question is, though, how are we going to get the fleet from out under the bay?"

Theon held up his hands, as they walked towards the castle, up the long and winding stairs. He had forgotten how much he hated walking up to the keep. "One thing at a time, my friend. We'll worry about getting the fleet out after we get there."

Up and up the narrow stairs they climbed, and after what seemed like fifteen minutes of the damned shit, they finally reached the great bronze doors of Dragonstone keep.

"Ashla above," Zeb wheezed. Clearly, the Lasat had been drinking way too much hooch. "What in the kriff were they thinking building stairs like that?"

"Dragonstone is a fortress, my friend," Theon informed him as they walked into the keep, which remained one of the dullest and dreariest for Theon. At least Winterfell could seem warm and friendly from time to time. "It was built as a fallback position for the Valyrians, and then later used as a naval base for the Royal Fleet, usually under the command of the Crown Prince."

Zeb nodded, unsurely. "Right. I'm just going to pretend to understand all that and agree. Now, where was Hera, again?"

"I believe she said she'd be in the map room, right now," Theon informed him, as they walked through the dim, onyx halls. "Ah, here it is," he said as he pointed towards a large door on the right, and together, they stepped through.

When had he last been in this room, with Aegon's famous Painted Table? Ah, yes, it was when Daenerys Targaryen had called her last war council before setting off towards Winterfell with Jon. There, they had discussed the threat of the White Walkers and made plans on how to combat them effectively.

Theon shuddered. What a horrid war that was. Many, many good men fell in those battles, and Winterfell itself was nearly taken by the Night King, if not for the sacrifice of himself and several other good men and women, and Arya's heroic feat in killing that frozen bastard.

He saw Hera in front of the table, staring out the large windows, her eyes closed in deep thought. He nodded to Zeb and came to stand right by her.

"Not the most beautiful place in the world, I admit," he spoke up, causing her to open her eyes. "View's nice though. Maybe one day you and Kanan can come back here. Make this a home for you and your child."

The veteran Twi'lek pilot and commander smiled and put a hand on her stomach. "Perhaps. Perhaps we'll live somewhere else, instead. Ryloth for instance," she mused out loud. Her smile soured after that. "That is…if we win this war."

"No one ever said it was going to be easy or simple," Theon confessed. "One thing at a time, though. We're about to retrieve the legendary Katana Fleet itself. After that…who knows? Perhaps after we help Sabine liberate Mandalore we will finally be able to mount our assault on Lothal…"

"…and then, onto the Empire's little weapon project," Hera finished for him.

"Aye, but that weapon is being guarded by an entire sector fleet, not to mention several orbital defense platforms and a ray shield. Plus, if what information both Robb and Saw gave us is accurate, then we don't know of any real weaknesses, yet," he reminded her.

"Like you said…" she smirked. "One thing at a time." She turned to the table. "Curious. This map is incredibly detailed. Major and minor land features, cities and castles. Even minor villages and streams are plotted out on this thing," she said, admiring the infamous table. "Who built this? All this time being in this room, and I've yet to ask you."

"That would have been Aegon the Conqueror, who was perhaps Westeros' most famous figure," he informed her. "He united the Seven Kingdoms into one eighty-three hundred years ago. Compared to galactic conquerors, he was a nobody in the grand scheme of things, but to Robb and I…well, every child in Westeros knew the story of Aegon and his dragons."

"Dragons?" Hera repeated.

Theon nodded. "Yes. Three of them, to be more precise. Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar were their names. With only those dragons and sixteen hundred men, he conquered and united the seven kingdoms into one, and his dynasty ruled our country for nearly three hundred years until Robert's Rebellion."

Hera crossed her arms, nodding in understanding. "Interesting. You once told me that you served his descendant, Daenerys."

"Aye, I did. She was perhaps one of the best monarchs I've ever known, and like her ancestor, she also had three dragons…" he trailed off for a moment, remembering her mounts: Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal. "Beautiful creatures they were, yet utterly terrifying at the same time. Imagine it; a reptile the size of a large freighter, breathing fire hot enough to melt durasteel in an instant, flying as fast and as agile as an A-Wing fighter."

"Must have been quite a sight," Hera whistled, and Theon felt himself nodding for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

"Yeah, it was," he sighed. "But now the dragons are gone. What remains? Some paltry lizards on a backwater desert planet? A mere facsimile of the true thing on Arkanis?" he shook his head in quiet remembrance. "Regardless, they would not be of much use anymore, anyway. The age of spear and bow has long since passed, giving way to the age of the blaster and the starship."

Before Hera could respond any further, the distant, growing whine of sublight engines told them that Robb and the others were approaching the island.

As all three of them walked out of the room, and out of the secondary entrance that leads to the old farms and fields that used to sustain this place, something turned in Theon's gut. Things were going well…almost too well. They hadn't exactly been subtle trying to find the Katana Fleet, and the normal Imperial response should have been to at least dispatch a patrol to investigate, if not go for their usual methods of overkill and just drop in a cruiser on top of them, but so far…

Nothing.

No comm chatter from their research base near the Fist of the First Men, no signs of any real activity corresponding with Imperial norms, just…oddities. His men monitoring the area above from the Remembrance were clearly seeing something corresponding to people digging in the area, but it was how they did it that seemed off to Theon.

It didn't correspond to standard Imperial procedure.

As he brooded on these thoughts, he witnessed the Starbird touch down half a grav-ball field away from them, the sleek and angular craft, painted dark blue and cream white, landing as gracefully as a swan, its wings curving upwards on the descent.

Out of the Mandalorian spacecraft stepped the Winterfell crew; Robb, Ezra, Kanan, Sabine, and Fenn Rau, with two direwolf pups towing behind them, one colored as black as midnight, while the other had tan fur that blazed like copper.

So, these must have been the two young rebels' direwolves; Storm and Runi. Interesting names for the beasts, he surmised.

He walked up to Robb, first. The two stopped and stared at each other for a moment.

"See you found Jon's old sword," Theon noted, eyeing the familiar Longclaw now resting on Robb's hip.

"Found it in that cave I told you about," Robb replied. Before long, the two began smiling and soon wrapped each other in a warm embrace.

"Gods, how long has it been since we greeted each other like this, brother?" Theon greeted as they broke the warm embrace.

"Ever since the beginning of the war, I imagine," Robb smiled back at him. "But enough about that. Tell me how things have been here," the Grey Wolf asked as he looked around. "So, Dragonstone, eh? Admittedly not much to look at."

"It's an acquired taste," the Iron Fist japed. "But more to the point; as Hera probably already mentioned, we found the damned fleet at last. Zeb just recently finished repairs to an old submersible we found on the island, and we should be ready by nightfall to set out."

"How many people can that thing fit, though?" Robb asked him.

Theon rubbed his silvery, short beard. "Honestly? Probably no more than five, at most. As Hera is now pregnant, that'll leave her out. I'd also advise Kanan to stay behind with his missus."

"Don't know if they'll agree to that," Robb pointed out. "Hera's pretty damned stubborn when it comes to her crew. Kanan might not have an issue, though."

"Think you should talk to them, then. You've known them longer, and I think they'll listen to you," Theon replied, smirking. "You can be pretty damned convincing when you need to be."

"Oh, stop, you," Robb waved off. "Fine. I'll try to convince Hera and Kanan to stay behind and watch the ships. Maybe convince Rau to babysit them while they're at it."

Theon chuckled. "Maybe. Well, at least this should be fun for the two kids, Zeb, and that psychotic little trash can Hera keeps insisting is one of her crew," he joked…halfway. Call it a hunch, but that little droid was a little too much like Ramsay for his taste.

And Ramsay Bolton was more than enough for one lifetime, let alone two.

"That psychotic little trash can come in handy, need I remind you?" Robb chastised, a bit unserious. "He's an astromech after all, and with Sabine coming with us as well, we'll manage to get this fleet out of the water in no time."

"I certainly hope so. I pray to the gods that the slave wiring is still intact. All we really need to do is find the flagship, and then we should be set," He said, then frowned. "It's…kind of a shame, though. I've forgotten how much I've missed Westeros. Sure, it was shit, but it was our shit, at least," he sighed. "Really, though, it's only this place and Winterfell that are even remotely intact. King's Landing is a crumbling ruin, Pyke fell into the sea, and the Rock and Highgarden are reclaimed by nature. I could go on and on..." he paused, a horrible thought occurring to him. "What happened to our world, Robb?"

Robb shook his head, a grim expression settling on his face. "I don't know, Theon. Kanan thinks it related to the Force, and not the just side of it, either. We will find out, though…I hope."

The last living son of House Greyjoy nodded, uncertainly. "Aye. That is my hope, as well," he agreed as they began the long hike back up the hill towards the keep. "C'mon. The sooner we can get the sub packed and everything planned, the better."

---

It was nightfall when the crew chosen for the mission sealed themselves inside the old submersible- which was an ancient model known as a CzerkaTech S34, according to Sabine- and began their long, slow descent to where the Katana Fleet lay waiting for them. So far, nearly everyone had been quite calm and collected during the sojourn down to the bottom of Blackwater Bay, named for its dark waters.

Well, almost everyone…

"Alright, calm down, Sabine…you can do this…you can do this…" the crew's resident Mandalorian was saying to herself, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her sides.

"C'mon, Sabine," Zeb teased, ever the elder brother. "Don't tell me you're afraid of some seawater."

"Oh, no, Zeb..." she sarcastically spat out. "What's not to be afraid of in a four-thousand-year-old rickety-ass tub that's nearly a thousand meters underwater? I mean, it's not like the hull could breach at any minute and thousands of tons of saltwater comes rushing in here, which would crush us instantly, if we were lucky, or drown us if we weren't!"

"Didn't take you for a hydrophobe," Robb quipped, swinging around in his seat to face her. "Where did that come about?"

She took a deep breath. "Years ago, back when I was still a cadet in the Imperial Academy on Mandalore. We had a mandatory underwater field operations class in my first semester. In our first field exercise, something went wrong with my rebreather. I nearly drowned a hundred meters under, and would have died were it not for Ketsu," she confessed. "Ever since then, large bodies of water have scared the living kriff out of me. Even more so if it's underneath the surface."

"Well, you might not have to worry too much longer about that, Lady Wren," Theon informed. "We're nearly there to our target destination. Ezra, can you kill the interior lights and open up the floodlights? The second panel- switches 1 and 5."

The young Jedi did as he was as asked, quick as a Kraken, and as the cabin was darkened around them, the black, inky waters of Blackwater Bay lit up fireworks at an Empire Day celebration. The floodlights, true to their name, bathed the area around them in light, and there they saw it.

Ships.

Dozens of them.

Hundreds of them.

All around them, at the bottom of the bay, aligned in neat rows and columns, were hundreds of coral-covered, gunmetal grey hulled Dreadnaught-class heavy cruisers. The scene looked to Theon as if they were metal coffins for some long-lost race of giants, committed to the Drowned God for all eternity. The rest of the crew, though, were too speechless to make the comparison, however, he reckoned. Their long search had paid off, after all.

They had found the Katana Fleet.

"I've never seen that many cruisers in my life…" Ezra commented, his voice going quietly in awe and wonder.

"Manda above, that has to be an entire Sector Fleet's worth of heavy cruisers," Sabine reverently agreed. "And to think all this time…they were just sitting here at the bottom of this bay. I wonder if they're still spaceworthy?"

"Well, we didn't come all this way just to come empty-handed," Theon argued. "Chopper, is the flagship picking up on any of the scopes or sensors?"

The short, somewhat sadistic droid warbled something at him, apparently telling him that he was still searching, before happily beeping and waving around those tiny mechanical arms of his.

"Chop says he's picked up the IFF tags of the Katana!" Sabine translated for the droid. "It's coming…a click east of here. He says we should easily recognize it, as it's the only ship that is bearing the old Republic roundel."

"Must be the flagship, then," Theon replied, and turned the vessel hard port. A few seconds of churning water silently later, they saw it.

Unlike the rest of the Dreadnaughts, which were dark grey in color, the Katana was painted pitch black, as if her designers wished it to blend in with the void itself. And the purpose would have been accomplished, too, if not for one, glaring detail that had been insisted upon by the Senatorial Defense Committee:

The roundel of the Galactic Republic was painted on both the port and starboard sides of the bow near the bridge. The symbol, Theon reckoned, must've looked extraordinarily dignified and revered when the ship was christened and launched from drydock to begin its maiden voyage, but now, the once-proud roundel was stained and fading, a combination of age and wear from salt-water.

"Chopper, is there any airlocks we can latch onto nearby?" Theon asked the droid, who warbled for a moment before again coming up with something.

"He says there's one near us, starboard side near the aft," Ezra translated for him. "Small enough for us to latch onto, at any rate."

"Alright. Latching on…now," Theon affirmed, already spotting the airlock. Gently, he maneuvered the craft alongside the dark hull, expertly docking with the four-meter-wide lock. When a satisfying snap-hiss was heard, indicating to everyone in the sub that they had successfully docked, Theon breathed a sigh of relief that he didn't even know he had been holding. Seems the Drowned God had favored them, after all; the ancient hull had held up.

"Hey, whaddya know, Bean," Ezra began to tease, "we didn't die after all!"

Theon had to suppress a smirk as the Mandalorian girl simply responded with a "Shut up!" and punched the young Jedi in the arm. Zeb, on the other hand, had no such self-control and laughed openly at the display.

"Alright, alright, you two," Robb chastised. "Knock it the fuck off and get focused. We have a mission to complete, and I'd rather not remain in this piece of junk one second longer." He had switched into "commander" mode, as Theon used to call it, as the Grey Wolf put on his helmet with the faceless silver visor, sealing it, and checked his weapons and ammunition. The rest of the crew began to do much the same, with Ezra clipping his saber onto his belt and holstering his DL-44 pistol, Sabine putting on her helm checking her gear, and Zeb making sure his own bo-rifle was green and ready. For his part, Theon made sure his own A-280-CFE was loaded and primed, and that he had several concussion grenades on him in case of…unwelcome guests. And, as an aside, everyone who didn't put on a helmet made sure to strap on a life-support rebreather.

"Chopper, begin the unlocking sequence," the Iron-Fist commanded the astromech, who grumpily bleeped something at him- most likely a complaint about 'having to do everything around here'- and shuffled on over to the sub's own airlock to begin the sequence. A few moments later, the doors opened, and what greeted them was the dark maw of oblivion.

"I'll take point," Robb offered. "I'd advise we turn on our tac-lights to low power, that is for us that don't have thermal or night-vision. Who knows what we could run into here?"

"I second that," Sabine agreed as they stepped through the airlocks and into the dark corridors of the Katana. "I'll try to pull up some schematics and link it up to your HUD, Robb."

"Roger, Sabine," he confirmed and pointed forward with his hand. "Alright, let's move out."
Almost immediately, Theon was hit by the stench of death and decay as soon as the doors to the airlock closed behind them. It was overwhelming, powerful. He shined his light on the bulkhead, and saw scratches everywhere, and below the scratches…

Skeletons…

Dozens of skeletons, skulls, and bits of bone covered by the remains of naval uniforms.

This wasn't a cruiser, Theon realized in abject horror. This was a tomb.

"Force above," Ezra whispered, his face going pale. "What in the karking hell happened here?"

"Oxygen deprivation, most likely," Theon informed them, his voice going quiet and grim. "Poor souls were suffocating, trying to escape their fate as the life support was shut off. Only hastened their end." He tried not to think back to the Dreadfort. He was frankly happy that the carnal house of horrors was pulled down and salted after the wars. "We should keep moving. How far up ahead is the bridge?"

"On these ships?" Sabine answered him, trying not to stare at the rotten corpses. "Gonna say about four hundred more meters, and that's if we're lucky and none of the corridors have collapsed. Gonna be a lot longer, otherwise."

They continued their trek through the dark, ominous corridors, occasionally spotting the skeleton of some poor bastard who tried to escape his or her cruel fate, probably dying either gasping for air, wasting away from starvation or, as the scattered knives and blasters indicated, they ended it before it got that far. And all the while…

All the while, Theon felt like he was being watched by some curious, and deranged, entity.

"Here we are," Robb announced finally, after what felt like hours of wandering blindly in the darkness. Before the group was a large set of heavy blast doors. "Chopper, will you do the honors?"

The astromech warbled in the affirmative and found the outlet to open said blast doors. A few moments of tinkering later, the old doors slid open, revealing a decent-sized command bridge. The layout of the command center was typical for a star cruiser designed and built by Rendili StarDrive; large, square transparisteel windows, seven in total, covered the viewports of the bridge in a sort of trapezoid fashion, giving the ship's commander a one-hundred-eighty-degree view of the battlefield, with a commander's chair sitting on a slightly raised platform in the middle, and chairs for the bridge crew at various stations along the viewport. Towards the back of the bridge was a war room, complete with a holographic table and nav-screens. Standard Republic layout, no doubt.

"Alright, Sabine, Chopper, you're up," Theon spoke up. "See if you can't get at least the life support and main power back online."

"On it," she replied. "C'mon, Chop. Let's see if we can't make this bleak place just a wee bit brighter."

While the duo set about their task and Ezra and Zeb pulled security on the blast door, Theon managed to pull Robb aside.

"Hey, you've got a moment?" he asked him. The last living scion of House Stark nodded, and together they ventured into the dark war room.

"What is it, Theon?" he asked him, an inquiring tone seeping into his mechanized voice.

"There's something following us," Theon confessed. "I don't know who, or what. All I have is a gut feeling that there's something tracking us."

"Sure it's not just paranoia?" Robb halfway japed, but Theon could tell behind the thin humor he was also thinking something similar. "I've got the same feeling, too," he whispered in a much lower, more serious voice. "Ezra's been kind of antsy, as well, and I don't think it has to do with whatever happened here."

Before the duo could continue their conversation, Theon heard something. It was faint, at first; no more than a soft tapping sound, it seemed. But has he listened closer, the sound grew louder and more distinctive.

Ker-clank.

Ker-clank.

Ker-clank.

Ker-clank.

It sounded to Theon as if someone, or something, was walking towards them in metallic boots…or mayhaps it was some form of protocol droid, still searching for his master. Whatever the case may be, everyone was now hearing the distinctive sound.

Ker-clank.

Ker-clank.

Ker-clank.

With a quickness that could rival the dragons of old themselves, Robb, Zeb, and himself quickly covered the doorway, blasters drawn and aimed into the dark fatal funnel that was the corridor, while Ezra hung back and ignited his saber, the emerald green hue lighting up the darkened bridge.

"Bean?" The boy asked his friend, still at the terminal with that psychopathic lunatic of an astromech. "How much longer till you get this thing fixed?"

"Only half a minute, Ez!" She replied a bit too sharply.

As the clanking grew louder, Theon and the rest of the crew could see a dim, red light heading towards them. As the light grew closer, it split into two lights, and out of the shadows stepped a droid, but not one that Theon was really expecting, and one that made him feel even more on edge.

It appeared to be some sort of battle droid, perhaps distantly related to the old B1 series used by the Confederacy all those years ago. It was nearly skeletal in appearance but bulkier than most droids of its type; it was obviously built for brutal killing. Its cranial unit resembled a death's head emblem, as two blazing red photoreceptors stared at them, and Theon could not tell whether they held malice or curiosity, or perhaps both.

Though guessing by the blaster rifle of unknown make held in its hands, he was going to go with 'malice'.

The assassin droid looked at them, turning its 'head' from left to right, and, just as the lights came on and the power was restored, it spoke to them, in a masculine, mechanized, and damned outright archaic voice.

"Cautionary: Now, I will say this only once, and you better have a good answer for me before I rip out your spines and use them as throwing darts. Identify yourselves, meatbags!"

Notes:

A/N: Another chapter done! And HK is here! That lovable droid with the psychotic killer instinct and sarcastic wit!

Now, you may be asking, "Wait, hold on a fucking minute! How did the fucking hell HK-47 find them? And how is he functioning after four millennia?" Well, patience, young grasshopper! All will be revealed in good time.

And now, they have found the Katana Fleet! But how to get it out of the water and into space? And what is going on in the far north of Westeros? What will HK do? Find out next time on DRAGONBALL Z- shit, wrong outro.

Until the next time!

Chapter 24: Sabine V

Summary:

The mysterious droid reveals himself. Sabine gets closer to Ezra. Hera has a shocking announcement.

The air on the Katana was deathly still.

Here before them was some sort of ancient model of a battle droid, his once-vermilion paint now peeled and rusted from age and wear, keeping his antiquated rifle of unknown make at low ready.

"Before we answer that question, droid," Robb began, his voice low and dangerous- the classic wolf's snarl Sabine had come to expect. "You'll answer our question, first. Who are you?"

"Statement: My unit designation is HK-47. I am a combat unit specialized for infiltration, target acquisition, and elimination. Query: Now, will one of you meatbags answer my question, or am I going to have to start breaking bones?"

"You try anything, droid, and I'll rip you in pieces," Zeb growled, the ever-protective elder brother.

The droid stared at the Lasat, the grip on his rifle tightening. "Declarative: Very well, Lasat. I will start with you," the crimson foe stated, and took one, menacing step towards Zeb, as Sabine and everyone else raised their weapons, ready to defend their brother-in-arms…

…only for the droid to collapse on the ground, his old, rusted leg finally giving way due to wear and age. HK-47 sprawled out on the floor, thrashing his remaining limbs this way and that, all the while copiously cursing.

"Exclamatory: Maker damn it all to the nine hells! How did I fucking forget that I was four thousand fucking years old? I'm literally falling the fuck apart! Argh!"

"Stand down, everyone. This bucket of bolts is no threat," Robb advised the group. Sabine hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly holstered her blaster pistols while everyone else either lowered or deactivated their weapons, as well.

"Well, now, droid," the Grey Wolf continued, adopting a smirk. "Now that we've determined you aren't a danger to us, we'll answer your question. My name is Robb Stark," he said, pointing to himself. "That guy with the metal hands is Theon Greyjoy. The Lasat wanting to rip you in half is Garazeb Orrelios, the Mandalorian woman is Sabine Wren and the Jedi behind me is Ezra Bridger."

"Query: Jedi, are you? It's been quite some time since I last served a Jedi, although I vaguely remember him dying on Yavin. As a matter of fact, there is little I do remember, anymore. The slow march of time and some damnable block have seen to that," the droid exclaimed. He obviously had some history with the old order, if there was anything to go by.

"Well, that's just karking disappointing," Zeb grunted. "Is there anything you do remember, rustbucket?"

"Statement: For your information, purple meatbag, there is. I remember my last mission, my last set of instructions, and information pertaining to what happened to this planet."

Sabine noticed that really got both Robb's and Theon's attention.

"You know what happened here?" Theon asked. "Tell us everything. Why was this place abandoned? Where are all the people? Why does no one in this galaxy remember this place?"

HK's photoreceptors dimmed for a minute moment as if he was hesitant to tell them. "Cautionary: Be warned, meatbags. Judging by your reaction, I can only presume that you might react in a negative manner to this tale," the droid paused for a bit. "Extrapolation: Well, where to begin? Ah, yes. Approximately three millennia ago, after the end of the Vong War, my last master and I traveled to this remote and desolate world."

"What was your purpose, here?" Robb asked him, his tone serious and grim.

"Statement: He…did not fully say. All he told me was that he was visited by what he called a 'seer' of sorts and that what we did here would affect a future generation some time down the line. Admittedly, I could not see it. All I could see was some dead planet, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. It wasn't until we reached the ruins of an ancient library on the west coast that I finally understood the purpose of this mission."

"The Citadel..." Theon breathed, whilst Robb's eyes widened in recognition.

"The Citadel?" Ezra repeated, crossing his arms and leaning against the bulkhead.

Robb nodded. "Aye. It was the place where they trained the Order of Maesters- our scholars- and was home to the greatest library on the planet. It was quite restrictive, though. Only those in the order could access it."

"Sounds like what Kanan told me about the old Jedi Archives, before…well…. you know," the young Padawan recalled, only for the droid to pepper him with questions.

"Query: The Jedi Order is no more? Fascinating. I'd never thought I'd live to see the day those hypocritical peaceniks were wiped from the face of the galaxy-"

Robb coughed, and Sabine swore she saw Ezra's jaw tighten slightly. She had to suppress a smirk herself. It seems he was getting better at holding his tongue.

"Statement: Apologies. Now, where did I leave off? Ah, yes. Mostly, we discovered nothing but rotted books and scraps of paper, along with broken data cards and worn-out holotapes. There was one thing that was intact, however. A holotable in the very center of the facility. It was on this device we learned what had transpired. Apparently, this world had been once been a bustling economic powerhouse, and controlled a sizable interstellar empire, though it was isolated from the Galactic Republic."

"Who controlled this hegemony?" Robb asked the droid

"Extrapolation: From what he holotable told us, it was the kings of House Stark, though, by that point in time, the planet and its colonies were a constitutional monarchy with a system of checks and balances, complete with its own bicameral parliament, no less." the droid informed them, and then looked at Robb. "Query: I assume you are related to these 'Starks'? You do share their surname, after all, and wear their same sigil on your armor."

Sabine felt nothing but pity for Robb as his face soured. "Yeah..." his voice came out barely above a whisper, "you might say that…"

"Commentary: Now, to continue my story. For thousands of years, this hegemon was left to its own devices, until the day the Sith Emperor Vitiate came, at the head of a massive fleet. The warmonger was hungry for conquest, and when he arrived at the borders of this kingdom, he demanded that they swear fealty to the Sith for all time, or be destroyed utterly. The people of Valaryos refused, with the Stark king telling the Emperor that 'The North Remembers, and never again will Valaryos bow in fear to tyrants and murderers.' And so, a long and bloody war began," he paused for a moment. "Extrapolation: It seemed that Vitiate was confident of victory, at first, but he had severely underestimated his foe, Eddard XXV Stark, or the Great Wolf, as he had become known to his people. Each time he sent an army to invade one of the Valarians' worlds, the Sith would be ensnared and crushed. Each time he sent a fleet to engage the Great Wolf, that fleet was ambushed and wiped out. Things had become desperate for the Emperor, and so he enacted a desperate plan- he would destroy all sentient life on Valaryos, in one fell swoop."

"How did he do this?" Theon asked, waving his mechanical hands around for effect. "It's fairly obvious that he succeeded."

"Answer: From what the holotable told us, it appeared to be some sort of 'virus bomb', a device that would unleash a biological agent targeting any lifeform that contained twenty-three pairs of chromosomes, precisely. Apparently, they planted this device near a location called the Fist of the First Men, and in the last recorded message on the hologram, the Valarians launched an assault on the Fist," the droid finished his tale. HK-47 looked around. "Obviously…they failed."

Robb lowered his head. "And if history is anything to go by, Vitiate erased all records of our people."

"Statement: It would seem so. Though, Vitiate did not entirely succeed in wiping out the Valarians completely. The holorecording did say that many from this continent did manage to be evacuated to the Republic before this bomb went off. After all, here you are, meat bag," the droid consoled them, though it rang hollow in Sabine's ears.

The bridge fell silent, again, and through the safety of her helmet, Sabine gauged the reactions of everyone in the room. Tears were streaming down Theon's face, Robb's fists were clenched at his sides, the knuckles turning white, Zeb was shaking his head, and Ezra had an expression of sorrow worn on his face.

As for herself, she felt nothing but anger and hatred towards the Sith. Robb and Theon's people, millions of them- no, scratch that, billions of them, wiped out by those monsters. She was convinced the Sith would burn the galaxy down if it could mean that they would rule over the ashes for all eternity.

It was at that moment that Chopper warbled, excitedly.

Sabine let out a sigh of relief she didn't even know she had been holding. "Chop says power has been restored to the other ships, and that we can begin takeoff procedures, immediately."

"Statement: Oh, thank the Maker! Four thousand years of being on standby mode in that blasted submarine on this blasted planet, and I finally get to leave!" HK exclaimed in excitement.

Theon's head shot up. "Wait? You were in the submarine this entire damned time?" he asked the droid with an incredulous tone. He slowly turned to Zeb, an annoyed look on his face. "I thought you checked the bloody thing from port to stern!"

"I did!" Zeb defended himself. "How was I supposed to know there was a blasted secret compartment in there?"

"Alright, you two, can we focus, now?" Sabine found herself reprimanding them. Boys. "We need to get this fleet to the surface."

Chopper warbled in the affirmative, and soon enough, Sabine felt the ship begin to stir. Sublight engines stirred to life, and they heard the water as it churned around them. Outside the viewports, the water was becoming lighter and lighter, indicating they were reaching the surface. Finally, after what seemed to be a few short moments, the Katana and her brethren shot up out of the sea, like a pod of majestic whales coming up out of the deep for a breath of fresh air.

"Specter One, this is Specter Seven, how copy, over?" Robb keyed into his comm. At the other end, Hera's voice keyed in through the break, though something sounded…off…to Sabine, as though she sounded distant and…broken.

"Specter Seven, One. Looks like you succeeded," her voice was monotone and tired. Sabine began to grow worried. Had something happened while they were gone? It couldn't be a miscarriage, could it? "We'll fly up there as soon as possible, over."

"Roger, Specter One. Specter Seven, out," Robb finished the conversation, his face grim. He looked at the rest of them. "Something's happened. I don't know what, but Hera's tone worries me. I fear something terrible has happened," he confessed. He closed his steel blue eyes for a moment, then opened them in calm determination. "We'll meet them down in the hangar in 15 minutes. For now, though, let's see if we can't get you fixed up." He said, pointing down at HK-47.

"Statement: I thought you meatbags would have never offered. But do pray to tell; what is to prevent me from killing you?" The droid asked Zeb, who just hauled him onto his back.

"Hehe. Well, I'll just have to break you then, rustbucket. Provided, of course, you don't fall apart and deactivate first," Zeb mocked the droid

"Mockery: Oh, I'm quaking with fear, purple monkey," HK countered.

The two argued on their way towards what Sabine presumed to be the maintenance bay, with Chopper doing his best impression of a chortle as he followed behind them.

As Robb and Theon went off to one corner of the bridge to discuss their discovery of the fate of this world, Sabine opted to saunter on over to the viewport and gaze at Valaryos' night sky. It was a clear night, tonight, and due to the lack of artificial lighting, the moon and stars shone brightly. The constellations here were strange, she mused as she took off her helmet and breathed in the now-functioning processed air. She wondered if one of those stars could be Mandalore. No, she realized. Mandalore was on the opposite side of the galaxy. Coruscant…yeah, she could probably see the primary star of that particular den of vipers, but not home.

Not Krownest.

"Mind if I join ya?" a familiar, warm voice called out to her. She turned to see her best friend standing right behind her, his arms crossed and his trademark grin plastered on his face.

She smiled back at him, all her troubles momentarily forgotten. "Not at all," she offered, motioning for him to take a place beside her. He obliged her, coming to stand on her left, a little closer than what she was used to. She didn't mind though- as a matter of fact, it was actually kinda nice.

"Beautiful view," he spoke, staring out at the night sky. "Whenever I had to clear my thoughts back on Lothal, I'd often head out during the night and gaze at the moons," he chuckled. "I had always dreamed of leaving my life of poverty behind and becoming a spacer, exploring the stars and whatnot."

"Well, here you are!" she joked, waving to the ship behind her. "Wish come true. How'd ya like it?"

"Wasn't everything I'd hoped, in some regards," he jokingly admitted. "War, famine, death. Those were the things sometimes I'd wish I hadn't seen. But overall, taking Kanan's offer was the best decision I've ever made," he admitted, and his voice grew softer. "Otherwise, I wouldn't have met any of you."

She smiled softly in return. "I'm glad to know you, too, Ez," she confessed as she adopted another smirk. "I mean, who else would I get to chase around with hair dye?"

Ezra laughed. "Heh. True enough, I suppose, he relented, looking back out at the stars. "Do you ever think of home, Bean?"

She sighed. "Every damned day. Sometimes I wonder what my mother will say to me when I return to Krownest. What my brother and father will say, too. Will they still regard me as a traitor?"

Ezra shook his head. "They're fools if they still do. They haven't seen you grow up, become a leader and a warrior. We have. I have," he said, turning to face her, fully, and Sabine was now becoming aware of just how close they really were. Mere inches apart, really.

"You really believe that?" she whispered. She found herself getting lost in his electric blue eyes, and in those eyes, she found something, something that was making her heart skip beats and her knees to become wobbly.

"Wouldn't have bent my knee before you if I believed otherwise," he confessed.

"Ezra…" she breathed. Slowly, she found herself leaning forward towards him, their bodies coming closer until they were practically touching. Her mind was a jumble- a part of her wanted to break it off, call it a mistake. But more and more, that part of her was being silenced by the voice that told her to give in to this.

And she obliged it.

She shut her eyes as she leaned her face up and forward, and kissed him, her arms wrapping around his waist as she tasted his lips- it was the taste of hummus and grain, of hard living on the streets and in war. She felt her face being cupped by his warm, calloused hands as they deepened the kiss, and she began to moan into his mouth as their tongues fought one another for dominance. She started to rub against him, and she felt a stirring inside her, as she felt Ezra's manhood strain against the confines of his trousers…

"Ahem..."

The two immediately broke off the kiss to find Robb staring at them, an impeccable, shit-eating grin on his face.

"Well, aren't we a bit busy on this moonlight night? Shall I fetch you two some bonbons? Mayhaps some Arbor gold wine and a steak dinner?"

"How long have you been standing there?" she asked him, parts mortified and parts peeved that he would just burst into their private matters like that.

"Long enough," he replied, still wearing that damnable grin, while she noticed Theon in the back trying not to laugh. "Anyway, I just wanted to say that Hera and the others will be here, soon. Let's head to the hangar bay."

Sabine nodded, still a bit flustered. "Yeah. Uh, sure. Whatever you say," she rambled, walking away from the bridge quickly. Away from Ezra.

Why had she done that? She could have refused, could she? Could she have not? Was it right to kiss him? What would it mean for her in the future? For him?

All she knew right now was that her feelings and her mind were a mess…

---

Hera did not look good, Sabine decided.

Scratch that- she looked like absolute shit- as if she had just gotten done weeping for something. As a matter of fact, both Kanan and Fenn also looked grim and tired.

"Alright, Hera," Robb began. "What's going on?" He got to the point of the matter, as always.

She didn't say anything, just brought out a holochip and plugged it into Chopper, who began to play the message. Immediately, Commander Sato's face appeared on the hologram, his face forlorn and resigned.

"Captain Syndulla," the recording began, and already Sabine had a gut-wrenching feeling something bad had happened. What he said next only confirmed it. "Chopper Base is compromised. At approximately 0450, one standard day prior, we discovered an Imperial infiltrator droid in our midst. We successfully managed to disable the infiltrator and destroy his ship, but unfortunately, AP-5 informed us that if the droid did not report to its command within 24 hours, Thrawn would know the exact location of our base. I have ordered the evacuation of all personnel and supplies to Yavin Four, to General Dodanna's base. You will rendezvous with your squadron there, and it will be there that you deliver the Katana Fleet. Do not use it to strike Lothal, for our enemy presumably knows of our plans, now." It was at this the commander swallowed. "I will not let him discover this deception, however. I will remain behind with Phoenix Home and a few other ships from our squadron, and fight the Grand Admiral for as long as I am able. You are in complete command of Phoenix Squadron now, General Syndulla. Good fortune, and may the Force be with you, always. Commander Sato, for the final time, out."

The room fell silent. All those months of planning, all the sweat, and the blood, all those painstaking missions to secure supplies for the strike on the Lothal weapons factories…

It was all for naught.

Ashes.

Dust.

And it was all thanks to one certain cold, calculating, and frightfully brilliant Chiss, who always seemed one step ahead of them no matter where they turned.

Sabine gritted her teeth. Damn Thrawn. Damn him to every hell that existed and then some.

"So, what do we do, know?" Zeb broke the silence, asking the question on everyone's mind. Everyone turned to Hera, who had always been a source of strength and guidance for them. If there was one person who could pull them out of a bad situation and deliver them to victory it was her. Always her.

It appeared, though, that now Hera was broken. Her head hung low, and a hand was held to her stomach. Then, she raised her head, her lekku twitching, and in her eyes, Sabine saw something that inspired her and frightened her a bit.

It was the look of cold determination and raw fury.

"We are going to get this fleet to Yavin Four," she began, low and dangerous. "We'll regroup and rethink our strategy. We'll help Sabine rally her clan. And then…then we're going to make that blue son of a whore pay for everything he's done to us, tenfold."

Everyone in their room yelled or affirmed their support for their leader. Well, everyone except HK, that is.

"There is still the matter of what's going on at the Fist of the First Men," Robb informed them. "If what our new acquaintance, here, says is true, there could very well be a weapon of unfathomable power buried there. Imperials or no, we have to assume that whoever is digging there is no friend of ours." He bit his lip. "I move that we split up. Kanan, Hera, and Chopper take the fleet to Yavin Four, while the rest of us stay behind to destroy this weapon if it indeed exists."

Hera shot him a look. "No. Absolutely not. I'm not going to leave half my crew here to die."

"Hera, I know you don't want to," Robb began, his voice growing firmer, "but you have the life of your child to look after, now. As does Kanan. Besides, the kids can handle themselves. You know this, otherwise, you would have never sent them on solo missions prior to this."

Hera's jaw tightened, then, she relented. "Alright, Robb. We'll do it your way. We'll stay on the ship and direct the fleet to Yavin." She turned to Sabine and Ezra, and her voice became softer. "You two, stay safe, and promise you'll come back to me in one piece?"

"Come on, Hera. It's us! We'll be on Yavin Four before you can say 'nerf-herder'!" Ezra joked though Sabine could tell behind that jest was an air of seriousness.

"Besides, I don't think Rau would let me die just yet," she added to the joke. "We'll stay safe, Hera. I promise."

Suddenly, she found herself wrapped in a warm embrace and felt tears streaming onto one of her shoulder plates. Hera broke the hug and gave them both a tearful smile. "I am so very proud of both of you."

"As am I," Kanan affirmed, placing a hand on Ezra's shoulder. "Remember what I taught the both of you and keep each other safe."

Ezra nodded. "We will master."

With that, the crew that had elected to destroy the supposed weapon boarded the Starbird, with Zeb bringing up the rear.

"Statement: I believe as the Jedi of old use to say…may the Force be with you," HK bode farewell.

"And to you, rustbucket," Zeb called back, as the ramp to the Starbird closed, and Sabine slid into the pilot's seat to begin takeoff procedures, after making sure all crew, supplies, and weapons were accounted for.

"Coordinates to the Fist?" she asked Theon, who had just gotten done communicating with his frigate in orbit.

"Four Gamma Falcon Julius One-One-Niner-Five Two-Tree-One-Six," he informed her. "It's about a hundred clicks north of the Wall. Big mesa, can't miss it."

"Roger that, then," she replied as they flew out of the Katana's hangar bay and into the atmosphere.

Ezra slid into the seat next to her, his smile softened by what she assumed to be the same uncertainty she felt regarding where their relationship was heading…

"So, ready for another adventure?" he asked, looking forward toward the first rays of dawn to the east.

"Always am, Ez." she softly admitted. "Always am."

---

Notes:

Well, that took longer than I expected.

At first, I was unsure about including the kiss scene. But then, I decided, we need to get this relationship moving, somewhat.

So, yeah, Valaryos was wiped out in a conflict with the resurgent Sith Empire. Now, what does this mean for the future regarding Robb? Well, he already despises the Empire, and now seeing what the Sith are truly capable of first hand will most likely only increase his resolve to see them brought down and destroyed once and for all.

Yes, I understand Vitiate could absorb the Force energy of entire planets. However, that would have turned Valaryos into a dead husk like Nathema or Ziost, and wouldn't have fitted for the purposes of my story. Hence, the virus bomb- which, by the way, is a rechargeable weapon, hence why whoever is digging at the Fist is searching for it.

Now, why is HK falling apart and misremembering things? Well, four thousand years tends to take a toll, no?

And about what happened- Well, you see, Zeb and Chopper weren't there to defeat the infiltrator droid and cleverly send it back to its home fleet as a ticking time bomb to throw Thrawn off their trail. Already, the events of my story are affecting what happens normally in canon. How much shall change? You shall see…

Next chapter- the Battle for the Fist of the First Men. I will warn you right now, the next two chapters will be dark and angsty.

Until next time!

Chapter 25: Ezra V

The land beyond the giant ice wall- or what remained of it- was kriffing cold, Ezra thought as another blast of wind tore through his thermal coat and chilled him to the bone.

Compared to this, Winterfell might have been a tropical paradise.

"I'd say you get used to the cold up here," Theon was commenting as they made their way across the frozen wastes towards the Fist of the First Men, which was about five clicks away. "But truthfully, you never really do."

"Forgive my Huttese," the young Jedi commented through chattering teeth, "but how in the living kriff did you manage to survive out here?"

"Almost forgot you lived most your life in a warm and sunny world," Theon joked. It seemed that out of all of them, only Ezra was the only one to do any whining about it. The rest were trudging along to their destination without much discomfort. "Secret is to keep moving. Friction provides warmth, and the more of it, the warmer you'll be."

"It's like Lund used to say," Robb added. "Walking's good, fighting's better, sex is best."

"Ugh," Theon grimaced. "At least you didn't repeat what he actually said for that last part. I swear to the Drowned God, that man has the crudest language I've ever heard for an intelligence minister."

"He was a former crime boss before that, or so I was told," Robb explained. "Goes quite a way to explain why his language is so…refined."

Ezra was lost. "Uh…you two mind filling me in on who this 'Lund' character is?"

"Duke Thrakas Lund," Robb answered first, keeping at a steady pace. "Minister of Arcadian Intelligence and one of the chief advisors to King Lysandus Beniko. He's probably one of the most powerful men in the entire Rim, and the fact of that chafes slugs like Jabba to no end…or so he claims."

"I thought Arcadia was ruled by the Hutts," Sabine interjected, her voice sounding muffled through her helmet, as always.

"Not really," Theon corrected, as another gust of wind picked up. "Arcadia is technically under the sovereignty of the Hutt Council, but in truth it is semi-autonomous. They supply the Hutts with the military strength to keep the Empire out of Hutt Space, while the Hutts supply them with fuel, foodstuffs, and repulsorlift coils. Mutually beneficial symbiosis, in other words."

"Symbiosis and beneficial are synonyms," Sabine deadpanned. Ezra had to laugh at that. Then, his thoughts drifted to last night.

A part of him still could not believe that they had kissed. His wildest dream come true…and he was confused about the whole thing. Did she really mean it? What did it mean for their relationship? Were they still just friends, or were they something more, now? As far as he could tell, though, she was just as confused about it as he was.

But you did feel something from her that time, didn't you, he reminded himself. You clearly felt her want and her lust.

Good luck getting her to admit it, though, he thought. If one thing about Sabine remained constant, it was that she was headstrong and willful…and an overall tough nut to crack.

He snapped himself out of his musings when he spotted it in the distance, through the blinding wind and snow; a large mesa, covered in snow, and around this mesa were buildings, mostly Imperial prefab barracks and research structures, though a few were far, far older, and judging by the huge tunnel boring through it, there was digging equipment.

"Welcome, lads, to the Fist of the First Men," Theon spoke, as they all found some cover nearby or laid in the cold snow in order not to be detected. "Sabine, can you see anything?"

Ezra's best friend and…girlfriend, maybe…pulled down her rangefinder antenna and began to scan the area.

"Not picking anything up on the motion tracker. Nothing on thermal, either. It's like the entire base is abandoned, yet…" she trailed off. "There is definitely something going on in that mesa. I'm picking up a faint seismic reading. It correlates to modern heavy digging equipment. There's definitely someone or something in that tunnel."

Robb shook his head. "Well, we aren't going to find out sitting out here. Let's move out, three meters spread. Make sure your weapons are primed and check your corners. We can't afford to fall into an ambush."

"Roger," they all replied in near-unison, and so broke from cover and carefully advanced towards the Fist. As they inched their way closer and closer, Ezra could see signs that a battle had taken place here…and recently, at that. Carbon scoring was everywhere, as were pocket marks where shrapnel from grenades and rocket launchers had peppered the buildings. All around were discarded blasters and helmets. He stopped to pick one up. It looked almost like a stormtrooper helmet, though it was black through and through, lacking the distinctive "mouth" and with a visor that was tinted green instead of onyx.

And there were blood splatters, everywhere he looked.

"What the hell happened here?" Robb asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "Very few things could overrun a detachment of deathtroopers, let alone an entire battalion of Imperial Special Forces. It would have to take at least a regiment to overrun these positions."

"Hm, and the gear's been completely discarded, as well," Zeb pointed out. "No pirate or rebel in his right mind would discard weapons and armor. There's something fishy going on here."

"Yeah…" Theon trailed off as they came closer to the tunnel. It was then, Ezra felt it.

The cold….the unnatural chill that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up every time he felt it.

The Dark Side of the Force.

"There's something evil, here, guys…" he warned, gripping his lightsaber a little tighter.

"Whatever it is, I'm guessing was responsible for attacking the base," Zeb observed dryly.

"Rogue Dark Jedi, perhaps?" Theon opined.

"Even if it was a Dark Jedi, Sabine and I would have picked him up on IR," Robb pointed out, as he motioned towards the tunnel. "Noise and light discipline, everyone. Sabine, you're on point. Find that source of digging you found, earlier."

"Copy that," she whispered. Everyone had their weapons low and at the ready, be they blasters or lightsabers. Slowly, they stalked through the dark, cavernous tunnel, the sound of running machinery growing closer, and closer, reverberating off the cavern walls each time it tore of another piece of stone. As the light outside the cavern grew dimmer, the team spotted a light in the distance before them; industrial grade fluorescing lights, to be more precise. Lights that had seen better days, it seemed, as they continued to flicker on and off at an annoyingly constant rate.

"We're getting close…" Sabine announced. "The dig site should be right around the bend, here."

As they rounded the bend, sure enough, there was the drill, churning away at the stone and rubble that was blocking it from whatever the people here were seeking.

Speaking of which…

Oddly enough, there were people around here- hundreds of them, milling this way and that, clearing rubble, digging through loose stone, but something felt off to Ezra. For one, these guys were wearing a mixture of armor, ranging from Imperial to stuff he had never seen before. For another, they all looked…sickly. Pale.

Dead…

"Uh, guys?" Sabine spoke up through the speakers in her helmet. "These guys aren't reading on thermal, and I can't get their heartbeat."

"What do you mean you can't get their heartbeat?" Zeb whispered furiously as they aimed their weapons at the apparently oblivious enemy. "Every living karking thing has a heartbeat. You're telling me that these guys don't exist?"

"Well, obviously they exist!" she shot back. "I'm just telling what I'm reading on my scopes!"

"Cut the chatter, you two!" Robb barked. It was at that moment, one of the "people" turned and looked at them, and everything suddenly clicked for him.

Oh no.

The thing that stared at him had once been an Imperial SpecForce trooper, but now was something else entirely. Its face appeared molted and rotten, and it stared at them with bright blue, depthless eyes.

"Run…" Theon whispered, his eyes gone wide in recognition and horror, as what Ezra presumed to be the leader of these corpses start approaching them. Unlike the corpses, this thing was clearly not undead, and when Ezra got a closer look…

It was the same kind of evil being from his nightmare. The ice-skinned demon with white hair and beard, and glowing blue eyes.

"What?" Sabine asked.

"RUN!" Theon yelled this time, and Ezra didn't need convincing, there. Nor did the rest of the team, as they all bolted out of there faster than a nexu, and behind them, Ezra heard the shrillest screeching he had ever had the displeasure to hear.

Out of the cavern they ran, swift as bats out of the deep, while the hordes of hell were hot on their heels, screaming and hollering, obviously hungry for their flesh and blood.

"What the kriff are those things?" Sabine yelled as she blindly tossed a thermal detonator behind her, the delayed explosion reverberating throughout the mouth of the cavern.

"Wights!" Theon answered as they ran through the buildings. "We need to find cover, and fucking quick! What's the most secure building out here?"

"That would have to be the armory!" Sabine replied. "But I don't particularly feel like accidentally getting caught in an explosion now, especially if these things know how to wield weapons!"

"Oh, they know how, alright!" Theon responded. As if to highlight his point, a blaster bolt sailed over their heads, impacting a research station in front of them. "Fortunately, they don't aim very well. Unfortunately-,"

"-they can put down a lot of fire!" Zeb cursed. "We can't stay out here forever! We're gonna get swarmed!"

"There!" Ezra yelled, drawing everyone's attention. Before him was probably the tallest building in the camp, and probably one of the most well defended, though it only had one way in or out asides from the rooftop.

The barracks.

"Good a place as any!" Robb barked through the howling wind. "Everyone inside, quick!"

They did not need any convincing, for as the snow fell hard and the cold wind blew bitter, Zeb burst into the barracks, the others following close behind.

"Cover the windows, and barricade the entrance!" Robb barked. As Sabine, Zeb, and Theon started to build cover, overturning beds, couches, and crates to create a makeshift wall of sorts, Ezra reached out with the Force, and found what he was looking for- a locker section about two meters wide. He pulled it off the bolts securing it to the wall, and set it sideways along the large durasteel doors, barring it and buying time for the defenders. He quickly jumped behind the makeshift wall, just as the roar of the wights grew louder and louder.

"Any advice, Greyjoy?" Zeb asked as he slapped a power pack into his bo-rifle and took aim at the door.

"They're tough to kill, for one," he answered grimly, as he also took aim with his own rifle. "My advice is to aim for the head at full power. Pop their melons like acne, and they crumble. You aim center mass, they'll keep on coming. You can also set them alight or kill them with either obsidian or Valyrian steel."

"Good thing I have the latter, then," Robb sardonically remarked, just as the door began to pound. "Theon, you think a lightsaber will work?"

"Only one way to find out, I guess," He blithely remarked. "Robb, can you try to contact Rau? See if we can't get some gods-damned CAS?"

"Yeah. Want me to contact the Remembrance while I'm at it?"

"Not yet. After we get clear from here, we'll blow this place down to the seventh hell."

The pounding on the door grew louder, and louder, as the wind outside howled like a screeching banshee. Everywhere, the sounds of clicking off safeties could be heard, while he ignited his lightsaber, it's brilliant emerald hue provided a stark contrast to the red emergency lights illuminating the otherwise darkened bed bay.

Doom.

Doom.

Doom.

Doom.

DOOM.

DOOM!

With a final push, the door and barricade gave way, unable to hold against the strain of four hundred screaming undead warriors, as if the gates of hell themselves were blown open by unholy forces.

There was no need for commands to open fire here. No need for orders. Everyone knew what was at stake, here- the lives of countless trillions…

And each others'.

When the first few wights hopped over the barricade, the rebels opened hellfire upon their undead foe. Ruby red bolts filled the air, with many shots striking true, and the hordes of the underworld fell by the dozen. But they just kept coming, for each wight they brought down, five filled their place, and many of the rebels' shots hit them in the torso or one of the limbs. Fatal or debilitating wounds for mortal men, perhaps, but for those already dead? It was as if a pebble had hit them. Before long, the undead horde was starting to reach the barricades.

"Grenade out!" Zeb shouted, and threw a thermal detonator at the horde. A second later, the grenade exploded, right in the middle of the swarm, and a fireball engulfed those undead unlucky enough to be caught in or near the five-meter blast radius. Most caught within the blast zone were reduced to ash almost immediately, and many more wights caught on fire, which caused them to scream and push through their comrades to get away from the flames, inevitably setting other wights on fire in the process.

Still, it was not enough. More and more wights kept pouring in through the door, and soon, they were at the barricade, even as Sabine and Zeb threw detonator upon detonator at the horde.

It was time for bloody butcher's work.

The first wight that reached the wall was ancient, almost a skeleton. If this had been another time, Ezra would have reckoned that this was one of the Valarian soldiers that had assaulted the Fist of the First Men millennia prior. Right now, though, he had to concentrate on survival, and so bisected the ghastly being, from collarbone to diaphragm.

It did not rise again after that.

"Hey, guess what?" he shouted, just as he stabbed another wight wearing Imperial armor. "Lightsabers put them down!"

"Good to know!" Sabine responded, as she holstered her blasters and drew her Darksaber. Together, the Mandalorian and the Jedi went to work, synchronizing with one another, covering each other's weaknesses and bolstering the other's strengths. Together, the two cut down one wight after the other, green and black blades working as one. Off to the left, Ezra noticed out of the corner of his eye that Robb had dropped his rifle and drew Longclaw, cutting down the undead monsters with wild fury. Zeb had picked up an old flamethrower, burning away the corruption in the fires of conflagration, while Theon had taken cover, trying to coordinate an airstrike via Rau and the Remembrance.

"Alright!" Theon suddenly shouted, his voice rising above the din of shrieks and growls. "Our evac's heading this way! ETA two mikes! After that, we're going to level this place to the fucking foundation!" He waved. "Fall back to the roof! Fall back!"

He needed no argument there. As everyone hightailed it up the stairs to the roof, Ezra turned and pushed with the Force, throwing back the hordes of wights a good thirty meters or so back.

He cursed to himself as he ran up the stairs to catch up with the others. Why didn't he think of that before?

As soon as they reached the roof, he was immediately struck by how much colder it had gotten, and how much darker, as it seemed as if a blizzard had dropped right on top of them.

"Oh, fuck…" he heard Robb squeak out. He ran over to where he was, right towards the edge of the building, and saw what they all saw…

The dead had them surrounded, and there were dozens of them.

Hundreds.

"Theon!" Robb suddenly barked, just as Ezra heard footsteps coming up the stairs they had just left. "Where's our fucking artillery support?"

"I can't get a hold of my damn ship!" Theon snapped back, just as Zeb popped the first wight who shot it's head up over the hatch. "The weather is interfering with the comms! We need a clear signal before we can get arty!"

"Well, we better pray that this blizzard lets up, or we're all proper fucked, then, aren't we?" Robb blithely retorted, as the undead forwent the option to use the stairs, and instead opted to simply scale the building itself, using their own bodies as step ladders.

"Maybe not. Rau is on his way, after all." Sabine opined as she threw her last detonator into the oncoming horde. "And the Starbird has some pretty significant ordinance, after all. Maybe a CAS run or two will buy us the time we need to escape."

"Aye…" Robb conceded. "That might work..."

It was then Ezra felt it; a whisper in the Force, an urgent warning telling him to look ahead, and he did.

As he did, he saw a spherical, silver-colored shape sailing overhead towards Sabine's position, red lights blinking in ever rapid succession. In horror, he realized what it was; a grenade, thrown by one of the wights.

Time slowed for him, as he quickly considered his options. There was no time to throw it back- the shrapnel would hit her, anyway. He couldn't push Sabine out of the way without the risk of her falling off the side of the building and into the hungry undead horde, either. That left only one option.

He reached out with the Force and pulled the grenade towards himself.

Suddenly changing trajectory, the grenade landed a meter and a half away from his feet. Not two seconds later, it exploded.

He felt himself flying, as his ears rung and his sight turned stark white before he felt himself landing on his back. As the ringing subsided and the colors and reality of the world came breaking through the white, Ezra tasted copper in his mouth, and felt a stinging pain across his face, running from the left side of his forehead to the bottom of his right cheek. He tried to raise his left arm, only to find nothing there. He tried to get up, and although he found his right leg responded, he could not feel his left.

Where were …they?

He tried to look, to see if his limbs were still attached, but he was rapidly losing the energy to even move his head. Was he bleeding out? Was his left leg and arm gone? He didn't know, and right now, all he wanted to do was to sleep, to dream…

As he looked up to the sky, he saw something break through the clouds. What was it? It looked like Valaryos' sun. Was it midday already? Why was the sun…why was it tinted red?

He shut his eyes for a moment. It could have been because of the smoke, he supposed. Or maybe…he smelled salt. Why did he smell salt? They were nowhere near the sea…

He opened his eyes one more time, and the last thing he saw before slipping into unconsciousness, was Sabine's tear-filled face, and the last thing he heard was her calling his name in terror and worry…

Notes:

A/N: Told ya I was gonna make it dark.

Truthfully, at first, I had a different enemy in mind. Who it is, I cannot say, yet, but let's just say they have a hand in what's going on in galactic events in my story. Plus, I needed the heroes to encounter the greatest threat the galaxy has ever seen. The true darkness. The ancient enemy, and the only foe that matters.

So, it looks like Ezra just had two of his limbs blown off, and is possibly bleeding out in the cold, harsh climate of Northern Westeros, surrounded by friends and enemies, both.

Will Rau arrive in time with the Starbird? Will Ezra managed to be saved? Will everyone be able to make it out? Where is the karking Remembrance at? We will see.

Until the next time.

Chapter 26: The Honor Guard

The explosion caught him off guard.

He looked off to the left and saw horror. Ezra, his brother…his annoying, yet lovable little brother…had caught the brunt of a grenade. The young Jedi had been sent flying a good five meters, landing on his back. Zeb and Sabine rushed over to help him, the wights trying to assail their position momentarily forgotten, and what he saw shocked and angered him in equal measure.

Most of Ezra's left limbs were completely shredded, the areas below the humerus and the femur completely gone, respectively. His left side, from underneath his armpit to his waist, was covered in lacerations and second-degree burns, and across his face was a bloody gash, running diagonally from left-to-right, beginning at the temple and ending at his cheek.

"Ezra! Please, stay with me!" Sabine was begging him, as she hastily applied tourniquets to his severed extremities. "Don't die on me, you di'kut. Please, for the love of the manda, don't die! You hear me, Bridger? Don't…karking…die!"

He saw tears streaming down Sabine's face as she was working on Ezra, who had gone unconscious from the blood loss. Karabast, where the kark was Rau?

"Seven fucking hells!" Robb cursed, as he skewered another wight coming over the top with Longclaw. "I promised Hera that I'd get the kids back in one piece, and so far, I've fucking failed in that regard!"

"Don't think about it, Stark!" Zeb shouted, turning around to burn a few more wights who had scaled the building.

"Specter Seven, this is Concord Lead, over," he heard Robb's comm go off. "Starbird's ETA is thirty seconds. How copy, over?"

"Concord Lead, Specter Seven," Robb breathed, and Zeb distinctly heard the relief in his voice. "Bout fucking time your ass showed up!" He ducked as another blaster bolt sailed over their heads. Good thing these things didn't know how to aim worth a damn. "Listen, we've got one wounded in action and in need of urgent care, and we're about to be overrun by these undead wankers!" he practically yelled into the comm. "So, don't fucking expect me to send up a nine-line or a fire mission! We're kind of pressed for time, here!"

"Roger, Specter Seven," Rau answered back, and in the distance, Zeb noticed the Starbird coming into view. "Standby. Gonna blow them down with proton warheads."

"Negative, Concord Lead. Do not use torpedoes. I say again, do not use torpedoes. Not unless you want the building to collapse. Make a few runs with the autocannons, and then come up onto the roof, over," Robb was quick to answer.

"Copy, Specter Seven. Concord, out," Rau ended the transmission, and not a second later, a terrifying brrrt ripped through the air, as thousands of heavy laser cannon rounds impacted the mass of wights scaling the building, shredding most and setting quite a few on fire. The Starbird made a few more passes, each one cutting down the number of wights by more than half until maybe five dozen remained out of the original four hundred. After it completed its passes, the cerulean-and-cream Komr'k-class fighter/bomber landed gracefully as ever on the far end of the rooftop, it's wings rising vertically as if it were a majestic eagle.

The landing ramp was lowered, and Rau appeared, his blaster rifle in hand, firing away at the dead creatures that were trying to kill them, still. Out of the ship, the two teens' pet wolves came bolting forth, with the black one they called 'Storm' running straight for his master. When the wolf pup got to Ezra, unconscious and as pale as milk, he started to whine, begging along with Sabine for his master to get up.

Zeb had only experienced such a heart-wrenching scene once, and that was surviving the devastation of his home world and the death of his king. Ashla above, let Ezra survive, he thought.

"Everyone, let's move!" Robb barked. "Sabine, Theon, get Ezra aboard the ship, now!"

The White Raven and the Iron-Fist, in that moment, were lightening to Zeb, scooping up the comatose, amputated Ezra and swiftly moving him into the Starbird, the wolves hot on their heels…

Wait…

Ezra's saber!

He threw down the flamethrower he had been carrying, and ran to grab Ezra's lightsaber, not wanting to leave it out in this cold, desolate waste.

What was it that Kanan was always saying to Ezra? That a lightsaber was a Jedi's life or somesuch? He figured the blind Knight would be even more pissed off at them if he left it out here for these…creatures.

He spotted the saber, and upon reaching it, he grimaced. Lightsabers were durable, he supposed, but not durable enough to withstand the sixteen-hundred-degree fireball of a thermal detonator. Picking up the melted, ruined sword, he sighed. At least the green kyber crystal was still intact. He supposed the kid could reuse it in that strange new lightsaber he picked up in Winterfell. Gods knew if that thing worked, though…

"ZEB!" Robb yelled at him. "We need to get moving, now!"

He turned and was about to respond in the affirmative, but then something caught his eye, and his words died in his throat.

Climbing out of the building and onto the rooftop, presumably to finish them off, was none other than the icy, alien monster Zeb assumed was commanding the whole thing.

He snarled, and unslung his bo-rifle, activating the quarterstaff function of it, the two ends blazing with golden energy. Demon or not, he would not let this thing even try to hurt his brothers and sister, not while he still drew breath.

"Robb, get out of here!" he yelled, his green eyes fixed on the demon's bright blue ones. "I'll handle Doctor Freeze, here," he said as he drew himself into a fighting stance. "Alright, kriff-bait. Let's dance!"

The thing just stared at him, not saying a word, instead choosing to draw it's strange, deathly looking sword-staff, and likewise adopting its own fighting stance, beckoning the son of Lasan to engage him. Zeb was all too happy to oblige.

The former captain of the Honor Guard made the first move, swinging his bo-rifle in a downward arc. The creature with white hair just simply sidestepped his blow, as if it were already bored with Zeb. The Lasat growled. He would not be bested by some punk monster who looked like a frozen old geezer! He persisted in the attack, and every time he swung, the monster just dodged his blows.

Until he didn't.

Zeb roared and saw his opening. Raising his bo-rifle high above his head, he brought it down upon the creature's head, and it was at this moment the monster decided to block for the first time with its sword-staff…

The bo-rifle was revered among the Lasat. It was a weapon of great power and responsibility, wielded only by the Royal Family and their sworn honor guard. To receive one was a great honor, and be given one by a dying warrior an even greater honor.

And with this in mind, Garazeb Orrelios brought down the mighty weapon upon the blade of the demon's ice-sword…

Only to see it completely shatter.

His eyes widened in shock and horror. No. Nothing could destroy a bo-rifle. Not even lightsabers or swords made of Mandalorian steel could slice through them. So how could this creature's sword do it? Such questions were hitting the now-mortified Zeb, so much so that he failed to notice that he had opened himself up for an attack.

And he paid the price for it.

The monster, reacting quickly to the opportunity presenting itself, turned and thrust its blade straight into Zeb's abdomen, slicing through his intestines and coming back out the other end.

His eyes widened as his vision turned red for a brief, antagonizing, pain-filled moment, and in that moment, he could hear nothing, not even Robb calling his name in alarm. He slowly collapsed to his knees, as the monster withdrew the ice-cold blade from his stomach and prepared for another strike, this time aimed at his head, and all Zeb could do was wait for the end.

But…it was not the end.

For at that moment, Robb appeared behind the creature, swinging Longclaw in a downward strike. The black-armored being barely managed to block the blow in time, and it's neutral, cruel expression turned into one of surprise and fright as this sword did not shatter like Zeb's bo-rifle had.

The duel itself only lasted a few, mere seconds. Although this thing was a good swordsman, it was clearly outmatched by Robb, who after a few parries, exploited an opening in the beasts defenses and slashed through it diagonally, from left to right. The ice-demon, much to Zeb's tired surprise, shattered into millions of shards, the tiny pieces of ice blowing away with the wind and snow. All around them, the undead fell silent.

They fell, period.

The fight had ended.

They were victorious.

So, why did it not feel like a victory?

He coughed and looked down at the wound in his stomach, which was now turning black with frostbite and leaking blood and bile. Karabast. Right…he was dying, and if they didn't get out of here, now, Ezra might die, as well.

As Robb would say, things looked right and proper fucked.

He coughed, as Robb came to help him up. "Karabast, hack, done in by a freak. I guess…hack…I guess there are worse ways to go."

Robb shook his head. "You aren't dying, yet. We'll get you onboard and patch you up, you hear me."

Now, Zeb shook his head. "There's no time, Robb. Blood's…hack…pooling into my organs, now. Get out of here, save Ezra. Get the Remembrance to blow this place to kingdom come, hack."

Robb sighed. "The Remembrance is gone, Zeb," he told him with a tired, sad voice, his hand clasped in his brother's grasp. "That's why we could not contact them," he pointed up to the sky. "The Imperials sent a Star Destroyer to investigate the loss of communication of their base. We can't stay here."

"No! Hack. No," Zeb countered, trying to stand up on legs that didn't seem to want to. "We…hack…we can't let them get a hold of this weapon. Who the kriff knows who their gonna use it on…" he thought for a moment. The Starbird has proton torpedoes…

"I…cough…I can detonate one of the proton warheads, manually. It'd be better than…cough cough…dying from blood loss and frostbite," he said, smiling weakly. He knew no matter what Robb said, he was dying. No amount of medical care could save him, now; the monster's twisted ice-blade had seen to that. But if he could use the time he had left to save his comrades, then he would use it.

Robb was silent for a moment, as tears rolled forth from the Grey Wolf's blue eyes and down his cheeks. Zeb saw his jaw clench in frustration and grief, and he let out a shaky breath. He let go of Zeb's hand and keyed in something on his comm pad. Not a moment later, one of the proton torpedoes dropped to the ground from the torpedo bay.

"These things have a five-kiloton maximum yield," he spoke solemnly. "But to make sure the weapon is destroyed…"

"I have to…ack…make sure to detonate the warhead near the bomb," Zeb finished. "I know, Robb." He clasped his hand one more time. "Take care of Ezra for me, brother. And if you see Kallus, tell him…ack…tell him I forgive him. For everything."

Robb nodded, and pulled him into a quick embrace, before turning and getting on board the Starbird. Zeb watched in absolute silence as the fighter/transport took off, the Mandalorian ship becoming a smaller and smaller speck in the sky before disappearing altogether.

Ashla above, he thought as he picked up the warhead, make sure they are safe.

---

He trekked through the cold, bitter snow, carrying the warhead on his shoulders, slowly making his way towards the tunnel, and towards the bomb. Already, he felt the numbing freeze and stomach wound begin to sap his energy, making him more and more tired and bringing him closer to death's waiting embrace.

He grunted. He would not fail. Everything was now depending on him. He wasn't a fool, of course. No songs would be sung of this deed. No tales told around the campfire or recounted in cantinas about how Garazeb the Bold sacrificed himself for the cause and for his adopted family. It didn't matter to him, though. His days of glory-seeking were in the distant past, killed when the Empire took his homeworld from him by force. Now, all that was left was his desire to keep his family safe, to succeed in protecting the Ghost and her crew, when he had failed to protect the King and his family.

He threw up and collapsed to his knees upon entering the cave, his legs having gone out from underneath him. Around the edges of his vision, a dark haze was creeping in. Pounding his fist on the ground, he picked the warhead back up and began to drag his feet to the excavation chamber, to where the bomb lay waiting.

The haze crept slowly inward, and soon he was beginning to see…images. Flashes of what his life was, and who he spent it with.

He saw his stern, proud father and his wise, caring mother, watching with pride as he became a soldier in the Royal Army.

He saw the Lord Commander, gleaming from head to toe in the armor of the Honor Guard, as the elder guardsmen inducted a younger Zeb into their hallowed ranks, giving him the sacred bo-rifle.

He saw the King, tall and just, along with the queen, the prince, and the princess, watching with grim severity as the Empire came to their world.

He saw Lasan burning.

He saw Kanan laughing with Hera.

He saw himself and Ezra playing dejarik, with the latter smirking as he made another checkmate.

He saw Sabine painting something new on the bulkhead of her cabin on the Ghost, cheerfully singing something as she brushed out yet another masterpiece.

He saw Robb sitting across the table from him, regaling him with a tale of his military exploits as they both got horribly drunk on Tarisian ale.

He saw Chopper warbling something, probably psychotically cackling as he pranked either him or Ezra.

He saw Theon smile as he listened to the waves near Dragonstone, obviously being taken back to a simpler time for him.

Before he knew it, he was there. He looked the bomb once over with tired, near glazed eyes. There appeared to be a kind of green liquid pulsating within. Obviously, it was the virus, not yet made airborne, but definitely weaponized. He set down the warhead near the bomb and began to work. He had to struggle to concentrate, for the haze had begun to cover his entire field of vision, and his breathing became labored. Death was close, now, but he had to make sure this thing would go off, with or without him. Finally, after what seemed like hours, he pressed a series of switches on the panel, and a timer popped up on the warheads interface. He set the countdown timer to two minutes- enough time for him to collapse and rest before the end, but not enough time for the Imperials to disarm the bomb.

And collapse he did.

He plopped on his rear next to the cavern wall and leaned back against the cavern wall, his breath becoming more and more haphazard. His vision was fading, and he had become far too weak to even move his head- he had lost that much blood. Already, he could feel his major organs shutting down, and it would not be long before his heart stopped pumping, his lungs stopped moving, and his brain ceased all activity. All in all…he had always feared death, but now as he neared the grave, he found that it really wasn't so bad. It was kind of peaceful, in a way. The only thing he regretted, he supposed, was not being at the side of his brothers and sisters-in-arms when they won this war.

Would they ever win this war?

He felt a breeze on his fur, far too warm to be the air outside. Suddenly, for a few moments, his vision seemed to clear, and he saw something…something that was not in this cavern, and not in this world…

He saw a slightly older Ezra -perhaps in his mid-twenties- standing tall and with his back turned. He was wearing clothing far more regal than his usual orange combat jacket and tan trousers. No, this outfit was fit for a king, it seemed like.

Ezra's hands were clasped behind his back- one obviously flesh and blood, the other cybernetic and metal- as he watched the city outside get on with its day, a smile forming on the now older man's lips.

Zeb heard a voice call out in the distance….it was a little girl's voice, it seemed like. "Daddy!" she called, and the older Ezra- complete with a mustache and a beard, turned around and embraced a little girl running towards him, picking her up into his arms and swinging her around, both laughing merrily.

Zeb had to wonder…was this the future? Was this Ezra's daughter in some future that had not yet come? She obviously had his dark olive complexion and his raven hair, which flowed long and freely from her head to her back, but her facial features were sharper, and her build suggested that she favored her mother. As he saw her eyes, he noticed that they were mismatched- the right one was a brilliant blue the color of the sea, much like Ezra's, but the left one was warm amber brown.

The same color as Sabine's eyes, he realized.

As if to confirm his suspicions, the little girl seemed to look right at him and spoke to him in the tongue of the Mandalorians.

"Ne baatir vencuyot, ba'vodu Zeb. Val jate. Suum ca'nara, Lasan'ad."

He did not quite understand what exactly this little girl had said, but he seemed to understand the gist of it, he supposed. He smiled. Everything would be alright. He knew it, know. His friends were safe.

His family was safe.

He closed his eyes for the last time and felt his final breath leave his body. And after that…

He did not feel the heat of the bomb as it went off, incinerating him and the weapon, and causing the Fist of the First Men to cave in on itself, leaving behind nothing but a radioactive crater.

He did not feel thousands of tons of rubble crush the scattered remains of his ashes, as the cold winds blew over his makeshift tomb.

All he could feel was peace….

For he was finally home.

Notes:

A/N: And now his watch has ended.

It's hard for me to kill off characters. I am not GRRM, after all- I don't go killing off characters for seemingly any rhyme or reason. But in this case, I felt it had to be done. I couldn't let the heroes go unscathed, and the White Walkers need to be taken seriously as a threat.

Seems our heroes are in a dark place, after this. The crew is separated, Ezra is near death, Zeb has perished, Theon's ship and crew are lost, and now the Starbird is fleeing blindly into hyperspace. Where to? You shall find out…in the chapter after this next one. I haven't decided on what to do for the next chapter, yet, but I should by the beginning of next week. I'm thinking of either another Sloane POV or a prologue to my next arc.

The last bit was partially inspired by two things- Ragnar Lothbrok's death and Arwen's vision in the forest.

Until next time.

Chapter 27: Sloane III

More and more, Rae felt her mouth contorting into a frown. It was as if the universe was taking a liking to making her miserable.

Case in point: the latest report she was receiving from the Imperial-class Star Destroyer Admirable, which was causing her very sour day to go even sourer.

"Unfortunately, ma'am, the research base was destroyed by what appeared to be device consistent with a proton warhead," the captain of the Admirable, Rhys Cerinthus, was saying. "It seemed whatever Military Research was working on was also destroyed by whatever rebel cell caused this atrocity. Fortuitously, we managed to destroy the vessel belonging to that damned pirate and raider, the Iron Fist."

"The Remembrance is gone?" Rae asked, perking up at this tidbit. For far too long, now, the mysterious 'Iron-Fist' had been raiding their convoys and leaving a trail of broken ships in his wake, costing the Empire no small amount of coin and supplies- supplies that could have been used for their men right now.

She'd have to pull out a glass, later. Good riddance to particularly bad rubbish, she'd say. But celebrations could wait. And besides, there was still that matter of that bloody butcher, the Grey Wolf, to contend with.

"Indeed, ma'am. It stands to reason the Iron Fist was responsible for the destruction of our base. I wonder how he managed to acquire that information? Only a select few even knew about this place…the one you call 'Valaryos', ma'am," Cerinthus informed her.

"That's a concern for the ISB, captain, not us," she waved off, but inwardly she could feel a pit forming in her stomach. While it was true that whoever oversaw the project's security would be the one to answer for their failure to Lord Vader or Grand Moff Tarkin, she could not help but worry that the higher-ups would also find a way to blame her for the loss of such an important installation.

Her throat tightened somewhat. It was as if she could already feel the invisible talons of Vader's grip tightening around her throat.

"I certainly hope so, ma'am," the captain responded. "That concludes my report." He said as he saluted her.

"Very well, captain." She returned the salute, and only a few seconds later the transmission was terminated from the other end. She leaned back in her chair and sighed, rubbing her temples for what seemed to be the millionth time this month. It had been over a month and a half, already, and she was still no closer to finding and destroying either major threat posed to the Empire. It was like they were playing a game of cat and mouse, each one avoiding the other, monitoring and waiting.

And here she thought that it would be a different war than the one with the damned rebellion.

Her desk comm went off. "Permission to enter, ma'am?" a familiar, gruff voice asked.

She felt her face relaxing. "Permission granted, captain."

The door opened, and Gordon stepped through, carrying in his hands a datapad. As the door slid shut behind him, he regarded Rae with a sympathetic expression. "You haven't been sleeping much, have you, ma'am?" he observed.

The younger of the two suppressed a yawn. "What gave it away, Uthbar?" she rhetorically asked him, rubbing her eyes to get the cobwebs out.

"Just a hunch," he answered with a hint of dry humor, which caused her to smile. She beckoned him to sit down in front of her desk. He obliged her, and as soon as he did, he handed her the datapad.

She quirked an eyebrow in mild surprise and confusion, as she picked up the datapad. "And this is…?"

"The digital copy of the book you were reading on Csilla," Gordon informed her. "The one about that strange planet, Valaryos. Seems like Aristocra Formbi was feeling generous and ordered his people to prepare and send a copy to you."

Her eyes glazed over the datapad, the screen begging for her to touch it and reveal its hidden secrets. She looked at Gordon. "Did the Aristocra mention any reason?"

Gordon shook his head. "None as I can tell. Maybe it's because you were a good guest to them and didn't act like a typical Core Worlder."

"Ah. So, they appreciate me not waltzing in there like I owned the place," she joked. "Perhaps there is something to being humble, after all," she deadpanned as she looked at the datapad again before a thought hit her. "Captain Uthbar, may I ask you something?"

"What is it, ma'am?" he asked as he sat up a little straighter, giving his commanding officer his full undivided attention.

She paused for a moment. How should she word this? She often heard those preaching in the Church of the Force that the mystical, otherworldly…thing…had a plan and purpose for everyone and everything. She could not see it, however. She had agency, after all, and so did the quadrillions of beings who inhabited the galaxy. What was the point of free will if you had something over your head that had already planned everything out for you?

She sighed. Might as well get this over with. "Do you think that it may be possible that we're being…pulled or pushed towards something?"

Gordon's mustache twitched, as he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "I'm not sure I follow, ma'am."

She folded her palms before her. "I'm asking if you believe in such a thing as fate or destiny."

Gordon appeared to think for a moment, before giving a reply. "Well, ma'am, I believe in concepts such as honor, duty, justice, and truth. I believe that there is some higher being that created everything in this universe and let it be. I even believe in love…shocking as that may seem. But…I do not believe that there is some nebulous force controlling everything we do and setting our paths in stone," he gave her his honest answer. He paused for a moment then asked, "Why are you asking?"

"I… don't know. I can't explain it, Gordon, but it's like I was meant to find that book. Ever since that day in that castle on Valaryos, things have been getting weirder and weirder for me. First, it was that strange statue in the tomb. Then, it's this book, which gave me a name for that statue. Robb Stark," she told him, trying to let it sink in, intentionally leaving out the parts about seeing a three-eyed raven or hearing voices. She certainly did not need her crew to think that she was possibly schizophrenic, after all.

Almost as if on cue, she heard the voice again in her head, no less commanding and urgent than it had been the last two times.

You must find the Promised Prince, Rae Sloane. You must find Azor Ahai.

"Maybe it's all just a coincidence," Gordon offered, though, by the sound of his voice, Rae knew that her old friend was having trouble believing that, himself. "Although, the fact that this book apparently answered most of our questions about that planet is a bit…odd, though we don't really know what caused the people on it to disappear."

"Really wish we still had our research base, there," she grumbled. "Anything new would come in handy right about now. Especially regarding…them…" she whispered that last part as if merely mentioning them would bring that monstrosity, the Night King, and his hordes of undead down upon them in an instant.

So far, the only ones who truly knew about this threat were Lord Vader, the Emperor, the Grand Inquisitor, HIGHCOM, Gordon, and herself, and out of all of those, she wasn't too sure that Lord Vader, Governor Tarkin, or the Emperor took it seriously enough, instead being preoccupied with the Rebellion and Krennic's little project. Really, the only ones she thought were taking this threat with the appropriate sense of direness were the Grand Admiral, Gordon, Malleus, and herself. She resisted the urge to grit her teeth. This war she was fighting was far, far more important than the one with the Rebellion, and all her higher-ups saw fit to give her was one systems fleet.

One. Fleet.

And she was going up against the entire might of every barbarian tribe in the Unknown Regions. She would be outnumbered by at least a hundred to one, if not more. She did not know the lay of this region of space; they did. And what was worse, these Vong and other groups were not the disorganized, feuding tribal fiefdoms they were in the millennia since the devastating Vong War.

No, these tribes…these 'Free Folk', as the latest intelligence reports were suggesting that they were calling themselves, now…they were different. They had formed one army, united behind one leader, with one purpose.

She then suddenly had a horrid realization; the galaxy was not united. Not truly. Everyone in the galaxy proper wanted something different- the Rebels wanted to overthrow the government, Tarkin wanted to cow everyone into prostrating before the Emperor, and the Hutts just wanted to extort everyone like the slimy slugs they were. There was no real unity, no real sense of purpose, and everyone was at each other's throats.

She remembered some of the more…ambitious Moffs and officers she had met in her time in service. Men and women like Admiral Motti and Moff Pryce- people with an unquenchable thirst for power. If Palpatine, gods forbid, were to ever die without leaving an heir to the throne…

She steeled herself. No. Vader's iron wrath would keep them in line, she was sure of it. The stability of the Empire must be maintained, after all. Even the most craven and power-hungry of that lot would think twice before upsetting the apple cart that was Imperial law and order.

Would they?

"If wishes were fishes, ma'am, we'd all have a fry," Gordon quipped. "Regardless, we'll make do, especially with you leading us. We always have, after all."

She shook her head. "Not if the men are running on empty stomachs, or if our ships are out of fuel," she argued, punching in a few keys on her desk and bringing a miniature hologram to life, showing Gordon the status of the fleet. "We've been out here for nearly two months, now, captain, and as you can see, we are amber in all statuses across the fleet. In another two months, we're going to have to hightail it back to Ord Mantell for food, water, and fuel, and by the rate, we're successfully finding these 'Free Folk'…" she stopped ranting for the moment. "We need to find a suitable planet to act as a forward operating base. Somewhere close to known space, yet something far enough ahead that we can respond immediately to any report. We can even set up COPs on multiple other worlds away from our forward base."

"Aye, we can have our scouts locate a suitable location, with plenty of natural resources and no native population. Should be easy enough, but, then again, ma'am, we both know the saying about the best-laid plans of men..." Gordon wryly commented. "I'll pass down the word effective immediately, ma'am. As soon as one of our scouts finds something, I'll relay it to you."

She smiled. "Thank you, Captain. Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without you."

"Retire at an early age?" he joked. "Ah, I better head back to the bridge. Doubtless that the XO is getting tired of babysitting the rest of the bridge crew." He stood up in the position of attention and saluted her.

"Carry on, captain," she dismissed him as she returned the salute, and upon the cessation he did an about face and walked out the door, leaving Rae alone to her thoughts once more.

She picked up the datapad on her desk, giving it a good look over. It was a simple thing, unassuming, not much different than your standard datapad manufactured by one of the many tech conglomerates in the Core Worlds, but Rae knew differently.

This datapad held the long-lost secrets of a culture lost to the sands of time, secrets that could now well prove useful in the great war still to come.

She reached out to touch the pad, hesitating for a moment. Should she open it? Would whatever was contained in there truly help her defeat this great enemy?

She made her decision and activated the datapad. Almost immediately, the screen came to life, and a digitalized cover of The Histories of the Peoples of Valaryos greeted her, completed with a table of contents and a seven-pointed star.

She racked her brain going through the contents. What could possibly help her? She decided to settle on the one section that seemed to have the most promising lead.

The Wars for the Dawn: A History of the White Walkers and the Long Night .

She clicked on the link, and immediately the text appeared, complete with all the illustrations that were present in the original book…including ones of those hideous abominations. She began to read in earnest.

Approximately eight-and-a-half thousand years ago, the infernal demons known as the White Walkers first appeared in Westeros. For the longest time, we did not know where this foul enemy had come, only that they despised all manner of light and life, and so sought to eradicate both. It was only much later after the Second War for the Dawn did we learn that these beings were weapons- weapons created by the Children of the Forest in use for the defense of their homes and woods, only to go awry and slaughter indiscriminately. Ultimately, it matters not where they come from, nor does it matter what their leader, the Night King, was named, for, in the end, they were defeated.

The First War for the Dawn lasted nearly a generation and would have been the end of humanity were it not for a legendary figure known to the Westerosi as the Last Hero, and to those in Essos as Azor Ahai. It was this figure who aided men such as Brandon the Builder and Lann the Clever in fighting off the initial invasion of the White Walker menace, managing to turn the tide and pushing them back to the Lands of Always Winter from whence they came. How this mysterious person did this is unclear, but legends tell us that he wielded a fiery sword called Lightbringer. Some had speculated this blade to be Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne of Starfall, but know we know the truth to be quite different.

Regardless of how he defeated them, after the White Walkers were pushed back for the first time, Brandon Stark had the foresight to know that they would eventually return to complete their task, and so enlisted both men and giants to construct one of the wonders of the known world; the Wall, which stood for eight thousand years guarded by the order Brandon himself founded to protect the realm, the Night's Watch.

Before I start the Second Dawn War, dear reader, I would be remiss not to include the strategies, tactics, and weapons used to defeat the unholy menace. Firstly, the White Walkers had no love of sunlight and preferred to move under the shade of clouds or under the cover of night, with a blizzard being preferable for them. Secondly, the White Walkers and their minions could be defeated with a substance known as dragonglass, also known as obsidian, and Valyrian steel, or dragonsteel, which is an alloy made of iron, carbon, and obsidian, forged via the crucible method and with magic spells…

Rae's eyes widened at the information. There was a way to kill these creatures! Obsidian. She didn't understand the how's and why's, but there it was. She racked her brain. Well, there would be plenty of obsidian on volcanic worlds such as Sullust and Mustafar, more than enough to sufficiently equip the Imperial Army and Navy twice over and then some. Then, there was that tidbit about the White Walkers hating sunlight. It would be easy enough to create something like an ultraviolet weapon for the eggheads at Military Research, provided they tore themselves away from Project Stardust for a long enough moment, that is.

She then paused for a moment. Valyrian steel. She didn't know why, but something in her gut told her to check it out. She immediately closed the section on the White Walkers, and scrolled over to a section called "Essos". Clicking on the tab, she found herself scrolling through Asshai, Braavos, and a hundred other places and races she didn't have time to concern herself over, before coming to the subsection she needed.

Valyria.

She clicked on the tab and clicked on the heading which read "Valyrian Steel and it's Construction", and began to read, eagerly absorbing the information within.

For centuries, the art of forging the sharp, light, and strong metal alloy known as Valyrian steel was lost to the smiths and artisans of Westeros, as it was thought destroyed during the Doom of Valyria. Indeed, it was only through the efforts of Samwell Tarly and Gendry Baratheon that we rediscovered the secret to forging these dark steel blades, which look smoky in the right light and can cut through most of anything. Truly, these blades can even withstand the blow of a White Walker's ice-glaive, which has been known to shatter regular steel weapons with frightening ease.

Rae paused at that. Dark steel blades that can stand up to most of anything? Where had she seen that before? She vaguely recalled that the Mandalorians had something similar- an alloy called beskar that could resist the blows of lightsabers, and protect against even direct fire from all but the heaviest of weaponry. Could these two alloys be similar or even the same? It was possible, she mused, though one of the Supercommandos that had worked with her in the past had admitted to her that no one in Mandalorian space knew how to fresh forge beskar- they only knew how to reforge it for each generation of warriors to wear.

She yawned again and looked at her chronometer. Damn, was it 2300 already? Gordon was right; she really did need to get some sleep. She rose up from her desk, stretched, and made way to her sleeping quarters in the back.

---

Rae found herself walking in some sort of throne room.

While it wasn't as spacious as the throne room in the palace on Coruscant, it was certainly no less grand or awe-inspiring. Tall, imposing pillars of granite and alabaster held up the structure, the bottoms graced with enclosing braziers that held fire that seemed to burn eternally. On the stone walls, there were large, stained glass windows, each one dedicated to some sort of god, as far as she could tell. All that, though, paled in comparison to what she saw before her.

It sat on a dais made of black onyx, before the largest window in this throne room, which contained a steel inlay of the Imperial cog. The throne was ugly, ungainly, dark and sharp in appearance, and appeared to be made of dozens, if not hundreds, of melted and bent swords.

Upon the throne sat an old king, his eyes feral and golden. On his right stood a knight, encased in intimidating black armor, a red dragon emblazed on his breastplate. The breathing emanating from the knight's great-helm sounded eerie, and yet…familiar. On the left of the throne stood another man, shrouded in darkness and carrying a large war hammer.

Suddenly, without warning, the man with the war hammer picked his weapon up and swung it at the knight, striking him right in the middle of the breastplate and sending him flying backward into the shadows. The betrayer then turned and struck his king in the head, before the alarmed old man could reach for his sword or flee. The force of the impact was sickening, as the hammer nearly tore the king's head off. The dead king toppled off the throne in an undignified heap, with the shadowy figure flicking off some grey matter off of one of the swords before sitting on the monstrous chair.

Rae heard a groan- a sickening crack as if something was bending and giving way. She looked up in trepidation and found the steel Imperial cog was cracking, splintering in several places. Without warning, it gave way, tearing into five pieces, and crashing all around her.

And one was about to fall right on top of her

She ducked and closed her eyes, not wanting to see the thing that would crush her. Strangely, though, it never came. When she opened her eyes and stood up, she noticed something was different, for the three figures were gone, and the scene, while still in the throne room, was vastly changed.

The ceiling of the throne room was gone, torn open and blasted by something monstrous. The marble floors, once pristine, were now dirty and covered in white snow, while a chill from the grey skies swept into the room. To Rae, it seemed as if this palace had suffered some sort of assault or orbital bombardment, and she was witnessing the aftermath. Truly, the only thing that remained was that ominous, ungainly throne.

She walked closer to it. There seemed to be something sitting on that throne, she thought. As she walked closer, she could make out what it was.

It was some sort of cat, that much she could tell, curled up into a ball and sleeping soundly. It looked to be a smaller, fluffier, and decidedly less dangerous version of a nexu, judging by the wide mouth and tan fur coat. What was this kind of feline, she wondered? Captain Brunson had told her once of Loth-cats, back when she did a stint on Lothal. Could this be one of those creatures?

Before she could reach out and touch it, the cat woke up and looked at her with curious, blue eyes.

That…was when she woke up.

Notes:

A/N: Yet another chapter is done.

Alright, I know this chapter might seem a bit like filler, but there are several key developments here that I'd say that prevents it from being such.

Now, Rae thinks she's found a way to defeat the White Walkers. Is she right to assume this? Well, we will see. Rarely are things so simple and easy in life, especially when it comes to apocalyptic threats.

Between the Walkers and this coalition calling themselves the Free Folk, Rae will have her hands full. She will be vastly outnumbered, outgunned, and in enemy territory, with almost no hope of reinforcements or resupply.

I want to hear your theories on what this dream means in the comments.

Also, a shoutout to Meldy-Arts for drawing that wonderful cover for me! Thank you, again, Mel!

Until next time, and remember, the night is dark and full of terrors.

Chapter 28: Robb VI

Summary:

The survivors head to a familiar place. Robb receives a vision. An old acquaintance makes his presence known.

They were flying blind.

Robb had lost count of how many hyperspace-jumps the Starbird had performed- all randomized, of course- in an effort to throw off any potential pursuers. Was this the third, or the fourth, he wondered absentmindedly as he stared blankly out the cockpit windows, into the blue-and-white swirl of hyperspace.

Where were they going, even? Where was their bearing?

He dimly heard the door to the loading bay slide open, and he turned in his seat to find Theon, looking tired and gaunt…even more so than usual.

Robb was silent for the moment. Really, what was there to ask him? They both knew Ezra remained in critical condition, and there remained an alarmingly high chance that he might not make it the next six hours. He also figured that Theon wouldn't have had any idea on where those wights and that White Walker came from. From what he had told him, Theon was there when Jon destroyed the Night King once and for all, breaking whatever dark hold he had on the continent and ending the scourge of the Walkers once and for all.

Well…maybe not 'once and for all', which brought him back to his previous line of thought- how'd the White Walkers return, and was this just some freak incident? He needed answers, that much was clear, and right now, he didn't have any way to communicate with the one person who could help him the most, right now.

He sighed. "Any updates?"

Theon shook his head, the grey hair waving back and forth like some sort of old mop. "Ezra's still in pretty bad shape, and Sabine and the wolves absolutely refuse to leave his side. Rau's watching over them, right now…" he trailed off a bit. "Did…did Zeb say anything to you before…"

Robb nodded wearily. "He asked me that if I saw Kallus that I should tell him that he's been forgiven by Zeb," he spoke quietly as looked down at his palm. "Theon, what am I going to tell Hera?"

His old friend sighed. "I don't know, to be honest, Robb."

Robb clenched his fist. "Seven fucking hells, this was my fucking operation," he cursed. "I promised them I would lead them safely back home, and now I have one man dead and another clinging to life," he ranted as he turned back to Theon. "What kind of leader can't protect his own, Theon? What kind of leader leads those who trust him into slaughter like that?"

"But you didn't lead them into slaughter, Robb," Theon corrected. "How could we have known it was the White Walkers who were mining at that base? By the Drowned God, Robb, I saw their destruction with my own eyes!" he stopped ranting for a moment. "Besides…we accomplished our mission, there. We found the Katana Fleet, we discovered what happened to our people, and we managed to keep a potent weapon out of the hands of our enemies."

"A bitter victory," Robb observed. "Maybe I'm not cut out for this, Theon. I've thought I've learned my lesson after the Red Wedding. Apparently not," he blithely remarked. Why was it every time he leads men into war, all he did was lead them into disaster? Was he fated to be a harbinger of death and destruction- no more than a bad omen for those close to him?

"You're a much better leader than I am, that's for sure," Theon retorted, a tired expression on his face. "I just lost my entire crew, and I was their captain for years, now." He looked at the navicomputer and sighed. "Still about half an hour out from our destination, I see."

"And what is our destination, Theon?" Robb questioned, spinning around in his seat to fully face him.

"For now, somewhere near Chalacta," he confirmed. "After that, who the fuck knows? It will take far too long to get to Yavin Four, given Ezra's condition, and I'd rather not head anywhere near Mandalorian Space, even if Sabine has family there. They might shoot us down on site just for associating with her, and that's not counting the fact that it's controlled by the Empire and their puppets."

Robb thought for a moment. He had to admit, those were pretty good points. Then, slowly, a realization came to him. "Chalacta is near Hutt Space, correct?"

"Yeah…" Theon began, his voice unsure. "Why do you ask?"

"Arcadia," Robb propositioned. "It's only a few hours away from Chalacta, at most. Plus, we won't have to worry about the Empire possibly discovering us."

Theon quirked an eyebrow. "Are you sure about it? Last I heard, you and Duke Lund didn't exactly part on good terms."

Robb rolled his eyes. "It was a minor spat and a sprained ankle. He's not so petty as to not forgive something like that. Plus, that's got to be offset by all the shit I did for him," he sighed. "Look, regardless of Lund's animosity towards me or the lack thereof, it's the least dangerous option we have right now, which makes it the best one for saving Ezra's life. As an aside, it will give us some breathing room and time to strategize. Besides, he must still like you…" he added.

Theon grimaced, conveying to Robb that his old friend conceded the point, all without saying a word, before getting in the pilot's seat to drop them out of hyperspace and set their new coordinates. He turned back to Robb, rubbing his face before speaking.

"Hey, you need to get some sleep, Robb. You've been up for the past day and a half, now. I'll make sure we get to Arcadia. I'll advise Sabine and Rau to do the same."

Robb wanted to protest, but as he opened his mouth, he found that he had to stifle a yawn. Damn it, he hated it when Theon was right. Truthfully, he had been running on fumes for a long while, now, and his worries about Ezra's condition weren't helping matters, either. So, it was with great reluctance he finally nodded, and leaned back in his seat, letting the welcome embrace of sleep come over him.

---

Robb found himself in an alien, unfamiliar place. A room, to be more precise.

One side of the room was brightly lit, almost blindingly so, and gave a warm and cozy feeling. The other side was nearly pitch black, and all he felt from that side was cold, and a sense of existential dread. In the middle, where the light and dark met, was a mixing of the two, forming a miasmic, grey shadow, and it was in this grey maybe that he saw a very familiar being standing there, watching him with a patient, stoic face.

His brother.

Robb looked around before speaking to him. "I take it since you're here that this isn't really a dream, is it?" he asked Bran, who shook his head knowingly.

"No," was his little brother-turned-god's answer.

"So…" Robb questioned further. "What is it?"

He had not noticed before, but upon looking at Bran again, he noticed that he was carrying a staff, or mayhaps it was a walking stick.

"This place," Bran began, "is a manifestation of the cosmic and living entity that mortals know as the Force. The Light, the Dark, and the Middle. What you see is the Force if it was in its optimum state. Balanced between the forces of order and harmony, and chaos and entropy. This…" he tapped his staff, and immediately the darkness in the room bolted out almost all the light save for a tiny sliver, and now to Robb, Bran appeared severe and cold, his visage one of indifferent malevolence. "…is the state of the Force currently. Palpatine's schemes and Vader's betrayal have seen to it that the galaxy has been thrown into a state of chaos, fear, and slaughter. It is a state of unbalance that will lead the galaxy to disaster, not unless the prince that was promised restores it."

Robb squinted at his brother. "Bran…what are you getting at?" Then, realization struck him. "You knew? You knew they had come back?"

Bran nodded, and as the light was restored to its respective half, Robb felt a cold fury build up inside him. "Why?" he asked, as his teeth became clenched.

"Speak plainly, Robb." Bran drolled, and not for the first time Robb noted that Bran was…distant…

"Why did you not tell me, for one?" he finally erupted, sweeping his hands around for effect, as his voice echoed around the room as if it were a cave. "Why did you not help us on Valaryos?"

"Because it's not my place," the three-eyed raven answered simply.

Robb's nostrils flared. "Not your place? Bullshit. There are people dying by the hand of the Empire every single day! The White Walkers are returning, and yet you don't lift a finger to stop it!"

Bran regarded him coolly. "The mortal races can handle their own problems, Robb. Yes, I will not lift a finger to help them directly. We gods cannot watch over you like you are children in need of their parents."

Robb's nostrils flared. "We gods? Have you forgotten what you once were, Brandon Stark? Have you forgotten what you once were?" he snorted. "You're so powerful and mighty, yet while the galaxy suffers, you retreat into this nexus and hide like a craven wretch, brother. Maybe you're right. Maybe we don't need gods like you after all.

Suddenly, the ground shook and wobbled beneath Robb's feet. The light and the dark gave way, and the room was filled with hot, burning blue fire, and as Robb now looked upon Bran, he saw his visage had become one of a truly great and powerful deity, awe-inspiring and terrifying in equal measure.

"I will NOT be called a coward by the likes of you, Robb!" Bran yelled, his voice going far deeper than any normal man's, echoing around the room, as if he were not speaking with one voice, but ten thousand. "You have no utter idea of what it's like to see humanity and the other races repeat their same mistakes time and time again! You haven't an inkling of what would happen if I released my power upon this galaxy! I have seen civilizations rise and fall, empires come and go! All eternity to me is now but a pinprick of existence. I am past, present, and future. I am the light and the dark, the alpha and the omega! I am the BENDU!"

The blue fire subsided, and soon the room returned to its natural state, as Bran appeared to calm down, and his visage returned to that of a young man, one that was now worn by time and responsibility.

"I cannot help you…not directly..." Bran spoke again, though this time his voice was much quieter and tired as if he truly had a great burden on his shoulders. "If I were to release my full power upon whom I wished, no matter how pure my intentions, it would invite terrible consequences for the galaxy. I can only guide you in the right direction, Robb. That's all any of us immortals can do," he sighed. "I haven't been Bran Stark for a long, long time, brother. Neither have I been Brynden Rivers, either, for an age longer. Only the raven remains, only the raven," he muttered. "But…you were not brought here to hear me bore you with regrets. Humor me, brother. I sense your worry. It hangs about you like an albatross."

It was Robb's turn to sigh. "I have succeeded against my enemies, but I lost a good friend and brother in the process. We retrieved the Katana Fleet, but Zeb is gone, and Ezra might follow him to the grave if we don't help him in time. And…and I'm worried about Hera." He finally admitted.

Bran quirked an eyebrow. "Curious. Why would you worry about her?"

"Because her adopted son is badly injured, for one," Robb counted off. "One of her crew members is dead, and her planned operation for Lothal was shitcanned. Not to mention that Chopper Base is gone, and on top of that, she's pregnant," he confessed. "Kanan and she are going to have a child."

"Ah," Bran nodded sagely. "So you are afraid that the stress combined will take its toll, and cause her to miscarry the child?"

Robb nodded, wordlessly, and stared at the floor. He was immediately greeted by a sharp rap upside the head from Bran with his staff.

"Do you think so poorly of your friends?" Bran admonished him. "She is far stronger than you give her credit for. If she was not, she would not have risen to be such a leader of men, now, would she?"

Robb raised his head, still rubbing the spot that Bran had hit. He had to admit…his brother was right.

As always.

He had not given credit to Hera where it was due. She had grown up nearly all her life fighting the Empire, experiencing all the hardship and loss that went with it. If she could bounce back from all that, then perhaps there was hope for her and her child yet.

"Thank you, Bran," he thanked his younger brother-turned-living god. "And I'm sorry that I snapped at you."

"Likewise, Robb," Bran returned. "Now, off with you. You have a journey to complete, and I have a message to deliver. Worry not, brother, for your role in the wars to come will be made clear, in due time. Fare thee well, brother!"

And with that, Bran disappeared, and Robb felt himself being pulled back from this section of reality into his own…

---

"Robb!"

He awoke with a start and looked around. Making sure he was back in the Starbird after getting the cobwebs out of his vision, he turned to Theon, who pointed out the cockpit's transperisteel windows.

"We're here."

He looked out the viewport to see that the swirling blues and whites of hyperspace had been replaced by the black of real space, punctured as it was by the endless white sea of stares, and crossed by the distant cerulean of the galactic band. In the distance, he spotted the system's primary star; a white dwarf that was still burning strong despite being a few ten million years away from the end of its lifecycle. Closer to them, right within the reach of the star's habitable zone was a planet, covered in green and tan continents and cobalt oceans, with a few cities being visible even from this distance, the largest of which taking up an entire small peninsula on the northern hemisphere.

This…was Arcadia, once known as the old Hutt homeworld of Varl before it's conquest by Arcus Beniko and his followers, the remnants of the old Sith Empire.

"Hard to believe it's been years since either of us have been here." Theon was wistfully reminiscing, as he steered the ship on an approach vector towards the planet's capital city, Lanopolis. "Wonder what Duke Lund will say about me losing that ship he lent me?"

"Well, knowing that old boar, he'd probably have considered your hands payment enough," Robb snarked as they flew closer and closer to the planet. By now, they could make out the various Golan III Orbital Defense Platforms and Super-class Magnetic Accelerator Cannons that compromised the first line of Arcadia's defense system, as well as the varied capital ships that compromised the Arcadian Home Defense Fleet.

There was a reason this planet was called The Shield of Nal Hutta, after all. Several reasons, actually...

"Hmmm…" Theon observed as they came in closer. "Security seems a bit tighter around here than what it normally is. I don't ever recall seeing this many ships from the Home Fleet deployed, and in a defensive posture, at that."

"Maybe it's something to do with the assassination of that one general. What was his name? Eurydamas?" Robb opined, but before they could continue their conversation any further, they were hailed on the ships all-channel frequency.

"Unidentified starcraft, this is the Aggressor-class Destroyer RAS Basilio. State your name or callsign and present business, or turn around. This is your first and only warning. We have been authorized to use deadly force if you fail to comply."

Robb and Theon shared a look. He didn't remember the Arcadian Royal Military being this on edge, before. It was almost as if there were preparations for a war going on, but against whom, and for what reason?

Deciding that he didn't want to die today, given Ezra's grave condition and the fact that the tone in the communication officer's voice brokered absolutely no dissent, Robb keyed into the comm, hoping beyond hope this would work.

"RAS Basilio, this is Wolf-One-Actual. Be advised, we have one WIA onboard, condition Alpha. Requesting permission to land at Heraclius Memorial, over."

The communications officer aboard the Basilio immediately responded, and as the Starbird drew even closer to Arcadia, Robb could make out the two massive accelerator cannons that made up the destroyer's primary armament.

Fighters and long-range firepower, Robb thought. That is the core of Arcadian naval doctrine.

"Wolf-One-Actual, this is RAS Basilio. Our fighters will escort you in. Follow your present course, over."

"Copy, Basilio," Robb responded, "Wolf-One-Actual, out."

After closing the intercom, the two Westerosi breathed a sigh of relief that neither of them knew they had been holding in. It seemed at least his old codename still worked, but a part of Robb wondered if something else was afoot, here.

Immediately to their right and to their left, two Z-95Cs took up escort positions, steering them towards the capital city of Lanopolis. As they broke through the planet's atmosphere, and the capital came into view, Robb was immediately reminded how vast and how striking the city was.

In the distance, he could already spot the famous, six-hundred-kilometer long and hundred meter high wall that stretched from coast to coast on the Thessalonian Penisula, and beyond that, the massive city of Lanopolis, resplendent with high rises in the industrial and financial sectors, to the golden domes and ancient-inspired architecture of the market and residential districts. Getting even closer to the hospital, he could make out the Royal Palace at the far end, as well as the Great Circuit and the Grand Basilica of the Triarchy. What he couldn't see, of course, was the Ministry of Intelligence, due to being, well, obscure…

"Alright, we're here," Theon spoke quietly, and Robb saw the emergency landing pad at the hospital…with an EMS team already on standby. He keyed the intercom.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we're here," he spoke into the ship's internal speakers. "Sabine, Fenn, get Ezra on that gurney and prepare for handoff."

A long silence passed, before a barely audible "roger" was given over the comm.

The Starbird landed, as gracefully as ever, and upon immediately opening the landing ramp, everyone rushed out, Sabine and Rau bringing out a still-comatose Ezra strapped onto the gurney, looking unnaturally pale. The medical team ran up to them, took one look at the comatose, amputated man on the gurney, and looked at them with a sense of alertness.

"We'll take it from here, sir," the lead paramedic told Robb, but as the team was reaching for the gurney, Sabine stepped in front of them.

By the Old Gods and the new, not fucking now!

"I'm going with him," she said flatly and fixed them with a defiant stare in her eyes. To the head paramedic's credit, however, he did not wither, instead cooly and professionally meeting her gaze with his own.

"Ma'am, I understand your concern for this boy, but we need to get him to ICU, asap. I'd appreciate it if you moved out of the way."

Robb prayed for Sabine not to do anything stupid, but to his relief, she just glared at the head paramedic before relenting and stepping aside, albeit reluctantly.

He approached her and laid a hand on her armored shoulder, and he could see that, when she turned to him, that she had been trying not to cry, for tears unbidden were welled up in her eyes.

"You did the right thing, Sabine," he tried his best at comforting. "Heraclius Memorial is probably the best medical center in all of Hutt Space, maybe even the entire Outer Rim." He looked at all of them. "Come, let's get to the orderly room."

---

It was a short jaunt and a couple elevator rides down to the waiting room in this wing of the hospital, where they lay in anxious wait, eager to hear if their friend would make it.

As he was sitting in one of the seats, watching his Mandalorian almost-sister stalk back and forth like a hungry wolf- which was ironic, considering that they had also brought the two direwolves into the building who, despite behaving nicely, were causing no small amount of concern with the other people in the room- he felt a tap on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, sir?" a feminine voice called to him. He turned around to see a young Sith'ari nurse behind him, her black hair tied up in a neat bun whilst her crimson skin shone in the bright white lights of the hospital. "The head of the ICU would like to see you in his office."

Absentmindedly, Robb found his hand straying towards his sidearm, as he was not allowed to bring in either his long arm or his sword. "Any reason?" he asked the nurse.

She just stared at him blankly and spoke to him in a voice that brokered no dissent, "I just do what I'm told, sir. Now please, follow me." Without another word, she turned on her heel and began to walk off, expecting to follow her.

Not wanting to offend their hosts, but still wary of any trickery, he got up out of his seat and followed her, grabbing Theon along the way while telling Rau and Sabine to remain in the orderly room with the wolves.

As they followed her, the strange feeling Robb was getting was coming back, tenfold this time. So far, not one of the nurses has even so much as mentioned a possible statement of charges. Since Ezra was in intensive care, and possibly getting cybernetic limbs, he did not think he could afford that kind of expense.

All in all, this was very strange, and it was making him feel uneasy.

They turned the corner, right into an open doorway, which turned out to be a rather spacious office. As the nurse left them, Robb saw the head doctor of the ICU sitting at his desk, his hands folded and a friendly smile on his face, while in the back a rather large, mysterious figure had it's back turned, cloaked with a raincoat that blended into the night sky outside.

"You…wanted to see us, doctor?" Robb began as he stepped further into the office, checking for any tricks or traps that might be hidden.

"Ah, yes. Indeed, yes," the doctor responded. "I think you'll be pleased to know, Grey Wolf, that all of the patient's medical expenses have been fully covered. You will not see a single credit deducted out of your account," he exclaimed and waved his hands for effect. "You'll also be pleased to know that we are currently measuring him for the best cybernetic prosthetics we can offer and that he's been transferred into a bacta tank. He lost a lot of blood and remains, for now, in a shock-induced coma, but he's stable. With skill and some luck, he should make a full recovery."

"That's…that's wonderful news!" Theon sputtered, all the while looking at the figure in the back. There was something about the shadow that was familiar to Robb…

"You mentioned that his expenses have been paid," Robb interrupted. "By who, exactly, do we owe this patronage?"

"That would be me," the shadow finally spoke up, and it all clicked for Robb.

He knew that voice. He fucking knew it.

As if to only confirm his thoughts, the shadow turned around and dropped his hood. The being was a male Gamorrean, rather tall for his species, and rather thin, too, although still somewhat husky by human standards. His brilliant red hair was greying, and the two tusks in his mouth were worn and old. One might still mistakenly assume this Gamorrean to be like most of his species; dull and hyper-aggressive. They would have quickly found out this old boar was anything but, if they ever saw the dagger coming, that was.

"Hello, Stark," Duke Thrakas Lund, Arcadian Minister of Intelligence and the true right-hand man to King Lysandus Beniko greeted drooly in that gruff, baritone voice of his. "It's been far too fucking long."

Notes:

A/N: Yeesh…that took much longer than I was expecting. But then again, I moved into a new apartment, so, eh. Priorities, priorities…

And here is where we introduce my OC faction, the Kingdom of Arcadia, based upon the Eastern Roman/Byzantine Empire of Medieval fame. There were several reasons why I wanted to do this, primary among them that it never made much sense to me that the Hutts were able to keep out both the Republic and the Empire out of their space just by trade and illicit activities alone, and mercenary companies in this universe aren't the most…reliable…

Now, because Arcadia is built upon the ruins of Varl, this has caused some tensions in the past and is an underlying wound in their relationship.

Also, to avoid confusion, I have changed the name of the Sith species to Sith'ari. They aren't extinct in this story like they are in the Legends/Canon universe, and together along with the human population of Arcadia, make up the last remnant of the old Sith Empire.

Now, who is Bran delivering a message to? Time will tell.

Till the next!

Chapter 29: The Phoenix and the Wolf

Summary:

Sabine must admit her feelings. Ezra travels through strange realms. Robb and Theon run into an old employer.

Notes:

A/N: I usually don't put an author's note at the top of my story, but there is a good reason for this. This is going to be the first, and hopefully only, two-POV chapter to my story. The reason why will become apparently clear given time.

Now, on with the show…

The worry ate at her.

It ate at her like buzzards over a roadside kill; picking away at her core until nothing remained but fear and trepidation.

Manda above, she should be with him, right now! Her best friend, her surrogate brother, her…he was being operated on by total strangers, people who didn't know him like she did.

Care for him like she did.

As she continued to pace back and forth, she failed to notice Theon and Robb leave without a word, trailing a nurse that summoned them to the head doctor's office. All she could think about was Ezra on an operating table.

Would they be able to save him? Would he be a cripple for the rest of his life, or would he be forced to wear cheaply made prosthetics? Could they bring him out of his coma, and if they could, could he remember any of them? Would his personality change? It wouldn't be terribly unsurprising, she worriedly mused. She's heard stories of warriors who became completely different people after experiences involving severe trauma. Maybe Ezra wasn't any different!

She scolded herself. Did she really have that little faith in him? He was the strongest person she knew, by far, and here she was, doubting his survival, physical or mental.

But she couldn't help it, and so she continued to pace back and forth like a frightened nexu looking anxiously for her mate, which wasn't too far off the mark.

It seemed the direwolves shared her concern, for Storm was whining at the door to the ICU, where they took Ezra, anxious to be with his master, while Runi watched her mistress with a grave, worried look in her eyes.

Oh, how she wanted to tell her wolf that it would be alright, but it would be a lie. What if they couldn't save him? Could she ever forgive Robb? Could she ever forgive herself? How could she go back and face her family without the one man who truly believed in her at her side?

Her mind halted for a split second. She no longer thought of him as a boy.

Sure, she had noticed his change from scrawny, small youth into a lean, hardened, and taller man- she did have to stop herself from fantasizing about his abs from time to time, after all, and he had matured during his time with them, in more ways than one. But…even after all that…

She couldn't bring herself to admit it until now.

Not even after the kiss, could she admit that he was a boy no longer. The large part of her, for the longest time, had wanted to see him still as that goofy kid from Lothal with a mischievous streak a mile wide, but more and more, that part was shrinking, and being replaced by one that recognized that he was now a man, who now frowned as often as much as he smiled, who was far more mature, wise, and intelligent than he had ever had been before.

A man who she could see spending the rest of her life with.

"Sabine?" someone called out to her, though she paid the voice no mind. All she was focused on right now was Ezra and his possibilities of recovery.

"Sabine!" the voice called more sharply this time. Interrupted from her frantic musing and her pacing, she quickly turned her head to see Rau staring at her, with a concerned look plastered on his pale face.

"What?" she snapped, a little more harshly than she had intended.

"You've been pacing for the past hour, now," he pointed out.

She huffed. It's not like she had bothered noticing, and why should she? "Yeah? So, what? Ezra's in there, and they're doing manda knows what to him, and he may not even come out of that bloody coma!"

To his credit, Rau didn't retort. He didn't say anything, at first. He just sat there, a quizzical look on his face, before something finally dawned on him, as his face lit up in recognition.

"You really do care about him. Don't you?"

She glared at him. "He's my friend and brother. Of course, I care about him, just like I care about any one of my friends or family."

"I didn't mean as a friend," he stated matter-of-factly.

If it was any other time, she would have struck up an argument with him, fiery and passionate in her rebuke that he was wrong about that. But right now, she didn't want to argue with him, partly because she didn't have the energy, partly because her mind was still reeling from the death of Zeb, and partly because she didn't want to admit that he was right. So, instead, she sighed and huffed.

"I supposed it looks that way, doesn't it?" she lowered her voice and turned her head away from him while crossing her arms.

"My lady," he began, walking up to her and putting a hand on her shoulder. Seems everyone was doing that, and she didn't want it.

Well, not from them, at least.

"You have to be honest with yourself and how you feel," he said. "Right now, Bridger hovers between the world of the living and the dead. But…" he trailed off.

"But?" she repeated, now listening fully to him.

"I don't think Ezra wants to die. Sure, his parents might be waiting on the other side, but he still has a future, here. With his crew, with his Jedi master, with you. You, though…you must make it worth his while, or he will choose to be with his parents, for all eternity," he told her straight, then paused for a moment. "Does Bridger not know how much he truly means to you?" he asked.

She bit her lip. "No," she choked out. "He has no idea, as far as I can tell."

"Then you must tell him," he pressed. "My lady, only you can bring him back from the brink. He might be in a coma, true, but I reckon that on some level, he can still hear you." He let go of her shoulder. "You have to make that choice, though. You must be honest with him and yourself, or you will lose him forever, and you don't need that regret, no more than the ones you already have."

It was then that the surgeon summoned them.

---

Ezra found himself wandering.

He didn't know where he was, or when. All he could see ahead of him was darkness, which clung to him so thick and heavy that he couldn't even see his own hand in front of his face.

How'd he end up here, again? Oh, yes, that was it. That grenade knocked him unconscious.

He wondered how Sabine was doing. How were Robb and Theon and Zeb faring? Did his wolf survive the fight? Did they destroy the weapon, and whatever those creatures where? He had so many questions, and no one to answer them.

As if on cue to his thoughts, he spotted a light in the distance. It was soft, dim, but even from this distance, he could tell that it was some sort of fire. Having no other good options to turn to, he trudged himself in the way of the flame.

As he got closer, he could finally make out what type of fire it was. It was too large to be a campfire, that was certain, but on the other hand, it was far too small to be a house fire. If he had to guess, it had to be some sort of bonfire; the kind one creates when celebrating something, or when one is observing some sort of religious rite.

Or, perhaps it was a funeral pyre, and he had stumbled upon someone's memorial. Either way, it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

Getting closer, he could now see this fire was bright… very bright, and there was a beautiful woman in front of the fire, with hair as crimson as wine, clothed in red garments and speaking in a tongue he had never heard before. Her accent was foreign to his ears, yet at the same time, pleasant to hear. He noticed around her neck was a choker of some sort, beset with a red jewel, and the irises of her eyes blazed ruby.

"Āeksio, cas aōha ōños bē īlva, syt Bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys!" she beseeched the flames in that strange language of hers, and it seemed the fire seemed to respond, for at that moment, the darkness seemed to be driven away, and it was then Ezra finally found himself back on the beaches of Dragonstone. He did not fail to notice, however, that a few shadows clung to the flames.

The red woman turned to him and greeted, "Valar morghulis, Lēkia hen zokli."

"Hello…?" he greeted her with an unsure, and awkward, voice.

She chuckled. "Do not worry about being social, young master. Your ancestor wasn't exactly a paragon of social grace, himself, young Ezra Bridger."

"Wait, you knew my ancestors?" he asked her. "Who are you?"

"Yes, I did know your ancestors in life," she answered him, "and as to who I am, it is no great secret. I am Melisandre of Asshai, sworn to the Lord of Light, R'hllor. It is by his will that you were brought here, Jedi."

"R'hllor?" he asked her again. "Sorry, I'm not familiar with all of this."

"It is no fault of your own," she brushed off. "You know Rhllor by another name; that of Ashla, or the Light Side of the Force. The Grey Maybe you've met, the one they call the Bendu."

"Brandon Stark," he nodded.

"And the one we oppose you know as the Dark Side, Bogan. In my time, it was known as the Great Other, the master of cold and death. He has many champions, as you know."

"Vader, Palpatine, and the Inquisitors," he answered. "The Sith and their minions."

Melisandre chuckled. "The Sith are but pawns who fancy themselves as kings. They seek to control the darkness, understanding not that it is the Great Other who controls them, instead, twisting them into little more than playthings for his true champion. Violent and cunning, yes, but also blind to the truth."

"And what is this... truth?" he pressed, holding up his left hand, which he noticed was composed entirely of light. "Who is the darkness' true champion?"

"The first Dark Lord." She answered. "He went by many dread names in our days, but the one men know him by and feared most was the Night King. He is the leader of the White Walkers." She fixed him with a look. "The Long Night is coming, Ezra Bridger... and only the prince that was promised can bring the dawn."

"The Night King…" he repeated, ignoring the woman's words about this 'prince that was promised' "Theon mentioned something to me. He said that a man named Jon Snow killed him."

Melisandre sighed. "Yes, and no. Jon, the son of ice and fire- the second promised prince- did indeed defeat him, but he did not destroy him. Not truly." She turned back to the fire as if gazing at it. "His body was destroyed by the She-Wolf of Winterfell, but the spirit of evil was contained, sealed away in a dragonglass dagger, and buried, never to be heard from again. But the Imperials, in their arrogance and hubris, dug it up, goaded on by the servants of death."

"So…" he repeated. "Those things. The 'white walkers'. Those are his servants? What's their goal?"

She looked at him plainly. "To destroy the world of mortals, Ezra. They despise all life and light, and if you and your friends do nothing, they will succeed."

It all started to sink in for him. All his life, he had thought the Empire was the worst evil out there. Maybe it was still the worst of the more mundane evils, he supposed, but this? These things didn't care whether a man was a Rebel or Imperial. Judging by all the corpses he fought, he guessed that they were all the same to the Night King; meat for his armies.

"What must I do?" he asked.

"Melisandre shook her head. "I cannot show you your path, young Bridger. You must seek it for yourself. I can only point you in the right direction. But, I must ask you this…" she leaned in closer. "What are you prepared to sacrifice, to ensure that your galaxy remains safe and free?"

With that, she turned her back on him and towards the fire, chanting while Ezra's mind was left reeling with questions and riddles, one sticking out in his mind above all the rest.

The Long Night is coming, and only the prince that was promised can bring the dawn.

---

He looked so peaceful laying there, she thought.

Over six hours ago, the surgeon had brought them into his office. There, he told them that Ezra's surgery and limb replacement was successful and that his burns and cuts had been successfully treated with bacta, though he would always have a scar across his face, now, as well as his entire left side of his torso being left with a pale burn scar.

Normally, she would have ogled the craftsmanship of Ezra's new, cybernetic left arm and leg. A black, carbon fiber mesh covered and protected the circuitry, gears, and servos that made up the limbs, and the mesh itself was covered by doonium plating, which gave off a brilliant chrome scheme. The limbs, she was informed, would be internally warmed and matched to his body temperature, so when he grasped something, it would not feel like cold metal. Though she wished that the limbs would be covered with sythflesh- perhaps a selfish desire on her part, she admitted- she was at least grateful that Ezra could walk and fight again.

That is... if he ever woke up.

She watched his chest rise and fall, rhythmic in fashion, and found herself admiring his natural olive complexion. She thanked the manda he wasn't as deathly pale as he was earlier. Robb was right; this was a damned good hospital.

"He's a tough lad, that's for certain," an unfamiliar, gruff voice harrumphed behind her. Sabine turned around, very, very annoyed that someone would intrude, and found a rather tall, relatively thin, old Gamorrean male standing behind her, with Robb and Theon flanking him, each looking grim and wary as if they had been told some unsettling secret.

"I'm sorry…" she asked, the annoyance creeping into her voice, "but who are you?"

"Name's Thrakas Lund," he retorted in a rough manner. "Minister of Arcadian Intelligence, and the one that's bloody paying for your boyfriend's little operation," he spat, lighting a cigar and sticking it in his mouth.

Sabine felt her blood boil. Was she supposed to feel honored by his patronage? With that condescending and rude tone, not to mention is complete lack of concern for the rules of this hospital, or any hospital, for that matter…well, it wouldn't be a surprise to anyone if she wasn't feeling particularly grateful.

"I'm…thankful for your help," she spat through clenched teeth. "If you don't mind though, I'd like some alone time with him, now, please?" she asked, neglecting to add 'or I'll take my Darksaber and shove it down your gullet, I don't care who you are'.

"Was planning to leave, anyway," he shrugged. "I've got to drag these two idiots along with me, though," he said, pointing his thumb back to Robb and Theon. "I need to debrief them on a…special assignment I'm asking them to join in on."

She quirked her eyebrow. "How do I know that you're not dragging them into a trap?" she asked. Call it a hunch, but she suspected that one didn't rise to the position of head of intelligence by being a nice or honest guy.

"Because, my lady, if I had any ill intentions, you'd be dead already, or sold off to the Empire…Sabine Wren," he stated matter of factly, shocking Sabine with the use of her name. "Don't act so surprised. I knew it was you the moment you walked in here, what, with your colored armor and hair and all. The first rule of spycraft; don't stand out. The second rule: don't set a pattern," he added and then turned to the two Westerosi crewmembers. "Well, the night is still young, gents. Let's head back to the Ministry. I'll have the doctor inform you of a change in Ezra's condition." With that, he walked out the door, soon followed by Theon and Robb, the latter turning his head and giving Sabine a sympathetic look before leaving.

She found herself alone with Ezra again.

"So," she began, unsure of what she should really say, first. "Arcadia's nice. The architecture here is beautiful, and I can't wait to see their famous iconic paintings. You'd probably love the countryside more, though. It would remind you of back home. I think," she joked a little. When she saw her words had little effect, she despaired. Not being one to really give up, though, she tried a different approach. "I heard Empire Day is four months away. I know, you hate it, but I'm thinking of doing something special for your birthday. Something just for you, and me. But Life Day is coming up! I know how much you love that!" she added and then sighed. "I…don't know if you heard, but Zeb's gone. He went down fighting, though. Blew up the entire damned base in a blaze of glory," she attempted to joke, though it rang hollow in her ears. "Big purple oaf. That was just his style, though..." she finished, but when she looked at him, she saw that he still wasn't waking up.

Haar'chak!

"Ezra…" she pleaded, worming her gloved, flesh hand into his surprisingly warm, mechanical one. "I know you're in there, so please, listen to me. You need to wake up!"

Still no response.

"Ezra? Ezra!" she begged, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "You can't leave me like this. I need you by my side when I come home. I need you, period! I…" she trailed off for a moment, her fear now trying to hold her back, but it was too late. Everything that she was feeling, everything that she needed to say, to him and herself, need to be released.

And she let it fly.

"Ezra, I love you!"

---

He now found himself in a meadow, surrounded by tall, imposing mountains, and a green, living forest. He could hear the distinctive sounds of a babbling brook, and in the center of the meadow was a large weirwood tree.

He could see several people around this tree, laughing, drinking, and being merry. As he walked closer, he saw some very distinctive shapes…people whom he thought he'd never see again.

He saw his mother and father.

He couldn't believe it. Here they were, right in front of him. "Mom? Dad?" he called out, feeling tears stream down his face as he ran towards them.

"Ezra!" Mira called out back to him, and he soon found himself in her warm, familiar embrace. All these years, and he was finally seeing them, again. Not as corpses, but as real, living beings.

"My son," Ephraim greeted and put his large hand upon Ezra's shoulder. A warm, fatherly smile was plastered on his face. "You are a most welcome sight here, in the afterlife."

His mind halted. Wait, the afterlife? Was he dead?

"Dad…" he sputtered out as he embraced him in turn. "I can't believe I'm seeing you all again."

"Better believe it, kid," a familiar voice greeted, and his heart sank. He looked up from his embrace to see Zeb smirking at him, nibbling on a piece of shura fruit.

"Zeb, no…" he muttered, scarcely believing this to be real. "You can't be dead, as well."

Zeb sighed, throwing the shura fruit away. "Sorry to say, kid, but I am. That walker's sword gutted me, see? I ended up blowing up the base though, heh. You should have seen it! Fireball bigger than five gravball fields, or…so they told me once I got here," he must have seen Ezra's tears, for he looked at him straight and rebuked him. "Kid, it wasn't your fault, ya hear? It was my choice, not yours. I don't want to see you go blaming yourself like you did for Malachor. Plus, Sabine will kick your arse if you started down that path, again."

Ezra chuckled a little and wiped away a few tears, but then remembered something. "Wait, if this is the afterlife, then…"

Ephraim shook his head. "No, son. You are not dead. In a comatose state, yes, but you are not fully on this plane. You must decide, though, if you wish here to remain with us, or if you want to remain with your friends among the living."

Ezra paused at that. He wanted his parents, by the Force, he did, but…

What would happen to Kanan, to Robb? How would Hera and Chopper act?

What would become of Sabine?

"Your heart yearns for someone…" his mother observed.

Ezra sighed. His mom was always good at deciphering him. "Yeah, mom. A woman. She's a Mandalorian, and the bravest, most loyal, and the fiercest person I've ever met."

"Sabine, aye," Zeb observed. "Knew there was something going on between ya," he teased.

"Yeah, well…" he retorted. "She doesn't feel the same way I feel about her."

"Don't be too sure of that, Ez," Zeb remarked. "I've seen the way she looks at ya. Plus, heard from Theon and Robb how you two were sticking your lips together on the bridge of the Katana," he snarked. "Think about it. If Sabine didn't feel the same way, she would have let you know. Loudly."

Almost as if on cue, he heard something. It was soft, feminine, and yet ethereal as if coming from another world. It came in faintly at first, and then, rose in a crescendo, rising over the sounds of nature.

"Ezra…I love you!"

Sabine

He froze. She did love him. She…felt the same way about him that he felt about her.

He realized then and there that he could not stay in this place. He had to let the past go. The future was still in front of him.

A future he now saw himself truly sharing with Sabine, the woman he cherished.

"Go, my son," his father called to him. "She needs you more than we do. It is your future."

"And we will always be waiting for you, Ezra," His mother assured.

"Kid," Zeb called, just as Ezra felt himself leaving this plane. "May the Force be with you, always."

---

"Ezra, I love you!"

She felt the tears flow freely down her face, now, as she gripped his new cybernetic hand even tighter.

Suddenly, she felt the hand twitch, and wrap around her fingers, firmly, but not crushingly. She looked at his face and saw him weakly open his eyes. He blinked for a moment and smiled at her.

"I love you, too, Sabine."

She didn't say anything. She didn't need to. She instead cried out in joy and relief and immediately jumped on top of him-still mindful of his injuries, though- and started to kiss him, which he was all too willing to oblige. As their lips met through her tears and his soft laughter, they knew one thing that truly mattered.

No matter what happened, they would have each other, from this day, until the end of their days.

And she would have it no other way.

Notes:

A/N: Well, it took almost thirty chapters, but we're here! The moment you've all been waiting for. Sabine and Ezra have finally confessed their feelings for one another! I'm sure it's all going to be sunshine and lollipops from here on out, right?

WRONG!

Relationships, especially romantic relationships (most notably marriage), take work and will have their ups and downs. But if they communicate with and listen to one another, I think they'll be alright.

Now, what does this mean for Sabine when she finally does come home? Well, you'll see… *cue dramatic music*

The next chapter will be a Theon POV, and it is here that I will informally introduce his nemesis. Game of Thrones fans will know who I'm talking about, but for the rest of you…well, let's just call him Westeros' version of the Joker…

This next chapter will also serve to kick off the main plot point of my Arcadian Arc. Politics and intrigue abound for our heroes, and they will learn that not all enemies are fought with swords and guns, for when you play the game of thrones, you win, or you die. There is no middle ground.

Ciao.

Chapter 30: Theon III

Compared to the rest of Lanopolis, which was bright and awash in color and light, the complex which housed the Ministry of Intelligence- the Oculus- was downright dull and laconic. The Oculus was a squat, grey, and round building, designed in a shape of an all-seeing eye as seen from the air; hence the uncreative name, Theon mused. The building one saw from the air or ground, however, was only the tip of the metaphorical iceberg- most of the complex extended two kilometers underneath the ground, housing thousands of offices, departments, sub-departments, briefing rooms, quantum computers, training areas, a gymnasium, a pool, and more than a few interrogation chambers- a fact which made Theon distinctly uncomfortable…for reasons that should be obvious to those who knew him.

Currently, the three of them were walking to one of the smaller briefing rooms in Sub-Level Twelve. A man off the streets would have found it odd that there were no security guards present, but Theon knew better- the guard droids in this place were everywhere, and used pathways that the organics didn't, which were hidden from everyone but a select few. This did not consider the various traps, motion and heat detectors, cameras, voice recorders, and biometric scanners put in place everywhere.

Duke Lund was nothing if not cautious. Some would even say 'paranoid'…but then again, weren't most spooks?

"This way, gentlemen," Lund gruffly beckoned, shooing the Westerosi duo into the briefing room.

It was a small room, complete with only a couple of desks and a grand total of eight chairs. Obviously, this room was used as an impromptu debriefing chamber for the various department heads, judging by how clean and orderly it was. Theon suppressed a grimace as he and Robb took their seats. Whatever was happening must be of the utmost severity, he supposed, but why was Lund dragging them into this, when he had a literal army of spies and hackers at his beck and call?

"Right," Lund interrupted his thought process, darkening the room somewhat and turning on the holoprojector, "I suppose you two are wondering why I dragged you back into my bloody business."

"An explanation would help," Robb deadpanned. "For instance, why is the Home Fleet parked in orbit, ready to shoot at anyone who so much as looks at Arcadia funny?"

"You'll find out the reason soon enough, wolf," Lund answered, lighting yet another cigar. Theon was surprised that he wasn't dead from cancer, yet, given that the Gamorrean can smoke five of those things a day. "I take it both of you know about the assassination of General Eurydamas?" he asked them.

"Who hasn't?" Robb shot back. "It's been all over the Holonet recently. A man in charge of one of the seven elite tagmata divisions being butchered in his home isn't something that gets swept under the rug. I don't know the details, though…" he said, then asked, "Why are you asking us, though? Have there been similar murders?"

"As a matter of fact," Lund began, "yes, there have. Mostly low-level functionaries, though. Easily replaceable in the grand scheme of things, but lately there have been attempts on the lives of multiple high-level bureaucrats and local industry leaders, some of them successful."

"And who were these bureaucrats and industry moguls?" Theon asked.

"No one particularly important, except for the one key fact that ties them together," Lund informed him. "They were all vocal critics of the Hutt Council's recent actions to broaden ties with the Empire."

"So, you think that the Hutts are ordering hits on anyone opposed to the move," Robb observed while crossing his arms. "Do you have any proof, or is this just speculation on your part?"

"No proof, yet," the gruff Gamorrean admitted, "but with Eurydamas now dead, it holds a pattern. I'd have no doubt in my mind that Jabba would love nothing more than to assassinate his grace and replace him with that easily controlled twat brother of his. Mark my words, Stark, someone powerful on this side of space is trying to bring down Arcadia, and I'll not stop until I have the head of the bastard responsible sitting on a pike."

"You think it could be the Imperials ordering these assassinations?" Theon proposed. "The Emperor doesn't strike me as a man who would just ignore the vast wealth and resources generated by this region of the galaxy, and the King is no friend to Coruscant."

"I've considered it," Lund admitted, "but right now, though, I'm pursuing every possible lead. Could be the Imperials, could be the Hutts, could be both. Hell, it could be fucking Black Sun, for all I know…." he trailed off, "but I'm getting ahead of myself. Right now, we need to find the man who's been doing the murdering, and to that end, I've compiled a slideshow of forensic evidence that was taken from the scenes of his crimes. I don't think I need to remind you, two morons, that what you are about to see is, well, bloody."

With that, he clicked on the holoprojector, and before them appeared a scene painted in blood and gore.

The picture was that of a living room that was smashed nearly to pieces and covered in blood as if two animals had been ripping each other apart in it, but that's not what caught Theon's attention.

No, what caught his attention was the man tied to a saltire upside down, every inch of his body flayed, save for his hands, feet, and head.

A chill ran up Theon's spine, and a pit of dread was beginning to form in his stomach. Call it a hunch, but it reminded him of…

No, there was no way! That evil son of a bitch was dead, mauled to death by his own starving hounds. He couldn't have come back!

But you and Robb came back, didn't you, a voice inside his head reminded. Who's to say that he didn't also return?
"The method of killing looks…familiar to me," Robb commented, concentrating on the flayed man in front of him. "I take it all the victims were found like this?"

"Most of them, yes," Lund confirmed. "A few, though, were found mauled to death by some sort of canine, judging by the animal tracks, and of those, the female victims were found to have been sexually assaulted before their deaths.

The pit in Theon's stomach grew. He could almost hear his mocking, maniacal voice, now, and see that maliciously grinning face, with eyes the color of dirty chips of ice and messy hair the shade of space itself.

"Hmmm…" Robb thought out loud. "Do we have any audio recording of an assault? Voice identification would make it easier."

"Even better," Lund answered, taking a puff of smoke, "we've got video footage of what happened in Eurydamas' estate. Truth be told, very few things I've seen in my forty-odd years in intelligence work match the level of fucking depravity on that video, let alone surpass it." He then clicked a button on the little remote he used to control the projector, and the slide flipped to a recorded video. Thrakas hit 'play', and the scene began to play out.

He must have skipped ahead to where the assault had already happened, Theon deduced, for he saw Eurydamas tied to a saltire, half-naked and bleeding from cuts and bruises all over his body. He had a look of murderous, defiant fury in his old eyes, though Theon suspected that might change soon.

All around the tied up, beaten old man were mercenaries, all wielding weapons, with some wearing armor and some just plain traveling clothes…all except one, that was.

The one exception was wearing black clothing. Black long-sleeved shirt, black pants, black boots, black cloak, black everything, including his hair. As a matter of fact, the only parts of him that weren't black were his pale white skin and his pale grey eyes…and a grey, durasteel lower jaw.

No.

Theon felt his heart start to race, faster and faster. It couldn't be! He was dead! Dead! Sansa herself told him that she had fed that sadistic psychopath to his own dogs!

The voice he heard next, though, only shattered his delusions.

"So, General Eurydamas, is it?" the man said in an all too familiar, sickly sweet voice, though it was now muffled by the iron jaw. "I've heard so many wonderful tales about you, sir! Fought in the Clone Wars, became a leader of one of Arcadia's elite fighting divisions. Such an impressive resume. I guess it would have to be, though. You are a living legend, after all. Shame though, it has to end like this." Theon saw him pull out a knife- the hooked kind one uses for skinning animals. "Now, you may be wondering, what I'm about to do, and why I'm doing it. Well, for the first question, I'm going to be making you feel a lot of pain and suffering. Secondly…there is no reason…well, there is one. I enjoy this. Oh, and try not to pass out too quickly. I need you awake for every minute of this…"

At this, Theon seized up, falling over backward in his chair, and he lost sight of the known world. All he could see, and hear, and feel was that demented bastard and his sick laughter, as he also felt the tip of a knife being pressed into his skin.

Reek, reek, it rhymes with freak.

Reek, reek, it rhymes with shriek.

Reek, reek, it rhymes with meek.

Reek, reek, it rhymes with weak-

"Theon!"

A shout snapped him out of his flashbacks and torments, and he looked up to see Robb staring at him with a frightened look on his face.

"Robb…" he whispered, "it's him…"

"Him, who?" Robb asked him, touching a hand on his face. "Theon, you're whiter and colder than snow right now. Who is it?"

"Ramsay…" he admitted quietly as if speaking that monster's name out loud would summon him. "Ramsay's returned."

"Who the fuck is 'Ramsay', and how do you know him?" Lund asked, now apparently incensed. "Greyjoy, if you're hiding something…"

Theon held up his hand to interrupt him, as he was being helped up by Robb. Sitting back down, he took a few, unsteady, shaky breaths before he could get his heart rate back to normal. When he finally calmed down enough, he decided to inform Lund of everything that happened in the past.

Well, almost everything. Somehow, he got the feeling that telling the Duke that he and Robb had come from the distant past on some backwater planet wouldn't go over well.

"His name is Ramsay Bolton," he began, pointedly refusing to look at the image of the cruel bastard on the camera. "He…he was the one who tortured and emasculated me. He turned me into some pathetic little slave creature he paraded around and called 'Reek'. I thought…I thought that he was dead."

"So, that's why your hands were so jacked up when I met you," Lund realized aloud, "and also why you look like an old geezer in your thirties…and he…emasculated you? Removed your rod and stones and everything, eh?"

"Yeah, he did," Theon snapped. Did this guy have to go into the personal details? "What of it?"

"Well, as I see it, saving Arcadia will come with a side of personal revenge on your part," Lund proposed. "This madman…this 'Ramsay'…well, it sounds like you two have quite a history with him."

"You could say that, though myself notably less than Theon," Robb answered. "Which brings us me to my own question; you have a literal army of spies and hackers at your beck and call. Why are you relying on Theon and me?"

"Because, contrary to popular belief, you two were the best trackers in my service. Plus…" at this, Lund sighed and pinched his snout, "I'm afraid we have an intelligence leak. Every time we try to catch this Bolton bastard, he's given us the slip at every turn. It's like he knows we're coming; every trap we've set for him he's foiled, and every lead we pursue has turned out to be a dead end, and I also know for a fact that he's been funded by someone with incredible wealth. We catch this bastard, we find out who's been ordering him to brutalize our citizens, and who's been trying to weaken Arcadia. To that end, my sweets, I can't rely on my own men, so I'm choosing to trust you."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Theon asked him. "Ramsay is far more cunning than you give him credit for, and he doesn't need permission to torture and brutalize people. He does it for sport. It's all a sick game to him- he thinks everyone in the galaxy has the potential to be his personal plaything. The fact that he's apparently receiving compensation and manpower for this task only drives him, more. Pretty soon, he'll just start hunting down targets outside his mission parameters."

"All the more reason to catch him, then," Lund reasoned. "A psychotic cur like Bolton deserves to be put down. I'm sure you agree…" he paused for the slightest of moments, "By all the evidence my agency and the local constables have collected thus far, and if the pattern he's established holds, we have reason to believe that Ramsay's next target will be the Crown Prince."

"Alexios?" Robb asked. "I haven't seen him in a while. How's he holding up?"

"Stoic as ever, and just as, well, just," was Lund's blunt reply, "and about to get married to the wealthiest bachelorette in the kingdom. Theodora Palagis.

"That's news to me," Robb deadpanned. "When is this wedding supposed to take place?"

"About a month from now, on Life Day, actually. There are going to be attendants from all over the galaxy. Tried to convince the king that this was too lavish an expense and that his son would be too exposed to any assassins, but no. Told me that this wasn't for us, but for the people, that they needed to see their future ruling king and queen," Lund ranted, then he started to rub his chin. "Maybe…Hmmm, yes, that could work…"

"What do you have in mind?" Theon asked him.

"It's very simple," he answered, "we lure Bolton into a trap. A public outing like this? I doubt a sick fuck like him will resist the urge to make a statement."

"You're still making the mistake of underestimating him, Thrakas," Theon warned him, his voice going from quiet to loud. "You may have spent forty years in intelligence, but I know the man. He doesn't fall into traps; he lays them!"

"Hence why we have to make the bait irresistible," Lund countered, seemingly ignoring the point Theon was trying to make, "Therefore, I'm going to assign the four of you to a mission, to 'infiltrate' the wedding and the reception as guests. Ramsay shouldn't resist the lure of potentially meeting his old playmate, again…"

Wait…

What?

"What do you mean 'the four of us'…" Robb asked before trailing off. Theon saw his eyes widen as he realized what Lund was asking, and he suddenly stood up, the wolf fully awakened within his friend.

"No, absolutely not!" Robb roared at the Duke, who had an impassive look on his face. "Ezra has suffered enough bullshit this week, and so has Sabine! Not to mention the fact that you're seriously considering having my friend, here, confront the man who tortured him to the point of insanity!"

"Well, consider this a payment for your little Loth-rat's operation," Lund calmly stated, though there was a dangerous undertone to the relatively calm voice, "and yes, I am considering that. To protect Arcadia, I would sacrifice anything. Including the lot of you." The Duke then got up and made his way out the door. "You'll find your mission objectives and parameters already downloaded into your datapads. I've also taken the liberty to set the four of you up for an audience with His Grace in a week's time. I suggest you look presentable and work on your manners before then, gentlemen."

"And what of Ezra and his injuries?" Robb asked.

"He should be healed up and raring to go, by then," was Lund's answer. "Oh, and I forgot to inform you two twats that Ezra's awake. Congratulations."

With that, Lund walked out the door, indicating to both of them that they were now dismissed and expected to carry out his wishes, leaving a fuming Robb behind, and a terrified Theon.

One thing was clear to him, though.

He would not let himself be captured by that psychotic cur, again.

Not if he could help it.

---

As they left the Occulus and were returning to the Heraclius Memorial Hospital via speeder, the trip was mostly silent, until Robb decided to ask him something.

"A credit for your thoughts?"

Theon didn't respond for a bit. All he could do was replay Ramsay's most significant words to him in his head.

If you think this story has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention

"Theon?"

Theon sighed "Just worried that Lund's in way over his head this time, and that he's dragging us back into this shitshow. He's underestimating Ramsay's cunning. Did I ever tell you that bastard nearly defeated Jon in battle? He had the Stark forces on the ropes, and it would have been the end for all of us were it not for Sansa showing up with the Vale knights when she did."

"No, you didn't…" Robb confirmed. "Just how bad is he?"

"Worse than nearly any Lannister or Imperial you've come across," was his reply, "he's sadistic, bloodthirsty, and cunning. His only real weakness is his impulsivity and his arrogance, and even then, those are hard to exploit when considering his strengths in psychological and terror warfare."

"So, who do you think he's working for?" Robb asked.

"I would normally say 'himself', but as Lund pointed out, he's being too well funded and supplied for that. Someone is giving him backing, that much is clear. He couldn't have come up with the funds for an entire gaggle of mercenaries on his own, after all. He doesn't think that far ahead," he answered. "Have you called Hera, yet?"

"Haven't found the time yet," Robb confessed. "I did ask Rau if what Lund said about Ezra is true. He sent me this."

Robb typed something into his datapad and handed it to Theon. Upon taking it, Theon found a heartwarming picture.

He saw Ezra on his hospital bed fast asleep, a beatific smile plastered on his face. Cuddled in his now cybernetic left arm was an equally sleepy Sabine, and around the foot of the bed, the two direwolf pups were curled sound asleep.

"Rau told me that Sabine and Ezra had confessed to each other when he woke up," Robb informed him upon taking the pad back. "Bout time they did, too. I couldn't stand one more minute of the romantic tension between the two."

"Did Sabine mind that particular invasion of their privacy?" Theon asked.

"It was after they had admitted that they loved each other did he walk in the door, and he had asked permission to come in, or so he told me, so, no," Robb clarified. "Still though, this will present…complications for both of them."

"You mean with Sabine returning to potentially lead her people," Theon realized.

"Aye," Robb nodded, "if the Mandalorians hear she is pledged to someone else, the offer of a marriage alliance will be off the table, something that might be crucially needed, and if they hear that a Jedi is her consort…"

"They'll flat out refuse or worse, side with the Empire…that is if they don't hang her for a myriad of other supposed crimes, first," Theon finished. "One thing at a time, like I've always said. Let's worry about Ramsay and whoever is behind him, first."

"Will you be ready for whenever we have to face him?" Robb asked him, and Theon grimaced. To be honest, no. He'd not expected Ramsay to return from being dog chow, after all.

"I'll have to be…" was all he answered.

He just prayed he would be when the time came.

Notes:

A/N: I'm back in the saddle again!

Yep, so…Ramsay's back!

For those who don't know, he's the biggest piece of shit that has ever graced Martin's pages. He's cunning, cruel, sadistic, and bloodthirsty, and has the impulse control of a ten-year-old. In other words, he's the Joker without any face paint.

The Arcadian arc, among other things, is going to set up Theon's storyline in general.

For those who are wondering, I based Duke Lund off of Sigismund Dijkstra from the critically acclaimed Witcher 3, and as for the Crown Prince Alexios? Well… you'll see, although you who are familiar with Game of Thrones should be familiar with whom I'm basing this guy off of. Now, as to why Lund is potentially putting the wedding at risk? I'll explain to you, later. ;)

Next chapter will be a solid Ezra chapter and will deal with his recovery from his wounds, as well as formerly introducing the King and his court himself.

Until the next time!

Chapter 31: Ezra VI

He awoke feeling something wet and sloppy on his face.

Ezra opened his eyes and found Storm happily licking away at him with his bristly tongue, still apparently quite happy that his master was awake and alive.

"Storm," he commanded, laughing as his direwolf's tongue tickled his cheek, "I'm alright, boy, but for the love of Lothal's moons, I need you to get off!"

He tried to push Storm away from his face, though he found he really didn't need to, as the direwolf apparently took the hint and jumped off the bed, still looking up at his master and happily wagging his tail, occasionally giving a joyous yip.

It was then he noticed the warm, familiar presence curled up beside him. He looked over to his left and found Sabine still fast asleep in her armor, her face pressed firmly on his chest and her left arm draped over his shoulder. He smiled, and quietly planted a kiss on her forehead.

She stirred, opening her mouth to yawn, and tired amber eyes opened to look at him.

"Morning, sleepy-head," he joked as she smiled back at him. "Seems like we overslept."

"Mmmm…" was her tired reply. "What time is it, Ez?"

"Well, let's see…" he replied, looking over the right side of the bed, and saw the sun already out and shining brightly, its white light bathing the city in its glow, "it looks like it's mid-morning, already."

"That late in the day?" she questioned, raising her head as well to look at the sun. Then she looked at the chronometer on her vambrace. "Damn. 1030 already. We slept in pretty late." She looked back at him with concern. "I hope we haven't missed your rehab appointment."

Ezra grimaced and looked at his left arm, which was now machine, carbon fiber, and metal plating. Of course, he realized. He'd have to relearn how to walk and grab things with these new limbs, not to mention that he'd also have to relearn how to use the Force through his left hand.

Sabine must have seen his face sour, for she quickly stammered out an apology. "Ezra, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

He sighed. "You're fine, Bean. I'm not upset…not at you. It just sucks, is all," he said, looking at her with an earnest expression. "Zeb's gone, I'm half a cyborg, and we can't go back to Atollon. I don't know if Hera and Kanan even made it to Yavin with the fleet," he confessed, neglecting to add that psychotic droid they had found onboard the flagship.

Come to think of it, HK and Chopper would probably hit it off great…

"I'm sure they did," Sabine offered, trying to cheer him up. "If anyone could make sure that those ships made it to Yavin, it's her.

His smile returned "True," he supposed, then his grin widened. "You know something? Technically, this is our first time sleeping together," he teased her.

She responded by playfully hitting him in the arm, followed by a mumbled "Shut up, Ez," before she leaned in for a kiss, which he happily obliged.

After what seemed like a minute of them locking lips, Sabine broke off the kiss and hopped off the bed, walking away to stretch her limbs out, right as the nurse came in.

"Mr. Bridger?" the red-skinned nurse asked him, her golden eyes scanning him once over with professional neutrality. "Good to see you up, sir. My name is Calla, and I'll be the one who will guide you through your rehabilitation procedures. How are you feeling?"

"As well as any man who's had half his limbs replaced by cybernetics," he quipped, waving his left arm while struggling to control its motions.

"You're talking and interacting with me just fine," she responded, "and you don't appear to be under any duress." She crossed her arms. "I'd like for you to try to stand for me, Mr. Bridger. If you would please try to get out of the bed…"

Sabine immediately moved to assist him as Ezra swung his legs over the hospital bed, one flesh and one machine. He stood…and wobbled, as his new leg was not yet used to supporting his weight.

His girlfriend immediately caught him, preventing from falling flat on his face. She gave him a look of sympathy and love as he struggled back to his feet, and started to take a few, unsure, tentative steps forward.

His cybernetic leg was beginning to respond better to his brain sending it commands, and soon, his footsteps became more sure and steady as he walked forward towards the nurse. Maybe he just needed to get used to the new limbs…

"Alright…" Calla said while nodding her approval, "let's see you try to walk without the support of your friend."

Ezra doubted for a moment, then looked at Sabine, who nodded to him as a signal of her absolute devotion and trust.

He gulped, and let go of Sabine, and began to walk forward again, putting one foot in front of another. Baby steps, in other words.

As he inched closer towards the nurse, he began to increase his pace and the distance between his steps. Soon enough, he had reached the nurse without assistance and felt he could walk normally. Even though his leg was now machine and metal, it was almost as if he had never lost the original. His new limbs were becoming a metaphorical part of him as much as a physical one.

Hmmm…. that was quick.

He looked down at his cybernetic hand and started to flex it. At first, the fingers acted sporadically, responding haphazardly to his unspoken neurological commands. After what seemed like several minutes of doing this, however, his fingers started to act like normal, and he soon found that he could flex, ball his fist, and move his arm just like it was one made from flesh and blood.

"Impressive," Calla complimented, "you're recovering the use of your limbs quite nicely. Now, if you'll let me check on your burn scar. Please, lift up your gown."

Ezra did as he was told, and lifted his hospital gown, allowing Calla to check out the scar on his side.

"Hmm, alright. It looks like you are all healed, Mr. Bridger. I'll just have to get the doctor's permission, and you should be cleared to go from the hospital," the nurse informed him, "and if you need a place to stay, there is a hotel a few blocks down from here."

"Fortunately for him, he's staying somewhere better than a hotel," a familiar voice said, drawing everyone's attention to the room entrance. There Robb stood, smiling brightly at Ezra and Sabine, with Theon and Rau standing slightly behind him. "Ma'am, if you'll pardon us, we'd like to speak to them in private."

Calla nodded. "Of course, sir. I'll have his release papers ready within the hour. Just press the button to summon me, and I'll see you out of here."

With that, the nurse walked out the doorway, leaving the five of them alone in the recovery room.

Robb spoke first. "I see you've made a full recovery, Ezra," he observed. "How are your new limbs, brother?"

"About as well as I can hope for," he said. "Still would have preferred my flesh and blood ones, though…" he trailed off.

And that Zeb was still with us.

Robb seemed to know what he wasn't saying, for he nodded somberly. "I know," he said, "I miss him, too. If we had just bombed that place from high orbit…" he trailed off for a moment, then sighed. "But he would want us to move forward, regardless of our regrets on the matter."

"Yeah, …he would have," Ezra agreed. A question then came to his mind. "Have you talked to Hera and Kanan?" he asked.

Robb nodded. "Aye, and it went…a bit better than I had hoped," he informed them. "They're happy that you're alive and in mostly one piece, and aggrieved by Zeb's death…" he trailed off again before speaking. "She…wasn't as angry at me as I was expecting. I'm…well, I don't know if I should be relieved that she bears no ill will towards me, or if I should bury myself in shame."

"Hera's not one to bear a grudge against anyone, Robb," Sabine reminded him as she came to stand next to Ezra, "that is…if you weren't trying to deliberately hurt her or her crew."

"Yes…" Robb agreed before a light of remembrance flickered on his face. "Ah, which reminds me, Theon and I took a little detour and brought you some new clothes, Ezra. You wear mediums, right?"

"Yep," was his reply. Theon walked forward and brought him a bag, brown and heavy. Ezra took it and opened it up to see three pairs of dark orange t-shirts, three sets of dark, naval blue cargo pants, and several pairs of fresh underwear and socks. On top of this were a pair of sturdy, brown boots

"Wow…" was all he could say. "How did you guys afford all this stuff?"

"Thank the gracious patronage of Duke Thrakas Lund, Minister of Intelligence here on Arcadia," Robb spoke, his voice suddenly going cold, "and he does not expect his service done for free."

"Sounds like we just got drafted into something," Sabine observed. "What did that guy pull us into, exactly."

Theon sighed, "You want the long version or the short version?"

"Hmmm…short and to the point, I guess," Sabine answered.

"Very well," Robb stated. "We've all been drafted by the Duke and His Grace into a top-secret assignment. We've been tasked to lure out and capture a prolific killer- a murderer from mine and Theon's past."

Ezra grimaced. "Who is this guy?" he asked.

"His name is Ramsay Bolton," Theon answered, suppressing a shudder. Ezra could only guess that Theon had a history with this 'Ramsay' guy and a bad one at that. "To say that he's a monster is…well, let's just say your average Inquisitor would be terrified of him, and rightly so."

"He Force-sensitive?" Ezra asked.

Theon shook his head. "No. But he's cruel, sadistic, and bloodthirsty. He hunts and flays people for sport, to give you a small example of some of his activities. What's more than that, though, is that he's cunning."

"How so?" Ezra asked.

"He loves to play mind games with people," Theon admitted after a moment of silence, and when he answered his voice had become quieter. "He lets you think that you've escaped him, or that you've won, only to find out that you've fallen into another one of his traps."

Now Ezra was curious. What happened to Theon that made him so terrified of this man? Before he could inquire, however, Sabine interjected.

"Alright, so this guy's bad news," she said. "But why does it involve us?"

"Lund believes that Ramsay's next target is the Crown Prince Alexios Beniko," Robb explained. "He also believes that someone is behind Ramsay's actions and that a member of the Arcadian government is leaking information to him about any operation aimed at him."

"Who would do such a thing?" Ezra asked.

"Lund isn't sure," Theon answered, "but among his prime suspects right now are the Hutts."

"The Hutts?" Sabine repeated. "Why would they want to cripple Arcadia's leadership? Arcadia protects them, ensures the Empire is kept out for the most part, and usually looks the other way when the Hutts are doing more…illicit things."

Robb looked around at them for a moment. "I assume neither of you knows that much about Arcadia's history?"

Ezra shook his head, while Sabine shrugged. "We didn't exactly go over Arcadian history in our studies back in the Academy. Too busy with other things, I suppose," she said.

"Well, suffice to say, ever since their founder, Arcus Beniko, took this planet for his own after he and his followers fled the destruction of the old Sith Empire thousands of years ago, the Hutts and Arcadians have had an intense relationship, to say the least. Complicating matters is the fact that Jabba and many members of the Hutt Council want to broaden ties with the Empire…"

"…and the king is very much opposed to that idea," Ezra finished. "So, I take it the plan is to capture Ramsay, make him reveal who's behind all this, and save the day?" He grinned, though it faltered when he saw the serious faces of both Robb and Theon. He sighed. "Alright, so it's that serious. What's the plan, then?"

"First," Robb began, "we're going to be meeting the king in a week from now. He's concerned about the safety of his son, and wants to be filled in on everything, understandably." He then looked pointedly at Ezra. "Try not to act like a thunderstruck fool, brother, when we visit the palace."

"Don't worry. I may have been a street rat and a beggar, but I'm not stupid," Ezra huffed. "Plus, my mom and dad didn't exactly teach me how to act at some king's court before they were arrested."

Robb shook his head. "I didn't say that you were stupid, did I? At any rate, Theon and I will give you the basic rundown on proper court etiquette to you, as I assume Sabine is already trained in it, right?" he asked her.

"You assume right," she confirmed. "Never cared much for it, though. At the time, I thought it took too much of my time away from my tinkering and my art."

"All the same," he reminded, "we need to be on our best behavior in front of the king and his family, which brings me up to my second point." At this point, Robb clenched his teeth. "Lund has tasked all of us to be guests at the wedding of the Crown Prince and his betrothed, Theodora Palagis. He wants to…use us as bait to lure Ramsay into a trap."

"A wedding?" Ezra repeated, not quite sure if he was hearing right.

"Bait?" Sabine snarled. "After all we've been through? After all, we've suffered, that kriffing pig wants to use us as bait for a madman?"

"He does, aye," Robb confirmed, "but Theon and I don't. We've come up with a different plan entirely."

"Something far better than what Lund plans, and hopefully won't put an entire wedding party at risk just to catch one man," Theon added.

"Ok, now I'm curious…" Ezra spoke, "What do you two have planned?"

"First…you two are going to the wedding, but not as bait," Robb explained. "You will instead be going to covertly uncover whoever is behind Ramsay's actions. Who knows, you two might have a good time there." He looked at them both. "Do either of you know how to dance, as actually dance? Formally?"

"Nope," was Ezra's reply. "Didn't have time to learn how, surviving on the streets and all."

"I'm a Mandalorian," Sabine added. "We don't do dancing."

"As I can confirm," Rau finally spoke.

Robb looked at Ezra and Sabine. "Truly? Neither of you knows how to dance?" He turned to Theon in mock horror. "By the gods, Theon, must we show these kids everything?"

Theon chuckled. "Apparently so. Fret not, my friends. We shall teach them to dance so finely it will make the Maiden herself jealous!"

"Ok, fine," Sabine huffed. "So, I take it then you two and Rau will be hitting the streets in search of this Ramsay guy?"

"More or less," Theon muttered, apparently unenthused about the situation, which made Ezra's curiosity only grow ever more.

It was at that moment that Ezra's stomach growled, loud enough for everyone to hear, and a sharp pang of hunger overtook him.

"Um…" he began, "I'd love to go over more of this plan, but right now, I'm kind of hungry."

Robb laughed. "Hah. Very well. Go ahead and get dressed, and well get out of here. There's a nice little mom and pop restaurant just a few blocks east of here. We can stop at before we head to the palace. His Grace has invited us to stay in the Royal Apartments for the duration of the month before the wedding is to take place."

---

It had been over a week now, and Ezra still couldn't get over the beauty and grandeur of Lanopolis. Once when he was seven, he had thought that Capital City on Lothal was the biggest and greatest thing in the universe…though, according to his parents, Capital City hadn't always been called that, but rather something else in the native Lothalian tongue.

Compared to Lanopolis, though…Capital City might as well be a small, backwater village, and the Royal Palace made the Imperial Administration Building look like a pauper's hovel, as he discovered.

Covered in shining gold domes and towers, constructed using white marble and granite, and protected by a thirty-meter-high wall, the Royal Palace was the pride and joy of the House Beniko, and one of the highlights of Arcadian architecture, engineering, and culture along with the Grand Basilica and the Periclean Walls that protected the city, or so Sabine had told him.

Ezra noted how large the complex was, as they were currently making their way to the Gilded Hall- the main audience chamber and throne room in the palace. There was a throne room, kitchens, dining rooms, pools, a gymnasium, apartments, and suites for the king and all his family and councilors, as well as a guest apartment for envoys and visitors of importance. Hell, there were even private shooting ranges, a bolo-ball field, and a private park…all for the pleasure of the royal family and the courtiers- though Ezra and Sabine had been allowed to use the park for their wolves.

Truthfully, Ezra never understood why someone would ever need this much stuff. All he required was food, water, a decent place to sleep, and family. He certainly had no need of palaces and servants, let alone a throne or a crown.

As they walked into the Gilded Hall, Ezra was taken aback by the grandeur of the chamber. Tall, imposing marble columns and arches supported the domed roof, painted in rich shades of gold and scarlet that gave the chamber its name, with the banner of House Beniko draped all around- a golden eagle on a dark purple field. Between the columns and arches were statues placed in alcoves. Who these statues represented, Ezra had no clue, but if he had to guess, they were of famous past kings and queens of Arcadia, like the one in the central courtyard of the first Arcadian king's mother and namesake of the city, Lana Beniko.

At the end of the hall, on a dais of marble which ascended eight steps, stood a throne carved entirely from a smooth, shiny black material that looked almost like glass to his eyes. If he had to make an educated guess, he'd assume that the throne was made from obsidian.

On that obsidian throne sat a man, clothed in fine, scarlet garments. Upon his head sat a crown, bejeweled with topaz which reflected his greying, golden hair and his sparkling golden eyes. Although this man was elderly, he in no way appeared weak. If anything, Ezra felt nothing, but strength and austerity radiate off this seemingly old man…as well as a powerful presence in the Force. Besides this elderly man sat another who looked like him, though this other man was younger- his hair was far more vibrant…and his gaze hard and unyielding. Through the Force, Ezra could tell that this man had a will of pure iron, and judging by the gold band on his head, he guessed that this must have been the Crown Prince, Alexios. Surrounding the monarch and his son was the palace guard, armed and armored in a style vaguely reminiscent of the Mandalorian beskar'gam Sabine and Fenn wore and colored in hues of bronze and cream.

"You stand before Lysandus of House Beniko, the Third of His Name," a steward greeted drolly. "King of Arcadia, Defender of the Faith, and Protector of the Realm. Who approaches the Onyx Throne?"

At this, Ezra noticed out of the corner of his eye that Robb and Theon were already on one knee, their heads bowed in respect. Not wanting to look the fool, Ezra followed suit, along with Sabine and Rau.

"It is I, your grace. Robb of House Stark," Robb spoke first, leveling his eyes at the king, "and these are my compatriots. Theon of House Greyjoy, Ezra of Clan Bridger, Fenn of Clan Rau, and Sabine of Clan Wren."

At the mention of Sabine's name, some of the guards came to rest their sword hands upon the hilts of their vibro-blades. Whomever these warriors were, they obviously knew who Sabine was, and they didn't exactly view her in a pleasant light, judging by the sudden feeling of hostility Ezra got from them.

"Ah, the infamous Grey Wolf and his compatriot, the Iron Fist," the old king spoke, his voice heavily accented and weary. "It has been long since the both of you set foot on our soil."

"Too long, your grace," Robb replied.

The king bade for them to stand, and as he did, he looked pointedly in Ezra and Sabine's direction.

"Ah, a Jedi comes into our halls," he spoke again, catching Ezra slightly off guard. "Yes, boy, I know what you are. You carry a certain walk about you that only the old order truly did. And you, girl, I know you as well," he said, turning to Sabine. "The White Phoenix, the Artist, or as my Exoristoi would say, the Traitress."

Ezra saw Sabine clench her teeth silently at the insult, and he felt nothing but pity for her.

"With all due respect, your grace," Rau spoke up, "my lady is no traitress."

"That might be so," the king spoke, "but you'll have a tough time convincing the rest of your people that you are no oath-breaker. What happened on Mandalore over five years ago has reached even my ears, Sabine Wren. That tribulation can wait, however," he said, looking at all of them. "My intelligence minister informs me that we must speak. I'd prefer to do this in private." He stood up from his throne and turned to his son. "Alexios, you shall hold court and receive any summons in my brief absence. I must speak to these five alone, my son."

Alexios nodded. "I shall do it, my lord father," he spoke with an air of brevity. Even the way this Crown Prince spoke sounded like iron to Ezra's ears, almost as if he spent half of his waking hours gritting his teeth.

Lysandus nodded to his son and sharply turned on his heel, flanked by two of the Exoristoi, and bade for the five to follow him to his private office.

After what seemed like five minutes of walking later, they finally reached the king's solar, which, contrasted with the throne room, was smaller and cozier. He took a seat at his desk, and for the first time, Ezra saw the weary old man that hid beneath the strong, dutiful mask, aged by time and the stress of running an entire nation for forty long years. The king looked at them all again, finally settling his worn yellow eyes on Robb.

"Now that we've no unwanted guests or prying ears, we can talk in private…" he sighed. "As you all well know, the life of my son and the future of my kingdom are both in grave jeopardy. Duke Lund informs me that the man who's slaughtered General Eurydamas and countless others is an old acquaintance of yours, no?"

"He speaks true, your grace," Robb answered him, "the killer's name is Ramsay Bolton, and he is a far greater threat than you probably realize, as my friend Theon could attest to."

Theon nodded. "This man is cunning, ruthless, and bloodthirsty to the extreme, your grace," he said. "You cannot underestimate the lengths he will be willing to go to get what he wants. "

"Nor will I," the king declared. "Which brings me to the next point- how do you two hope to accomplish your own tasks?"

"Simple, my king," Robb intoned. "Fenn, Theon and I will travel to the slums and the dirtier parts of the city. Ramsay's men looked like locally hired thugs, judging by what we saw in the footage. One of them will most likely be hanging out in one of the many bars and cantinas in the city, and as an add-on, we don't look or act like spooks, so we won't alarm any of them just by walking into the bar. The human intelligence aspect of Lund's organization is admirable, don't get me wrong, but Ramsay and his men are wily. We'll lure Ramsay to us, using myself and Theon as bait, and then get him to talk."

"Very well," the king agreed, then looked at Ezra and Sabine. "What of these two, though? What is their purpose."

"As Lund has informed us, your grace," Theon began, "there is a leaker among somewhere in your ranks. My best guess is someone in your intelligence community, but it could also be someone in your council. Those living in one's shadow are sometimes the least worthy of trust, after all."

"True indeed," the king mused, "but how do you propose that these two stop them?

"Simple," Robb spoke up. "Ezra and Sabine will infiltrate the wedding and gala as two wealthy and affluent foreign nobles. I haven't come up with cover names, though."

"We'll figure something out," Sabine said. "Plus, I'm genuinely curious to see how Lothalians dance," she added with a twinkle in her eye.

"Pretty well, Mando girl," Ezra teased his girlfriend back.

"Then it is decided then," the king declared, interrupting their jesting. "I will set up a liaison with them to teach them the finer points of Arcadian court life. Now, if you don't mind me, gentlemen, I must speak to my two new guests in private."

That was an unusual request, Ezra mused. What would the king want with them? Two kids, relatively speaking? Surely, he'd want to speak to Robb or Theon instead.

It turns out though, that was exactly the case, as Robb quirked his eyebrow in question, then sighed and bowed. "As your wish, your grace," he relented, then turned to Ezra as he walked out of the door with Theon and Rau in tow. "We'll be waiting in the throne room outside," he said, then left them alone in the room with Lysandus.

An awkward, tense moment passed by before the king looked at them both, or, more pointedly, at the lightsaber on Ezra's hip. "Where did you get your lightsaber, my young Jedi friend?" he asked. "It looks familiar."

Ezra unclipped Revan's lightsaber from his belt and held it up. "I found it in an old tomb along with Revan's armor and robes, your grace," he honestly spoke.

"Do you mind if I see it?" the king inquired, his eyes glazing over the lightsaber.

Hesitantly, Ezra handed over, not really wanting to part with it- as he was genuinely starting to feel a true connection to it as if the blade has always been his- but also not wanting to offend the king in any way, shape, or form. The king took the lightsaber, and, looking it over one more time, activated the blade, which sprang to life immediately. Unlike most other lightsabers, which shone in hues of sapphire, emerald, crimson, violet, or even topaz, this one was unique, for it blazed the color of dawn and fire.

The blade was a brilliant shade of orange.

He deactivated the lightsaber, running it over in his hands, musing out loud to himself. "Amazing," he whispered. "After all this time, the sword of my scion has been found…by a stranger… to this day, no one has been able to translate these runes…" He looked back up at Ezra and Sabine. "The House of Beniko is descended directly from Revan through our paternal ancestor, Theron Shan. His blood and power flow through our veins…a power that has been matched only by a certain few, young Ezra Bridger," he said, all the while never taking his curious golden eyes off the young Jedi.

"I…suppose you want the sword back, then?" Ezra asked sheepishly. "It is your ancestor's blade, after all, your grace."

Lysandus considered for a moment, then shook his head. "No," he denied, "that blade may have belonged to our ancestors, once, but it is you the sword chose. I can sense that much, at least," he said handing back the lightsaber. "Besides, I feel that you'll need that sword in the coming days, as well as you, Sabine Wren, will need your Darksaber. More importantly, however, you will need all your wits and senses, for our enemies will not face us on the battlefield, blade to blade, or facing off with guns. Whoever moves against me and my family will stick to the shadows." He gave them both a serious look. "You have both entered the great game, now, and the great game is terrifying."

"Why is that, your grace?" Sabine asked. "Why is politics so…dangerous here?"

"Politics is deadly everywhere, Lady Wren," he answered, "for when you play the game of thrones, you win…or you die. There is no middle ground."

Notes:

A/N: Well, after nearly a month, this chapter is finally done!

So, you've met the King and his son. Will we meet the rest of his family and his counsel? Who are the Exoristoi, and where do they come from? Who is this liaison that Ezra and Sabine are supposed to meet? What will Robb and Theon find in the Arcadian underworld? Who is behind the plot to unseat the king and/or kill him and his family? What is the connection between the lightsaber and Ezra? Will anyone mention the threat of the White Walkers? What do those runes say? What is Ramsay's plan?

Stay tuned to find out. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel!

Till the next!

Chapter 32: Irene I

Weddings.

Weddings were not her forte.

Ever since the marriage alliance had been announced between her stoic older brother and the frankly spoiled Theodora Palagis, the kingdom was abuzz with excitement and trepidation. Throw in the recent rising tensions with their slug benefactors and the recent string of murders terrorizing the planet…well, if someone said that everything had become hectic, it would have been close to the truth.

"My princess?"

A soft, feminine voice stirred her from her thoughts, and Irene turned from the window to look at the source of the voice; a young, copper-skinned woman with shining blue eyes and fiery red hair.

"My princess," the woman repeated, "your father and the rest of the councilors are expecting you in fifteen minutes, if I may remind you."

Irene smiled and waved. "Yes, Moreena. I haven't forgotten that my lord father requires me to listen to those old, scheming dotards, and as I recall, should you also not be there? You are my secretary, as I recall…"

Her dear friend, Moreena Krai, smiled back. "You needn't remind me, your highness. Truthfully, I was hoping at least for one day we didn't have any meetings or audiences. Frankly, we could both use a vacation."

"You speak truly, Mo," Irene chuckled, using the younger woman's nickname. "I suspect we've laid about long enough, though. Come on, let's head to the council chamber."

As the two women made their way towards the council chamber, Irene could help but wonder what would happen when her father passed on and her brother became king. Her father was a wise and fair king, loved by his people and respected by friends and foes alike. He had ruled the kingdom ably for the past forty years, over a period of mostly peace and plenty.

She wasn't a fool, of course. She knew that her father had help, particularly from Duke Lund and the rest of the councilors, and that the Hutts had remained wise enough not to go pissing off their primary source of protection, but by and large, it was by his hand that Arcadia became as rich and powerful as it had today.

Her thoughts then turned to her princely brother. Although Alexios had many of the necessary elements for being king, he lacked one vital thing in her view.

The ability to compromise.

She heard the whispers behind her back. She knew what the courtiers and lords said out of earshot, that the only one in her family that had a will of steel was her father. They said her uncle was pyrite; pretty to look at, but utterly useless when it came down to it, while Alexios was iron; hard and strong, yes, but brittle. He'd break before he bent.

As much as she loved him, she feared for the day he became king. He despised any form of corruption with his very being and saw the Hutts as the worst of the lot. Every time Jabba, Durga, or one of the other members of the Hutt Council came to their planet for a stately meeting, Alexios would always silently glare at them and grit his teeth. She was afraid that his unbending nature and extreme sense of duty and justice would drag them all into a war with the Hutts.

There was nothing quite as terrifying as a truly just man, after all.

She reflected further. Ever since their mother died all those years ago, Alexios became quite cold and stern. Not to say that he didn't feel love…far from it. He did love her and their father, after all. Duty, however, was his god. Not the Triarchy, not the Force, and certainly not passion.

A short time later, they had reached the council chamber, which was a relatively large room with a desk and twelve chairs placed in the middle of it, opening out into a balcony to the north, which gave one an excellent view of the city and the harbor.

On those twelve chairs were seated the men and women of the king's council; there was Duke Thrakas Lund, the Minister of Intelligence, sitting right next to her father, brother, and uncle to the right. To the left of him was Erik Vistula; the Lord Commander of the Exoristoi, and a sixty-year-old veteran of a thousand battles. Rounding out the rest were Belisarius Palagis, the Minister of Finance and uncle to Alexios' intended, then Peter Ceres, the Minister of War, followed by John Pallas, the Minister of Law, and the Patriarch of the Basilica, Michael, who was the seventeenth of his title. These men were next to Patricia Megara, who was the Lady Chancellor and a firm ally of her father's and Lund's, and finally, the elderly scribe known as Solomon, who was perhaps the wisest and kindest person on their council. All Irene knew of Solomon was that he was from Lothal like Moreena was and that he was of some distant relation to her family, sharing a common great-grandfather or such.

Irene took her seat at the table. Her father smiled at her.

"Ah, our late sleeper comes at last," Lund teased in that gruff tone of his. "Now that you're here, my princess, I believe that we can begin this session. Am I not correct, my Lady Chancellor?"

"Quite so, Duke Lund," Lady Patricia answered, pushing up her glasses before getting to business. "Our first order of the day is, unsurprisingly, the wedding between our crown prince and your niece, Belisarius. Specifically, how much this bloody thing is going to cost us."

"Money shouldn't be an object, Duchess Patricia," Belisarius coyly fired back, "I've been over the budget several times these past few weeks ever since the betrothal was announced. There is nothing I've found that would put us in the red if we hold this event, as big as it's going to be." He looked at the King. "And as an aside, your grace, we all well know that my brother is fronting most of the bill."

"I'm completely sure Comenius expects nothing in return," Lund sarcastically droned. Before Belisarius could return a barb, Erik spoke up.

"If we may return to the wedding, my lords," he said, his voice radiating authority the way only a Mandalorian could, "my Exoristoi will not have the manpower to completely secure this event- not if it's as big as what it is purported to become."

"The Lanopolis Constable Department might be able to help," John sighed, "but if we do that, we'd stretch ourselves thin on the streets, and especially in the slums where they're needed most."

"I can spare a few MP battalions," Peter offered. "That should be enough to secure the event while not taxing the constables. Still, though, with our recently strained relationship between Nal Hutta, I propose that our current level of military readiness be maintained. To that end, I also propose that we go ahead with the acquisition of Incom's newest fighter model, your grace?"

"You're speaking of the T-65, yes?" the king asked him. "Isn't Incom scheduled to be nationalized, though?"

"Hence why they're trying to get rid of this fighter production line," Lund speculated. "Call it a hunch, but I get the feeling that they don't want a bunch of Core-born Moffs breathing down their neck and forcing them to build Seinar's shit toys. Plus, from what my agents tell me, this so-called 'X-Wing' seems to be a decidedly superior fighter to any form of TIE out there. Gods know that we could use that kind of advantage should war come between us and Coruscant."

"Indeed," the king agreed before turning to Belisarius. "Is there any room for us to buy this fighter line and begin production and training?"

"There should be, although we'd be cutting it awful close," Belisarius warned. "In other words, after this wedding, we can afford no other lavish expense for at least another cycle."

"I'm perfectly alright with that," Alexios said.

"As am I, my son," the king nodded. "Very well. Belisarius, Peter, I hereby authorize you to complete this transaction." He looked around the room. "Now, back to the wedding…"

At this next part, Irene saw her father groan and run his hand down his face. He turned to her uncle with an exasperated look on his face. "Do you want to tell them, or should I?"

"I will, brother," Ignatius answered him nonchalantly. "Ladies and gentlemen of the council, it appears that asides from our expected Hutt guest, Durga, we are also receiving an emissary from the Empire, as well."

"Great…" Lund droned with a roll of his eyes. "And as my little piglets tell me, it isn't Tarkin, as he's declined our invitation, nor is it Thrawn, or any of the Ruling Council, so that only leaves one-person asides from the Emperor himself."

At this, a silence fell over the table, then, a suddenly enraged Michael rose to his feet.

"Absolutely not!" he roared. "I refuse to let that heretic and murderer of children profane the Basilica with his blasphemous presence!"

"No one's particularly pleased about Lord Vader showing up, Patriarch Michael," Ignatius argued. "But I argue that this is a chance for us to potentially thaw relations with the Empire. Why this might even be the beginning of a productive relationship."

"Shut it, Ignatius," Lund snapped, drawing everyone's eyes to him. "We all know that you'd love to suck Palpatine's cock if it meant increasing your wealth."

"And you, Lund, would draw Arcadia and Nal Hutta into an open conflict with the Empire if you had your way," her uncle fired back.

"All these years together, and you still fail to heed me," Lund laughed. "Warfare, my dear Ignatius, is very much a last resort, and it always breeds trouble. The trouble I'd then have to solve by other means."

"Your subtler methods would just draw us into a war, anyway!" Ignatius snapped. "They'd be traced back to us, no matter how good your agents are at covering your tracks."

"On the contrary…" Lund warned, his voice going low. "The only way that we'd be exposed is if someone was leaking it to the Empire."

Before Ignatius could protest in righteous indignation, it was at this moment that old Solomon decided to speak up.

"Regardless of our feelings on the Empire, my lords," the old man spoke, his quiet voice forcing everyone to stop talking and strain their ears to hear, "we must all do our duty, even if it means entertaining the Emperor's right hand." He seemed to look past them with those half-blind eyes of his. "And every moment we spend arguing and insulting each other only cements bitterness and division…division those who seek to do evil will exploit. The Hutts. The Empire…and worse…" he said, shaking his head. "There is something horrible on the horizon, my fellow councilmen. I feel that there will be war in our days, and soon. I do not know who will be fighting or when it will occur, but it will occur soon…" he trailed off for a moment before resuming speaking, as if recalling a distant memory. "Robb Stark told me something once. He told me that 'winter is coming'. Time is now proving him right; the great winter of our lives is indeed coming, and Force help us all if we're not prepared."

His speech silenced the council, as they were unable to come up with any real dissent to his opinion. Irene realized that he had the right of it, as always. If they did not put aside their differences and stand united against their common foes, they would be crushed.

No wonder her father always relied upon him for advice, even in his twilight years.

After a good, long moment of silence, her father finally spoke up.

"Ladies and lords of the council, this meeting is adjourned," he announced. "Go in peace."

As everyone got up to leave, her father spoke up again, this time directly aimed at her. "Not you, Irene. I want you and your secretary to stay."

Intrigued, Irene did as she was commanded, opting to move to a chair closest to her father. As soon as she sat down, her father had a pitcher of wine summoned to them via droid and poured all three a glass. He was silent for a moment, contemplating on either what to say or something else, before turning fully to face his daughter.

"Why did you have me and my secretary hang back, father?" she asked him. She knew her father, though. If he wanted her to stay, it had to be something important. He saw little use in trivialities and pranks, after all. "You wouldn't have asked me to stay if it wasn't something important."

"Indeed," he said, his voice wearier than she had ever heard it before, "it is important. Very much so…" he sighed. "Only myself, Duke Lund, and a handful of others know this, and we are about to let you in on this secret…I fear that there is a plot to assassinate your brother and that it is connected to the recent string of murders, and to these increasing tensions with the Hutts."

Irene fell silent for a moment, shocked at this news. Did someone want to assassinate Alexios? Murder her brother? Who would have the gall to do such a heinous thing?

"Do we know who the assassin is, or who sent them?" she asked her kingly father, who nodded.

"The assassin, aye, though we only have a name. He apparently goes by the name of 'Ramsay Bolton', a human male from an unknown world, though I'd argue he's more beast than human, judging by the way he…mutilates his victims," he said as he clenched his fist. "As for your second question, neither myself nor Duke Lund has an answer for that, yet. Hence why I called you and your secretary in here, alone."

Irene put two and two together. "You don't know if someone on the council is leaking information to Ramsay…" she realized.

Lysandus nodded. "Your brother suspects something, but I will not tell him yet. He is a good man, a loyal, proud, and dutiful son, but he does not understand subtly like you, Irene. Therefore, I need you for this task…you and your secretary."

"What would you ask of me, father?" she asked him. For him, for her family, and for Arcadia, she would do almost anything.

"I am at your service, your highness," Moreena confirmed, backing up her best friend.

Lysandus took a gulp of wine before continuing. "The both of you will act as a liaison to two outsiders I brought in, a Lothalian and a Mandalorian. And together, you will uncover whoever is leaking the information to our enemies and bring the traitor to justice."

"So…" Irene repeated slowly, "you want me and my secretary to assist these outsiders in finding out whoever is behind the plot to murder my brother. Why me, though, father? Why not Lund or one of his spies, or Ceres and his men?"

"Because you are my daughter," he said with an air of simple clarity and love. "Out of all my councilors, only you and Alexios have risen above the petty power plays and twisted words. Lund is a good man, but he goes too far at times for our nation, and I don't trust my own brother with anything important. You know I keep him on this council, so I and the others can keep an eye on him, right?" he sighed. "Duke Lund is correct when he says that he desires to tie himself with Coruscant. I fear that he might have struck a deal with the Emperor to remove us and install himself as his puppet king."

"And the Hutts would just accept that, your grace?" Moreena asked their king.

"Jabba will accept whatever gets him the most coin," Lysandus bit out. "If he feels that he has far more to gain from Coruscant as a servant than as an independent ruler, he will sell us out in a Kuati minute. He and the rest of our benevolent benefactors are completely lacking in morals."

"Surely you can make Jabba see reason, right, father?" Irene asked. "He must see that Palpatine has a habit of breaking his word."

"I don't know if he cares about Palpatine being a liar. He is short-sighted, to put it mildly," he said as he cupped Irene's face with a gentle, withered hand. "My daughter, I will not always be around, and the Hutts will serve as one of your brother's greatest tests when he comes into his own, if not the greatest. He and you must stick together, no matter what. You are a Beniko, the scion of Revan's blood, and most importantly, a Princess of Arcadia."

"Why are you saying this, father?" Irene asked, a chill starting to crawl up her spine.

"My twilight is near upon me," he confessed. "I may look strong, daughter, but I feel my age catching up with me. I do not know how long I have left to live, but I feel in the Force that the day will soon come when you both will have to continue on your journey without me, as I rejoin your mother in Asha's embrace."

Irene nodded, silent as her father told her this. All her life, her father had been there for her and Alexios. He was the rock upon which they stood, the strong foundation upon which their lives were built. He taught both Alexios and her about right and wrong, about how to care for their people like a shepherd cares for his flock. She couldn't imagine a life without her father to guide them through life's troubles…but then again, Alexios had just entered his thirties, and she was twenty-seven, herself.

"Pardon, your grace," Moreena asked, interrupting Irene's quiet musings, "but where are these two offworlders that we're supposed to meet?"

"Ah, yes," the king exclaimed. "They're in the guest apartments. Room 404."

"Near the top floor, father?" Irene asked the king. "They must be fairly important to you if you placed them that high."

"They are," he said. "As a matter of fact, I have a feeling those two will be more important than even they, themselves, realize."

---

As Irene made her way to the upper floors of the guest apartment, she could not help but wonder who these off-worlders were. A Mandalorian and a Lothalian? She wondered if this Mandalorian was anything like Erik and the Exorsitoi; a grim, stoic, honorable lot through and through. As for the Lothalian, if he or she was anything like Mo, then she reasoned that they'd have nothing to be concerned with. Hell, she'd probably get along with this person, whoever they are.

"Well, we're here," Mo mentioned. Sure enough, they had come to a door that read '404'. "Should we knock, or barge in?" she asked her princess.

"Let's knock," Irene answered. "I'd rather not make any wrong impressions for our guests. Doubtless, they wouldn't take kindly to someone barging in and demanding obedience," she joked.

Mo nodded, and knocked on the door. A male's voice answered, calm and serene.

"You can come in," he answered. Irene saw her best friend freeze up, as a look of shock passed over her face.

"Wait," Mo said, surprise seeping into her voice. "I know that voice… it can't be…"

The door slid open, and it revealed two humans, one male, and one female. The male had sun-kissed olive skin, short, raven-colored hair, and clear blue eyes that sparkled with mirth and temperance in equal measure.

With a mechanical left arm, she could see why.

The female- the slightly shorter of the two, had dyed hair, white at the top and becoming purple towards the ends. Her skin was tanned, and her eyes narrow and the color of warm amber. Her face spoke of a serious, fiery demeanor, and would tell a person that one should not get in her way.

The greatest surprise, and slightly concerning thing, to Irene, however, was the two large, furry wolves flanking the both of them. The fur of the closer one was as black as midnight, and its eyes shared the color of her own- gold. The farther one had tan fur, and its eyes were the color of lilacs or the background of the royal banner.

And they were both looking at Irene and Mo, judging whether these interlopers should be greeted or rejected.

"Mo?" the young man exclaimed, apparently as shocked as seeing her as she was seeing him.

"Ezra?" Moreena asked. Before Irene could ask what was going on, Moreena cried out in joy and ran up to hug him, surprising the young man and the young woman, whom Irene deduced was the Mandalorian, judging by her distinctive, colored armor.

"Gods, how you've grown, little brother!" Moreena greeted Ezra as soon as she broke off the embrace.

"It's been a long time, Mo," he greeted back. "Speaking of which, I thought you and your family were living on Alderaan, now. What happened."

Her smile faltered. "It's… a long story, Ezra. I guess your tale is even longer, though. For instance, last I remember, all your limbs were organic, your hair was longer, and you weren't carrying a lightsaber."

"You're right, it is probably longer," he laughed. "I haven't introduced you to Sabine, yet."

"Ah, the Mandalorian!" Moreena exclaimed. "Is she your friend?"

"Girlfriend, actually," he said, and the look in his eyes when he said that told Irene that the young man truly meant that. The Mandalorian came to stand right by him and put her head on his shoulder, strongly indicated that she reciprocated feelings for him.

"Ah, I see..." Mo smirked. "So, have you two been kriffing yet?"

Ezra blushed hard while the Mandalorian- Sabine- huffed. Irene shook her head.

"Moreena, need I remind you that these two are our guests? I wouldn't go antagonizing them, especially since we have a Jedi and a Mandalorian on our hands," she reminded her friend.

Moreena relented. "Apologies, my princess. I will refrain from teasing them…" she said with a mischievous look in her eye. "Mostly."

Irene sighed. "I suppose that's as much as I can hope for." She turned to Ezra and Sabine. "Forgive me for not properly introducing myself. I am Irene Beniko, daughter of King Lysandus and Princess of Arcadia."

"Your Highness," Ezra said as he and Sabine bowed. Irene observed both. The girl, she noticed, was obviously of noble blood, as she bowed with fluidity and grace. She was apparently used to such customs on Mandalore, although that could hardly be considered surprising. The Mando'ade were a very much feudal society, after all, and so observed the customs of oaths and fealty quite regularly. The boy, on the other hand…well, it was obvious that he'd never really interacted with royalty before, as his bow was rough and lacking in grace.

"Pardon, my lady," Sabine asked, "but what are you and Moreena doing here?"

"My father," Irene began, "has assigned me and my secretary to be your liaisons for your mission to capture whoever is behind Ramsay Bolton, the monster who's been terrorizing our land and plotting to kill my brother. I assume so far that just you two, Moreena, the King, Duke Lund, and myself know of this.

"Three more knows of it," Sabine corrected. "It's true that Ezra and I have been tasked with going to this wedding and catching whosever is behind Ramsay. We have three friends tasked with catching the murderer himself."

"Interesting…" Irene mused. "May I ask their names? Don't worry. I won't inform anyone if that's what you're worried about."

"Sure," Ezra shrugged. "I don't see the harm in it. They're Fenn Rau, Theon Greyjoy, and Robb Stark."

Irene's heart stopped when she heard that last name. "I'm sorry…did you say…Robb Stark? As in, the Grey Wolf?"

Ezra looked at her sideways. "Yeah…" he began, now apparently unsure if this was a good idea. "I take it you know him?"

"We've met…" Irene said, and for now, it was all she was willing to say on the matter. "It would be nice to see him again, though," she confessed.

"He's out right now," Sabine interjected. "I can leave him a message if you want."

Irene shook her head. "No, no, that's alright. I'll see him when he gets back. Doubtless, it's important, and I know how much he doesn't like to be disturbed from his work," she sighed. "So, you two are going to infiltrate the wedding. Do you have any code names to pick out? Any nice, formal clothes to go in?"

Ezra rubbed the back of his head, "To be honest…no. We don't have enough money to buy clothes, and we haven't thought up some good names, yet. Our old ones are probably familiar to everyone, by now."

"Hmmm…" Moreena said out loud, putting her finger to her lips. "Well, we could help you buy some formal clothes for the occasion, and we can teach you both how to interact with the members of the court under your aliases."

"Of course, we'll also have to help you come up with a few good aliases, as well," Irene offered.

As they spent the evening discussing their plans, right on down to all the events planned for the wedding, Irene could not help but notice the wolves stare at her…

…and utter a low growl at Moreena.

Notes:

A/N: And here is my introduction to my second POV OC, Irene.

So, we are finally introduced to the king's council, as well as the rest of his family. How did Moreena end up here? And how does Irene know Robb? That will be revealed in the chapter after this next one, where I will formally introduce Malleus as his own POV.

Yeah, my update times have slowed down these past few months, and I apologize for that. Been quite busy these past few months, honestly.

As for the obvious question hanging in the air: No. This story is not sticking with canon, as you can already tell. Will it somewhat follow what happened in the series finale? Well, I might take some ideas from it, such as the world between worlds and such, but otherwise probably not.

Oh well. Until the next time!

Chapter 33: Malleus I

All roads lead to Coruscant, or so the old saying went.

It might have been something of an exaggeration, but ever since the founding of the Old Republic, Coruscant had been the center of the galaxy in more ways than one. It was, in Malleus' view, the heart of civilization- the shining light that gave haven in a dark, dirty, and corrupt galaxy. The Sith of old did not understand this. They had thought that Coruscant was a wretched, fetid thing meant to be pulled down by brute strength and force of arms alone. Even the great Vitiate, the most powerful and successful of the Dark Lords that had come before the time of His Majesty, did not truly understand the key to bringing down the Republic and their Jedi protectors.

But Darth Bane had understood. So too had every Sith Lord and acolyte since then.

The Dark Side, although it favored war and carnage, did not reward those who relied on brutality and savagery alone, as he had come to understand. Certainly, it's adherents were more powerful than the self-restrained- and therefore weakened- Jedi Knights, but power was meaningless without cunning and guile…something that even the mightiest Sith of old had failed to understand.

But Bane's Sith had understood this, and applied it, masking their power and appearing to be normal men and women, steadily building their wealth and connections over the centuries, slowly subverting and converting the Republic until it would eventually become the glorious Empire, and keeping the Jedi unaware until they were too blinded and weak to see the final blow coming from their own trusted men.

Although Malleus was not a Sith himself, he nonetheless considered himself grateful that he studied and trained under the two greatest and the most recent of Bane's legacy; Darth Sidious, better known to the galaxy at large as their beloved savior and Emperor, Sheev Palpatine, and his apprentice, Darth Vader, who to a select few was known to be the former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.

As he gazed out one of the windows of the throne room of the Imperial Palace, which was once the Jedi Temple before it's razing and conversion, he reminisced on the events that brought him power and a seat at the Imperial Ruling Council.

He had been the son of a relatively affluent merchant family. Not wealthy enough to be on the radar of the galaxy's big shakers and movers, true, but still rich enough to be free from most of life's wants and worries…

Well, except one.

As rich as his father was, and as convincing as his mother could be, they still could not be free of the clutches of the loathsome Pyke Syndicate. One day, his father had made a snide remark about the Pykes. Nothing malicious, mind you, but Orom Pyke did not take kindly to any form of dissent from his merchants. He ordered his thugs to make an example out of his parents…and a brutal example they made.

That was when the then-young Malleus' life changed, and when he discovered the power of the Dark Side of the Force that dwelt within him. It was raw, untamed, but it had served his purposes well enough when he singlehandedly ravaged Orom's headquarters and stuck the heads of Orom, his mistress, his brother, and his bastards all on spikes outside the wall of his complex. He let the galaxy know that day that he always paid his debts.

And, fortunately for him, Lord Vader and the Emperor had noticed, as well.

Sure, the training under the Sith and the old Grand Inquisitor was harsh, brutal, but that was the way of nature. The strong and adaptable survive, while the weak and stupid perish.

Over the years, he had climbed the ranks and successfully hunted many Jedi. Not as many as Lord Vader or the Grand Inquisitor, mind you, but certainly, more than the rest of the Inquisition had hunted.

When the old Grand Inquisitor had fallen, slain in battle against the Jedi Kanan Jarrus, a power struggle had ensued in his wake. Unlike several other Inquisitors, particularly the Fifth Brother and Seventh Sister, who barreled head-first right into failure after failure, Malleus had bidden his time and played the others off against one another, giving out false leads, and luring others to their deaths, be it at his own hands or the hands of some lowlife crime lord. At the end of the day, he was the only one left standing who could take the title of Grand Inquisitor. The others who remained? Too weak and stupid to really try to gain power or maintain it, or too unambitious to ever seek power, merely content in hunting Jedi or other dangerous enemies of the Empire.

And it was well enough, he supposed. Anyone lesser than him would have been killed months, if not years ago, trying to play the deadly political game that was Imperial court life. He considered himself well-suited to it, though. If he had to be honest, he even enjoyed it, perhaps more so than hunting some poor fool of a Jedi.

As he gazed out the window, he felt a familiar, dark presence behind him, one that reminded him of the cold void. He didn't need to hear the labored, mechanical breathing to know who it was.

He turned and bowed before his master. "My lord," he greeted Darth Vader, who stood there, regarding Malleus silently for a moment before speaking.

"Grand Inquisitor," he rumbled in that baritone and robotic voice of his. "How was your mission to Ord Mantell? Has the threat been taken care of?"

"It went perfectly," he said. "My target was neutralized, and the cult's presence there was significantly reduced," he amended, proudly but not boastfully.

All along the Outer Rim worlds, a cult had been popping up. At first, the Emperor had regarded this cult as a mere annoyance in comparison to the much larger problem of the Rebellion, or, as that traitor and self-styled leader of the Rebellion- Mon Mothma- was calling now, "the Alliance to Restore the Republic." However, this cult had grown, festering like cancer across the outer regions and starting to seep into the interior, as well.

Usually, this wouldn't have been a problem. The Emperor allowed a multitude of religions within his Empire if they pay him proper respect or homage and didn't go around revering the Jedi. Religion was, after all, a useful tool for ensuring a compliant and orderly people. This cult, however, was preaching something alarming.

They were preaching the end of the world. Preaching that the Emperor represented the pervasive corruption and decadence that had become rampant in this galaxy, and that the massacres, purges, and wars were a sign from whatever they worshipped that it was displeased with the galaxy, and so was coming forth to smite the wicked in some glorious and terrible Day of Reckoning. Not to mention that they had been apparently abducting the odd child here and there.

Deep within the recesses of his mind, away from the prying touches of his master or the Emperor, he wondered if these cultists knew about the terror that was unleashed in the Unknown Regions.

What he had unleashed.

He cleared his head of such thoughts. Of course, they wouldn't know. No one in the galaxy save for himself, Sloane and her fleet, and those in the highest circles of power knew of his mishap in the Unknown Regions, and right now he preferred to keep it that way. He hoped that Admiral Sloane had the situation well in hand; Thrawn was usually praising her abilities, after all. Elsewise, Lord Vader was going to start questioning his ability to lead the Inquisitors, and he knew just how short a temper the Dark Lord had when it came to failure. He had already been choked out to the point of near-unconsciousness when he had reported his failure to Lord Vader- he had absolutely no intention of going through that…wonderful experience again.

"Significantly reduced is not destroyed," Vader warned him sharply. "I do not need to remind you, Grand Inquisitor, that you are treading on thin ice with the Emperor and I, especially regarding your abysmal failure with Project Blackwing. Should you fail at your task, again, I will be seeking your replacement."

Malleus held back his tongue. He hadn't been expecting praise for his service, true enough, but he was tempted, oh so tempted to remind the Sith Lord of his own failure to kill or capture Jarrus and his apprentice, or his inability to track down that meddlesome Grey Wolf. He hid the thought behind several mental shields, however. Vader would sense his anger, true enough, but he would be damned if he sensed his insubordination.

"I will keep that in mind, my lord," he instead elected to say, keeping his voice neutral, "and rest assured, I will not fail so utterly, again."

Vader said nothing in response, turning on his heel and walking away, leaving a parting shot as he went. "The audience is to begin, soon. I do not expect you to tarry. The Emperor does not share my sense of leniency, after all."

It was Malleus' turn to say nothing in response, just instead electing to nod and turn back to viewing the city outside, his mind churning on several things…

---

He had forgotten how dull court audiences could be.

Ever since the Emperor had gotten rid of many of his major enemies and potential rivals, such as the upstart Moff Trachta from years earlier, things had gotten progressively boring for Malleus, although he couldn't deny that everything was, bar the Rebellion, far more stable than it had been before. The galaxy was, by and large, united in fear of Sheev Palpatine, after all, and if you had ever truly met the man, one would see why clearly.

Now, Vader could be many things. Cold, ruthless, unforgiving, and goal-oriented to the point of single-mindedness, yes, but he was rarely interested in killing for pleasure's sake. Palpatine, on the other hand…

Palpatine was supremely wise and powerful, true, but he was also completely sadistic. Maniacal, even. He viewed most men as mere playthings, and himself as a god- the master of all fate and destiny. Indeed, many men who displeased the Emperor were either killed in the most horrific and violent of ways or tortured past the point of insanity, usually for Palpatine's twisted amusement…or his unparalleled rage. It was a small wonder, then, why most men tried to stay on the Emperor's good side.

Currently, he found himself standing in one of the galleys that lined the throne room on either side, along with the rest of the various nobles, commanders, key senators, and bureaucrats that made up Coruscant's ruling elite. On a raised platform at the end of the audience chamber that hung over a hundred-meter-deep pit, before a window that reminded one of a spider's web, the Emperor's throne sat. However, unlike the thrones in his private residences, which were simple, rotating chairs, this one was far different.

This throne had been inspired by one that Malleus had found on that wasteland of a world in Wild Space, the one Admiral Sloane had informed him was called "Valaryos". But instead of iron swords, this throne had been made up out of the hilts of Jedi lightsabers- hundreds of them, all melted and bent into shape to forge a throne worthy of an Emperor.

It was also the Emperor's least favorite throne, or so it seemed. He always seemed uncomfortable sitting on the damned thing. If Malleus had to guess, whoever designed the original must have had a lesson in mind if he made it uncomfortable and damned near dangerous- though as to what that lesson was, he couldn't figure it out. At any rate, the comfortability of the seat paled in comparison to what it represented; power and domination, in their most stark reminders.

He brought himself out of his mind's wanderings and paid attention to the audience. As of now, a man representing the Hapan Consortium was congratulating Palpatine on his eighty-third birthday, wishing him a long life and all that happy nerf-shit. Groveling and scrapping from others bored Malleus, as it did the Emperor, who looked utterly unpleased with his malevolent glare. The hapless Hapan took his cue and promptly bolted after a hurried bow, unwilling to wither further under Palpatine's scrutinizing gaze.

And so, the docket went on. From senators begging for His Majesty to support their pet bill- to which Palpatine always gave the vaguest, yet most pleasing sounding answers, if only to crush their hopes later- to awards for military service members who performed worthily in the eyes of the Empire. It was over an hour of this when Malleus finally felt it…a presence in the Force.

No, not merely a presence…

A surge.

It was apparent that the Emperor and Lord Vader sensed this, as well, as they both suddenly looked towards the massive, reinforced doors, which promptly swung open with a gusto.

Out of these doors stepped a stranger, one who was obviously not summoned to court. This stranger was old…very old. An elderly human, to be more specific. His wrinkled, pale face was covered by a long, hoary beard, and the hair on top of his head was white and long. His eyes, wrinkled by crow's feet and bags, blazed bright, sapphire blue. On the top of his head was an old, worn traveler's hat, which was as grey as the cloak he wore. In his wizened left hand, he carried a cane of some sort, though from this distance it looked almost like a spear.

And, though Malleus saw no bird fly into the palace chambers, he swore that he could hear in his head the distinct call of a raven.

Whatever the case may be, the old man, or whatever he was, certainly seemed powerful. As a matter of fact, his presence threatened to blot out that of even the Emperor's, as grey and murky as this being's Force signature was.

The crowd watched this old man with silence, as he approached the throne in a purposeful, steady gait, all the while the eyes of the Emperor, Lord Vader, and the Royal Guard never left him.

At the foot of the stairs, he stopped, and looked around, as if he was remembering something, or someone…seemingly from a long time ago.

"And who might you be, interloper?" Palpatine spoke, breaking the pregnant silence, clearly incensed that his court audience was so rudely interrupted.

The stranger said nothing, instead choosing to continue to look around, seemingly unaware of the danger he was in. When he spoke, he did not bother to address Palpatine by his proper titles and homages.

"It has been a long time since I've been in this place," he elected to say instead, choosing to ignore Palpatine's question entirely. "A long time, indeed. When I was last here, this was still the Jedi Temple, and I remember a young Padawan training in the very spot you now sit. He was a small thing, green and ugly. Many thought he wouldn't amount to much, but I knew better. Truly, he became one of the wisest and most powerful of the Jedi Order." He sighed, and his countenance became weary. "Ah, Coruscant. This galactic and eternal city," he began to say, as he started to pace around. "This glorious monument to power, culture, and learning," he turned to Palpatine fully, his face now growing full of contempt. "This planet has built a civilization beyond imagining. The pinnacle of mortal achievement and the envy of the galaxy. But under you…this civilization will not last." He pointed his cane at Palpatine, who Malleus felt grow more and more wroth with every passing second. "You have taken the power of the Senate from the many and given it to yourself. You, who sits this new Iron Throne, has grown sick with every kind of wickedness. You are filled with greed, deceit, bloodlust, and contempt. You enslave what you can and destroy without mercy what you cannot. You have betrayed those who have called you friend and murdered those you claim to have loved. You have done all of this…for what? Power? Greed? Your fear of death? Your corruption spreads throughout the galaxy like fetid cancer, poisoning the righteous and condemning the innocent. You set men against each other for your ego." He slammed his cane on the ground. "Once, I was content to see it all play out, just as I have done for nearly four hundred generations, but now…now you and your minions have forced my hand." It was at this moment that Malleus felt that contemptuous gaze upon him, and he felt a tingling chill up his spine as he addressed him. "You have unleashed an evil that will destroy everything in this galaxy if left unchecked, your grace," the stranger spat, turning his attention back to the Emperor.

Palpatine abruptly stood up, his rage now unbridled, and his yellow eyes seethed with unholy fury. "Impudent fool!" the Emperor snarled, "Who do you think you're talking to? I am the master of this galaxy! All in this universe belongs to me! You will pay the price for your lack of respect!" Malleus saw the energy spring forth from Palpatine's fingers, as the Sith Lord screamed at the intruder. "Die!"

Brilliant, blue bolts of lightning flew from the Emperor's hands, as the room echoed with the loud roar of thunder. The stranger, however, calmly stood and waited, and when the lightning reached him, he did nothing…

He didn't have to.

The lightning hit some sort of invisible barrier or black hole, being absorbed into the immediate space before the stranger who had closed his eyes. It was immediately apparent to Malleus what this being was doing.

And it was apparent to the Emperor as well.

The stranger had completely negated the Force lighting, without so much as lifting his hand.

When the lightning had died down, and everyone in the room- the Emperor and Lord Vader included- looked at the stranger in shock, the old man opened his eyes, now set in determination, and when he spoke, he spoke quietly and briefly, though it was apparent to Malleus that there was a cold undertone to it.

"My turn," was all he said, and all he did was tap his cane.

Immediately, the sound of bones cracking and snapping filled the entire room at ones, as dozens of stormtroopers and royal guards suddenly fell over, their necks twisted completely backward.

The throne room was quiet for a brief, few seconds, before all hell broke loose, as generals and senators all made a mad scramble for the doors, running and screaming as they did so, trying to get away from the now-apparent demon.

Soon, it was just the old man, the Emperor, Lord Vader, a few remaining guards who had been left unharmed, somehow, and Malleus, who was now feeling from the Emperor a very distinct emotion- one that he had never felt before coming from Palpatine.

Fear.

Malleus hid his surprise, putting up so many mental shields he lost count, although, at this moment, he wasn't even sure he really needed to. Sheev Palpatine, the Emperor of the Galaxy and the Dark Lord of the Sith secretly known as Darth Sidious was completely and utterly terrified of this strange being.

No one could find their voice for several long moments, and when they did, Palpatine was the first to speak, in the quietest voice that Malleus had ever heard from him.

"Who are you?" The Emperor asked.

The old man regarded him for a moment, then shrugged and finally answered his original question. "Here is what I am called. I am known as Harbinger, Herald, and Raven. I am Alpha and Omega. I am known to some as the Father, to others as Sofios, and still, to others, I am known as the Middling. I am the Grey Maybe, the one who walks in the twilight. I have as many names as there are stars, as many titles as there are ways to die. I am the Lord of Dusk and Dawn. I am what once was, what is now, and what shall be. But above all…I am…Bendu!"

At this, the room darkened, and his voice echoed like thunder, as a cacophony of ravens sounded from seemingly nowhere.

"And you, Palpatine…may you know this," the old man warned. His voice was deep and rumbling, like stones cascading over a mountainside. "The day of reckoning is soon at hand. By the wolves of the north shall you be humbled, by the son of suns shall your pride be shattered, and by the edge of the water shall you be cast down. May your diseased Empire be torn to splinters, may all the blood you spilled drown you in its torrents, and may the Scourge of the Force punish you for your sins."

With that, the old man- Bendu- tapped his cane, and vanished in a flash of blinding light and smoke, never to be seen again by Malleus.

Everything fell quiet yet again in the empty throne room, and although Malleus didn't know what the other two were thinking, he was more than sure that they felt what he felt. He kept thinking about this as Palpatine recovered just long enough from his shock to assign Malleus to his mission- accompanying Vader to Arcadia for the big wedding, then heading off to meet their contact, there.

There was something destructive out there- something that was coming for the whole galaxy.

And the worst part?

Malleus knew exactly what it was.

---

Later that night, the Grand Inquisitor found himself in an uneasy sleep, having forgone his usual meditation sessions or training his fellow Inquisitors, as he was still shaken up by what happened in the throne room.

He dreamed a strange dream.

He found himself walking in a rolling plain of some sort, on a planet he did not know. It could be Lothal, it could be Dantooine…it could have been any number of places, but none of that really mattered now. What mattered was walking, and off in the distance, he spotted gathering storm clouds. It was what was closer than that, however, which piqued his true interest.

Before he stood a couple of lions. One was obviously old, as his black mane and red fur were greying, his teeth worn, and his claws, though still sharp, were not what they used to be. Opposing him was a much younger, healthier lion, with an orange mane and a shining yellow coat.

Malleus found himself staring in admiration as the two beasts went to war with one another. This, right here, is the true nature of things, he thought as the two lions went at it, and it immediately became clear from watching who was going to be the apparent victor. Stagnation is death, after all, and the old must give way to the new, the elder gives way to the younger.

The master gives way to the apprentice.

The older lion might have had more experience, more battle-hardened and vigilant, but even those traits have their limits, especially when those traits are not paired with vitality and strength.

Soon, the fight reached it's predicted the outcome. The younger lion, seizing an opening, went in for the kill, sinking its teeth deep into the neck of the elder. The death cries and throes of the old lion lasted but a moment, and then it was all over. The young lion stood over the body of its predecessor victorious. His yellow coat and orange mane stained with blood, symbols of his victory and power.

He let out a mighty roar as if asking the savannah who was worthy to challenge him. And, much to Malleus' shock, animals did come forth, from stags to wolves, bears, and even horses, to name a few. The lion readied itself for potential challengers, but surprisingly, none came. Instead, one by one, the animals started to bow, until all the beasts of the land and sea and the birds in the air paid homage to the lion, who turned to face the coming storm, which was getting larger, closer, and more violent.

It was then that Malleus heard it.

It was a song- carried softly on the breeze, being sung by a woman.

As he listened to the tune, which sounded both sad and proud in equal measure, he realized that he had heard this tune before. It was the same song that his mother had used to sing to him when he was little. It helped him get to sleep at night when he was afraid of monsters hiding in his closet or his bed, for that song told him that he had nothing to be afraid of.

It was the monsters that should be afraid of him.

For the longest time, though, he hadn't understood the true meaning of the lyrics. It wasn't until Rae Sloane had sent him a copy of that book she discovered that he fully understood.

He soon found himself singing along, softly at first, then gradually building pitch until he matched the woman.

"And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere," he sang with the voice, "but now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear. Yes, now the rains weep o'er his hall and not a soul to hear."

And with that, Malleus, formerly known as Tyrek Lannister, woke up.

Notes:

A/N: Done earlier than expected!

Honestly, I was planning this reveal for much later, but the opportunity presented itself, and I didn't want to waste it. No relation to the Tyrek from A Song of Ice and Fire.

So, yeah. A descendant of House Lannister is alive and well in the galaxy. How will this affect the story going forward? Well, that's for me to know, and you to wait with baited breath to find out.

Now, to why Palpatine was essentially slapped around like a ragdoll in this chapter? Well, for one, I wanted to showcase just how powerful Bran could be. What better way than to show off a fraction of that power than by humiliating and humbling the most arrogant and vile being in the galaxy?

So, Malleus is meeting a contact on Arcadia? Could it be our favorite Bastard of Bolton? Is it someone else? Find out next time!

Toddles!

Chapter 34: Rau II

Summary:

Rau and his compatriots meet their contact. A message is sent to Ramsay.

In every city, no matter how economically powerful or culturally enriched, there were always bad neighborhoods. One might call them slums, another would call them ghettos, still, another would call it a barrio, but at the end of the day, they were just different names for the same wretched hives of scum and villainy.

Lanopolis was no exception in that regard.

Although it was known far and wide as "The Golden City", Lanopolis was not free of its darker sides, in particular one section of the city known as the Blood Gulch, where even the vigilant and well-trained constables feared to tread, and it was here that Rau found himself alongside two of his companions, tucked away in an alcove in the Gulch's seediest cantina, the Tipsy Twi'lek.

Rau studied the patrons of the bar as he grimly tried to sip his tea, nearly spitting it out due to the…lackluster taste. So far, he hadn't observed anything out of the ordinary, really. At the end of the cantina was the main attraction; a strip platform where dancers gyrated and titillated for the surly customers, who whooped and hollered at the various ladies and men dancing for them, gladly forking over credits as they did so. At the other end, the bartender served his drinks and chatted it up with the patrons, all the while loud music blared over the stereo system; this flavor being the grunge version of rock that seemed to have taken quite a hold in the Outer Rim worlds, beginning to replace quenk jazz and all its variants as the mainstay of the restless and the rough.

"I'd nearly forgotten how bad the drinks were in this place," Theon muttered, prying Rau away from his musings. "It's like they don't even try to cover up the fact that this was made from reclaimed sewage water."

"At least the liquor is passable," Robb joked, all the while staring at his glass with a queer look in his eyes. "Forget anything about proper flavor, though. Sanitary, aye, but for this swill, I might as well get rubbing alcohol and drink that instead. More sanitary, as well."

"Aye," Rau affirmed. "The sooner we meet this contact, the sooner we can leave this wretched place…" He looked around the bar one more time. "You sure we can trust him?"

"He's a smuggler, a scoundrel, and a rogue," Theon replied, "but he's still a sight better than many of the fine gentlemen who make up this establishment's regular patronage. With this particular man…, I'd say trust but verify."

Rau only nodded. He had to admit, he didn't particularly like smugglers. They were, by and large, mostly cowards and vagabonds. Some may turn to smuggle to get by in a rough economy or home situation, true, but the clear majority of them saw it as a quick way to make a load of credits, even if it was a dangerous and dirty profession.

He hated the types they usually worked for more, though.

As the music shifted from grudge to the more classic rock of yesteryear, he noticed someone enter the cantina…someone who didn't look like they exactly belonged there.

Compared to the dirty, muted drabs of brown, tan, and rust most of the patrons were wearing, this person- a male Mirialan, by the look of it- was wearing nothing but a resplendent white robe.

No, not white he realized. It was the color of ice, rather. A rather pale blue, akin to periwinkle, it seemed.

The Mirialan's eyes seemed to match his choice of dress. Those depthless blue eyes seemed to scan everything and everything around him as if the stranger was judging the worth of every individual man and woman in that bar…and finding them wanting.

Without warning, the robed man stepped towards a clearing in the center, now almost every eye trained on this newcomer who stuck out like a sore thumb. The music, which had been blaring only a moment before, fell silent.

A moment of terse, anticipatory quiet passed over the bar, and then, in a calm, yet passionate, voice, the Mirialan began to speak.

"People of the Blood Gultch," he spoke, his accent bleeding heavily into the atmosphere. "I have come here with a dire warning. Heed my words, and you shall be saved from the coming storm. Refuse, and condemn yourselves to annihilation."

There were a few snickers at this, and much rolling of eyes around the crowd. A few threw a few insults at the man, who ignored them and continued.

"The signs of the coming wrath are already being filled as we speak!" he preached, raising his arms up into the air. "The Empire builds weapons of war, turning planets into little more than strip mines. Children and women are enslaved every day, exploited by the likes of foul beings such as the Hutts and Zygerrians, all the while the arrogant Arcadian royals turn a blind eye to the suffering of the oppressed. Corruption and vice seep through every corner of the galaxy. Men of Arcadia, you stand at the precipice. A choice is to be made! Salvation, or damnation! Turn away from your vile drinks, your sins of the flesh and your depravations of violence and control and submit! Submit to the words of the great Prophet! Join our Brotherhood of the Frost and embrace the teachings of the White Light! For nigh, brothers and sisters, nigh is the Time of Rifle and Cannon. Nigh is the Time of Discord and Strife. Nigh is Télos Imerón, the Final Age!"

"Oi, why don't you 'final age' yer boyfriend, ya damned twink?" one of the patrons jeered.

"Creepy ass probably doesn't do men, I reckon. Bet he has a soft spot for lil' boys, though," another sneered. This got a laugh out of the crowd…well, most of them anyway. There were a few who approached the cultist, asking him eagerly if he truly meant what he said. These few men and women, Rau reckoned, were probably the most depressed and hopeless of the lot, eager to seek out anything, or anyone, who would promise them salvation from a wretched life, and take it at the first opportunity…

Even if it meant joining a restrictive cult.

The cultist just remained silent, nodding approvingly at his new, few prospects, then casting a baleful gaze at the rest of the patrons, before turning and leaving as silently as he came, his new followers towing along.

"That man was…disconcerting," Theon finally admitted, a moment after the music resumed playing.

"Agreed," Robb nodded, "it seems more and more of these cultists are popping up all over the place, from what I've heard. Strange thing is that a month ago, they were barely even noticeable. Now, from what Lund tells me, they've been increasing recruitment."

"I've also heard missing children cases have gone up in the past few months," Rau offered. "It's possible it's connected. Cultists kidnapping children is never a good thing."

"As unfortunate and disturbing as they may be, they are ultimately irrelevant to our goals," Robb reminded. "We must focus on the task at hand and wait for the contact."

Rau was inclined to agree, of course, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if there was something far more to these cultists than meets the eye. Something dark and sinister.

Something connected to the undead they encountered.

And from the looks on his comrades' faces, he had an inkling that they were fighting the same concerns.

Some time passed in silent observation, quietly sipping their mediocre drinks and watching and waiting for this contact to show up, as well as observing the patrons of this crowd. So far, Rau noted nothing peculiar, but he did notice a few roughs sporting a similar branding on their cloth or tattoo on some part of their body; a red 'X', with four dots on each endpoint, and one right below the point where the lines intersected.

Call it a hunch, but he got the feeling these guys were probably thugs in the employ of their main target.

And Theon noticed it as well.

"Robb," the Iron-Fist whispered, "those men-,"

"Yeah, I see them too, Theon," Robb whispered back, intent on keeping his voice down. "Ramsay's thugs…" he sighed. "Well, at least we know we're in the right place, but where in the bloody hell is that contact?"

Almost as if on cue, the door swung open, and into the cantina stepped a human man- a Corellian, by the looks of him- and his Wookiee companion. The former of the two looked to be in his late twenties, tall and sporting a rugged, devilish demeanor if the mischievous mirth sparkling in his hazel eyes was any indicator. His outfit suggested a hard life of smuggling and many close calls, consisting of military-grade trousers and boots, a white shirt, and a black vest. There was a scar on the man's chin, indicating that he had been involved in more than a few close calls.

A dangerous man to be sure.

The latter of the duo- the Wookiee- was a bit different. Rau always had trouble reading in-humanoid facial expressions, but from what he saw, the Wookiee was a good deal more vigilant than the human judging by the way he carried himself and the bowcaster he carried, a veteran of quite a few battles.

The duo looked around the bar for a moment, then settled their eyes on the trio in the alcove and walked towards them. The man came to sit down by Rau, while the Wookiee elected to sit right by Theon.

"Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon," the man introduced himself, as Rau cringed at this man's complete lack of caution or subtlety. "The big furball is my friend and co-pilot, Chewbacca. I take it you three are my contacts, then?" he asked.

"You're quite right," Robb answered for the group. "I'm Grey-Wolf, the man with the mechanical hands is Iron-Fist, and our Mandalorian counterpart is the Protector," he said, far more cautious than this 'Han Solo' at using their real names.

"Mandalorian, huh," Han said, eyeing Rau with a new-found suspension. "Ran into a certain Mando bounty hunter multiple times. I've got no reason to do that again. Gotta ask, though, why are y'all not using your real names? Afraid of this crowd 'round here, are ya?"

"Not necessarily," Theon replied, "but we are concerned about the one who's hiring them. He's a particularly sadistic madman responsible for the recent killings on this planet, and we have reason to believe that he's going to target the Crown Prince, next."

"So, you want me to help wrangle up this killer?" Han snorted. "Sorry, but I ain't in the business of sticking my nose into politics, especially where the Old Boar and his ilk are concerned."

"No, we aren't requesting your help in that matter," Robb retorted the self-absorbed smuggler. "We just need information on this guy and any new gangs operating in the area. For starters, the gang with the red 'X' tattooed and burned on them."

Chewbacca roared something in Shirywook that Rau didn't quite understand. Fortunately for them, however, it seemed that Solo could.

"Yes, yes, I know we had a contract with those guys," Solo shot back to his friend, who just countered with more gargles, to which Han threw up his hands. "Yeah, Jabba and Xizor are scummy, as well. Are you forgetting we can't be choosy in this business? We ain't exactly honorable ourselves."

Chewbacca just snorted and mumbled something, and Solo sighed.

"Alright, you big furball. We'll tell 'em, but right after that, we're out of here. I don't particularly like the guy who leads them," he said, pointing his thumb to where the gang was congregating. "Gives me the creeps, that bastard."

"What can you tell us about them?" Theon asked.

"Not that much," Han said. "They call themselves 'the Red Flayers'. Nastiest group I've ever dealt with, and that's saying something."

"What are they up to?" Rau pressed.

"Nothing outside the norm, from my humble perspective. I've smuggled in weapons and cash to them from time to time. Arcadia's got a great fleet and defensive system, but there are always holes in every net, and even someone as all-seeing as the Old Boar has his blind spots," he bragged, much to the annoyance of the group.

"Don't particularly care about your damned smuggling exploits," Robb snapped. "All I want to know is if the leader of this gang is who we think it is, and where we might find him."

"Yeah…the leader", Han repeated. "Nasty piece of work, that guy. He ain't motivated by money or power, like some of the other criminals I've worked with over the years. Nah, he's driven by bloodthirst, of all things. He calls himself 'Lord Ramsay Bolton'. I'd call him 'karked in the head'. As to where to find him…well, even I don't know that. He likes to move around, and never keeps to one location for too long."

"I can vouch for that 'bloodthirsty' bit," Theon muttered, "and the fact that he's smuggling in weapons and cash is interesting." He nodded to Solo. "Thanks for the information, friend."

"Eh, whatever," Solo blew off. "The only reason I'm doing this is that I'm getting money, and I expect to be paid."

"You'll get your money, smuggler," Robb replied, handing the man a handful of credit chips. Han just smirked and got up, beckoning his Wookiee friend to join him, as the latter offered the trio a respectful nod before getting up, as well.

Before the smuggling duo could leave, however, they soon found their way out blocked. Apparently, the Red Flayers had taken note of them.

"Where you are going, Solo?" asked a man whom Rau presumed was the local leader- a short, squat, and ugly man who had Ramsay's mark branded on his face, making it more twisted and deformed than what it was, previously.

"Squat!" Solo greeted, trying to smooth his way out of his now sticky situation, all the while Rau noticed his hand straying towards the blaster on his hip, as the gangsters surrounded Han and Chewbacca. "Just the guy I wanted to see!"

"Betcha did," Squat spat. "We've to a bone to pick with you, Corellian. That last shipment of flash grenades you brought us was kriffing faulty. Nearly botched our last operation. Boss wants a word with you on that."

"How was I supposed to know that shipment was karked?" Han protested. "It's not my fault that BlasTech's quality control went down over the years. You can thank the Empire for that one."

"Boss can't reach either BlesTech's CEO or the Emperor, you little wanker," Squat sneered, "but he sure as the hells can reach you…." He paused and considered his options, adopting a wide, knowing grin. "Come with us quietly, and our boss might be lenient with you when he makes an example. Resist, and I guarantee he's going to take his time making you watch as he turns your walking carpet into a new coat."

It was at this, that Theon suddenly got up and walked to where Squat was standing, and Robb and Fenn immediately decided to follow suit, intent on keeping their friend alive.

He could already tell that this was going to go bad.

Squat, in all his dimwitted glory, sized the thinner and taller Theon up and down and snorted when he looked him in the eye. "Don't know you, metal hands, but if you know what's good for you, then I'd advise ya to piss off! This is Flayer business!"

"I well understand that," Theon flatly said, in a voice so cold and empty that could rival even Robb's. "I also understand what Ramsay's 'mercy' entails. So, my friend, I'm going to give you a choice. Leave here now, and we'll all go our separate ways. Refuse-,"

"- lemme freaking guess, you'll kill us?" Squat laughed, spittle flying all over Theon's face. "What a load of fucking nerfshit! Did you get shot out of you're mom's cunt sideways or something? We're the fucking Red Flayers, freak! We fucking own the Blood Gultch, and soon the entire Outer Rim's gonna know who we are! So, you either hand us over Solo and his furry, or we'll fucking kill you, you little bitch!"

Theon sighed. "Damn," he said, "and here I thought we could resolve this peacefully."

And with that, Theon began to seem to walk away, only to turn around and drive his cybernetic fist straight into Squat's horrid face, shattering his nose and teeth on impact and sending the gangster reeling into a table.

And just like that, the situation turned from tense to chaotic.

Quicker than the eye could reasonably process, Fenn, Theon, Robb, and Solo all had their blasters drawn and blazing, while Chewbacca roared, grabbing one Flayer and throwing him into another, sending both tumbling through the air until both hit a wall with a sickening crunch.

Soon, the air was filled with blaster fire and smoke, as the remaining patrons took either took cover or got the kark out of the building.

Fenn, aided by his years of Mandalorian training and combat experience, was in his element. Time seemed to slow for him, as the adrenaline kicked in and he could see things more clearly. He engaged the target nearest to him, putting two precise rounds through his chest and one through his head, moving to cover and engaging the next hostile even before the body of his first kill had the time to drop dead. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Robb and Theon move and work as a team, covering each other as they each racked up kills. Similarly, it went for Solo and Chewbacca, as the latter would send larger groups of thugs staggering with a blast from his bowcaster, while the former would engage them in some good old-fashioned Corellian gunplay.

The fight seemed to drag on, as the thugs just kept on coming, and in the middle of it, Fenn had to reload power packs.

This was the opportunity that the largest thug was waiting for.

Without warning, the brute dove over the flipped table Fenn was using for cover and tackled the last Protector to the ground, and soon Fenn found himself trying to fight off a berserker armed with a combat knife, whilst trying to maintain control of his own weapon.

He weighed his options, as he continually tried to dodge and block the crazed brute's knife attacks. He was on the ground so that automatically put the attacker at an early advantage. The man was much larger than him, so that ruled out overpowering the guy. That also ruled out a protracted fight. In a nanosecond, he realized there was only one option left to him, and he took it.

He grabbed his blaster, and, while the berserker was getting ready for another thrust, jammed the still-hot barrel into the brute's left eye.

The brute screamed in bloody pain, dropping his knife as he tried to dislodge the barrel from his eye socket, which besides squishing his eye had also broken his orbital in several places upon impact. This was the opening that Fenn needed.

Grabbing his concealed dagger, he unsheathed it, and in one swift motion, stabbed the brute in the jugular.

The berserker immediately stopped screaming, falling off Fenn and holding one hand on the still-lodged blaster, the other on the gaping neck wound, trying to ineffectually stem the bleeding as he gurgled.

Staggering to his feet, Fenn checked himself over for any wounds. Satisfied that he found none, he immediately dislodged his blaster from the now-dead brute's eye, albeit with some effort, before turning back into the fight…

…only to thankfully find that his friends had won it, with most of the gangsters lying dead, and the bar a complete, war-torn wreck, with the traumatized bartender muttering for them to "get the fuck out of his place" repeatedly, his place of business now trashed.

A groan coming from one of the tables brought them to the present, and as Solo and Chewbacca took this as their cue and fled out of the bar, Fenn, Theon, and Robb walked over to where the moaning was coming from.

There, slouched over a broken chair, was Squat, blood pouring out his broken nose and onto his shirt.

"F-fuck," he muttered, spitting out blood in the process, "you bastards…you're tougher than I thought. Not even the constables have the stones to mess with us. Heh. Ramsay's going to have fun with you lot."

"I bet he is," Theon said in a flat tone, grabbing the man by his shirt collar. "I need you to deliver a message for me, sir. I want you to tell your boss…that his Reek wants to see him. That I want to look him in the eyes one last time before I end him."

Squat guffawed. "And what makes you think he'll want to meet you, cocksucker?" he sneered, though Rau noticed beads of sweat were dripping down the gangster's head.

Theon held his gaze. "He'll make time for me. I'm sure of it," he replied evenly. He let go of the thug, and, after a moment of stumbling, Squat ran out the door, his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

A moment of tense silence passed, a state of shock passing over the group like a wave. After a moment, Robb was the one who spoke first.

"Theon…" he began, "are you sure you want to do this? You said it yourself. Ramsay is an expert in laying traps. If we meet with him, we'll be walking knee-deep into his friends."

Theon looked off into the distance, staring at exactly…what…Fenn could not figure out. When he spoke, it was quiet…so quiet that they had to strain to hear him.

"I'm planning on it."

Notes:

A/N: Hello, and welcome back! I know it's been a long two months!

*shoves hungry gremlin back into the closet*

At any rate, sorry about the length of this chapter, as it's unusually short. Here, we are finally starting to introduce our Original Trilogy protagonist crew, starting with our favorite smuggling duo!

I was inspired by John Wick for this fight scene. The cultist's dialogue was partially inspired by the monologue at the beginning of the Witcher 3.

Now, who are these cultists? Why does Ramsay need all these weapons and cash? What is Theon's plan?

All that and more will be revealed! *At some point…*

Till next time!

Chapter 35: The Bastard of Bolton

Notes:

A/N: WARNING! This chapter deals with disturbing and unsettling content, such as torture, rape, and other gruesome things, all from the viewpoint of probably one of the most unsavory characters from Game of Thrones. Read at your own risk!

---

If there was one thing that this galaxy truly was, it was absolutely fun.

Oh, sure, the initial shock of waking up in a different time and place after having been mauled to death by your own hounds was perturbing, but after it wore off, one discovered the multiple opportunities. The millions of inhabited worlds, all ripe to be his playground. The quadrillions of sentients, each one of them his to enjoy and play with as he saw fit. It certainly beat the cold, dreary, and sparsely populated North, to say the least.

He rubbed his hand over his now metallic jaw- a now permanent reminder of what he had suffered and where he had erred. He sneered as he thought back to the events of that day, all those years ago.

His plan was flawless, or so he had assumed. He used that bastard half-Stark's little wild brother as bait, killing the runt at the last instant. Initially, it had worked, as the bastard had charged toward him in an absolute fury, his army following right behind him. As a matter of fact, everything had indeed gone well right up until the moment his bitch of a wife showed up to relieve her brother and his surrounded army with about four thousand mounted Valemen- which had the effect of wiping out Ramsay's own army in the process.

He then touched the crook of his nose where it had been broken by Jon, and sighed. So much was going right that day, only for it to go so, so wrong. To make a long story short, he was beaten near to death by the bastard, only to be locked in a cell and then fed to his own starving hounds by Sansa.

He had been sure he was destined for more than one hell, given the nature of the sins he had committed and was almost sure he had ended up in some sort of afterlife after he had woken up in this galaxy, but after some "mental health restoration" and reconstructive surgery thanks to his new benefactors…

He was back. Just as fit, strong, and sharp as ever before, and ready to give this galaxy the party of a lifetime!

He turned to view his latest work, admiring it and savoring it. She had been a pretty young thing- a human girl in her twenties, with fiery red hair, eyes the color of grass, and fine porcelain skin dotted here and there by clumps of freckles.

He smiled, with his teeth giving off the impression of the grin of a shark. Unlike most of his prey, she had given him a good hunt. As a matter of fact, he would daresay that she had given him one of the best hunts of his life, eluding his newly acquired kath-hounds and even managing to kill a few of his men that he had decided to take with him.

But, alas, he always caught his prey in the end, and this pretty, young firebrand was no exception.

However, he had to reward her for her excellent skills in evasion and counter-maneuvers, and so to that end, he chose not to flay her, nor would his hounds taste her flesh. Instead, he mercifully put her out of her misery after he had finished having his way with her on the spot where he caught her.

Death was a far preferable option to trauma when all is said and done.

After that, he ordered his men to bring her corpse back to camp with them. He needed to properly prepare the body for her father, after all. He needed this man's wealth and resources, ultimately, and what better way to ensure loyalty than make an example of the kin of those who defied him?

In the end, people tended to get the message once they saw their children's flayed skin wrapped up for them in a gift.

As he surveyed the freshly flayed corpse, wondering if her meat and marrow would still be excellent for his loyal beasts, one of his men burst in through the flaps of his tent.

"Boss!" the Weequay squawked. "Squat's back from the capital! Say's the other boys ya sent with him are all dead, and there are three or five blokes who did the killin'!"

"Does he say how it happened?" he replied, already bored with how this was going. He was honestly unsurprised with the fact that these men he sent were slaughtered so easily, like cattle in a butcher's shop. These men who had signed on with him were mostly thugs, vermin. Stupid, weak creatures with the intelligence of worms, hardly worth the meager credits that were awarded to them for whatever subpar work they pulled off. And ultimately, they were expendable. The Blood Gulch was a dangerous place, obviously, and there were plenty more fools to chose from.

He had to suppress a sigh. His old band of killers, the Bastard's Boys…now, those were true, solid, dependable men, serving him with the shared goal of spilling blood and catching whatever wench they pleased, not out of fear or money. What he wouldn't give to trade twenty of these Crimson Flayers for just one of his old group. Things would be going much more smoothly, and he would be several more steps ahead of that fat old Gamorrean, instead of fleeing from place to place, only saved from the ineptitude of his gang thanks to the spy within the Arcadian ranks. His benefactors needed results, and Ramsay wasn't keen on returning to the grave just yet.

What his man said next, however, shocked him.

"Dunno all the details, boss, but he seems to indicate that there were five men who did the boys in. Three of 'em were working for the Old Boar, and two of 'em were that smuggling pair you wanted for questioning. The only name he heard out o' the three was 'Reek', and that he said he knew ya."

Reek.

Ramsay's mind, at that moment, focused on that one word, to the exclusion of all else.

Now, that was a name he hadn't heard in a long time.

There were only two people who knew him that had been named 'Reek'. The first one was the closest thing to an actual friend he had ever known in his sordid life; a vile, wretched creature who made love to the corpses of the women he strangled. That Reek had been killed long ago, struck down by a Stark soldier on the orders of King Robb in a case of mistaken identity. The other Reek…

"Where is Squat, now?" he asked, a feeling of twisted mirth rising up in him. If it was who he suspected it was, then this galaxy had just gotten even more fun than it was already. He had to confirm it, though.

"Waiting for you at the edge of camp, boss," the Weequay said, his voice wary.

"Tell him to meet me at the center of camp," he instructed. "Oh, and bring in the rest of the captains, too. They need to hear what I'm about to tell them."

The Weequay gulped, obviously knowing what was coming. "Yes, milord. At once."

---

It was sometime later when he made his way out to the middle of the camp. Already, the cool breeze of the night was wafting through the trees that concealed his encampment from the prying eyes of MININT. Truly, this spy was an incredible resource, as the Palatia Forest was incredibly thick and difficult to navigate, rendering air and armor operations impossible and making any infantry assault or scout mission difficult. It was the perfect spot for a band of killers and mercenaries plotting nefarious schemes.

He found his chosen lieutenants- his "captains"- there in the middle, surrounding one very nervous-looking Squat, who was acting like he was ready to piss his breeches out of sheer terror.

Good.

"So, my loyal little minion," Ramsay began, putting on a crocodile's smile, "I hear that you ran into some trouble in Lanopolis. Lost all the men I sent with you. I'm curious as to how that happened. I mean, I've heard stories, of course. The messenger told me that you got your bloody arses kicked by five guys, two of whom you were supposed to capture and bring here so that I may entertain them! I mean, I needed a new bloody carpet! Have you seen the state of my tent? Absolutely abysmal, man!" he mocked. "Regardless, I'm sure those tales are untrue, and my men are just obviously jealous of your intrepid survival skills and combat prowess. So, I'm perfectly sure you're able to come up with a reasonable excuse as to why you seem to be the only one returning when I sent at least twenty of you out there."

Squat gulped, a loud and audible sound emanating from his throat. "Well…boss…I-I h-h-hate t-to s-s-s-s-s-say th-that they're….c-co-correct. Th-they fought with a skill I-I haven't seen before, s-si-sir."

"Curious," Ramsay falsely mused. "And, praytell, who were these three men."

"I…I don't know about th-the other two, but the one who gave me this broken nose was named 'Reek', sir," Squat stammered.

"Interesting. And what does this 'Reek' look like?" Ramsay asked. Finally, he was getting to the truth of the matter.

"He was thin, gaunt, milord," Squat spilled. "Silver hair and beard, with metal hands and cold, haunted eyes. He said he has a message for you. Wanted to meet with 'ya."

There it was.

The confirmation that he had been looking for.

Theon Greyjoy- his Reek- had returned.

He felt a sudden rush of elation. Oh, happy days have come at last! He was finally going to be reunited with his favorite plaything!

"My friend!" he greeted with genuine enthusiasm. "You have given me a great gift! You have brought my greatest accomplishment back to me! For that, I won't be flaying you or feeding you to the dogs, tonight!"

Squat breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank the gods! Boss! Does…this mean I can get a rewa-?"

One well-placed shot to his forehead caused Squat to shut up, falling over dead as half of his head exploded into a fountain of burnt brain-matter, skin, blood, and pieces of skull.

Ramsay returned the still smoking blaster to his holster. He hadn't said that he wouldn't kill Squat. After all, failure had to be punished, and the men's loyalty had to be unquestioning.

A moment of uncomfortable silence passed between everyone, before Ramsay took a deep breath, and smiled.

"Ah, what a night, eh? My Reek is returning to me with some newfound friends, and Operation: Shatter-Shield is still going according to plan!" He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "Gentlemen, find Reek and his friends! Tell them I will meet them a fortnight from now, at the abandoned munitions factory outside Akanai. Also, can someone please give our recently departed companion to the kath-hounds? I must make a call to our benefactors."

"On it, boss!" one of his men responded, and Ramsay turned to head back to his tent.

Along the way, he stopped at the kennel and smiled at the newest member of the hound pack. It was young, female, but with a fiery nature that made her a match for many of the old males. He made sure she was well-fed, of course. He had learned his lesson regarding the loyalty of dogs; he supposed he owed his bitch wife that much, at least.

Until tonight, she had been unnamed, but after his harrowing but successful hunt, this would no longer be the case.

He petted the fearsome she-beast, smiling as he did so. "Are you ready for the hunt, Artemisia?"

Notes:

A/N: As I said before, this guy is perhaps one of the most unsavory characters I've ever had the misfortune of coming across, and unfortunately, I had to write his viewpoint, as although GoT fans will understand just how loathsome and beyond redemption this guy is, Star Wars only fans don't, and the (unfortunate) best way I felt I could do that was letting you peer into the mind of madness.

Now, don't worry. This is probably the only chapter I'm writing with him as the main POV and the only one that goes extensively into his activities.

The next chapter will be either from Sabine's or Irene's POV and will cover more of the shadowy plot in the halls of Arcadian power. I want to illustrate just how out of their element both Bean and Ezra are in the field of intrigue, as they find that raiding and exfiltration missions are far different from deep, undercover espionage and Machiavellian scheming.

As for why I was gone so long…well, let's just say that I had a romance that started well and ended badly, along with a worsening financial situation and a mental health crisis. But, I'm here again, and that's what counts.

Till next time!

Chapter 36: Sabine VI

They were chasing shadows.

Normally, when either Sabine or Ezra went on a mission, they generally knew what to expect. Whether it was an infiltration op, a salvage mission, or a commando raid, they could generally count on the fact that they had each other's backs, that Hera and Kanan and the rest of the Rebellion would support them, and- most importantly- they knew the foe they were facing, whether it was the Empire, the Mining Guild, or some unscrupulous criminal cartel.

Here, it was far, far different.

Now, granted, Sabine did have some experience with the field of espionage. It was covered briefly as a part of her training on SERE, after all, but her current mission was like nothing she had ever prepared for.

Here, in this pit of snakes, that everyone else called Lanopolis, she couldn't tell who was a friend or who was a foe, as nearly every courtier or another person of influence had a hidden agenda of some sort, speaking in half-truths through honey-laden silken tongues. Deceit and greed were in abundance here, and while the King and his family had honor in spades, it seemed that much of his court didn't share that honor.

And in her mind, Ignatius was probably the slimiest one of them all.

She shuddered when she thought of the King's younger brother. Unlike his elder brother, Ignatius was the very definition of an elitist. He was arrogant, boisterous, and apparently stupid, but there was something off about him. She didn't know why, but she felt that the middle-aged man had cunning and deviousness aplenty. A man like him wouldn't have lasted long in the Royal Court, otherwise.

She sighed inwardly as she got ready for the breakfast they were having with the council. There was another reason she felt out of her element-

The dolling up.

In order to blend in perfectly with their roles as a businessman and his wealthy spouse, Ezra and Sabine had to not just ditch their very names for the moment, but their very comfortable and familiar armor and weapons. Normally, Sabine wouldn't have had a problem with this. They had done infiltration missions before, after all. This, however…

This felt like she was going through a complete lifestyle change.

For one, she had to ditch her usual plethora of colors and settle for subdued, color muted attire- a woman's business dress, complete with all the get-ups. This wouldn't have bothered her that much if it weren't for one glaring factor-

She had to let the dye out of her hair again.

Ever since she had fled from Mandalorian space, she had always tried to keep her hair bright and colorful. More accurately, she had begun doing it a short while after she was accepted into Hera's crew. Firstly, it was a way of expressing rebellion against the Empire, at least for her. Those totalitarian auretii were fond of standardization and total conformity in all aspects, right on down to what the civilians in Sundari could wear or what they were permitted to eat. The excuse, as always, was that it would promote greater cultural and economic unity throughout the Empire. The reality, on the other hand, told a different story altogether- it was just another way for Palpatine and his minions like Clan Saxon to control the populace through fear and intimidation.

Secondly, it was a way for her to bury her past and her connections to her family. A relic from a time when she wanted nothing to do with the family who disowned her as a traitor and an oathbreaker. Back then, before she had even set foot on the Ghost, she honestly considered dropping her surname altogether- the dislike for her mother was that intense, back then.

She was admittedly bitter and withdrawn, back in those dark days, when Ursa had disowned her and later Ketsu abandoned her. For some very valid and justifiable reasons, yes, but as she reflected on it more and more after her catharsis with the Darksaber and her confession to Ezra, she realized that, in more ways than one, her and Robb were similar.

Both had suffered betrayal of people they had considered family or close allies. Both had become shut off, hateful, broken wrecks of the people they once were, and both of them received unmitigated love and support from Hera and Kanan, reforging them from broken iron into true steel. And both of them had finally found a home and family in the Ghost.

Her thoughts then turned dark. The Saxons. Traitors to everyone they once claimed to fight for. They were the very definition of dar'manda- men without honor or soul. When the Emperor offered Gar and his kin the opportunity to become their vassal rulers, they jumped on it, abandoning Maul as their liege. Those craven snakes proudly flew the Imperial cog along with their serpent banners on Mandalore and nearly everywhere else their foul influence seeped into, crushing the spirit of her people with the Empire's industry and signature ruthlessness…

Aided by the weapon she designed.

She shook herself out of that thought. No, she had destroyed the Duchess. She made sure it was demolished when she and Ketsu fled the Academy. And she had to resolve herself not to give into those self-loathing and bitter thoughts ever again. She would return home, correct her errors, and lead her people to victory over the Saxons, and once that was done, she'd hand over the Darksaber to someone who was truly worthy of claiming the throne, and then she would go and rejoin the Rebellion.

She sighed, running through her hands through her natural brown hair. Ezra had complimented her once when she had done this before, back when she infiltrated Skystrike Academy to rescue Wedge and Hobbie. Back then, she had brushed off the compliment. Now, it brought to her a feeling of warmth and contentment.

As she put on her business suit, she smiled, giving herself a look over in the mirror in the fresher. Maybe one day, when this war was over and they had won, they could find somewhere to settle down. She did not have the foggiest of where, though. More than likely, Ezra would want to choose Lothal, and she had to admit the thought attracted her. The people were peaceful, quiet, and unambitious, and the world itself held a beauty many worlds in Mandalorian Space unfortunately no longer possessed, thanks to the centuries of various wars of succession for the title of Mand'alor and the throne.

They'd discuss it once they had the time, though. Right now, she had to get focused on the mission at hand.

She heard a knock on the 'fresher door.

"Bean? You ready to go? Breakfast is in fifteen minutes, and we can't afford to be late. Not like we were last time," Ezra's familiar voice came reverberating through the door.

"Yeah. I'll be right out," she answered. She gave herself one last look over, and satisfied with what she saw, she turned and opened the door, to see Ezra standing a few feet behind.

Her boyfriend had gotten ready before she did, and instead of his usual bright clothes, he instead wore a naval blue business suit with a white undershirt and black dress shoes. And that wasn't the only thing different about him- asides from his cybernetic left limbs, that is.

Ever since he had woken it up, it seems that he had taken a fancy to grow out a beard. Officially, it was so he could be as incognito on this world as he possibly could. Unofficially, however, he seemed more and more to be subconsciously mirroring Kanan, and not just in mentality or spirituality, either.

His hair, which was close-cropped weeks before, had begun to grow out again, and Sabine would be honest in saying that she'd love to run her fingers through his hair if it ever grew long enough. She was doubly surprised when he said that he was thinking about putting it in a half-up like so many Jedi before he had done if they had long hair.

Underneath her fantasying about running her hands through his long hair and his beard tickling her when they kissed, she wondered if there was something else going on with his change in disposition.

True, his mind was focused on the mission at hand, but Sabine could pick up on a slightly worried tone to her lover's voice that she never heard before. It seemed ever since they've encountered those…creatures…on Valaryos, Ezra's mind had been focusing less and less on the threat of the Empire and more and more on whatever was out there in the Unknown Regions. It also seemed that the things out there frightened Robb and Theon, as well, and not just because those creatures murdered one of her dearest friends and comrades.

Maybe because they can raise the dead, she started to mentally reason, or maybe it's because there's a far more serious reason why they're afraid of those things.

Whatever the reason, it was clear that they were terrified.

"Ready to go, Lady Nymeria?" he asked, mockingly using the codename they had come up for her?

She did a mock curtesy, honed by her years of training on Krownest. "Of course, Lord Edric," she teased back using his codename. "Let us not keep his grace waiting any further."

---

She started to wonder if all the king and his councilors could talk about at breakfast was politics.

"Brother, if I may," Ignatius began to say, after cleaning his mouth with a napkin, "the wedding between your son and Theodora will be the most important event this kingdom had ever seen. We need to make it a spectacle that will last a lifetime!"

Immediately, the finance minister and the uncle to Alexios' betrothed, Belisarius, pounced on that.

"And with what coin would you be paying for such extravagances, my lord?" he questioned, his eyebrows raising ever so slightly. "We've already stretched our budget thin just with the parade and the racing event meant to celebrate this, and all of this is even before the wedding takes place! Any more events or courses of food ordered and we're going to go into the red budget wise."

"Not to mention you'd be adding to the security costs," John added. "My constables and Peter's military police will be at their limit during these existing events as is. Adding any more spectacles will push our resources to the breaking point. Let alone the fact that you'd be increasing the chances of a security breach by an order of magnitude, if not more."

Ignatius just stared into his plate, grumbling unhappily about something. No doubt that the younger Beniko wanted to use it as an opportunity to flaunt his personal status and party it up with even more women than what he had already been planning…or so it seemed.

In the back of her mind, Sabine made careful note of his behavior. Certainly, he appeared dejected, but much of that could have been a carefully calculated ploy. For all she knew, he could very well be the agent feeding information to Ramsay.

He would certainly have a motive. With Alexios out of the way, Ignatius would be one step closer to securing his brother's throne upon his death. At the very least, he would play queenmaker to Irene, who did not share her brother's unyielding sense of justice and duty.

It was, at this moment, Moreena decided to speak up.

"Forgive me, my lords, but perhaps there is a way to come to a compromise?"

Sabine swore that it fell so silent that you could hear a pin drop. Here Mo was, not even a member of the council or even of noble blood, yet she was making suggestions to them like she was one of their own.

She supposed, though, she technically was, being the princess' most trusted friend and advisor, after all.

"I suppose we can hear out this proposal," the old king mused. "Very well, lady Moreena. You may speak."

Moreena bowed her head at Lysandus and turned her attention to the council.

"My lord Belisarius, I understand your concerns about how much money we are spending on this wedding, and they are just, indeed. Certainly, if we add any more events, we will be heavily in debt and over-budget, which is something we cannot afford at the moment, not with our strained relations with the Hutts and the Empire an ever-present danger," she said, obviously trying to mollify him. "However," she continued, "that doesn't mean we cannot modify the events currently in place. We can surely find something to squeeze into one of the current events. Maybe some fireworks during the wedding feast?"

Belisarius stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmmm…perhaps. We do have some wiggle room in that department, and I'm certain some of the vendors in town would love to show off their best rocketry for the event. I believe that there's this old man downtown who brags about his latest invention, for example. 'The Dragon', I think he calls it…"

Ignatius beamed. "Then, it's settled, then!" he exclaimed before his elder brother could even make it official.

Duke Lund growled. "Funny, Ignatius. I never thought that you spoke in the king's name. One might be led to think that you are actually king, and we just prop up his grace for show and tell. But, as we both know that isn't true, then I suggest you let his grace make the decision."

The younger Beniko brother shot the old Gamorrean a dirty look. "You know as well as I, boar, that I had made no command. I believe that I was merely stating for the council our collective agreement. Lady Krai's plan has much merit, after all. Rest assured, though, my porcine friend, my brother is still the king, and the decision is ultimately up to him. I know my place in the hierarchy of things," he huffed with an air of finality, but Sabine also picked up something faint in his voice- a slight inflection at the end of the sentence. It was the kind of tone one would normally reserve for resentment or jealousy.

She made a note to herself that she'd have to keep more of an eye on him. So far, everyone was a suspect, even the venerable Lord Commander of the Exorsitoi, but Ignatius was definitely on the top of the list.

And judging by the way Ezra's mouth had curved downward into a slight frown, while his brows were beginning to scrunch up, she felt safe to say to herself that her boyfriend shared the same opinion of the man, if he didn't feel it even more strongly due to his natural connection to the Force.

"Regardless of our feelings on one another," the king interrupted the two bickering nobles, "Lady Krai's plan does indeed have merit, and it does have my approval. Now, if we can move on from the festivities, and go over who will be on the final guest list."

"I have it covered, your grace," the Chancellor and King Lysandus' left hand, Patricia Megara, offered. "Firstly, it appears Durga cannot attend, due to recent downturns with his businesses that need attention. In his place, Jabba is sending his son, Rotta."

"Thank the gods," John Pallas, the law minister, sighed.

"Why are we thanking the gods?" Ezra asked, before remembering his manners. "Forgive my interruption."

"Rotta is not like the other Hutts, Lord Edric," the king clarified for him, deliberately using Ezra's code name as to not arouse suspicion. "He seems keen on reform, and he disagrees with the more criminal practices that the other Hutts engage in regularly."

"From what my agents on Tatooine tell me, the relationship between Rotta and his father is pretty strained as a result of the former's more…progressive outlook," Lund added.

"All the better for us, I daresay," Alexios muttered. "If even one of those slugs was keen on doing away with the corruption and nepotism that plagues Nal Hutta like a disease, then maybe I can start tolerating their presence."

"One can only hope," Ignatius sighed. "I presume that I speak for all of us here when I say that it would mean a lot of our souls to no longer have to look the other way while slaves and narcotics flow openly throughout all of Hutt space."

Sabine felt tense. She had once gone undercover on a Zygerrian colony called Oon, posing as a newly acquired slave to a then haughty Zygerrian female known as MaDall. She detested the practice with her very being, and the fact that it was so common nowadays in the galaxy under Imperial rule just made her wish for Palpatine's fall all the sooner.

"To get back to the guest list," Patricia interrupted the musings, "we need to find or build accommodations for our dignitary from the Empire. In particular, a life support pod that can be used for extended periods by our guest."

Sabine quirked an eyebrow at that. "A life support pod? Why would this person need a life support pod?"

"Multiple injuries, from what I've heard, Lady Nymeria. The kind that would require one to wear a life-support suit for the rest of their days," Lund informed her, taking a whiff of his cigar.

Sabine felt a pit form in her stomach. She could think of only one Imperial so far who fit that description- a black-clad monster who nearly ended her life when they had escaped Lothal a few years ago. The one being she wished she would never run into again.

Unfortunately, it seemed, the manda had a twisted sense of humor.

"I still maintain that it is a mistake to accept Lord Vader coming here as an honored guest," the patriarch of the Triarchy, Michael XVII, huffed, confirming Sabine's worst fears.

Before anyone could say anything else, however, a loud clang silenced the room completely, and everyone turned to Ezra's direction.

The young Jedi had gone as white as snow, the goblet he was drinking from now laying on the floor, the contents on his lap and on the marble tiling, his fingers now numbly twitching.

"Lord Edric," the king asked him, concern etched on his old features, "are you alright? You look as pale as stone right now."

Ezra nodded- numbly, it seemed to Sabine. "Yea…yeah. I…um…I just need a moment. Need to…uh…clean up this wine spill on my trousers, heh!" he stammered, before promptly getting out of his seat and nearly bolting out of the room altogether.

After a split second decision, Sabine decided to follow him, worried for Ezra.

She knew that Vader had once come within a hair's breadth of killing both Ezra and Kanan back on Lothal and that he was responsible for the death of Ahsoka, but she didn't know how badly the Dark Lord of the Sith had affected the young Jedi. He was usually more level-headed than this. She frowned as she stalked down the vast hallways. It seemed the mention of that darjetti's name had brought up memories of whatever happened on Malachor.

After searching for what seemed like hours, Sabine finally found him back in their room. He was sitting on the bed, slumped forward as he seemed to be staring at the ground. His visage was contorted as if he were caught in a storm of intense emotions. He said nothing as she entered the room, choosing to keep silent and sulk. One did not need to be a Force-sensitive to tell that the Lothalian was obviously in a foul mood.

In turn, she said nothing, instead choosing to sit by him. She figured that if he wanted to talk, he eventually would.

After a moment of waiting, she would finally get her unspoken desire.

"I never told you about what I saw," he began, his voice quiet, as if just speaking the memory was painful. In all likelihood, it still was. A hurt like that just didn't go away, she knew. Wounds heal, even the ones inflicted on the mind and soul, but they often left behind ugly scars.

Scars that everyone in the crew bore.

"Ez, you don't have to bring it up if you don't want to," she comforted him, as Runi and Storm came to be by their feet, sensing the distress in the room. She laid her hand on his lap, and he took it, gripping it firmly, but not roughly.

"That's the thing, Bean," he sighed. "I don't want to, but I have to. The only other one who knows what happened is Kanan. I need to tell you, though. You deserve to understand what happened, and why I was messing with that damned Holocron for half a year," he gulped, the pain of the memory etched on his face. "I'll start when Vader arrived. I had activated the holocron on the top of the temple…or, what we thought was a temple. It turns out the thing was a damned weapon, and Maul was planning on turning it on Coruscant."

"Demagolka!" Sabine cursed. Of course, someone as insane as Maul would have tried to annihilate an entire planet in order to kill a few mortal enemies. Were all Sith this maniacal and depraved? "I'm so glad that scumbag is dead."

"Wouldn't say glad," Ezra admitted, "but I can't say that I'll miss him. Anyway, back to my story," he sighed. "After I had activated the temple, I ran to warn Kanan of Maul's treachery, only to be stopped by Vader, who had arrived on his ship. The bastard wanted to know how I unlocked the temple, and when I wouldn't give him an answer, we engaged in a duel," he said, chuckling slightly. "Ok, maybe not really a duel. More like a few swings before he cut my lightsaber in half."

"So that's how your old saber was destroyed?" Sabine asked him.

Ezra nodded. "Yeah. He was about ready to cut me down, too, were it not for Ahsoka calling him out," he shook his head. "You should have seen it, Bean. I've never seen anyone fight the way those two fought. It wasn't a duel so much as it was a death match between two former friends. It was like Ahsoka knew the man, almost as if he was her own brother."

"But he stilled killed her?" Sabine asked though it was a hollow and rhetorical question

Ezra nodded. "Yeah. She told him that she wouldn't leave him again, and he just said 'then you will die'." He let go of her hand and stood up, pacing around before turning to face her, his eyes brimming with anger. "He was Ahsoka's friend, once, and he just attacked her like a rabid dog! What kind of a monster do you have to be to strike down the ones who loved you with no regret or remorse? To butcher them like a nerf?"

Sabine shook her head. "I don't think any of us can ever understand what goes through the minds of evil people, Ez. Asides, you shouldn't blame yourself for Ahsoka's death."

Ezra hung his head. "I know. It's…infuriating, is all. Why didn't Lund or the others tell us that Vader was coming here? He'll sense me from a mile away, and blow our damned cover!"

"Because state secrets are not meant to be freely shared. Not even among those in the king's circle," came the reply of a familiar, gruff voice.

Ezra and Sabine both turned to find the Gamorrean intelligence minister standing there with a cigar in his mouth, his arms crossed and regarding them with an inscrutable look.

"Would have been nice to know," Sabine muttered, "that we're now in danger of sinking this whole karking operation because the Empire's top Jedi hunter was invited to the prince's wedding? Why would you invite a person like him?"

"Truthfully, we didn't. We didn't even consider inviting the Empire here, but those lying cocksuckers invited themselves, and to make matters worse, they sent the Emperor's mad dog as a dignitary. We had to accept, though. Couldn't afford to snub those pompous little pricks from Coruscant, now, could we? The same pricks who are great friends with our allies, the damned Hutts, if I might add."

"Sounds like you've got no love for either of them," Sabine observed dryly.

Lund grunted. "You're an observant one, aren't you? Aye, it's true. The Hutts have never truly respected our sovereignty. Every time they make a deal with a faction or declare for one side or another, we're always the ones fighting their wars for them, or gathering intelligence on their enemies for them so scumbag bounty hunters can swoop in and claim all the credit for our blood and toil. The Hutts reap the rewards, we pay the toll," he seethed, as he clenched his fist, "and this is to say nothing of what they personally cost me and my dear friend, decades ago."

Sabine was intrigued. "You mind filling us in on what that is?"

Lund shook his head. "A tale for another time. In the meantime, we'll figure out a way to mask your presence from that Sith Lord. The last thing we need right now is the king's operatives and a guest from the Empire trying to slaughter each other on a neutral planet, after all. If there's one thing we take seriously on Arcadia, it's our guarantee that no guest shall come to harm under our protection," he said. He then made as if to turn to leave, but then stopped and reached for something in his pocket. "Oh, by the way, the king wanted me to give you this datapad. Knowing myself, I checked it over twice to make sure it didn't contain any hidden files, bugs, or what have you. Don't know what for, though. Just seems to be some useless information about the nature of runes and spells."

He walked over and gave the pad to Sabine, then turned back and walked out the door.

She hefted the pad in her hands, feeling it's weight. She frowned. Why would the king want to give them this? Information about runes and spells wouldn't help them in their mission to find whoever was supplying Ramsay Bolton with information and supplies.

She turned the pad on. Immediately, the screen came to life. Sure enough, it looked like it was a book on the nature of magical runes like the kind ancients or cults used, but something was off about it…

She decided to click on the screen, and immediately she was greeted by a 'password' screen:

I am the sword in the darkness, the fire that burns against the cold, and the light that brings the dawn. Answer:

She frowned. Great, a damned riddle, just what they needed right now. She racked her brain, trying to think of different possibilities.

The sun? No, too obvious.

Star? No, wouldn't fit into old myths and legends, like this line was suggesting.

"Ez, take a look at this, will you?" she finally huffed. "Thing's going to drive me nuts."

"Yeah, sure," was his reply. He took a moment to look it over, his face scrunching in concentration before it lit up in clarity.

"I got it!" he exclaimed. "I think it's 'Lightbringer!'"

She eyed her boyfriend with a queer look. "Lightbringer? Are you absolutely positive about that?"

"Sure I'm sure, Bean!" he confidently boasted. "Think about it. The answer to a riddle is usually hidden in the passage. I just combined two of the words out of the sentence."

She nodded, warily. "Alright, then here goes nothing," she said as she took back the pad. She typed in Ezra's suggested password into the answer box, and immediately, the pad responded in the affirmative.

And this was when she got quite the shock.

For what was hiding behind the security measure was not a book on obscure rune-lore, but financial information. Transactions. Dealings.

From the king's own counsel to the smallest bank on the planet, every monetary dealing, major and minor, seemed to be listed in this little datapad.

This…this was it. This was the big break that they might have been waiting for.

She smirked. Finally, it seemed like things might be looking up for them, and that they would actually catch this damned turncoat.

All the while, though, she couldn't shake the feeling that things were going to get a hell of a lot more complicated before they completed their mission.

She just hoped that it wouldn't require any more bloodshed.

Notes:

A/N: Well, Happy New Year, everyone! Here's to my first chapter this year!

Well, it looks like Sabine and Ez are getting a little assistance from the king (and maybe Duke Lund) in trying to find whoever is supplying Ramsay. Will they succeed, or will they uncover something even deeper and darker?

In the beginning part of this chapter, I wanted to cover Sabine's reasonings why she chooses to dye her hair or color her armor. I stand to reason it was originally because she wanted to both distance herself from her past and to rub it in the nose of the authoritarian standardization of the Empire.

Chapter 37: Theon IV

He turned the message over and over again in his hands, his mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions. Ever since he had received this message a day ago from Lund, whose ministry, in turn, had received it from one of Ramsay's cronies, he had mulled over the contents, often isolating himself from Robb and the others in order to better collect his thoughts.

So far, it wasn't working that well.

To my dear friend and colleague, the letter began, in Ramsay's usual sadistic and mocking style, it is so good to hear from you again. When I had heard that you and your friends had killed a score of my men, I had to confirm it was you, Reek. Imagine my utter joy at hearing from the sole survivor that you were truly alive and well. I beg of you, old friend, we must meet. I've heard that you've been dying to see me, after all- you and your companions. To that end, I propose that we meet on neutral ground. The old factory near Arkani…do you know of it? Small, out of the way. Perfect for a lovely evening chat. I want to meet there, preferably on Life Day. What better way to kick off the new year than a reunion between two best friends?

Oh, and be sure to bring your friends. I'm sure my boys will make them feel quite welcome.

Regards,

Ramsay Bolton, Trueborn Lord of the Dreadfort and Warden of the North.

Theon sighed. The evil cur hadn't changed a bit if that last little tidbit in the letter was any indication. It seemed as if Ramsay was still terrified of anyone possibly remembering or recognizing him as a bastard son of a high lord.

There were a few things that had him on edge. He figured that Ramsay was setting a trap- of that he had no doubt. While logic would dictate that the simplest answer was the correct one and that Ramsay was preparing the trap for him and his companions, there was the matter of Ramsay wanting to meet on Life Day.

Coincidently, it was the same day the big wedding was supposed to be held.

He had to wonder if this was a distraction in order to lure him and Robb away from whoever was behind Ramsay's actions, leaving him or her free to carry out the assassination of the heir to the throne.

He paused to think. What was the motivation behind such an act? Yes, assassinating the prince would send a message, and cause immeasurable grief especially among his family, but the kingdom would function more or less, albeit Irene would take Alexios' place as heir to the throne. There would be a little to no tangible gain for any party involved, even for Ignatius, that fat pig.

Perhaps there was something even more devious at play, here. From what Han Solo had told them, Ramsay and his gang had been given arms and coin. From where he did not say, but a simple assassination mission did not require a massive influx of finances, nor did it require a particular party to receive enough weapons and munitions to form their own private military.

He started to feel a pit form in his stomach. This was starting to sound less and less like an assassination attempt and more like an all-out coup. The question still remained, though- who would be behind such a coup?

He heard a knock on his door. A few, sharp raps. He knew who it was without having to ask.

"Come in," he said. The door slid open, and in stepped Robb. Ever since they had accepted this mission to capture Ramsay, none of them had gotten a decent night's rest, having to pour over evidence, chase down leads in seedy cantinas, and play a game of cat and mouse with a dangerous murderer. Robb had formed a few bags under his eyes, and Theon noted that his beard looked more scruffy and haggard than usual, as there usually wasn't enough time for shaving nowadays.

"So..." Robb began, stifling a yawn as he came to sit in a chair opposite from Theon, "still thinking about going through with this?"

Theon nodded. "It's not my preference, but we have little choice in the matter. This could be our chance to catch Ramsay on our terms and possibly make him tell us who's behind his actions. Any leads on the kids' end?" he asked.

Robb nodded. "One major one, I think. Sabine and Ezra were handed a copy of the financial records for the kingdom. Major and minor transactions. Everything. Our resident Mandalorian is going over it right now, but she told me and Lund that she's already found some very interesting patterns."

"Interesting?" Theon inquired. "How so?"

"Well, one thing she noted is that there seemed to be a series of checks and transactions made out to several people with differing, yet oddly similarly sounded names. Ramos Benaco, Reginald Black, Robert Baratheon, and so on," Robb said. "The transactions from the sender party were anonymous, and all went through several false routing numbers before arriving at their intended recipient."

"Was there a similar time and place these transactions were made?" Theon inquired.

"The times are all different, but for the place…" Robb trailed off, appearing to remember something before continuing. "It appears that the transactions were made from somewhere in or near the palace."

"So, we know the suspect has access to the palace. And since the sums are pretty high for a common person, that would rule out any low-level functionaries or servants. So, it stands to reason that whoever we are searching for is part of the king's inner circle, or at least close to them enough to have some influence," Theon mused. "Was there anything else they uncovered?"

"Only this," Robb mentioned, "It appears that there might be some secret project going on if the misdirected finances for the Ministry of Defense are any indication."

Theon snorted. "Since when is a modern day government not involved in a secretive weapons program? Did you find out anything about it?"

Robb shook his head, "Not much. I tried to do some digging, and since my hacking skills aren't quite on par with Sabine's, all I was able to access was references to a 'Project Prometheus'. Everything else was either blacked out or plastered with 'above top-secret' labels, complete with the usual warnings about the penalty of getting caught with the information."

Theon said nothing, instead choosing to muse on the name of this apparent secret project. 'Prometheus'. There was an old Tionese legend about a figure of the same name, who was responsible for giving mortals the gift of fire, at a high price for himself. And since a good chunk of Tion's former population settled on Arcadia during the latter's earliest days as a refuge for those who fled the destruction of the Sith Empire, it stands to reason that the cultural fusion would have a great influence on later generations.

That influence would extend, it seemed, to naming conventions for scientific and military projects.

"It seems high time that we see our good friend, the Duke, about this," Theon spoke at last. "The Home Fleet being parked in orbit and the Royal Armed Forces going into high readiness levels doesn't really speak to the notion that everyone in the government wants peace with Nal Hutta or Coruscant."

Robb nodded. "Aye. I doubt Lund wants a war, though. He's one that views war as the absolute last resort. 'A knife between the ribs of one man beats blaster shots in the bodies of millions', as he always loved to say to me."

"That doesn't preclude shows of force, though," Theon reminded. "Whatever the Arcadians are building I presume they don't want it to be revealed until they're sure the time is right. When that time is, well, obviously neither of us can say."

Robb nodded, then motioned to the door. "Come on. We can catch the Duke outside the council chambers if we hurry. The meeting is over in fifteen minutes."

Theon quirked an eyebrow, "You managed to download the entire schedules for all the members of the council? Are you sure that Sabine's not just teaching you her language?"

Robb just smirked in reply, then turned to head out the door, and after a moment, Theon followed him, intent on getting answers from the Duke.

And all the while in the back of his mind, he could hear Ramsay's cruel laughter.

---

As massive as the palace complex was, it did not take them that long to reach the council chambers. Knowing that they couldn't simply sneak up on the wily old boar, they instead elected to wait outside, under the watchful gaze of two Exorsitoi, though truthfully he could never tell what their real expressions were underneath their helmets. If he had to venture, he would have had to guess it was the stereotypical Mandalorian expression- stony, stoic, and grim.

Not that much different than northerners, come to think of it.

They did not have to wait that long, as it turned out.

The doors swung open, and the king and his various councilors stepped out, either being oblivious to the presence of Robb and Theon or just flat out ignoring them in order to go about their other business. Surprisingly, neither Ezra nor Sabine had attended. On second thought, however, he did consider that they were still probably busy preparing for the prince's wedding and going over the financial records, still, to see if there were any other patters they could pick up on.

The last one out of the chambers was none other than the Gamorrean that they were looking for. Judging by the scowl on his face, Theon guessed that whatever had happened in the council chamber had obviously soured his mood, and thus they would have to approach this carefully.

Unlike the other councilors, Lund had taken notice of them. Snorting, he beckoned for them to follow, presumably to where they were out of earshot, and no prying eyes to see what they were doing.

Not willing to anger him further, Theon and Robb obliged, keeping a steady pace behind the intelligence minister, who was surprisingly spry for his advanced years. After what seemed like a few long minutes of walking, he turned into a room on the right side of the hallway they were walking. Following him, they noticed that they had entered what looked like a small break room for some of the local serving staff, right now unoccupied as the day shift was still about their tasks.

"Close the door," Lund commanded, his tone brisk and sharp.

Robb did as he was asked, and as soon as the door closed and the two Westerosi faced the Duke, he sighed. "Any updates on the pursuit of the killer and his handler? I could use some fucking good news right now. Something, anything to get that cunt Ignatius off my mind."

"Well, we're closer than ever to catching Ramsay, for one," Robb offered. "He's agreed to meet us at the old factory outside Arkani. Believe it was a munitions plant at one point, right?"

"Yeah. Used to be owned and operated by local weapons manufacture, before they moved to a bigger plant inside the town itself when they got enough credits saved up. A good place to set up an ambush, as any," Lund replied, his voice carrying an edge of annoyance. "Did it occur to you two that this is an obvious trap?"

"Believe me, I'd be disappointed it if weren't a trap," Theon drolled. "Remember, I know the man. He's likely wired the place to blow, or he's got men crawling all over that facility, waiting for us to show up…and waiting for any nasty surprises coming from the Arcadian government."

"And yet you're still going to meet with him?" Lund observed.

Theon nodded. "It's the only real chance we have of catching him. We have to play into his overconfidence, make him seem like he's going to come out on top. That's when we'll nab him."

"How, exactly, do you plan to do that? Even if you have that Mandalorian Protector by your side, it doesn't change the fact that Ramsay will outnumber you three by a significant margin, if the reports on the estimated size of his gang are to be believed. Speaking of which, where is Rau?" the Duke asked.

"Talking to Lord Commander Vistula, last I checked. Believed they knew each other back in the day, or so I was told," Theon replied. "As for your other question, we were actually going to ask for your help in that matter. You have the resources necessary to back us up, and the pull to borrow from other branches as you and the king see fit. We can talk about the planning later, but suffice to say that you'll be providing the muscle in case things go wrong, and they almost certainly will go wrong."

"Noted. I'll need my boys to do some reconnoitering of the old place, though. Don't want my men to walk blindly into something nasty, after all," Lund snorted, then looked at the two of them. "Something tells me, though, that the Ramsay matter isn't the only reason why you're talking to me. And something else tells me that I'm not going to enjoy this next conversation. So, spit it out already."

Theon and Robb shared a look between each other, each unsure who should tell one of the most powerful men in the entire galaxy that they found evidence of an Arcadian secret weapons project. After a long, tense moment of silence, Robb decided to come clean, much to Theon's relief.

"What do you know of Project: Prometheus?" Robb asked, his tone straight and void of emotion.

For the first time in his life, Theon saw Lund's posture go ram-rod straight, and his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "What in Sofios' name did you say?"

"Prometheus," Robb repeated. "Don't play me for an idiot, Lund. We both know that Arcadia's been funding a secretive military effort. Your government has been bringing in record revenues yet you're tight on budget for some reason? Either someone's been mismanaging money- which, as you know, is highly unlikely given how stingy Belisarius is- or there's something going on that the Council doesn't want everyone else to know about.."

Before Robb could finish, Lund grabbed him and threw him against the wall, with a speed and quickness that should not have been possible for someone his size. As a matter of fact, he had done this before Theon had even registered what was going on, and by the time he had drawn his blaster, Lund's dagger was already at Robb's throat.

"Where the living fuck did you learn this?" Lund demanded, his voice dangerously low and threatening. "Who the fuck do I need to kill in order to keep my country safe this time?"

"I learned it on my own," Robb replied, his voice cool and calm, never flinching at the knife half an inch away from nicking his jugular. "And save the threats, Lund. If you wanted to kill me, you would have done so already. But, if it makes you feel any better; no, we haven't told anyone else. Ezra and Sabine just noticed the patterns," he added. "You do anything to those kids, though, and you will know just how wroth an aggrieved direwolf can be."

Slowly, Lund released his grip on Robb's collar, and sheathed his dagger, though the rage in his eyes did not subside.

"Mark my words, Stark," he growled, "if you ever tell a word to anyone, I'll have my agents arrange some unfortunate incidents for the whole pack of you. I'll make sure to cover my tracks and blame it on the Empire, afterward."

"Noted," Robb retorted. "Now, do you mind telling what Prometheus is, now? I swear by my father's grave that not a word of what you say will leave this room on pain of death, etcetera."

Lund sighed and pinched the bridge of his snout. "Argh. Where to begin…" he began. "Approximately half a cycle ago, we had heard rumors that the Empire was building some sort of doomsday weapon. Some of us wanted to dismiss it at first, but there's a little game I play when it comes to the Empire or any potential threat to our safety and liberty- what is the worst possible motive they could have? Therefore, my ministry and I treated the rumors as already established fact. The Empire has the resources, the manpower, and the motivation to build weapons of unparalleled destruction, so why would they not? They are a government based on fear, after all, and what better way to spread fear than having the power to destroy entire planets?"

Theon nodded. "Well, at least you're right on the planet-killer the Empire is building. Last I was briefed by Rebel command, we had tracked it down to somewhere around the Scariff system. They're supposedly calling it 'Project: Stardust' or 'Deep Space One- Orbital Battle Station', though given the Empire's propensity for terror, I imagine the actual name for it is something grandiose and terrifying."

"All the more reason for our response," Lund replied. "We knew that whatever the Emperor was constructing obviously didn't spell good news for anyone, least of all us. Hence why it was almost unanimously decided among the council that a response was needed."

" 'Almost' unanimously?" Robb questioned. "Who was the sole dissenting vote?"

"Take a fucking guess," Lund groaned. "The king's oh-so-noble brother."

"Ah," was all Theon could say.

"At any rate, with the approval of his grace, we decided that a deterrent was needed. Something that could match this threat in destructive capability, and exceed it in logistical ease and secrecy," Lund continued. He pulled out a miniature holo-projector out of his back pocket and keyed in a code that only he and a select few others must have known. Immediately, the projector whirred to life, displaying a simulacrum of a missile.

"A missile?" Robb questioned for both of them.

"To be technical, a torpedo, but yes," Lund clarified. "The Ministry of Defense classified it as the SM-8 Incendiary Munition, Particle Disintegration, but most who've worked on this project have taken to call it the Atmospheric Incinerator Torpedo, or the Firestarter Missile."

Theon felt the blood drain from his face. His worst fears were confirmed- Arcadia was building superweapons, as a response to the Empire building their own, and he feared that little good would come of this.

"I'm almost afraid to ask what this weapon entails," Robb said, as the Grey-Wolf adopted a wary countenance, "and for what reason you decided to go with a planet-killer, yourselves."

"Well, for the first part of your 'not-question'," Lund gruffly answered, "the weapon's effects are in the name. The torpedo is relatively small, about the size of a Corellian gunboat, which means that it can be carried by most of our capital ships. This makes it cost-effective, and less prone to sabotage, see." He took a moment to clear his throat, then continued. "Once a planet has been targeted for bombardment, the weapon is launched from its host ship into the stratosphere, or wherever the most likely combustible gasses are located. Once the bomb detonates, a series of self-sustaining thermonuclear reactions occur, causing an intense firestorm that will sweep over the planet, burning away the atmosphere, incinerating the biosphere, and boiling the hydrosphere away, all within the span of a few minutes. Once the firestorm dies down, nothing would be left but a dead, blackened rock utterly incapable of supporting any life on its own again, at least not without serious restoration efforts. Those, may I remind you, are extremely expensive and time-consuming."

Theon tried to contain the disgust building within him. For what purpose was there in incinerating an entire planet…

Well, there is one purpose, he thought, but I pray to the Drowned God that we won't have to resort to using that tactic against them.

He suppressed a shudder. No matter what this galaxy threw at him, nothing could compare to the horror of facing down the White Walkers and their seemingly endless hordes of undead warriors. If there were such a time that they had to use a weapon like the Arcadians designed against the legions of the dead, then all else would have failed, and he hoped to the gods that it would not come to that.

"As for your other question," Lund continued, interrupting Theon's thoughts and speaking before Robb could retort, "I'll let you in on an ill-kept secret: Arcadia's military may be well-trained, organized, disciplined, and equipped with the latest and greatest in military hardware, but we cannot win a war of attrition with the Empire. As you lot may know, nine times out of ten, it is the side with the numerically superior force that wins, and the Empire outnumbers us in manpower at least ten to one. We don't have the resources to sustain an offensive war with them, and we don't have the reserves to last for more than a decade in a completely defensive war. We need every advantage we can get our hands on, and this offers us a powerful deterrent against an otherwise expansionist and bloodthirsty regime. Our flags may bear an eagle, but truthfully, we are more like badgers with this. Make no mistake, the incinerator warheads are a weapon of last resort, but ones we will use if all else fails." He stared at both of them. "Remember, none of this leaves this room. Ever."

Theon saw Robb nod, though it was a terse nod, the kind one did when one wanted to retort but held their tongue. Obviously, Robb wasn't into the idea of superweapons, and for obvious reasons- they never discriminated between the innocent and the guilty. Men, women, and children would be incinerated in a near-instant, and this would also remind him too strongly of the stories of how his grandfather and uncle met their deaths.

"Now, enough talk about superweapons," Lund changed the subject. "Let us get back to the matter of Ramsay and his conspiracy. Your young friends informed me that they've narrowed down the possible leads of whoever is supplying the murderous whoreson to the highest levels of government. Obviously, it must be one of the council, given the large sums involved and the rapid speed at which this Bolton character seems to know of our movements."

"Do you have any suspects?" Theon questioned.

"A few, and I know a few ways of drawing out my prey, now I have eliminated who it could possibly be. But you needn't concern yourselves with that. All you two need to do is capture Ramsay and make him spill. I don't particularly care how you do it or what you do with that fucker afterward, just as long as the hand behind him is caught before he or she can do any further damage."

With that, Lund pushed past both of them and headed out the door, mumbling something about being made late for a bloody appointment.

After he had left, Robb and Theon elected to walk back to their rooms in silence, each stewing and churning over what had been revealed to them, and what the potential consequences were.

A particularly horrid thought had entered Theon's mind. Given the fact that this person, whoever it was, had been leaking Lund's movements to Ramsay, who was to say that they weren't also leaking the secrets of this weapon to the Empire or another unsavory group? This had the potential to turn into an arms race, with each power building stockpiles of incinerator torpedoes, until each had enough to ignite the entire civilized galaxy several times over. The Night King's work would be practically done for him, and sentient kind would end in the fire instead of ice.

He steeled himself. None of them would let it come to that, not if the Rebellion had any say about it.

He just hoped that they lived through whatever was about to happen next.

Notes:

A/N: So, another chapter is done.

The reason this one took me a while is that I'm heading back to college and starting a new part-time job. Therefore, I'm going to be extra busy and probably only have time to work on this on the weekend. Don't worry, though. I'll get updates to you.

If the Atmospheric Incinerator Warheads look familiar to anyone, it's because I based them on cyclonic torpedoes from WH40K and the Galaxy Gun from SW Legends. I find the idea of a weapon that can essentially glass a planet in a fraction of the time it takes to do a thorough orbital bombardment with dozens of ships to be fascinating, in a macabre sort of way.

This chapter is going to be dedicated to my late cousin, Brandon Lee Barbo, who was killed on the 31st of March in a car wreck. He was only 19 years of age. May I see you again in the green fields of heaven, little cousin.

Chapter 38: Sloane IV

When she had first set eyes on the planet, she didn't quite know what to make of it.

The readouts had shown that it was one of those planets that seemed average, in all respects. In this planet's case, the proximation to it's parent star along with its axis and speed of rotation meant along with an abundance of both fresh and saltwater on the surface meant that, apart from a few deserts and mountain ranges here and there, the majority of the planet was covered in lush, green forests, both of the tropical and deciduous variety, and vast, rolling plains. The active atmosphere as also pretty average for a world of this type- capable of serene calm and violent storms in equal measure. She found herself watching one such storm right now, sweeping across the central plains they had set themselves up in.

She didn't worry all that much about the storm, however. They had chosen the site well- a large hill with enough room for four entire legions to comfortable house themselves on top plus room for all their vehicles. They'd be safe from flooding, at the very least, and the well-constructed, utilitarian domes that were a staple of Imperial military architecture meant that strong winds- even those from devastating tornadoes- would mean that their base would, at best, only suffer dents and scratches from flying debris.

No, she wasn't worried about this storm, she mused as she watched a particularly large wedge tornado tear its way through the plains below, churning like a deadly ballerina across the prairie. The storm she was worried about was one which was far worse- a storm of cold and death, one that would not be content to limit itself to one measly planet, but rather one that would not stop until the stars themselves would be snuffed out.

So far, she had not caught sight of the menace, but she had heard of the aftermath. Everywhere she sent scouting missions, the crews always reported the same thing- a dead, cold world, with all signs of life simply gone. Only ice, snow, and wind remained.

And there had still been no true sighting of the barbarian coalition under this mysterious figure, either. Sure, the ships she sent out would pick up the occasional anomaly on long-range scanners, yet when they went to investigate, the anomaly vanished, as if it had never existed in the first place. They also had detected no residual radiation left from a hyperspace jump, which meant that the ghost ships didn't make a hasty jump to lightspeed.

She furrowed her brow in confusion. Did the Vong and their allies get a hold of some sort of cloaking device? She heavily doubted it, as cloaking devices were tightly controlled and regulated by the Empire, but she could still not dismiss the possibility.

She sighed and turned away from the window, bored already of watching the storm. Truth be told, she always enjoyed spacefaring more than she did being on the ground. She badly wished to be up there on her destroyer, right now, not stuck on some nameless planet overseeing the finishing touches to some unnamed forward operating base.

She may be considered one of the more level headed and cautious officers in the Imperial fleet, but she did share one thing in common with many of her compatriots- a love of the stars. If she was honest with herself, then she'd also say that she also had a fair bit of ambition, too. If she didn't, she'd never had risen the ranks to the Admiralty, after all.

But she wasn't power-hungry, or a glory-hound, unlike a fair amount of officers in the Imperial Armed Forces. Constantly scrambling over one another for the Emperor to even spare a second-long glance at them, giving out promotions or meting out punishment based on what connections you had, or what family you were born to, or if you said something that even mildly flattered or offended them. Arrogant, self-serving, and egotistic, the lot of them. Unlike Thrawn, herself, and a handful of others, there existed in the new officer corps no sense of loyalty or duty to the ideals of the Empire or the Throne. All that existed was nepotism and incompetence, and it had been that way ever since the purges.

She walked back to her desk, plopped down onto the chair, and began to read the reports that had piled up on her desk. Tedious work, sure, but it needed to be done.

The first report was a geological survey carried out by her fleet's resident scientists. All in all, it seemed this planet was abundant in natural resources, and could one day make for an excellent, self-sustained colony. But that concern was far off in the distant future. What she was concerned with right now was if there was a way to tap into the resources in order to keep her fleet fueled and supplied.

The second was a report from one of her TIE/sr scout fighters that all fleets were required to keep on standby, as deploying probe droids wasn't possible in all cases. Here, they reported that they had spotted a large concentration of unknown vessels- nearly an entire squadron's worth. The scouts speculated that it could be these "Free Folk", but they could not get close enough to verify, lest they had given away their position.

It was like this throughout the entire afternoon going into the evening. Report after report, from sanitation levels to troop morale. Finally, after she had exhausted her last paper, she came across something on the bottom of her stack of papers.

A journal, bound in black leather, with a note written in flimsiplast attached to it.

Our friends in the Ascendency just sent us this, the note read. Apparently, it relates to Valaryos and it refers to an organization that was dedicated to battling the White Walkers. They thought it might be useful in some way.

Regards,

Uthbar.

Despite her misgivings about why there was this seemingly 'important' journal that their Chiss "allies" had sent to them, Rae had to smile. Where would she be without her second-in-command? In all honesty, without Uthbar, life in the navy would have been a lot more miserable for her.

Making a mental note to thank Uthbar later, she tore off the note and placed it on the stack of papers, and opened the journal to its very first page.

The Journal of Eddison Tollet, 999th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, with annotations by Archmaester Samwell, it read in Basic.

Rae paused before turning the page. The Night's Watch…

She had read about their organization before, going over the big history record that she obtained on Csilla. But why in the world would they send her a personal journal belonging to its last leader? What did they think was so important in this book? She already knew how the Walkers could be defeated. She read as much in that big history tome downloaded on her datapad. As a beside, she didn't see a point in an organization exclusively dedicated to an outside threat- wasn't that what centralized governments were even for? To protect the people from all threats foreign and domestic, and to keep the peace?

But they do not take this threat seriously, the voice that had been with her for months now suddenly spoke up in her head. You do. You must find Azor Ahai. You must give him the shield that guards the realms of men.

Rae frowned. That was another problem. Ever since that damned tomb on Valaryos, she felt more and more like she wasn't truly in charge of her own fate. That something was definitely guiding her to some unknown destiny or fate. What this destiny was, though, she hadn't the foggiest. Maybe it was something to do with the White Walkers, she reasoned.

Whatever the case may be, she put aside such thoughts and continued to read the journal, beginning with the first entry:

March 14, 298 AC. Well, here I am, writing this bloody fucking thing. Well, where to start? Guess I better start with my fucking name. I'm Eddison Tollet, though all my friends here at the frozen ass end of the realm call me Dolorous Edd, because I seem to be the only one who realizes just how badly fucked we all are…

---

Hours later, the storm had cleared up, and the sun had set, revealing a clear, beautiful night sky, complete with a full moon, yet Rae found herself far too busy to notice such a thing. Instead, she found herself engrossed in this journal of a man who had obviously seen so much and accomplished many things as a brother of this "Night's Watch". He went into great detail describing the undead and the White Walkers, far more so than what her history book had told her about the undead foe. She felt a shudder run down her spine at his description of the massacre of Hardhome- how the Night King just casually managed to rise up over a hundred thousand fresh bodies to become a part of his horde. Another thing that caught her interest was his description of the resurrection of his predecessor and best friend; one Jon Snow, the bastard son of the man who ruled from the castle Rae had visited-Winterfell.

For some reason, her mind flashed back to the Grey Wolf and Robb Stark. No one had ever seen what the former warrior looked like underneath his mask, or if he was related to the ancient house which had a long, storied, and successful history.

A possibility popped into her head, one that was ridiculous and fleeting, but it had shown itself for the briefest of moments, and sometimes, that's all it takes for a seed to take hold in one's mind; there existed an infinitesimal possibility that this Grey Wolf was not a descendent of the Starks, but rather Robb Stark himself.

She quickly waved it off. No one could be brought back from the dead, and even if they were, they certainly couldn't jump eight thousand years forward in time to the present day, to a galaxy that would be so advanced and different from the culture they grew up in it might as well have looked like the realm of gods to the primitive mind.

She continued on with her reading. She reasoned that she as might as well finish it, considering that she was on the last entry and that it turned out to be a very fascinating look-in to what the lives of these people were like.

September 12, 305 AC.

This is probably going to be my last entry into this damned book. Tonight, the dead are going to be at the gates of Winterfell, and if we lose here, then Westeros might as well kiss it's ass goodbye, cause I don't think there's going to be any force left that can stop the Night King and his ungodly fucking hordes.

There's going to be a war council in the evening. Jon's been devising strategy all day, and we're going to make some final minute changes then. I really hope these Unsullied and Dothraki are all that people say they are, and that the dragons can burn those undead freaks to oblivion, because even with Winterfell's fortifications, ten thousand Northmen alone can't hold out against a hundred thousand swarming wights. I've seen how they overrun the Wildlings at Hardhome and my brothers at the Fist. Clawing, biting, breaking, hacking, screaming. I'll admit, I'd be a bit more comfortable if that bitch Cersei had actually kept her promise for once and sent some of her troops up here. If we win, and they're gone, maybe the nightmares that haunted me constantly will finally stop. Maybe not.

Should we win, but I perish on the field, as I do believe what will happen, then I want to give this book to Samwell Tarly. Maybe he'll know what to do with it when he writes that history epic he's always been blabbering on about, and if anyone else reads this, I want to give you a piece of advice-

If we win, but the Walkers were somehow to return one day, or if the Wildlings return to their previous ways of raiding and pillaging our kingdoms, then the Wall must be repaired. The Night's Watch must stand, for we are the shield that guards the realms of men. We protected the kingdoms and the cities when no one else was able or willing to- too concerned with their power plays and their pointy metal chairs to give any concern about the things that truly posed threats to their lives.

I have to go, now. The council is set to begin any minute now, and I can't dilly-dally around any longer.

This is Eddison Tollet, the nine-hundred-ninety-ninth and last Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. May the old gods and the new watch over us tonight.

Rae closed the book. Her mind was practically sprinting through a gauntlet of thoughts, and so far, none of them were answering her questions. Did the voice want her to restore the Night's Watch- raise an army dedicated to fighting these monsters and hand it over to some "chosen" stranger supposedly destined to defeat them? But would that not conflict with her sworn duty to safeguard the Empire and obey the commands of the Emperor and those officers appointed above her? Would that not paint her as a traitor in the eyes of her comrades? But could she afford to ignore this voice?

Could she truly count on the Empire sending reinforcements if things went south?

The more and more she thought, the more and more her mood went dark, as each thought process ended up in the same conclusion- if she followed this voice's commands, she would be labeled a madwoman and a traitor, in all likelihood, and if she didn't, she ran the risk of the Empire falling to a cruel and callous enemy that defied the very nature of logistics.

She groaned and rubbed her temples. That book had not answered anything. If anything, it just presented a new dilemma for her. What she needed was answers- a clear path to follow.

She got up from her desk and exited her office. Some fresh air was sorely needed, she decided, for she had spent far too much time on a ship or locked up in a building, and her anxiety was getting worse.

She soon exited the command and control building and soon found herself wondering around the base in the cool, clear night. Normally, her death trooper bodyguards would have been escorting her around the premises, but right now she neither required nor wanted their presence. She needed to do something to get her mind off of her worries and troubles.

As she found herself walking next to the barracks, she noticed how quiet it was outside, save for small groups of troopers here and there gathered around smoking pits. It was around one of these pits that she heard someone singing while playing their guitar.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she decided to go over and investigate, if not to at least get to know the men under her command better. As she approached the pit, she noticed that the men were either in their undersuits or in civilian attire that they had purchased back when they last had shore leave. A few of the men had regulation-trimmed mustaches, some were bald, and others were skirting on the edge of what regs allowed as far as it went for hairstyles and length. But all of them, it seems, were either in a happy or ambivalent mood. She smirked. More than likely, a few of them were hitting the sauce, as it happened to fall on a weekend and the men had "secretly" broken into contraband and "liberated" the alcohol that none of them were supposed to be consuming while deployed. More often than not, many officers who didn't have their heads stuck up their asses chose to ignore the troops blatantly breaking such rules, provided that the enlisted men didn't go overboard with it.

The troopers must have noticed her coming, for one of their numbers suddenly swatted the guitar player to stop the music. Suddenly, everyone jumped to their feet and stood at the position of attention, with whom she presumed to be the leader of this team saluting her when she came near.

She gave a tired smile, returning the salute. "As you were, soldiers," she commanded. "I'm not here for an inspection or anything like that. I just wanted to make the rounds and see how my men were doing."

Immediately, the troopers seemed to give out a collective sigh of relief and sat back on their benches, still somewhat wet from the storm that had passed through earlier.

"Forgive us, ma'am," their leader said. "Ya' just startled us, is all."

She was struck by how the man talked. His accent sounded like he was from one of the Rim Worlds, and he had the tanned complexion and dark hair to match. What's more, she was curious about his age. He looked young, probably not even into his mid-twenties, yet. His eyes, though, shone with all the hardened seriousness and steadfast loyalty that one would expect of a stormtrooper underneath the armor.

"Don't worry about it, trooper," she waved aside, sitting down beside them. "If anything, I should have known better than to walk up on a fireteam of stormtroopers just trying to have a good time. By the way, who are you?" she asked.

The young man's eyes glazed over, a result of years of conditioning "DX-578, Corporal E-4, ma'am."

Rae frowned. It was like this with all stormtroopers, it seemed. All of them seemed to identify themselves via their operating number, giving themselves the appearance of nothing more than faceless, nameless meat-droids.

Or…maybe it was all a front the troopers put on for anyone outside their company, let alone their platoon. It stood to reason that these troopers called each other by their last names within their immediate units, in order to build unit cohesion and morale, or perhaps they used nicknames derived from things they did, said, or plays on their operating numbers- much like their clone forebears.

She bit her lip. She decided to press the issue.

"Well, DX-578," she addressed, "you've given me your operating number. I want to know your name, though. Where are you from?"

A long, uncomfortable silence passed between them, as DX-578 seemed to have an internal debate, as to whether or not he should tell someone who was outside his immediate unit or chain of command and support. Finally, after a long moment, he seemed to have decided.

"Bunkle," he answered at last, understandably reluctantly, though. "Corporal Ames Bunkle, though my platoon calls me 'Bunk', ma'am.

Bunk's answer seemed to have instilled some courage in his slightly younger teammates, for the rest of them began answering.

"Private First Class Jayne Reynolds," the young redheaded woman answered next, "known to everyone outside the company as TN-727 and inside the company as 'Red'. I'm the team's designated marksman, ma'am."

"Specialist Jon Cramer," the bald, mustached man with a cigarette in his mouth said next, "inside the platoon, known as 'Train', due to something that I'd rather not mention. Outside of it, it's FN-891, ma'am. I'm the squad's repeater-gunner. Get me behind the sights of a DLT-19, and I can guarantee you that I can hold off an entire damned battalion by myself as long as I have ammo."

"Private Amos Blackwood," a blonde-haired youth answered next, "AK-101 is my number, and I'm the team's grenadier. They called me 'Nerfboy' in basic, and the name stuck, ma'am."

"Private Dan Jakarta," was the final man's answer, who was a huge, muscular dark-skinned man with a wiry regulation haircut. "My number's MD-534, and the nickname's 'Horse', due to me trying to steal horses back before I joined up with the Army. I'm Cramer's assistant gunner. He needs ammo or a tripod, I'm his man."

She looked at all of them; Bunkle, Reynolds, Cramer, Blackwood, and Jakarta. All of them were young humans, conditioned to be steadfastly loyal to the state and to their Emperor, ready to lay down their lives for realm and ruler and kill in their name as well. A tight-knit group, as all fireteams were, led by a junior NCO that she had a good feeling about.

She shrugged. "Well, you all know who I am, obviously. The commander who brought you to the literal end of nowhere, chasing shadows and depriving you of glory. Did I get it more or less right?"

"More or less, ma'am," Bunkle admitted. "Permission to speak freely?"

She nodded. "Permission granted, corporal."

"With all due respect, ma'am, what in the name of fuck is High Command thinking sending us out here? The only thing out here is some backward ass, no-nosed nerf-fuckers, and their equally hideous friends. Does command really think that they're such a threat to waste a handful of legions and a fleet full of ships on?"

Rae was silent for a moment. She debated on whether or not she should let the rank and file know why they were actually out here. She decided against it, for several reasons. Firstly, the tale itself was unbelievable, unless you had seen it personally. Secondly, the enlisted usually didn't have top secret and above clearances for a reason. Too big of an operational security risk to tell a lowly private or sailor something vitally important and not actually pertaining to his or her task at hand.

"I cannot tell you men the exact reason for why we're out here, men," she finally answered, deliberately and carefully. "What I can tell you, though, is that what we are facing is far, far worse than some backward barbarians with barely any ships to their name and that we might as well be the only thing between the Empire and oblivion," she spoke, her voice cold and serious as the winds of winter.

Even though her men still had a slight look of confusion on their faces, they silently agreed to drop the subject. They'd soon know, anyway, Rae thought. All that she could hope for was that they're morale held in the face of the apocalypse.

She shook her head. "Never mind that, though. You were playing a song, earlier. Never heard of it, before."

Realization dawned on Bunkle's face. "Ah, right, ma'am. Well, it's an old song that some Mando merchant taught me back on Ord Mantell. Said it came from a time long before his people even called themselves 'Mandalorians'. Hell, he told me that it might not even be one of the songs from their past at all, due to it not being 'warlike'. I can start playing it for you again if you like, ma'am."

Rae nodded, and soon enough, the sounds of music filled the night sky, the lyrics sad and mournful, like a portend of tragedy before a great battle was to take place.

"High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found and the ones who had loved her the most. The ones who'd been gone for so very long, she couldn't remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones, spun away all her sorrow and pain…"

Notes:

A/N: "and she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave…"

Well, another chapter is done.

During the small hiatus between the chapters, I watched the eighth and final season for GoT. There were many things I liked about us, and a few things I didn't. Now, I know I said that I wouldn't change the backstory to this fic, but I've been thinking about lining some of it up better with what happens in canon GoT. Namely, changing Sansa's fate to match her show fate much better. Don't worry, though. Theon's fate in my story will remain the same (I think).

Now, on to the substance. Rae is given Edd's journal, detailing his history as a brother of the Night's Watch. What does that mean for her and her forces? Where will this lead? And what is her role in defeating the third coming of the Night King?

Till next time!

Chapter 39: Rau III

Vistula

It had been an old name among the Mandalorian clans, dating all the way back to the time his people started to call themselves the Mando'ade. It was also a heavily respected and honored clan; at various points in their history, a Vistula had been named Mand'alor, the warrior-king of all Mandalorian Space, and their clan served the throne long and well.

That is until the Empire arrived, however.

When Bo-Katan had been overthrown after the bloody and brutal conflict that had arisen in the aftermath of her sister's death, and the Saxons placed into power as Palpatine's vassal lords, the Vistulas had been some of the first to resist- foremost among them being Count Erik Vistula.

The Empire had stopped their rebellion before it even began, as the Saxons and their allies had a flotilla of Star Destroyers and three entire legions surround the Vistula's home planet of Sizwa. The choice Gar Saxon and Wilhuff Tarkin had given Lord Vistula was clear- surrender and go into exile, and your progeny will keep their lands and titles. Refuse, and watch as your family is slaughtered and your world is burned.

Erik had chosen exile over the annihilation of his clan.

Many others, loyal to Erik rather than the Empire, followed his stead and had found refuge on Arcadia, where they joined the ranks of the Exorsitoi- the bodyguards of the Arcadian king comprised mostly of Mandalorians like themselves.

The former Count of Sizwa had been welcomed with open arms by the king and his court, and swiftly found himself rising up the ranks of the Exorsitoi, eventually becoming the Lord Commander of the esteemed guardians, and as Lord Commander, he held significant sway in the politics of the capital, and thanks to his son, he still had an ear in the comings and goings of what was happening on Manda'yim

Hence why Fenn was now finding himself speaking to him… in Arcadia's biggest cathedral, of all places.

"Journeyman Rau," the elder Mando greeted, upon arrival to the basilica's nave. "It's been quite a long time since I last spoke to you in person. That was...oh, during the Siege of Mandalore, was it not?"

"Indeed it was, Lord Commander," Fenn affirmed. "I was a hotshot pilot still fresh in my command, and you were on the ground fighting the auretii dar'manda on the ground. I remember the story of how fierce you were in that battle."

"Rumors," Vistula dismissed, "I never killed that many Death Watch traitors. Now, that Jedi, what was her name...something-Tano. Now, she was a whirlwind of death. I had heard stories from your mentor, Walon, on what Jedi could do, but to see it for myself was something else entirely. I know our people used to boast about how we held off the Jedi for so long, but after seeing one who wasn't even a knight in action, I'm frankly surprised our ancestors managed to last as long as they did against such a foe."

Fenn smiled sadly. "Well, not all of us can be Jango Fett, I suppose," he quipped, referring to the last true king of their people.

Vistula nodded. "No, we cannot," he agreed quietly, "but I've no doubt he would have kept fighting for a free Mandalore, had he not been so broken by what happened to him and his men."

"Aye. But there are others who are willing to fight for such," Fenn offered. "The clans can be united again, not just in fear or hate of the Saxons and their Imperial backers, but by belief. Belief in a new sole ruler of our hegemony."

"And I take it that you already have a candidate in mind?" Erik questioned. "Satine is dead, her sister is in hiding, the rest of the clan leaders cower before Palpatine and his Saxon lapdogs."

"You already know of whom I speak," Fenn countered.

"Wren?" Vistula asked, "what do you see in her? From what I've heard from my men and others, she is nothing more than a traitor. An oathbreaker, worthy of neither her name nor her armor."

Fenn chuckled, though the laugh was bitter. "I used to think the same thing, once. When I first met her, I thought that she was nothing more than the traitorous daughter of a Death Watch lackey. But as time went on, and I saw how she cared for her friends, how she buried the guilt of what she had created, and then how she confronted it head on and overcame it, my opinion of her drastically changed. I saw her for what she truly was- not as the White Raven, but as Sabine of Clan Wren. She is young, true, but she has lead men twice her age into battle and has racked up many victories. More colorful, to be sure, but she knows how to fight with the best of them. And she is far stronger in mind and spirit than many give her credit for, and that kind of strength is what we need now. The Darksaber she has will also give her an edge in uniting the clans against the Empire."

"But the sword is not the kingdom," Vistula countered. "I've no doubt of your honesty, Fenn, and your own reputation as an honorable and loyal warrior precedes you. If you think that Sabine Wren can lead our people to victory over the Saxon traitors and their Imperial masters, then it is your right. However, I fear that the clans will not see your point of view...not at first, at least."

"I have confidence that they'll come to see her as I have," Fenn argued.

"Let us hope," Erik offered, "though, I foresee another potential problem in that Jedi companion of hers. You know as well as I that many of the clans still harbor resentment against their order, and any friendship- let alone a courtship- between her and a Jedi will make the cause look tainted by some of the more… reactionary sects in our society. There are still those loyal to Death Watch's old ideals of galactic conquest, after all, and they, in particular, would not look fondly on a potential Mand'alor with a Jedi as her consort."

"You'd think they'd side with the Empire over that?" Rau asked, though deep down this is what he feared the most.

"Some might," Vistula confirmed. "Others would most likely stay neutral. Perhaps they would still be too terrified of Palpatine's legions. Perhaps they still harbor a grudge towards Lady Wren or the Jedi...or both. My point is that no matter how you slice it, you're going to have a tough slog ahead of you."

Fenn smiled ruefully. "Isn't it always?"

Erik laughed. "Aye, that it is. But we're Mandalorians, no? No matter how tough things get, we'll find a way to overcome it. We always have." He then paused for a moment, thinking of something. "As for myself and my opinion of the young woman who you swore yourself to, I do not share the opinion many of my men have of her. A dar'manda would not be seeking to correct her mistakes and rally our people against the Empire. If anything, that sounds more like the work of a patriot than a traitor, regardless of whether or not she built the weapon that the Saxon curs used in the Massacre of Keldabe."

Fenn grimaced. The massacre at Keldabe was something not a lot of Mandalorians liked to talk about, and probably the biggest reason why a great number of them saw his lady as an oathbreaker and a kinslayer-by-association. The Saxons and the Imperials had lured Lucius Wren- the younger brother of the Countess Ursa Wren of Krownest and the leader of a passive resistance group- and his chief followers to Keldabe, under the pretense of a meeting to discuss reforms to the government of Mandalore and the possible granting of more autonomy from Imperial oversight. There, they were disarmed, herded into the central square of that ruined, once-great city...and then slaughtered like sheep…

By the very weapon, Sabine Wren had designed, having been misguided by the Empire into believing that only her talents would safeguard Mandalore through them.

Fenn did not know what this weapon was, but it was clear from the effects that it had been a particularly brutal one. Flesh and clothing had disintegrated into ashes, leaving nothing of Lucius and his followers behind except for their armor. A weapon that ignored the famous durability of beskar like it was nothing but paper… whatever Sabine had built had essentially cowed many- if not most- of their people.

And when Sabine spoke out about what she and the Empire had done, the Empire had been very keen in discrediting her in the eyes of the Mandalorian people, claiming that she had built the weapon- this arc pulse generator- out of her own violation as a part of the competition; that she was a willing accomplice in their crimes.

Whatever the case was, their lies had the desired effect, as the great majority of Mandos at the time, including himself and her own family, turned their hatred and outrage from the Empire and mostly towards her. Countess Ursa had disowned her and banished her, and the Kar'a had officially declared her dar'manda. From then on, any official documentation regarding her was passed through Imperial censors in Sundari, replacing her name with epithets like "the Traitoress" and "The White Raven".

And like a fool, he had believed all of it.

He wanted to chuckle to himself. Now he, as well, was also deemed a traitor to the Imperial throne and their "lawfully appointed vassals". Maybe that's why the larger galaxy hadn't really rebelled against Palpatine's tyranny…

"So, you believe in her, as well?" Fenn asked.

Erik sighed, "As a person, yes. As a leader, I will have to withhold judgment on her abilities unless I see for myself. A man cannot rely on what he hears, least of all from sources that are known to lie and manipulate events to suit their ends. For all our sakes, Fenn of Clan Rau, I hope you're right about her."

"I'm confident I am," Rau confirmed. "Please tell me, though. Why did you request that I meet you hear in a church? The Great Basilica, no less?"

Erik looked around, then gave Fenn a grave look. "I take it that you haven't heard the news coming out of Coruscant, recently?"

"Been a bit busy chasing down a murderer," Fenn quipped. "What happened?"

"A few days ago, Palpatine issued a decree, 'confirmed' in a vote by the Imperial Senate. The decree, in essence, states that due to the threat this new cult that's been spouting up poses to the state, all religion is hereby outlawed in every Imperial sector. Churches and temples will henceforth be demolished or converted as ideological centers to promote the New Order, ran and staffed by COMPNOR, naturally."

"Haar'chak," Fenn cursed, knowing exactly what this meant. "It's not enough that they took our people's independence and much of our culture. Now they wish to take away our faith, as well?"

"And the faith of every being in this galaxy, replacing it with a cult of personality centered around their 'beloved' Emperor," Erik spat. "The Republic might have been arrogant, destructive, and overbearing, but this? If I had just been a few meters away from Saxon during the siege…" he trailed off and looked around.

Fenn followed his gaze. All around him was an example of what a pious and hard-working people had managed to accomplish. Stained-glass windows let natural light shine into the colossal church, with the interior decorated in mosaics and statuary, all dedicated to figures or saint's in Arcadia's long and storied past. At the end of the building, right behind the altar where ceremonies and sacraments were performed, stood three, large statues in a semi-circular cove, with a three-pointed star suspended in a glass window above them;

On the right was a young lady in a flowing dress, her hands outstretched in a loving gesture. Asha, the Goddess of Mercy and Love. The Daughter.

On the left was a warrior encased in armor, clasping a large claymore. Polemos, the God of War and Justice. The Son

And in the center was a statue of an old man in a robe, one hand placed over his heart, and the other held up in wise gesture. Sofios, the God of Wisdom and Knowledge. The Father.

"This…" Erik began to say, "is one of the last places in the civilized galaxy where beings can be free to do what they want and be what they want. It is no democracy to be sure, but when has voting ever truly stopped a tyrant? Fenn, if the Empire manages to take over this world, there will be no place in the galaxy that will be left safe from Palpatine's madness."

Or worse, Fenn thought to himself, as his mind flashed back to those terrifying monsters they had encountered on Valaryos. The galaxy can easily end in ice as it can in a fire.

"Ah, pardon me, Lord Commander," an unfamiliar voice suddenly spoke up from behind the pews where they were sitting. "I did not expect you to be here at this hour, and with current company."

Fenn turned around, and saw a man barely out of his middle ages, dressed in a simple green robe with the sigil of the Triarchy stitched on in the center. He wore no jewelry or other finery, looking more like a street beggar than a clergyman. His beard seemed to be the only refined thing about him, as it was long, yet groomed.

"Ah, Patriarch Michael," Erik greeted back. "I was just talking to a colleague of mine from back during my days as a Mandalorian count. This is Fenn Rau, one of the last Journeyman Protectors in the galaxy."

Fenn involuntarily winced at that. A pang of guilt rushed through him, knowing that he was the last of his kind and that there was nothing he could have done to prevent the slaughter of his men by Saxon hands. He swore that he would see to it that Gar paid for his crimes- him and his whole rotten clan.

"Ah, yes," the head of the Church of the Triarchy sagely nodded. "A most steadfast and loyal group of warriors, as I recall. I'm curious as to what brings you here to our quaint little world."

"Hunting a dangerous murderer," Fenn replied, "and I thank you for the compliment. Truthfully, I haven't met many clergymen who were as humble as you."

Michael gave a sad smile. "I am not surprised. Many clergies of many faiths don their robes for riches and power, not for the glory and worship of the gods, as it should be."

"The Patriarch here has reformed this church from top to bottom," Erik interjected. "The money that would have normally gone to building ornate cathedrals and colorful clothing now goes to church funded hospitals, food banks, and homeless shelters, all operated by the local monks and nuns in their respective regions."

"A shepherd's duty is to tend to his flock," the patriarch confirmed, "and what are priests if not shepherds for the gods' flock?" He then sighed. "To be quite honest, gentlemen, I'd rather this wedding was a private, smaller affair. The king is placing far too much emphasis on this grandiose show of pomp and circumstance. It is distracting me from my duties."

"Within a week's time, your duties should go back to normal, your holiness" Erik tried to mollify.

Just then, Erik's comlink beeped, and when he saw who it was from, he grimaced.

"By the manda, why now?" he cursed, then put on his helmet to have a private conversation with whoever wanted to communicate with him.

Several moments passed, and although Fenn could not hear what was being said on the internal communications network, he could guess it was anything but good, due to the way Erik was clenching his fist and tensing his body. The elder Mandalorian finally took off his helmet, and his visage had changed to one of visible frustration.

"Something wrong," Fenn asked.

"It's that damned fool Prince Ignatius, the king's brother," he spat. "He's insisting for a last minute change of plans, and wants to pay for a private military company to beef up security."

"Change of plans, eh?" Fenn mused. "How so?"

"Well, weeks ago, the council had agreed to host the wedding and reception in the basilica, here. Now, Ignatius is insisting for us to move the reception to his private estate in the country. It's farther out of the way, meaning if anything goes wrong-"

"-reinforcements might not be able to reach you in time." Fenn grimly realized. Something about that was putting him on edge. He felt like it was too easy a spot for an ambush. He made a mental note to tell Robb and the rest about this development.

"Aye," Erik agreed. "I am sure he didn't tell his grace about this, though I would not be surprised if the king agreed to it," he exasperated. "He always had a soft spot for his brother, despite his many flaws and despite our warnings of his nature."

"Indeed," Michael agreed. "We have repeatedly tried to warn the king not to trust him. He might be blood, but that does not make him a good man. I would no doubt that it was he that invited that black-masked butcher here as a guest, and then lied about it to save face."

Rau shook his head. Sabine had communicated with him days earlier and told him that Vader was going to be a guest at the festivities. The Dark Lord's presence would only complicate things, and one wrong move could get them all killed by the dar'jetti. He had heard stories of the Sith Lord's powers, and from what he had heard terrified him.

He had confidence in Sabine and Ezra's abilities. They weren't neophytes, after all. Even so, it didn't hurt to say a prayer to his ancestors, asking them to watch over them.

He just hoped that the manda answered those prayers in the affirmative.

Notes:

Yep. Another chapter is done.

So, Rau has met someone influential from his nation's past and has discussed the future of Mandalore with him.

For Michael, I wanted to do something different in the portrayal of organized religion than what we usually see- either that of "burn the heretic" zealots or pedophilic mobsters. I created someone who genuinely took his duties to the people and to his gods seriously, and thus lives his life in strict adherence with principles like piety, simplicity, and humility. I also hope that I fleshed out the gods of Arcadia well enough.

Things are quickly coming to a head. One more chapter after this, and then we will be on our main event(s) for our arc. A spectacle of whimsy and wonder...and probably blood and horror...mwahahahaha!

Till next time!

Chapter 40: Irene II

Just one more day, now.

The city- and the entire kingdom, by extension- had practically transformed over the weeks from a typical dreary working atmosphere into something far more festive and celebratory. Decorations were being set everywhere, from the Blood Gulch to the financial district, and the final preparations for the day of the wedding were being set in place. Everywhere she looked, the flag of Arcadia was flying proudly in the breeze, it's golden eagle ascendant on a maroon field- the very symbols of fidelity, liberty, and courage that nearly every Arcadian held dear in their hearts.

It was almost as if the kingdom had forgotten about the high-profile serial killer running around- at least, for the moment.

She had to suppress a frown. Although Robb and his crew were coming close to catching this "Ramsay Bolton" and whoever was backing him, she could not help but worry for Alexios' safety. Even if the conspirators were caught and brought to justice, that didn't mean that Alexios would be safe from then on. Many in the court eyed him with suspicion, and he didn't have much support from the common people, either. A good majority of those she had talked to had expressed to them their fears of Alexios being too unyielding and too hard-line when it came to enforcing the law, afraid that he'd go to extremes in his pursuit of justice and order.

Afraid that he'd go to war with the Hutts.

She couldn't lie to herself and say their fears were unfounded. Alexios despised those he saw as corrupt and self-serving, and he hated the Hutts and their cartel most of all. It was a hatred shared by Duke Lund, and with the ever-increasing strain between Arcadia and Nal Hutta, Irene wondered if it wasn't a matter of time before Nal Hutta's shield became the executioner's sword hung over its neck.

She sighed. It would be a matter for the future, she belatedly decided. Her father was leaving him with a good council, even if some of the members had ulterior motives, and she'd be guiding him in his rule, applying much-needed mercy to his justice.

"Ah, we're here," Moreena pointed out, snapping her out of her thoughts. She looked to the right and saw that they had indeed arrived at their destination- a high-end tailor a few clicks outside the palace walls. This man was reportedly the best tailor in the business- at least on this side of the Slice- and for two certain people, Irene needed nothing but the best.

Moreena parked the speeder in the designated parking space right outside the building and opened the door for Irene to get out. Soon, they found themselves walking into the store, noting the splendid outfits placed on manikins that lined the windows, indicated some of the latest fashion trends on Arcadia and the greater galaxy.

The doorbell rang as they entered, and the tailor looked up at them from behind his counter, a smile immediately spreading over his purplish face.

"My princess," he greeted. "Lady Krai! What brings two of the most notable court nobles down here?"

"Blessings, Palto," she greeted the Pantoran clothesmaker. "We were wondering if you could tailor a couple of wedding outfits for us- one male and one female."

Palto smirked. "Is someone courting you, my princess. It's a rare event indeed that we get one royal wedding so soon after another."

Irene laughed. "No, you coy codger. It's for two dear friends of mine. I have their measurements and specifications written down right here," she said, handing him a note.

Besides, she thought, men have never interested me.

Palto studied the flimsiplast. "I see. Violet silk dress in the classical style for the woman, and a black and gold doublet for the man. Take it you decided for them?"

Irene shrugged. "Well, let's just say that they aren't the most fashionable couple in this part of the Rim."

Palto's eyebrow raised just a notch, "I see. Well, I can get this done for you within a day- day and a half, at most. Due to the materials, it will cost you...say...five thousand credits."

Irene nodded. "Very well. You'll find the money deposited into your account by the end of the day. By the way, do you know of any paint shops nearby? I'm asking for a friend."

Palto rubbed his chin. "Well, there is one place a few clicks east of here. Owned by an old friend of mine. He makes paint for pretty much everything, from military hardware to commercial ventures. He even supplies me with the dyes I use to make clothing with."

"What's the name of this place?" Irene asked.

"Johannes' Paint Supplies," was his answer. "Two clicks east of here. The big square building, ya can't miss it."

Irene nodded, "Thanks, Palto."

Palto grinned. "Anything for a member of the royal family, my princess.

Not even half an hour later, Irene and Moreena had arrived at what was possibly the ugliest building she had seen that wasn't in the industrial sector or the Blood Gulch. For a supposed painter, the exterior looked bare, dilapidated, and worn- not the work of a man who was supposedly enthusiastic about his craft.

"Well, this place looks rather...run down," Moreena quipped. "Is Palto sure he gave us the right address, my princess?"

"He was pretty sure when he told me," Irene responded, "Who knows? Maybe the inside would be different?"

Moreena looked unsure, but she said nothing as they got out of the speeder. A few short steps and they were at the door, which looked old and rusted. Grimacing, Irene opened the door, which creaked in the worst way.

She was not prepared for what she saw inside.

From the floor to the ceiling, and on every wall, the interior was covered in paintings. Beautifully done mosaics depicting the past of Arcadia and events in the greater galaxy lined the walls, while religious iconography graced the ceiling, and the floors were painted in Mandalorian abstract and cubist designs.

It seems that they had almost completely misjudged this 'Johannes'. This man was an absolute master of his craft.

"Oh, my," a high-pitched, eccentric-sounding voice greeted, the pitch echoing off the walls. Irene turned to where she presumed the counter was and saw a human man in his early forties walk up to them. "It's been a while since I've had customers of royal caliber! Allow me to introduce myself, my ladies. My name is Johannes Cato, proprietor of this establishment. How may I be of assistance on this lovely day?"

Irene regarded him. He was eccentric, that much was for certain. "Well met, sir," she chose to greet instead. "We are looking for certain paints our friend requires for a project she's doing. I'm presuming it's a present for her boyfriend, but I can't be sure."

"Ah, most interesting, indeed!" he exclaimed. "What materials does your companion require?"

"Let's see..." Irene responded, "naval blue clothing dye, for one. Bronze and gold metallic spray-paint, for two."

"Ah, I see," Johannes mused. "I take it her lover is a mercenary or bounty hunter of some sort. A request like this sounds much like what I would do for a soldier's armor."

"Eh, something of a more.., clandestine nature," was Irene's reply. She knew she could not reveal their identities to this man, let alone Ezra's status as a Jedi. For all she knew, he might be in on the conspiracy, even if it was highly improbable. "I'm curious, though," she chose to ask instead, "why is the interior of your building so colorful and full of life, yet the outside is so-"

"-dirty? Run-down, unkempt?" Johannes finished for her. His grin grew wider. "You see, my princess, that is purely intentional. I wanted my establishment to serve as a lesson. Many two-bit businessmen and artisans spend enormous amounts of credits making their buildings look pretty and neat, yet their products are always subpar, at best. I, however, chose a different approach. I wanted customers to be surprised when they walk into my store. Their initial, scornful judgments coming back to haunt them as they truly got to know my store, from the inside out. Teach them a lesson that they should never judge things by outside appearances alone, let alone other people."

"How has that worked out for you?" Moreena asked him.

At this, Johannes' grin faltered somewhat, "Not as successfully as I have hoped. My brother was always more successful than I in conveying messages with his art. By the manda, does he have a talent for persuasive painting."

"So you're Mandalorian," Irene realized. "Who is your brother?"

"The great artist of our people himself. Alrich Wren, nee Cato. After his daughter- my niece- was exiled for her role in the Massacre of Kedalbe, Alrich was taken as a hostage by the Saxons. He's leverage against my family-in-law, you see; if my sister-in-law ever raises so much as a finger against Gar, my brother will be executed, and their home will burn." he sighed. "Even before that, I knew that the Empire would never be good for Mandalore, and it has proven me right. I fled here after that, fearing for my life. I've not had contact with my brother for over three years now."

Irene's mind froze. She was talking to Sabine's paternal uncle…

She bit her lip, unsure of what to do. She could tell him that Sabine was here on Arcadia, but she did not know of his loyalties- whether if he was still loyal to his family or the Imperial government, though judging by his reaction to the name 'Saxon' and the Empire, it was a safe bet that he held no love for either. Still, though, she had to be sure.

She turned to Moreena. "Mo, if you could be so kind and wait for me in the speeder? I need to have a private talk with Mr. Cato, here."

Moreena quirked a brow at this, but relented and bowed, then turned to head out the door. As soon as she was gone, the princess turned to the Mandalorian expatriate, a serious demeanor now overtaking her.

"If Gar Saxon and the Empire walked in here with a large sum of money asking you to locate your niece, would you do it?" she asked.

Johannes looked up at her in shock, taken aback by the sudden question. "What? I beg your pardon, my princess, but what in the name of the manda is this?"

She wouldn't relent. "Answer the question," she simply repeated. "Would you turn in your niece for money from the Empire. Or maybe it's worse. Would you turn her over out of spite?"

Anger flashed in his eyes. "How dare you, your highness! To think that someone- a person of high birth, at that- would come in here and accuse me of selling out my niece- my family- to those thrice-damned fascists and their ill-gotten puppets. If you weren't the daughter of the king, I would have kicked you out by now, and if you were anyone else, I would have struck you for insulting my honor and the honor of my clan. No matter what the Empire says, or what they force Ursa and the rest to repeat, my little, sweet niece Sabine, fiesty and stubborn she may be, would never be as so callous and cruel to murder her maternal uncle and his companions in cold blood."

Irene's stance softened. Good, so he was an honest man. An honorable man.

She breathed, "I needed to get your reaction before I told you the truth, Mr. Cato. And you passed, wonderfully, I might add." She walked closer and lowered her voice on instinct as if the walls were listening to her right now. "Your niece is here, on Arcadia. She's the woman I mentioned requesting those paints."

Johannes' expression softened, and a smile graced his lips once again. "Sabine. Our little firebrand...gods. How long has it been since I've seen her? Three years, four? Right before she left for that accursed academy on Mandalore, that's certain. And she has a lover, too..." he laughed, but it was a laugh that held no humor- only sadness and regret. "All grown up, I guess," he sighed. "What is she doing here, then, of all places?"

"Investigating a very important matter for my father," was Irene's reply. "Forgive me, Johannes, but I can't divulge the details of it."

"Ah, so it's something serious, then. Very well. It's good enough for me to know that she's safe, for now," he sighed. "As for the paint, it's free of charge. Tell her it's on the house from me, and tell her..." he trailed off, his face welling up with sadness again. "Tell her that there's at least one member of her blood-family who still believes in her, even if her mother doesn't."

Irene nodded. "Thank you so much, Mr. Cato. I'll be sure to pass on the message to her, and the paint as well."

He smiled and began to walk. "Now, we still need to get you that paint. You'll find the navy blue dye over here..."

It was about a half-hour later when they arrived back at the palace. As the business of the day was already concluded and her father was planning on hosting any important visitors or courtiers that evening, the halls were peaceful and somber, save for the occasional servant or droid dashing her and fro, cleaning whatever they could find and generally preparing the palace for the wedding celebration, which was to take place before and after the wedding and its reception.

Irene smiled to herself. Her uncle's idea had been ultimately shot down by her father, who had agreed with Belisarius that moving the reception would put far too much strain on the budget, and with Peter who stated that security would be stretched to the breaking point if they had moved it to Ignatius' private residence.

Moreena yawned. "It's getting late, my princess. If it's no bother, I wish to retire to my quarters."

Irene nodded. "You're more than welcome to, Mo. Get a good night's rest tonight. We've got a busy day ahead of us tomorrow."

Moreena smiled and nodded, though the smile was faint. "Yes," she said, "we do. Goodnight, Irene."

With that, she turned and walked down the hall, out of sight. Irene smiled. It was so nice when her friend didn't have to use her formal titles.

She walked further down the hall, and soon found herself at Sabine and Ezra's room. She hesitated for a moment, unsure what to tell Sabine, before making up her mind and knocking on the door.

"Enter," came the muffled reply. Irene pressed the door button, and it slid open to reveal the Mandalorian warrior and the Jedi Padawan both in sleeping gear, both ready to get to bed, with their pet wolves laying at the foot of their bed, each as big as a full-grown hound.

"Your highness!" was Ezra's slightly surprised reply. "What brings you in here?"

"Just dropping off a few things for your lover," was Irene's quip. "Here, Lady Wren, as you requested. Naval blue dye and bronze metal paint," she said, handing over the supplies she was carrying.

Ezra gave a confused look to his girlfriend as to what it was about, and her reply was a simple mischievous wink, a conspiratorial shrug, and a quick peck on the cheek, with Irene trying her hardest not to smile. "And I take it your work is going quite well?" she asked.

"Very much so," she proclaimed, "We're close to catching whoever is behind Ramsay. We think it's someone on the council, but we can't be too sure until we catch them."

Irene smiled. Finally, the threat to her brother's life could very well be over, at least, for the moment.

Suddenly, Sabine got up and shut the door behind Irene. Before the princess could register what was going on, she swiftly turned on her. "How much do you trust Moreena?"

The question took her aback.

"Wha...what do you mean?" she asked her mind now in a whirlwind. "She's my closest confidant, my trusted advisor!"

"And the person in the best position to slip a knife in between your brother's ribs," Sabine cut in. "Your grace, ever since that day when Moreena and you were introduced to us, something's been off. Our wolves growl at her whenever she walks near them as if they think she's a competitor or a threat, and Ezra's been sensing something off about her, as well."

Ezra nodded. "It's not the Dark Side of the Force since I don't feel unnaturally cold around her, but whenever I walk near her or Ignatius, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. The Force is warning me that something is going on with those two, I'm just not sure what."

Irene refused to hear it. "No, you must be wrong! I don't know what you're insinuating, but Moreena would never try to kill the people who took her in after her family was slaughtered by Kybo Ren-Ja's pirate gang! For Asha's sake, Bridger! You knew her back on Lothal! Wasn't she a friend of yours?" she asked.

Ezra nodded. "She was, but that was years ago, and seven years is enough to change a person. I'm a Jedi and a rebel, now, and she's the advisor to the princess of one of the most powerful factions in the galaxy. She's not the plucky girl I remember, that's for sure."

"What we're saying is, your highness," Sabine interjected, "is that you need to be careful. Trust no one but your father and brother, right now. Everyone is a suspect, even your friend," she said. To Irene, there was a pain behind that voice, as if she knew all too well how a person can quickly turn on you.

Irene shook her head. "I'm sorry, but I refuse to believe that my best friend is a suspected usurper. I just can't."

Sabine nodded, sadly. "I understand. We're just asking you to be careful tomorrow, is all. Even with guards around, things can go south in a hurry..." she trailed off. "I assume that you don't have a weapon?"

Irene again shook her head. "I've never seen the need to carry one."

Sabine said nothing, going towards her drawer and pulling out something.

It was a dagger, finely sharp and utilitarian, the way Mandalorians usually preferred it.

Sabine walked over again, handing the dagger to Irene handle first.

Irene grew white at the site of it. Although she knew that her family was strong in the Force, she had never bothered training in its use like her brother or father had, nor had she trained with weaponry. She was much more devoted to music, charity, gardening, and hospital work than she was ever to violence.

"I...I don't know how to use it," she squeaked.

"It's alright, princess," Sabine assured. "It's simple: just stick them with the pointy end."

She shook her head but reluctantly took the dagger, anyway. She resolved herself to put it away the moment she was out of their sight. The Exorsitoi and the military police would be more than adequate protection, and she was never a warrior or a general like her father or brother. What need did she have of weapons? Regardless, she could never turn down a gift. She was never one to be rude to guests.

"I...thank you, Sabine," she struggled to say. "Before I leave, I met someone earlier today. I'd think you'd be interested in hearing about him."

Sabine quirked an eyebrow at her. "Oh? Who is it?"

"Your uncle, Johannes," she replied, slowly. "He told me to tell you that you have at least one family member who still cares for you."

Sabine said nothing, at first. Instead, her eyes widened and she went to sit on the bed, obviously to steady herself. Ezra looked on in concern for his lover and then nodded to Irene as if to thank and dismiss her at the same time. Irene took that as her cue and turned to leave, closing the door behind her, her hand shaking as she did so.

As she walked, her mind started to do somersaults, and she felt close to being ill. She thought of how her friend could betray her, or why she could, but no matter what she thought, she came to the same conclusion- the Moreena she knew would never betray her. The Moreena she knew was kind and sweet, and intelligent, and beautiful. She could hardly think of a bad bone in her body if there ever was one.

But despite all that, the feeling that Ezra and Sabine had about tomorrow had passed on to her, and she could not help but wonder if there was something else planned for tomorrow. Something sinister.

She did not know, but she hoped that after taking a few sleeping pills, she'd get a sound night's rest.

She hoped.

Notes:

A/N: Another chapter complete.

As promised, the next chapter will fall on the day of the big wedding, and it will be part of a multi-chapter climactic event for the arc- and where the Star Wars Galaxy shall truly become AU. Nothing will be the same after this. Nothing.

As for the Johannes character- I wanted Sabine to have some extended family outside of what we see in Rebels. Surely Alrich, being the lesser son of a lesser house, would have brothers or sisters, no?

What happened to Moreena's family and why neither the wolves nor the Specters trust her right now will be covered in future chapters. Be assured, though, that she'll be VERY important in several plots.

Till next time!

Chapter 41: Ezra VII

Summary:

The day of the wedding is here. Ezra and Sabine dance and discuss the future.

Ring! Ring! Ring!

The chime of bells from churches all around the city awoke Ezra, their ringing filling the air with a steady, sweet toll.

He cracked open one eye and looked out the window. The sun's rays were just beginning to shine over the horizon, and the hue of the sky was shifting from the black of night to the oranges, purples, and blues of early dawn.

Force above, he thought, these Arcadians sure do love to begin their celebrations early.

He looked over to his left. Sabine was turned to the opposite side of him, still asleep. He smiled, and leaned over, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before getting out of bed. He needed to prepare for this day. They both did.

He made his way swiftly to the room's 'fresher. First, he had to take a shower, then trim the beard he had been growing to an appropriate length.

Entering the 'fresher, he proceeded to first take off his sleeping clothes, then his undergarments, and then finally he turned on the showerhead, set the water temperature to 'warm', and after stepping inside, removed his two artificial limbs, leaning on the wall for support as he cleaned himself from head to toe, as he didn't want to risk the possibility of his cybernetics short-circuiting on him, even if the components were covered with mesh.

Fortunately, his shower was over with quickly, and after re-attaching his limbs with little difficulty, he stepped out of the shower and headed over to the sink. He gave himself a once over in the mirror.

Since they had arrived on Arcadia a little over a month ago, he had taken to growing out a beard, much like Kanan and Robb had. Granted, it wasn't nearly as long or scraggly as his blind master's, but it was decent enough for anyone's standards. Next, he had made the decision to leave behind the days of his dark-side influence, and let his hair grow out. When it had neared the length it had once been before Malachor, he had done something he thought radical at the time- he had decided to style it in a half-up, much like famous Jedi Knights of old had done, as Kanan had told him

Quickly trimming his beard, he then set about to brushing his teeth and combing his hair, and then when he was satisfied with the result, he wrapped himself in a towel and exited the refresher, heading towards the fairly roomy closet that came as a standard feature in the guest rooms of the palace.

He looked at the outfit that had been ordered for him, which had apparently been delivered as he was taking a shower.

The upper piece was a doublet, onyx in color with golden linings. Fortunately, it did not look to have wires sown into it, elsewise he might have been complaining about the sleeves being too stiff. The lower piece was a set of trousers, finely pressed and similarly colored black and gold. Set underneath the hanging pieces were undershirt, dress socks, and formal shoes. He also spotted a shimmering violet dress next to it, obviously meant for Sabine.

He wasted no time putting them on, putting on each and every piece in order and making sure he looked his neatest. When he was satisfied, he exited the closet and headed back into the bedroom.

When he arrived back, he found the bed empty, and heard the shower running and his girlfriend's singing, coming in muffled through the walls. He leaned in and listened closely.

He could barely make out the words, but they sounded like they were in her native tongue, Mando'a. Fortunately for him, Sabine had been giving him lessons in the language during their spare time, and thus he knew enough to get the gist of the song.

From what he was hearing, it was about brotherhood and something about indomitable spirit and glory to Mandalore. He figured that this was a traditional song among her people- he had even heard Rex sing a version of it at one point, as well.

He smiled. He could get lost in her voice for a hundred years and not come back. How did the Force bless him with such an amazing woman?

Soon, he heard the shower shut off, and he figured that soon Sabine would get ready for the wedding events herself.

Not even thirty minutes later, Sabine stepped out of the closet, and Ezra felt the breath leave his body. By the gods, she was gorgeous.

The dress, which was a variant of the classic style, accentuated the shape of her body, while a low V-cut highlighted her beauty further, and the back was exposed to the midriff, held in place by a sash. The violet color brought out the amber of her eyes and the natural brown of her hair. For this occasion, she had also taken to wearing earrings, lipstick, and heels.

Words failed Ezra at that moment, for all he could manage to say was a stunned "Wow."

Quite fortunately for him, Sabine shot him a smirk, put her hand on her hip, and playfully chided, "Really, Bridger? 'Wow' is all you can say?"

He sheepishly smiled and rubbed the back of his head. Damn, this doublet was still a bit stiff.

Sabine laughed, and walked over to him, grabbing him quickly and kissing him on the lips.

They spent a few minutes like that, though to him it seemed like hours, before she broke off the kiss, still beaming.

Ezra sighed, blissful but still aware they had to be somewhere. "Really wish we didn't have to go to this wedding, or the events before it."

"Not my thing either," she agreed, "but it's another job. Save a prince, win a few allies for our cause, hopefully, and hope we don't get killed along the way."

"All in a days work," he grunted. "Speaking of which, hopefully, Robb and Theon have caught that scum soon. Think they can make this Ramsay talk?"

Sabine shook her head. "From what Theon told us about him, you'd be better off trying to squeeze water from a rock."

Suddenly, there came a sharp rap on the door.

"Lord Edric, Lady Nymeria," came the muffled voice of a palace servant, "the first event of the day is going to begin in an hour hence. His Grace wishes for you to be seated in the high place along with the council and the rest of the guests of honor."

"Alright. We'll come out in a minute," was Ezra's reply. He groaned. Great, they'd most likely have to sit by Vader, and the one thing they could absolutely not take the risk for was that murderous Sith spit recognizing them. He knew that Arcadia dedicated itself to the laws of hospitality and guest right, but somehow he got the feeling that Vader never observed those same laws in a day of his rotten life.

"Aw, cheer up, Ez," Sabine laughed, hitting him in the shoulder. "Look on the bright side- at least if Vader tries anything, the guards will be on him before he has a chance to draw his saber."

Ezra nodded, though he doubted an opponent like Vader was that easy of a mark. He brushed that thought aside, though, and indicated to the door, as their wolves got up and started to prance around, excited that they were going to be leaving the palace grounds.

"Well, my lady," he said, smirking. "Shall we?"

The Great Circuit was said to be the largest swoop racing course in the entire Outer Rim- maybe even the entire galaxy. He didn't realize how large it truly was, however, until he got there.

Over five hundred thousand people were sitting comfortably in a semi-circular, open-air venue, with shade provided by massive awnings and gigantic holo-projectors were set up to monitor the course of the race when it had passed out of the range of the naked eye. On the very top of the venue, in the center of the semi-circle was a large box-like structure made to house the visitors of importance, which was where he and Sabine were now seated, along with the King, his family, and their council…

...and strangely enough, no Darth Vader.

A part of him was relieved. For now, he didn't have to worry about the Dark Lord exposing Sabine and him, or potentially causing an incident. On the other hand, he couldn't be sure if the bastard was plotting something, which was a very likely possibility, all things considered.

"Well, it seems Asha favors us, today, Ignatius," Duke Lund mocked, turning to the younger of the Beniko brothers. "Seems your 'guest of honor' decided he had more 'important' things to do today than mingle with us lowly sentients."

Ignatius snorted. "Rest assured, my pig friend. Lord Vader will show up. He cannot afford to make the Empire look bad, especially if they want to make common cause with us."

Yes, because the Empire doesn't look bad enough already, Ezra derisively thought. He decided to tune out their bickering and focus on the race at hand. He had never seen a swoop race before, having been too busy either surviving, fleeing, or fighting, and therefore had no idea what to expect.

He had heard stories of course. Swoop racing, like pod-racing before it, was notoriously rife with cheating, gambling, and drug abuse, and some of the "champions" he had heard of in the Outer Rim circuits weren't exactly what one would call "beacons of morality".

"Ladies and gentlemen, we apologize for the delay," the announcer said over the intercom. "The racer representing the team from the Blood Gulch was apparently found dead this morning from alcohol poisoning, and the team is scrambling to find a replacement rider."

Immediately, a loud ruckus sounded from the crowds, voicing their displeasure at the sudden ill development. They had come here to see the races, after all, and celebrate a prince's wedding. If the races were held up, no matter what the reason, it would sour the mood for the rest of the day, or so the reasoning went.

"If we cannot find a rider for the Blood Gulch team, then they will have to forfeit their place in the race. Which means, ergo, they will not take place in next years tournament for the Rim World Cup. We re-"

Suddenly, the announcer was cut off by a loud, booming, and very familiar, and very dreaded voice.

"I will ride in the race."

The cameras panned towards the source of the voice, and into the focus stepped the man of Ezra's nightmares.

Darth Vader.

The entire crowd went silent. Even Ignatius managed to shut up for that moment, and if Ezra hadn't been fixated on the Dark Lord, standing on the race track, he would have seen the king's brother go as white as a sheet.

Vader didn't wait for a reply. He simply walked over to the nearest bike and hopped on, his cape billowing behind him, and nodded to the announcer in his booth to begin the race.

Now, Ezra was intrigued. Granted, he still despised the evil son of a bitch, but what self-respecting Sith Lord wanted to race? He started to get the funny feeling that there was more to this Sith than met the eye.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, this is quite an unexpected development! Hold on tight, my good folk! This race just got a lot more interesting!" he exclaimed into the speakers. "Racers, start your engines!"

As if on cue, two dozen swoop bikes turned on, roaring like a nexu warning away any potential danger.

"On your marks! Get set….GO!"

Like a bunch of loth-rats scrambling for their next meal, the swoop racers took off, jockeying to be first and trying to cut one another off, some doing so fairly, and others using every dirty trick in the book to get ahead.

All except Vader.

The Sith Lord, for some inexplicable reason, had chosen to hang back. Ezra was confused. He had seen the man's piloting skills. He knew that he could outmaneuver all these guys without so much as breaking a circuit on that chest-piece of his, so why wasn't he?

He looked at the screen closer, trying to see just what Vader was doing. In front of him, the other racers zigged and zagged, trying to bump into one another, or trying to avoid crashing.

Suddenly, it dawned on him what Vader was doing.

Clever bastard, he thought, he's waiting for the other swoop racers to take themselves out.

Sure enough, one by one, the other racers, either through their greed, their arrogance, or their stupidity, began to crash and burn. Some were seriously injured, some outright getting killed, but by the second laugh, it was just down to two racers- Vader and the other guy.

That was when the Dark Lord went in for the kill.

He surged his speeder forth, darting past the lead like a shriek-hawk. The other swoop racer was perplexed, having assumed that his lead had been solid, and tried to push his bike to catch up to Vader.

A fatal mistake.

The man was so concerned in catching up to Vader, he failed to notice the sharp turn coming up…

...and ran straight into a rock outcropping, destroying his bike and killing the man instantly.

"Unbelievable! The newcomer has won the race! I've never seen anything like this before, ladies and gentlemen..." the announcer garbled on as Vader pulled into the finish line, to the approving roar of an enthused crowd.

An official tried to present the Dark Lord with a trophy. Vader, for his part, simply brushed past the man and stalked back to wherever he had come from- presumably his shuttle if Ezra hazarded a guess.

There was one big question on his mind, though. One thing that he would never, in a million years, ask that prick.

Why?

---

The events of the day more or less proceeded according to schedule. After the races, there was a military parade and review that marched down the biggest street in Lanopolis, going from the palace to the basilica. Then, there had been festivals all over town.

Now, finally, as the sun was beginning to set, the wedding was taking place, and compared to the boisterous bash of the day, this was a more quiet, respectful thing.

Ezra and Sabine had found themselves seated in the second-to-front pew, right behind the Royal Family. Besides them were the various members of the council, save for Lund who had left on an 'important errand', no doubt to help Robb and the rest apprehend Ramsay.

At the altar stood Alexios, grim-faced as ever, along with Patriarch Michael and the ring-bearer.

Suddenly, the music kicked up, soft and somber, and everyone stood and turned to the entrance of the basilica.

Walking down the aisle, in a shimmering dress of white-gold, was the bride- Theodora Palagis, heiress to Palagis Banking.

Ezra noted immediately how different they were, other than Alexios being pale and blonde while Theodora was tan and brunette. Alexios was harsh, cold, and iron. His bride to be, on the other hand, seemed like one would expect of your typical heiress- in a word, spoiled, or carefree if you prefer.

Theodora was all smiles, though he doubted that this was something born truly out of love. Rather, he reckoned, it was because she was now royalty, and her children would-be heirs to the throne.

He frowned. Call it a feeling or a premonition from the Force, but he got that the hunch that their marriage wouldn't be exactly a loving one, and if this is how all arranged marriages were, he frankly saw no reason why such a tradition shouldn't be cast aside.

Finally, Theodora reached the altar, and the congregation sat down.

"We are gathered here today," the patriarch began, "to consecrate and celebrate the holiest union between two souls. Today, the bride and the groom make the decision to become one and whole in the sight of gods and men. Do you both swear to take one another, to stand by one another until death, to assure in times of grief, to encourage in times of hope, and compromise in times of crisis?"

"I do," both answered at roughly the same time.

"Then in name of Asha, of Polemos, and of Sofios, I bless this union to be wed," he proclaimed, while the ring-bearer placed the rings on each respective person's right hand. "You may now seal this union with a kiss."

And so they did, though to Ezra it was probably the most damnably cold and forced kiss he had ever seen. His hunch was turning out to be right- he did NOT have high hopes for their happiness as a couple, at all.

The rest of the crowd, however, began to cheer and clap, obviously happy that the ruling house would continue for however many generations. But amidst the fervor, Ezra felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He knew that feeling.

The Dark Side.

He looked off to the right, and spotted Vader in the shadows, watching the proceedings with great disinterest…

...but it wasn't him the Force was warning about.

He quickly leaned into Sabine and whispered into her ear. "You have your weapons on you, right?" he asked.

"Always," she replied in the affirmative. "Trouble ahead?"

"Wouldn't be a mission if we weren't in trouble," he jokingly answered, "but yeah. Got a funny feeling that something's waiting at us in the reception."

"Good thing we didn't bring the wolves with us," Sabine opined. "If something happens and they end up getting hurt, I don't know what I would do."

Ezra nodded. "Well, we better get moving. Looks like everyone is about to head to the reception. Hopefully, they have some good food there."

Sabine snorted. "I swear, you and your stomach, Ez."

---

As it turned out, there was plenty of food at the reception, as well as drink- both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. Ezra opted for the latter variety, as he didn't need booze interfering with his mind at this point.

There was also music, provided by a band playing in the gallery in the alcove hanging above the head table, and around the reception chamber, people danced, ate, chatted, or drank themselves silly. Currently, they were on a rendition of a rambunctious song from long ago. He didn't know what it was, but from one of the lyrics someone was drunkenly singing, he gathered that it was about a bear seeking out a maiden at some sort of fair.

He had to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. The perfect song to play at a feast, he guessed.

"This is..." Sabine started to say, though she was obviously struggling to find the right words.

"Boring?" Ezra finished, as he noticed that she had that look on her face.

"Was going to put it a bit more nicely, but yeah," she huffed. "Plus, I don't know where to start with our...you know...thing."

Ezra nodded. "True. We can't just go around interrogating any suspects, and sneaking off to snoop around in someone's things will only create suspicion in us," he speculated. "Guess our best course of action would be to...I don't know… wait for someone to act out of the ordinary? The Force will tell me if something's wrong"

Sabine sighed. "Ugh. As much as I don't know about this Force stuff, I don't see any other choice but to go with it. I trust your instincts, especially when it comes to things like this."

The slightly younger man smiled. "Thank you, Sabine." Suddenly, the music changed, and a slower, sweeter tune came on. He smirked. "Now, would my lady care to join me for a dance."

It was Sabine's turn to grin. "I'd thought you'd never ask, my lord," she playfully affirmed. Together, hand-in-hand, they walked out onto the floor. When they were about midway, they stopped and turned to one another. He placed his hand of flesh on her exposed back, and she placed one hand on the back of his neck, while they intertwined their free hands, and they began to dance, slow and steady.

It seemed that Irene's lessons in dancing were paying off for both of them. Neither of them tripped over one another or stepped on their toes- just slow, rhythmic dancing, and it seemed in that moment the entire world was forgotten about, aside from the two of them.

"I've been thinking..." Ezra began to say.

"Yes," Sabine inquired, indicating for him to go on.

"If we survive this...all of this...and we're still together...where do you see us in...say...five years."

She chuckled. "Don't you think it's a little early to start thinking about all that?"

He shrugged. "Just...crossed my mind is all."

"Gods, you are a bad liar," she chided, though not seriously. "Well...I see us living somewhere far away from politics, war, or other assorted nerfshit. Maybe on Lothal. I don't know. I'm teaching our child how to paint and handle weapons, while you're teaching them how to be kind and gentle to animals and how to get a great deal at the market."

"Our child, huh?" he asked. "Would you want our first to be a boy or a girl?"

"Doesn't matter," she responded. "Though, if we do get married and have a daughter, I already have a name picked out for her."

He chuckled. "Is that so? As I recall, whatever the child's name ends up being is the responsibility of both parents."

Sabine just smiled and said one word that caused his heart to skip several beats.

"Mira."

He felt his throat lock up with emotion, and his eyes fought to hold back tears. He honestly didn't know what to say. Here was his girlfriend, proposing that they honor his mother by naming their potential daughter after her.

"You wanna teach our Mira how to swing lightsabers?" she asked.

Ezra nodded, still unable to really say anything, and it turns out, he didn't have to, as Sabine leaned into him and kissed him, just as the song was beginning to end.

They stayed like that for several moments, lost in their own little world as they deepened the kiss, as the song changed into something unfamiliar to Ezra, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up as he felt the room drop several degrees.

"And who are you," the proud lord said, "that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know..."

Notes:

Dun dun dun!

Well, the first part of the Arcadian Arc Climax is done. Four or five more parts to go, heh.

So, it seems that something is off about the wedding. I wonder what it could be? HM?

Also, thanks again to Meldy-Arts for letting me borrow from her AU "Miraverse". If none of y'all have checked out her artwork yet, I highly recommend doing so.

Tune in next time to see what Robb and Theon are up to, and what Ramsay's purpose on Arcadia truly is...

Chapter 42: Robb VII

Waiting

By the Old Gods and the new, he absolutely hated the waiting. It was easily the worst part of any military or covert operation- having to restrain yourself until the right moment, lest you blew your cover and got yourself killed for no good reason.

Granted, he was better at waiting than most. After all, he had waited until Jaime Lannister had walked right into his ambush at the Whispering Wood. He had waited until the cover of night to catch the unsuspecting Stafford Lannister unawares at Oxcross, and he had been patient as all that information about the Death Star had trickled in. But he was also the blood of the wolf...and he had to fight against every instinct of his to just rush in there and cut off the bastard's head.

As the sun began to set, he suddenly felt a tap on his right shoulder. He turned his head to see one of Lund's black-armored agents looking at him, his expression unreadable as it was covered by a faceless helmet.

"Sir, all our men are in position," the agent reported, his voice garbled through his speaker. "The Duke will join you in the apprehension of the suspect. We await your word."

Robb nodded. "Copy that, agent. Wait here until we give the signal. Things will most likely get hairy in there, and we'll need the extra firepower."

The agent nodded. "Roger, sir."

With that, Robb turned over and tapped Theon on the shoulder, indicating to him that it was time to move out. Together, they got up out of the prone position, and made their way out of the wood line towards the distant Arkani Arms Factory, with a mile of empty plains between here and there.

As they walked towards the ever-looming and dilapidated building, Robb could not help but notice that Theon kept clenching and unclenching his hands, the servos straining under the pressure.

He didn't have to ask Theon to know that he was afraid. Why wouldn't he be? He was meeting the man who had tortured him, broke him, and made a slave out of him. An encounter like this would worry any sane man.

Now, Robb had never met the Bastard of Bolton, but if Roose was anything to go by, along with what Theon had told him and what he had seen on those holotapes, then he couldn't afford to underestimate him. Almost on reflex, he switched the safety on his blaster pistol to the 'off' position, and he eyed Theon doing the same, all the while making sure to enforce comms silence between them and Lund's agents.

Soon enough, they were at the factory. It must have been abandoned for some time, Robb realized, as a fair amount of rust had gathered on the support beams and the walls. Outside the large, rusty factory doors, a guard with a flayed man tattoo on his cheek stood on watch, an old EE-5 resting in his hands at the low ready position. The Weequay regarded them with suspicion, his eyes betraying his mistrust of these two who had come to see his master.

"Oi. Stop right there, you twos. What's your business?"

"Here to see your boss," Theon deadpanned. "Tell him his Reek his here."

He still side-eyed them but sighed and keyed in his compad. "Eh. Boss. Your guests 'ave arrived. I'll send 'em in."

As if on cue, the door was pulled open by two burly thugs, and standing in the middle of the factory was something that looked human, talked like a human, and walked like a human, but in truth was more of a monster than even the most fearsome rancor.

Robb grimaced at the sight of him. The monster was dressed in black, from his shoulders to his feet. As he got closer, he noticed the dirty mop of coal hair, the unusual paleness of his face, contrasted starkly by the gunmetal grey of his mechanical lower jaw, and, perhaps most disturbingly, the pair of ice-colored eyes that regarded Theon and himself with maniac glee and rageful contempt in equal measure.

Finally, the three were within talking distance of one another, close enough to hold a conversation, and yet far enough away for any of them to draw their weapon before getting killed.

None of them deigned to speak for a while, instead choosing to regard each other, letting the air become pregnant with anticipation…or dread, to the more grim-minded among them.

Finally, it was Ramsay who decided to begin speaking, spreading his arms wide as he gave the two a toothy grin, much like a shark regarding his prey.

"Reek," he began, addressing Theon first. "My oh my, it's been ages since we've last seen each other. Last time I remember, you were in…Winterfell, if I recall correctly. You were supposed to keep watch over my lady wife, were you not?"

Theon said nothing, instead electing to cross his arms and regarding his former tormenter coldly. Robb at that moment could detect little fear in his eyes- only a cold, burning hatred that he had scarcely seen in him.

"Oh, come now, Reek," Ramsey chided. "Is the silent treatment anyway to greet an old friend? We've been through so much together, after all! What, with the emasculation, and the mind-breaking, and the torture, and me forcing you to watch as I had my way with Lady Sansa…" he turned to grin at Robb. "Oops. You weren't supposed to hear that last part…"

Robb felt the fury build up inside of him, and it took every ounce of his will to restrain himself from beating the bastard before him into a bloody pulp, as he clenched his teeth and growled, wordlessly. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head to see Theon wordlessly shaking his head at him.

Of course, he realized. That wasn't what they were here for. He loosened his shoulders a bit, but not before looking Ramsay dead in the eye.

"Fortunate, then, that my sister got justice for your crimes. I wonder how it felt being ripped apart by your own 'loyal' beasts? Certainly had to have been worse than being stabbed, I imagine, bastard," he instead chose to say.

Ramsay's smile dropped off his face, his eyes blazed with cold fury.

"Reek…" he drew out, slowly and dangerously, "why haven't you informed your friend about those fools who dared call me bastard?"

Theon shrugged. "Slipped my mind, my Lord," he replied, sarcasm and a hint of fear mixed with resentment laced into his words. "Regardless, Ramsay, what he says is correct. You were the product of an unwed union, the son of a Northern lord and the woman he raped. You might have been legitimized by King Tommen, but even with that fancy piece of paper, you will always be a 'Snow', not a Bolton."

Robb was…surprised, for the lack of a better word. Theon was holding his own against the man who had haunted his sleep for years on end, and showing little signs of fear, to boot.

Then again, he supposed, he did face down far worse after he had escaped Ramsay.

All pretense of happiness at seeing his 'pet' was now gone, as Robb saw Ramsay's face twist into perhaps the ugliest sneer he had yet seen on a human face. At last the monster had broken through the façade of the man.

"I see," he began, snarling, "that my wife's influence turned you against me, Theon. Clearly I need to break you more."

"Wouldn't count on that happening," Robb answered before Theon, his hand straying towards his blaster. "We're here to arrest you, Bolton. Surrender and face Arcadian justice. Refuse, and die where you stand."

Ramsay laughed. "And how do you propose to do that, Stark?" he questioned. "Take a good look around you. You're surrounded by my boys! You make one false move, they'll gun you down before you complete your first step."

Robb looked around them. Sure enough, there were guards everywhere, on the floor, on the railings, and on the balconies, training whatever blaster they had at the two of them.

Suddenly, Theon began to chuckle. "You're cunning, my lord," he said, a knowing smile appearing on his face. "No one here can deny that. You've forgotten one crucial detail, though- I know you. I know how you love to lay traps and play with people's minds. That's why we brought a little extra…insurance… with us." As he was speaking, he turned his head towards Robb and nodded at his friend.

Robb immediately understood the signal and quickly pressed a button on his compad. As Ramsay looked at them in apparent confusion, a low, grumbling drone could be heard, steadily getting louder and louder.

All a sudden, a loud, thunderous explosion breached the doors behind Robb and Theon, followed by another explosion behind Ramsay that breeched the other large set of factory doors. Into both breeches poured the security agents of the Ministry of Intelligence, gunning down the thugs nearest the entrance.

As the thugs on the railings looked around in perplexed confusion, a steady stream of green laser fire cut them all down from outside the windows, where Robb saw the LAAT/I-2 gunship floating, making its strafing runs.

Amid all the smoke and chaos, Robb spotted Ramsay, looking around in perplexed confusion. He decided to take the opportunity while it still presented itself and ran at full speed towards the Bastard of Bolton, lowering his shoulder and tackling the evil son of a bitch to the ground while Ramsay had his back turned. Scrambling on top of him, he immediately put Ramsay in a chokehold, forcing the both of them back up to their feet.

How the situations turn, Robb thought, and here he thought he was the one leading us into a trap.

As the weapons of the agents were leveled at Ramsay, there was little he could do to anyone save struggle helplessly, to which Robb responded by increasing the pressure on the hold.

Out of one of the blasted entrances stepped Duke Lund, his gait confident, yet measured, walking towards them even as he smoked his cigar. When he was about spitting distance from the trio, he stopped, studying Ramsay's face for a good, long moment before deigning to speak.

"Well, well, well," he began, his voice taunting. "if it isn't the bastard who's been terrorizing our kingdom for the past month or so. Gotta admit you're a slippery little bugger, ain't ya? You've been giving the Ministry of Intelligence and the Armed Forces quite the wild bantha chase. Sorry to have spoiled your fun and killed your boys, but you see, you made a big mistake," he mocked. "When you decided to make an attempt on the Crown Prince's life, that was something we just could not ignore. Couple that with your other myriad of crimes just this past month, well…let's just say you'll soon be praying for the king's justice. From what Theon tells me, it's the least of what you deserve."

Ramsay just rolled his eyes. Obviously, to Robb and everyone else present, the former Lord of the Dreadfort was taking this far less seriously than what would be expected of this situation.

And for some reason, that unnerved Robb.

"Now, before we toss you in the cell, I want you to tell me one, small little thing," Lund asked, now leaning in close, "Who is your informant among our ranks?"

Ramsay snickered. "Who do you think it is, my fine porcine friend?"

Lund glared. "Well, if I had to take a guess, my most likely suspect would be Ignatius. He has the means and the motive, so why should it not be him?"

Ramsay laughed. "Hahaha! For all your supposed smarts, Lund, you're too stupid to see what's right in front of you. Ignatius? Why would I trust that fool? All that hedonistic moron cares about is wine, women, and status. True, he had his uses, as my agent wonderfully demonstrated. They convinced him to indirectly carry out my bidding. No, what I needed my backers already provided for me. The perfect candidate to infiltrate the royal court and gain your trust."

At this, Lund spat out his cigar. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Ramsay grinned again, his predatory nature returning. "Oh, come now, Lund. You must have suspected something about this person. Sad, sob story, hyper-competent in nearly every area, charismatic. Why, it perfectly screams secret agent! Guess she's excellent at her job if she managed to fool even you."

She?

Lund's mouth dropped open. "No…it can't be…Lysandus took her in…treated her like family…"

At this, Robb spun Ramsay around, grabbed him by his collar, and lifted him up into the air.

"Enough of this, Bolton!" he yelled. "What are you planning? Why so many weapons and men if you were just trying to assassinate a man?"

"Assassinate?" Ramsay tsked. "Ah, Starks. Always the same- quick tempers, yet slow minds. Did it ever occur to you that we're planning something a bit more than a simple assassination? Or did you rush in without considering everything, again… just like you did in marrying that foreign cunny."

Robb's eyes went wide "You're…"

Ramsay's grin widened even more. "Call it a bit of inspiration from dear old dad. Gather everyone in one place, then have my boys, disguised as private security, slaughter everyone in that reception hall. No reinforcements, neither. Constables and military are going to have their hands full trying to contain my boys once they're unleashed to wreak some wonderful havoc on the streets. This…this will be my best work yet, and the thousand dead alongside the slain royal family and council won't even be the half of it…"

He never got to finish. With a wordless cry, Robb threw him into the wall, his rage now finally boiling over. He will not let this damnable cur repeat the event that slew him and his family. By all the gods, he would not.

He would not let Ezra, Sabine, or Irene die for his mistakes.

He approached Ramsay, the wolf in him now fully awake, ready to kill this damned vile monster once and for all. He would rip him apart with his bare hands; he did not deserve the mercy of Longclaw.

So focused on Ramsay was he that he didn't notice the trigger in his hand, and as he got closer, the bastard pressed the trigger.

Almost immediately, the support structures started to implode, snapping Robb out of his rage, as from the very end of the building, the factory started to cave in on itself.

"Robb, we need to get out of here!" Theon called out. "Factory's going to collapse any second now!"

Robb wasted no time and brokered no argument. Likely, Ramsay would be killed by the falling debris, anyway. He turned and booked it out of there with Theon, Lund, and the rest of the agents. As soon as he passed the threshold and took ten good steps outside, the factory completely collapsed, turning into a twisted heap of metal, wood, and dust.

"Well…" Lund spat, "at least the bastard's dead. There's no way anyone could survive thousands of metric tons of steel collapsing in on them."

Theon shook his head. "I wouldn't bet on it. He's survived worse," he pointed out. As if to prove his point, a single speeder could be seen taking off from around the back of the factory, carrying an all too familiar figure, his distant laughter echoing through the setting night.

Lund took the blaster he had in his holster and threw it on the ground in rage, "Gods damn it!" he cursed. "We were that fucking close!"

"We may not have caught Ramsay," Robb replied, "but we still may have time to save the king and everyone else at the wedding. How fast can that Larty go?" he asked.

"About five hundred kilometers per hour, seven if we gun it. No matter how you cut it, though, it will take us at least half an hour before we even reach the city limits," was Theon's reply.

"Then we can't waste any time," Robb responded. "Let's move!"

As everyone piled into the gunship, Robb's mind began racing, trying not to relive those events that killed him all those years ago.

Whatever happened to him, though, he would make damned sure that his friends would not have to die at another Red Wedding.

Notes:

Short little chapter, but one that's absolutely important.

Now, some of you might be wondering "Grey, that's fucking bullshit! How did Ramsay survive that?" And to that, I say…it's for me to know and you to find out. The story of Theon and Ramsay's relationship has not come to a head, yet.

Many of you probably already figured out who the traitor is. Question is, do you know who is backing Ramsay, and just what their plan is for Arcadia?

Find out next time!

Chapter 43: Sabine VII

Notes:

A/N: WARNING. THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MULTIPLE INSTANCES OF BLOOD, GORE, AND VIOLENCE.

She was sure she never wanted this moment to end.

For one brief speck in time, she could forget about the war, about her struggle, about everything else but the man in front of her and what the future held for them.

Ever since she had confessed her feelings to Ezra, she had mulled on what to name their children, if they ever got that far. So far, she had settled on 'Mira' if their firstborn was a girl, though she didn't quite know what to name the child if it was a boy. They would have time, she thought. Besides, judging by her lover's reaction, he was more than joyed by the prospect… evident by the way their tongues explored each other's mouths in the here and now.

But she couldn't ignore that music if she wanted to, forming a small pit in her gut.

Suddenly, a clinking sound brought the room to silence, and the band ceased it's playing of that strange music. Everyone began to sit back down in their seats. As Sabine moved to do so as well, Ezra grabbed her arm and shook his head.

She understood him without speaking. He felt something was off, way off. She snapped out of her previous stupor and started to reapply her situational awareness. The Exoristoi she knew she could trust, but something about those private guards Ignatius had hired had her on edge.

Thank the manda that they decided not to drink.

Soon, they spotted the source of where the chiming was coming from. There Moreena stood at the head table, tapping on her wine glass with a fork. As the room settled down, she set down her fork and raised her glass.

"My lords and ladies," she greeted, her voice sweet and light. "This has been quite the night. Our Prince is wed to a beautiful maid. May their lives bring them nothing but happiness!" she proclaimed.

"Aye!" the crowd responded back, raising their glasses and drinking deeply.

"To our king," she proclaimed, "may he reign longer still!"

"Aye!" again was the reply.

"And to my best friend, our princess, Irene," she said, a bit more quietly, "I thank you for your friendship. You, out of everyone, took me in when no one else did. For that, you have my gratitude," she addressed Irene, who started to silently shed tears of joy.

Sabine frowned. From where she stood, it sounded like she was saying "goodbye".

She looked around. She did not notice Vader anywhere, now. Her hand strayed closer to her blaster on her thigh. He might have been heading back to his chamber to meditate, but since when did Sith spit like him not do something on the sly?

Come to think of it, she did not see that young Hutt around, either. What was his name, Rotta?

Moreena then turned back to the crowd, her smile suddenly fading. "You must forgive us, though, my lords and ladies. This feast was not meant just for our prince, here, but for all of you. However, I feel like we haven't done enough. I feel that such fine people as you deserve more."

At that moment, all hell broke loose.

First, the private security guard nearest them drew an unseen dagger, and with it, slashed Chancellor Patricia across the throat, her bright red blood splattering all over her food and her cloak, as she collapsed face-first into her meal, gurgling blood all the while.

Ezra drew his saber, the blade crackling to life, it's hue the color of fire. Sabine reacted likewise and drew her two blasters from where she had them concealed on her thighs, and not a moment too soon.

All around them, men and women began to fight. They were struggling…

They were dying.

The band in the alcove above the high table had exchanged their instruments for weapons- crossbows with bone-tipped bolts, in this case, taking aim and firing at what few councilors and nobles who had not been stabbed or slashed by the thugs disguised as guards, as they tried to escape over pools of their own blood and bile, which became mixed with the wine and champagne being spilled all over the landing, the half-eaten meals becoming their grave.

Sabine took aim and fired at one of the "private" guards who was sneaking up behind Lord Commander Vistula, the blaster bolt impacting the thug's head and causing it to nearly explode in a fountain of burning flesh and bone.

Erik turned back for a moment and looked at Sabine, his eyes betraying his shock…and newfound respect.

Sabine indicated to the turned over high table, hiding the king and his family. "Lord Commander!" she shouted, "over there!"

Erik nodded at her. "Exoristoi, on me! Protect your king!" he commanded. Soon enough, what surviving royal guard there were formed upon Erik, and together fought their way through the thugs massacring the nobles. Numerous though they may have been, the thugs were no match for Mandalorian skill and discipline, as one by one they were cut down until Erik and his fellow custodians reached the table.

When they had reached it, Erik took a quick peek behind it, while his men provided cover fire, blasting the "band" out of the alcove above and onto the ground below, their bodies full of smoking holes. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he nodded to Sabine and Ezra.

"Wren, Bridger!" he shouted, forgetting to use their code names, "The King and his family are safe for the moment! We need to exfil out of here, now!"

"Wouldn't have guessed!" was Ezra's terse reply, as he cut down another thug rushing at him with a dagger.

As soon as that man had collapsed dead on the ground, Ezra turned and ran to the nearest exit, using his Force powers to push open the locked door into the outside air.

"Come on!" he shouted, all the while defending himself from yet another thug.

Sabine ran up behind him, tearing off part of her dress above the knees in order to move more quickly, while just behind her, Erik, the Exoristoi, and the royal family followed in tandem, managing to keep pace with them.

And it was a good thing too.

All around them, the city was erupting in chaos. Putting in her commlink, Sabine could hear the frantic radio calls for backup on all frequencies, indicating that many police units had been pinned down by some hostile force, which was reinforced by the echoes of blaster fire, explosions, and the wailing of the wounded.

Sabine grimaced. Ramsay was even more clever than she had given him credit for, and far dastardlier, as well.

"We have to get to the palace," Erik stated, once they were some distance away from the reception hall in an alleyway. "It's the only place where we can guarantee the royal family's safety."

Sabine peeked around the corner, checking to see if anyone had followed them. "That's a good two clicks away from where we are right now, Lord Commander, and something is interfering with my long-range communications. Whoever thought this massacre up did a lot of planning."

"Yeah, and something tells me that this is only just starting," Ezra grimly finished. "Gonna take a wild guess, here, but my gut tells me that the Empire is behind this."

"Wouldn't put it past them, at least," Sabine agreed. "It would explain why Vader chose to make his exit at the start. Probably dragged the Hutt along with him."

"Which means that the Empire and the Hutts are in this together," Alexios growled. "All this time we spent defending those slugs, and this is their repayment for our loyalty."

"We don't know that…" Ignatius tried to reason, only to be cut off by his angry nephew.

"What more proof do you need, uncle?" he exasperated. "Tensions have been increasing with the Hutts, Lund reports to us that the Empire has been building up their forces near Vandor for some kind of operation, and now we know that the woman we had trusted as a friend of the family and a loyal servant has been working with our enemies this whole time!"

Sabine looked back to check on Irene, and what she saw saddened her.

The normally lively princess looked…empty.

She shook her head. Of course, she had just been betrayed by her closest friend…perhaps even her lover and Sabine knew as well as anyone just how deeply betrayal by someone close to you could hurt.

The reasons Moreena betrayed them, she figured, did not matter in the slightest now. All they needed to focus on was keeping alive and reaching the palace. It was after the dust had settled and the bodies collected that the questioning and self-doubt could begin.

She knew all too well how crippling and deadly doubting yourself could be.

She nodded to the others. "Coast looks clear. No signs of Ramsay's thugs or Vader following us. If we keep following the alleyways and back routes undercover, we should be in the palace in less than a half-hour if we hoof it."

She looked to see the king and the others nod at her. "Then let us not waste time, my friend," the king commanded, though Sabine swore she spotted a sort of resignation in his eyes. "Lord Commander, lead us to the palace."

Erik nodded at his liege and signaled his men to form up. "Alright. Exoristoi, on me. We'll take point. Bridger, Wren, stick close with the king and his family!"

Everyone nodded in agreement, and together they moved out, covering one another as they moved from alleyway to alleyway and across the streets.

So far, progress was going smoothly. They weren't being followed or tracked by any of Ramsay's men, and they hadn't run into Vader or one of his Inquisitors…

So why did Sabine feel that something was going to go horribly wrong in the next few minutes?

They turned into the next alley, getting within a kilometer of the palace. It was then it seemed their luck was about to go to complete sheb.

The alley ended in a dead-end, with stacks of debris blocking the way out…and that wasn't the worst of it.

"Your Grace, I'm detecting twelve foot-mobiles heading towards our location, eleven at running speed, one at walking speed. Don't know how they were tracking us, but they've followed us."

She tuned out the rest of the conversation between Erik and Lysandus and focused on Ezra. Her boyfriend turned his head towards her, and nodded in a grim, serious fashion, as everyone readied their weapons. He knew. They both did.

She did not need to hear the breathing to figure out who was coming.

KROOOOO. KRAAAAAA.

KROOOO. KRAAAAAA.

KROOO. KRAAAAAA.

Facing where they had just come from, they saw at least a dozen or so thugs come at them… except something was different about these thugs. They moved in unison, kept their spacing, and in general didn't seem to be acting like a bunch of fools given guns for the first time.

Haar'chak! These weren't thugs, these were disguised Imperial stormtroopers! That was bad enough, but what came in right behind these incognito Imps was something worse.

Far worse.

In behind them strode the black-armored terror which had haunted her lover's nights and who had caused the galaxy immeasurable suffering, the one who had come here on a gesture of "goodwill" …

She cursed internally. Fierfek, this was bad. None of them could even remotely stand against Darth Vader, and she didn't have the protection of her beskar like she did the last time, as it was locked away in their room in the palace. The only hope any of them had was to attempt to escape over the debris.

"Mo?" asked the very timid voice of Irene. Sabine looked at the platoon of Imps, and she found a very nervous and afraid Moreena, standing next to Vader.

"Irene…" she began, with all the uncertainty of a child with their hand caught in a sweet jar.

"Why?" was all Irene asked.

"I found out my grandmother was alive," Moreena began. "Held prisoner by the ISB. They promised me her safety in return for feeding them secrets and organizing this coup. I had no choice."

Ezra shook his head. "Moreena, you always have a choice…" he lectured, "and you're a fool if you believe you can trust the Empire."

"Agent Krai," Vader cut off, "Do not believe this Jedi whelp. Your grandmother's well-being is assured, now. You have done well in delivering us the royal bloodline and will be well rewarded by the Emperor."

"The Sith always go back on their deals, Moreena," Ezra called out again. "Your grandmother is already dead, most likely. You sacrificed your friends-,"

"Stop it!" Moreena yelled, feebly.

"-your family, for nothing," he continued, shaking his head, "but you'll find that out soon enough. He will see to it, I'm sure," he lectured, pointing towards Vader with his lightsaber.

"Ezra Bridger," Vader turned towards him. "I might have guessed. You are no less arrogant than when I last saw you. Your disguise is admirable but futile. As is your protection of Arcadia's king."

"Lord Vader," the king finally called out. "That is enough."

"King Lysandus," Vader called back. "Your wits have slowed, old man, as have your reflex. Twenty years ago, you would have guessed our plot and would have executed the traitor, but age and compassion have weakened you. You no longer carry the strength to rule this world."

"Maybe not," the king agreed, "but unlike you, I never sold my soul to a madman. I am the servant of no man, only the Force. Can you say the same, my lord?"

"No, but then again, these things are always temporary," Vader retorted, and before anyone could do anything, Vader grabbed Lysandus with the Force, pulled him over towards him, and, in the blink of an eye, activated his lightsaber and shoved it through the old man's chest. "The Emperor sends his regards," he sneered, as he shoved the dying king off his blade.

"DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDD!" Irene screamed.

"Exoristoi! Kill this darjetti scum! Avenge your king!" Erik shouted, and the royal guard began to cut down the stormtroopers with their blasters and their swords, felling them one by one.

But they were no match for a Dark Lord of the Sith.

All their shots, Vader blocked effortlessly.

All their blows, he parried without trouble.

Mandalorians were strong, tough, fighters par excellence, and yet as Sabine knew all too well, they stood little chance against one such as Vader.

The first Exorsitoi Vader reached he grabbed and slammed on the ground, breaking the poor man's neck. The second tried to slice him with his vibroblade. Vader just sidestepped it and took off his head at the shoulders with his lightsaber, never breaking pace as he tried to reach them.

Erik turned to Sabine, his face full of concern, anger, and resolve. "Wren, go, now! Protect the family! I'll stay behind and deal with this Sith scum. Just do me one thing…" he commanded, taking off his pendant and handing it to her. "Survive and lead our people well, ner vod. Give my son and your mother my regards," He turned back to Vader, now the only one standing, and readied his beskar'kad, the one he had carried since his days as a True Mandalorian. "Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur!" he shouted at Vader, his voice fading as Sabine and the others made their way over the wall of debris.

"Agreed," came Vader's monotone reply, and as Sabine, Ezra, and the remainder of the royal family made their way over the wall of debris and towards the palace, they could hear melee and a war cry, getting dimmer and dimmer as they ran, until finally falling silent.

"Ret'urcye mhi manda, aliit'alor," she whispered silently, offering a prayer for the fallen leader of the Exoristoi. She looked at the pendant in her palm- a mythosaur skull carved out of the tusk of some fearsome beast native to Sizwa.

She closed her hand again, resolving not to give in to her swirl of emotions. She would not let this man down, nor any of her friends or family.

She just had to survive in the midterm.

After what seemed like another fifteen minutes or so, they finally reached the walls of the palace…

Where they were greeted by yet another figure in a black coat before the gates.

"Oh, you've got to be karking kidding me!" Ezra cursed.

The black-cloaked figure threw his hood and cape back, revealing the armor of one of the Inquisition. The Inquisitor in question was a human man, with salt-and-pepper hair, yellow-red eyes, and an irritating smirk that reminded her somewhat of her boyfriend- that is, if her lover were an evil, mass-murdering prick.

"I was wondering when you'd arrive, my new king," he mocked Alexios. "Shame about your father and the guards he took with him. Few can survive the wrath of my lord, after all, so I must commend you lot for at least that." He then turned to Ezra and Sabine. "And, if I'm not mistaken, you two are members of the infamous Specter cell. Ezra Bridger, padawan to Kanan Jarus, and Sabine Wren, the estranged daughter of Countess Ursa Wren. My, my, what a catch!"

"Glad to meet your acquaintance," Sabine dryly remarked. "Don't know who you are, though, hut'uun."

"How rude of me," the Inquisitor joked. "I must remedy that. I am Malleus, Grand Inquisitor of his Majesty's Inquisition." He unclipped his cloak, allowing it to fall onto the pavement. "Now, if you're wondering why you can't reach anyone in the palace or elsewhere, I'm afraid that's my doing. You see, we couldn't have any of you lot thwarting our plans, hence why we had dear sweet Moreena give us the access codes to your encrypted channels…and to your defense network," he stated, smirking at Alexios. "That's right, your grace. Your precious network of defense stations and orbital cannons is offline, and there's a surprise coming in from Vandor within…. six hours, I'd say, as you probably already know." He shrugged. "I must thank that psychotic cur, Ramsay. Even a mad dog has a few bright ideas, it seems. Oh, and before I forget, Lord Vader has granted me the honor of killing you, as he has been summoned now on Coruscant. Thanks to everything being down, he should slip through your net easy," he said, drawing that typical dual-bladed Inquisitorial lightsaber, activating both ends of it and adopting a fighting stance. "Now, friends, shall we dance?"

Ezra nodded at Sabine, and she immediately understood, backing away as he stepped forward and activated his own sword, his orange blade answering to Malleus' crimson one.

"Let's," was all he said, and the battle was joined.

Notes:

A/N: Oh, boy, a lot of death and blood in this chapter.

Yeah, this was pretty much a plan of mine to move the plot forward. The Empire and the Hutts were always going to betray Arcadia, and though I debated on whether I wanted the entire group to fight Vader, I decided against it, as Vader is…well, Vader. Unless your name is Luke Skywalker, you simply aren't stopping him. You can only take the slim chance of survival by running away.

And yes, Moreena betrayed her adopted family, much like Theon did *hint hint* (Okay, no, I'm not going to have Ramsay torture, rape, and mutilate her. I'm mean, not a sick fucking incel. But she will come to learn that the Empire, and the Sith, in particular, are the wrong ones to place your trust in)

Can Robb, Theon, and Rau reach Ezra, Sabine, and what remains of the royal family in time? Will Alexios avenge his father's death? Will Irene learn to forgive her best friend? Will Arcadia survive an Imperial invasion? Want me to stop asking stupid fucking questions?

Well, …you'll have to wait until the next few chapters!

P.S. Played Fallen Order. It was very fun, and it's giving me a LOT of ideas for this story.

See ya!

Chapter 44: Malleus II

Jedi

No matter where he went, no matter who he encountered, no matter how many he and his fellow Inquisitors had slain over these long eighteen years, they were still the same all over.

Noble, arrogant, irritatingly selfless, self-righteous twats.

It seemed to him Ezra Bridger was very little exception to this rule.

Malleus struck first, aiming for Bridger's annoying raven-haired head. The street-urchin from Lothal blocked near-effortlessly with that unfamiliar orange blade of his- strange, his lightsaber was colored green by our last reports, and in a totally different design, he thought- and countered with a strike of his own, which Malleus immediately parried.

"Tell me, Jedi whelp," Malleus mocked, "Did the little padawan lose his lightsaber?"

Bridger shrugged. "Decided to upgrade. By the way, you're sloppier than the last Grand Inquisitor. Your Emperor couldn't find anyone better for the job?"

Insufferable Jedi brat!

Malleus kept his cool, however, though he did frown as he went in for another strike. "Funny, Bridger. Very funny."

The latter smirked. "Thanks for noticing," he mocked as he parried another blow from his blade.

Malleus gritted his teeth. This padawan should have lost, by now! No matter. He would still kill this kriffing brat and then go after the rest of the royal family… and throw in that Mandalorian bitch for good measure. He had proven himself to the Emperor long before this, after all- over a dozen lightsabers on the new Iron Throne belonged to Jedi that he had felled himself with this blade!

He spun his blade, striking with both ends, one after the other. Bridger parried the first two strikes, then hopped back, obviously having encountered the unique design of Inquisitorial lightsabers before.

Malleus grinned, adopting a defensive posture and spinning his blades, daring the little Jedi to come close.

"What's the matter, Bridger. Afraid that I'll cut off your other two limbs?"

Bridger said nothing, just smirking that damnable smirk in response as if he was alone privy to the answer to the most hilarious joke in the universe.

What in the nine hells is he thinking?

Suddenly, Malleus' blades stopped rotating, suspended, barely vibrating in mid-air, as if held there by some kind of-

He widened his eyes. No, that was impossible! How could such a young whelp like him learn such an advanced technique? His blind master wasn't even this skilled!

"What?" was all he managed to squelch out before Ezra literally rushed at him and swung his vermillion-colored sword, seemingly intending to behead him then and there. Malleus instinctively ducked, managing to save his head by mere inches. But it seemed that Bridger wasn't really aiming for his head-

He was aiming for his lightsaber.

The orange blade connected full force with the top emitter, slicing all the way through it just as the stasis field was wearing off.

Somersaulting out of the way, Bridger turned to face Malleus again, who barely managed to get hold of his now-single bladed lightsaber.

"Heh. You're probably wondering how I did that," Bridger bragged, eyeing the now-concerned expression on Malleus' face. "Let's just say that Kanan hasn't been my only teacher this past year or so and that I'm a quick learner. Now that you only have one blade, I figure the score's evened a bit."

Malleus grimaced. Shit, shit, shit, shit! This padawan was far more skilled than he had anticipated. Hell, he could easily be rival any of old Order's knights, for all he knew. He gripped the hilt a bit tighter. No matter, he would break this child and complete his mission, skill is damned. He decided to probe Bridger with the force a little, as he adopted a high guard. There was something…

Wait.

He smiled again. Ah, so that was it. That was the secret behind his success. He started to laugh. "Ha! Of course, I should have known. The Dark Side. It clings to you like a shadow. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say you used a Sith Holocron for a good long while after your master was blinded, didn't you, boy?"

Bridger said nothing, instead electing to glare at him. That, however, was all the confirmation he needed.

"Ah, so it is true. The Sith Holocron I picked up on Dathomir told me that some Jedi had used it before my arrival, but I never would have guessed it was you. I wonder what also it taught you? Mind domination? Lighting? I truly wonder if you fully tapped into the Dark Side, what you'd be incapable of unleashing?" he sneered. "Maybe…just maybe, you'd rival even my lord."

"Save your nerfshit for someone who cares," Bridger shot back. "I've put it behind me."

"Is that so," Malleus mocked as he advanced closer. "What if I told you that I know who ordered the arrest of your parents…and who murdered them in prison?"

Now that got his attention.

"What did you just say?" Bridger asked, his voice lowering to a dangerous octave.

Malleus smiled. "Truthfully, they were gunned down by two random stormtroopers, who were soon transferred to Mandalore, where they perished during one of the Nite Owls' raids… so, your vengeance is lost on that front. As for who ordered their arrest…well, I believe you've already met him. What's better, you count him as one of your dear precious allies!"

"You lie!" Bridger spat.

Malleus shrugged. "It's quite true, believe it or not. Come now, you must have been suspicious as to how conveniently Ryder Ahzadi showed up on Lothal with that pitiful story. He helped your parents in prison out of guilt for having them arrested in the first place, simply so he could save his own worthless hide!"

Anger flashed in Bridger's eyes, and for a moment, Malleus was hopeful he would crack…then, in a quite unexpected move, Bridger closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply, seemingly letting go of any anger he had.

"If what you say is true…" Bridger began, opening those blue orbs, "then I will determine for myself if he really feels guilt for it or not when I ask him. But I refuse to execute a man for petty vengeance, unlike you."

Any hope of converting Ezra Bridger was shattered for Malleus, right then and there. The Dark Jedi snarled at the padawan. "You dishonor your parents' name and memory by refusing to shed the blood of their betrayers!"

Bridger looked at him evenly. "I would dishonor them if I gave in to my anger and turned into one of the monsters they fought so hard to get rid of. Monsters like you…" he said, closing his eyes and probing with the Force. Malleus immediately put his mental shields up, but he felt something slip through, in and out as quick as a knife.

"…Tyrek Lannister." Ezra finished, a look of pity and resolve on his face mixing as one.

Malleus grew frightened. How…how was this brat able to do that? Only two people he knew could even penetrate his defenses. Could it be…

Could it be that this arrogant bastard has the same Force potential as Lord Vader and the Emperor?

"You…" he sneered, his rage giving him strength and focus, "Jedi scum! I will tear you limb from limb and hang your head from the highest tower of the Imperial Palace! You cannot defeat me!" he yelled as he slashed at Bridger. The two immediately began their deadly dance again.

Parry.

Block.

Strike.

Counter-strike.

Slash.

Thrust.

Each of Malleus' blows was met equally by Bridger's, orange clashing on scarlet, as sparks flew between the two blades.

At last, when their blades became locked yet again, and as Malleus soon felt that he would again have the upper hand, Ezra smiled and laughed.

"Wow. You think I was trying to beat you, Tyrek," he said, mockingly using his real name. "I was only trying to distract you long enough for everyone else in my group to escape inside…and for you to get caught by reinforcements right about…now."

Bridger disengaged, leaping a good twenty feet backward, as a warning in the Force told Malleus to disengage and run right, moments before a missile struck his position. He got back up and found a Larty gunship hovering over his original position, and from the gunship rappelled several figures…

One of which was an angry, human man in dark armor wielding a sword that looked to be made of beskar, whose presence in the Force hit Malleus like a blizzard.

The Grey-Wolf had come…and he had brought back-up.

Knowing that there would probably be more reinforcements on the way, and his lightsaber down to only one emitter, he did the only thing that seemed to make sense to him, which would give him the best chance of survival.

He fled.

Running as fast as he could through the streets and the alleyways, he began to discard pieces of his armor, knowing that the authorities in this blasted city would soon be cleaning up the last of Ramsay's thugs and begin looking for him. Damn it all, how did they not know the Grey-Wolf would be there? Why had their agent failed to report this?

Soon, he stopped in an alleyway, where one end was closed off by a wall connecting the two high-rises. A dead-end, kark!

He heard footsteps. Blast it, the authorities would be here soon! He ignited his lightsaber and turned to meet whoever decided to approach him. To his shock, however, it was not a bunch of vengeful, murderous police looking to avenge their fallen king. No…

It was a Mirialan, a male dressed head to toe in pale blue robes, his depthless blue eyes scanning him from head to toe.

"Greetings, Inquisitor," the Mirialan calmly stated. "I am Brother Malakas, of the White Frost. I see that you are in distress."

Malleus brought his lightsaber closer. "What is it to you, cultist?"

Malakas lifted his arms. "You are in need, and I am here to help. Would you rather take your chances with me, or with those who are hunting you and will most certainly put you to death for having a hand in the murder of their king?"

Malleus lowered his lightsaber a little. "How do I know I can trust you?"

Malakas smiled slightly. "You don't. But that is the beauty of it, no? Probable death versus certain death. A gamble versus a sure loss. Besides, if that doesn't interest you, then the information I have will."

Now, his curiosity got the better of him. "What information?" he asked.

"It pertains to the fate of your Empire if you do not act, but I cannot reveal it here and now. Not while the constables are looking for you. So, I must ask again…are you willing to take a chance?"

He clenched his teeth. So far, there seemed to be no good options, and if the Empire was truly under threat, then he had to take this information, lest order fell, and chaos descended upon the realms of men.

"Fine, then," he spat out. "Tell me what you know."

"Not here," the Mirialan shook his head. "Follow me, and then you will know all."

Seeing no other choice, and running out of time, Malleus nodded, following the strange cultist into one of the adjacent buildings, making sure to close and lock the door so the police.

Malakas kept walking, going further and further into the building until coming to a set of stairs, descending a good couple of stories down. He beckoned for Malleus to follow, which he did so, all the while trying to ignore the feeling of unease that had been gnawing at him. This cultist might be helping him, but that didn't mean that he was no less of a threat to the Empire than the Rebellion or…

Or the White Walkers.

Just thinking of them sent shivers down his spine. Especially that horned leader of theirs', the Night King, whose face had haunted him ever since he found that footage of the massacre on Vector Prime.

Down and down the stairs they went until they reached a small, windowless room barely lit by candles. It was apparent that this room served as some type of private shrine for the cultist, for at the end of the small room was an altar with an idol upon it.

An idol shaped conspicuously like a hurricane or a spiral-armed galaxy.

The unease in his stomach grew. He knew that this Malakas was part of the cult he had been hunting across the Outer Rim for this past year or so, so why was he in here, willing to hear him out?

"Alright, fanatic," he commanded. "Where is this information you promised me? What possible knowings can you have that are worthy of my time?"

The Mirialan didn't answer his question straight away. Instead, he seemed to choose to be cryptic about it. "Do you trust that your master truly has the Empire's best interests at heart?" he asked Malleus instead.

Malleus blinked. "What are you talking about? Our Emperor saved this galaxy from tearing itself apart. He brought order where there is chaos, stability where there was strife! And you are suggesting that he never has our nation's interest?"

Malakas scoffed. "If he truly had your realm's best interest, and if he were true in the service of your vaunted order, why is it that so many rebellions and resistance movements have popped up on various worlds in these past two decades? Why is that so many sentient species have been wiped out for one reason or another by his fleets and armies? The Empire is responsible for so much corruption and discord in the galaxy today, and you think you serve the cause of peace? Truly, Palpatine has clouded your mind. Does the Emperor even have an heir?"

Malleus blinked. He had not been expecting that question. He thought, and he thought hard. All his life, he only knew Palpatine as the supreme ruler of everything. He never knew of any sires of his, nor did he know of any potential named heir. Even Mas Amedda was left out of certain dealings of the Emperor, for reasons that were virtually unknown to anyone. A long time ago, he would have thought Lord Vader to be Heir to the Empire, yet he wasn't even sure of that anymore.

A thought crossed his mind, one so ludicrous that he shouldn't have even entertained it, but cross his mind it did;

Did the Emperor plan to live forever?

He shook the thought out of his head. No, it couldn't be. The legacy of his Empire was too important. All beings faced death, even one mighty as him. He would have to choose an heir to continue his great work.

But did he?

Malakas studied him, seemingly knowing the internal conflict Malleus was putting himself through. It was then the cultist decided to drop the proverbial proton bomb on him.

"The reason why your Emperor does not have an heir, Inquisitor, is because he chooses not to," he revealed. "He does not plan on the Empire he created outliving him. He will throw this galaxy into complete chaos and total war, all due to his utter selfishness."

Malleus was shocked. "No… no! You're lying, you must be! My Emperor would never…" he trailed off for a moment. "The Empire is the result of centuries of hard work and dedication of his predecessors in the Sith Order. Why would he want their hard work to go to waste?"

"For the same reason he does anything wasteful," Malakas chided, "because he is a completely self-absorbed and vain being, always reaching for greater and greater power, completely engrossed in a delusional quest for godhood." The cultist walked closer to Malleus. "I know you don't believe me, my lord. But the proof is there, on Coruscant. Find a way to delve into Palpatine's most secret writings, his most private journals. There, you will discover the truth of my words," he warned. "Act now, last of the lions, or the Empire's founder will doom it to destruction and death. Seek the wisdom of your greatest ancestor and save your realm from certain death."

Now Malleus' thoughts were spinning in a maelstrom. Did the work of the Sith prior mean nothing to Lord Sidious? If he had to be removed, who would rule in his place? Was what this cultist even saying remotely even true?

One thing was for certain, though, he had to see if this proof existed. Getting to it would be no easy task, however. He would need to find the most skilled hacker in the galaxy just to access those files, whether they be in some hidden computer system or in Palpatine's own private chambers…and he would need to be completely discreet about it.

There was also the matter of Lord Vader.

He hoped his direct master would be on Mustafar when this all transpired, but if Palpatine suspected anything, he would send Vader on his trail, and Vader always found his prey in the end…

Unless…

A plan began to form in Malleus' mind. It was risky. No, strike that, it was the biggest gamble he had ever undertaken, but if it paid off…the Empire could very well be saved, or even improved.

He nodded to the cultist, finally clipping what remained of his lightsaber to his belt. "I…thank you for this information, Malakas…if the information is true, that is. If I find that it is false, there is no hole in the entire Outer Rim I will not be able to drag out of and slaughter you like a hog."

Malakas bowed. "Rest assured, Grand Inquisitor, my knowledge of such things is accurate. The Prophet knows all," he proclaimed. Before Malleus could ask him about what that meant, a secret passageway to his right opened.

"The passage will lead you straight to a ship on a private landing pad. As the defense network is down, you should be able to slip past. You will also find a cloak to guise yourself," Malakas stated. "Good fortune, and may the rains never weep on your halls."

With that last, ominous, and disturbing farewell, Malakas turned and left, going back up the stairs they had descended only moments ago. With no other recourse, a now very-perturbed Malleus gathered his bearings and headed into the tunnel, using the crimson glow of his lightsaber to light the way to freedom…and trouble.

Whatever came next though, he would make sure to have his answers. By the Force and all the gods that have been and will be, he would make damned sure of it.

The fate of the Empire may well depend upon it.

Notes:

A/N: Well, questions upon questions, it seems. I'm going to go throw quite a few of them, so, bear with me-

Q: How did someone like Malleus lose/tie against Ezra?

A: Well, if you played the game Fallen Order, watched Rebels, or read the Vader comics, you'd realize that Inquisitors are…not the best when it came to fighting Jedi. Oh, sure, they made kills on them, but usually, it was the result of ambushing or outnumbering said Jedi. This is because Palpatine purposefully made them weak compared to himself and Vader so that they wouldn't threaten the Sith if they were ever to turn traitor. Plus, Ezra learned much from Kanan and from the Holocron, and his potential dueling skill is honestly unexplored during the final two seasons of Rebels as the focus shifted primarily to Thrawn.

Q: Why does Malleus seemingly trust this guy? Wasn't he just hunting cultists?

A: He was, but Malakas is one of the best preachers these cultists have, and he has a slick way with words that only a few like Palpatine can rival. Now, what this cultist has planned, we shall see, but if he's worshipping the Night King as a god, then suffice to say it most likely spells trouble for everyone involved. Also, how this guy knows so much will be revealed at the end of this first story.

On a side note, I've been watching The Mandalorian. Very interesting story so far, and why this Mando clan is in hiding intrigues me. It has influenced the scale of my Massacre of Keldabe/Great Purge for me, in particular.

Tune in next time for battle preparations, grief over loss, and the prelude to the battle that will change the history of this galaxy forever.

Ta-ta!

Chapter 45: Theon V

Loss.

That was the word that Theon could most accurately use to describe the state of the city this night, as he saw the smoke rise from multiple buildings and streets where deadly firefights between thugs and the city's police forces had taken place. The smell of carbon scoring and blood was heavy in the air, punctured only by the wailing of ambulance sirens and the weeping of family members over the broken bodies of their loved ones.

For some reason, he had elected to tour the reception hall, which had been closed off the Ministry of Intelligence and the Lanopolis Constable Department as part of their ongoing investigation and documentation of the massacre that had taken place there, though the perpetrators and motives were, by now, known to the surviving members of the government.

There weren't many who did survive, he came to learn as he walked his way through the blood-and-bile soaked hall.

All around him, laying on tables, sitting in chairs, or sprawled on the floor were the bodies of the nobles, generals, and councilors who had attended the feast, their corpses twisted and pierced by blades and bolts, expressions of shock and terror permanently etched onto their faces. There were also the still forms of the thugs Ramsay had hired, many of whom were sporting blaster wounds or lightsaber slashes.

He breathed. Thank the Drowned God that Ezra and Sabine had come prepared, elsewise this could have been a lot worse.

He wished he could say the same thing for King Lysandus, though.

He looked around, noting the Patriarch weeping silently in the corner as the police and agents went about their grim business of removing the bodies, collecting the evidence, and documenting the scene…a scene that reminded him far too much of another event he had heard about, long ago in the distant past.

Speaking of which, Robb had chosen to head directly to the palace, ostensibly to check on Ezra, Sabine, and the remaining royal family, though Theon deep down knew the true reason- he did not want to visit something that would trigger horrible memories of the original Red Wedding. He could hardly blame him for it, however. Some things were far too traumatic for one to revisit- it was one reason why he had steered clear of the Dreadfort's former site when they had visited Valyros.

He sighed and turned to get out of the building, wanting to make his way to the palace. He keyed Fenn, waiting for the Mandalorian to pick up the comms.

"Rau here," came the familiar voice a few seconds later.

"Rau," Theon responded, "I need a lift to the palace. I want to be present at this war council the Prince…the King is holding," he corrected himself.

"Understood, Theon," Rau replied. "I'll be there in ten mikes. Rau out."

He terminated the transmission and waited… for both Rau and the storm that was coming in less than six hours.

They needed to be ready.

---

The atmosphere in the council chambers was grim, to say the very least.

So far, Theon had counted Robb, Sabine, Ezra, Ignatius, Lund, Rau, Theodora, and the now-King Alexios as those in attendance. Solomon was most likely resting or mourning what had happened alongside Michael, and Irene…

Irene was in her chambers, refusing to come out for anyone.

He grimaced. Her best friend had betrayed her, and she had just witnessed her father and many people she knew from a young age get slaughtered like cattle.

"How, exactly, did those assassins get past our security measures?" Alexios asked through gritted teeth, his fists clenched so hard the knuckles were turning white.

Lund sighed. "Well, from the weaponry…your grace…" he began, seemingly almost-forgetful that Alexios was king, now., "we found that the daggers and crossbow bolts were made from almost-exclusively organic materials designed to defeat our metal detectors and other sensors. Nerf bone, wood, leather, hide. As for how the assassins themselves, well, we can thank your uncle, here, for his great vetting." Lund spat.

"Pardon me?" Ignatius shot back. "I'm not the one who checked into 'dear, sweet Moreena's' background and gave her the go-ahead to be my niece's friend and advisor! So take your snark and shove it up to your gods-damned arse, you fat fucking pig!"

"Tough words coming from a drunk fucking oaf!" Lund seethed.

"ENOUGH!" Alexios yelled, slamming his fist on the table. "My father is dead. Most of my councilors and generals are dead. Our long-range communications are down, an Imperial task force will be here in less than a day, and two of my surviving advisors can do nothing but blame each other for Moreena's treason?" he snapped. "We are all at fault, my lords, and not only we have paid the price, but our kingdom as well." He waved his hand. "Enough of this. Has the Hutt been captured?"

"Aye, your grace," Ignatius said. "the chief of police for the city reports that he is being held in a jail cell in their headquarters, along with two smugglers we caught in the Blood Gulch during the chaos."

"Good," Alexios exclaimed. "He will inform us of the reason for his father's treachery, and then we will decide what to do with him. In the meantime," he turned to Lund. "Do you have intelligence on the makeup and size of this fleet?"

"Always, my king," was Lund's reply. "Before this shindig ever began, my agents began to send me reports about a large Imperial force gather on or near Vandor. Until a few hours ago, we did not know its purpose, but a day or so ago we did finally get an accurate estimate of its size and composition," he reported, laying out a holopad. "Three hundred Imperial-class Star Destroyers make up the core of this fleet, both Mark One and Mark Two variety. These are supported by approximately six Immobilizer-class interdictors, four hundred Arquitens -class light cruisers, one hundred Lancer-class anti-fighter frigates, innumerable fighters, bombers, and gunships, and if we assume that every destroyer is carrying a full legion of stormies, that's nearly four million troops and their various equipment and ground vehicles to carry out a space-born assault on our world."

Everyone at the table went silent.

"Three hundred Star Destroyers…" Sabine whispered, "Twelve entire Sector Groups. It's nearly a fifth of their entire strength in the Outer Rim."

"Seems they're going all out on this," Ezra agreed. "I've got a very bad feeling about who's leading them."

"Care to elaborate?" Rau asked the Lothal orphan.

"Grand Admiral Thrawn," Sabine answered for him. "He's the only logical choice for an operation of this kind. He's not your average Imperial officer. As a matter of fact, he's leagues beyond any other Imp admiral or general I've come across." She stared at all the Arcadians present. "He's likely analyzed everything about Arcadia. History, philosophy, art, battle tactics, to name a very few. Your greatest strengths will be turned into your greatest weaknesses."

"Are you saying that it's impossible to defeat him?" Ignatius asked.

"Nothing is impossible," Robb murmured. Suddenly, all eyes were on him, and Theon saw the light of recognition beam on Sabine and Ezra's faces. The Grey-Wolf looked around, confusion on his face. "What?"

"Robb…" Sabine began, "didn't you mention that you were a general before you joined our crew?" she asked in front of the entire group, omitting certain…details.

"Yes, but what does that have to do with…" Robb began to ask before he stopped, apparently realizing what Sabine was truly asking him. "You want me to take command of this battle."

"You and Theon are the only ones that Thrawn hasn't studied in detail," Sabine pointed out. "You were a commander of great renown on your home planet, and you have never lost a battle, not even against other great commanders, beloved by your men and respected by other lords and generals."

Robb sucked in a deep breath. "Sabine…I haven't led an army into battle in nearly thirteen years… not since… well, the incident," he protested.

"Robb, we have confidence in ya, brother." Ezra encouraged.

"You outsmarted Tywin until the end," Theon added. "You'll do fine, Robb."

"From what I've seen from you, the results speak for themselves," Lund offered. "You were my most effective agent for years, and you came close to nabbing that psychotic dog, Ramsay. You have my vote of confidence."

"And mine," Rau affirmed.

"Thrawn knows only the Grey Wolf," Sabine countered, smiling all the while. "He doesn't know Robb Stark. Let's show him just who you exactly are."

Robb shuddered, and after what seemed like a long moment of internal debate, nodded at long last.

All eyes turned then towards King Alexios, who was drumming his fingers together in thought. A tense, silent moment passed before the new king burst the pregnant pause with his words.

"I will grant Robb Stark the overall command for the duration of this battle," Alexios confirmed. "You may use any resource and strategy you see fit. Just be sure to bring us victory against these traitors," he commanded. "Now, what is your plan, Stark?"

Robb appeared to think for a moment, before deigning to answer.

"Arcadia's military strength lies in defense. Long-range firepower, snub fighters, state-of-the-art tanks, expertise in trench and siege warfare. Thrawn is acutely aware of these facts, hence your orbital defense network has been shut down as well as your interstellar communications. Therefore, I want to make the first move; knock him off balance and even the odds, potentially, before he has a chance to bring his full force to bear on the planet."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Lund asked him.

Robb then looked at Theon. "Theon, you remember what Tyrion did at the Battle of the Blackwater?"

"Aye," he responded, seeing where his friend was getting at.

Robb nodded. "Then we'll do something similar, just on a bigger scale," he proclaimed, turning back to the rest of the group to clarify. "Thrawn will be expecting conventional military force. Therefore, I propose we do something unconventional. Are there any decommissioned tanker ships that are in working order?"

"There is one," Ignatius stated. "The Argos. It was decommissioned just a week prior. What do you plan to do with it, though?"

"Simple," Robb answered. "We load the tanker up with as much combustible material as we can. Better yet, we load it up with something that will really pack a punch, so to speak. Something like…"

"Rhydonium?" Lund guessed.

Robb nodded. "Preciously. It's volatile, unstable, and very, very explosive, which makes it perfect for a ship-sized IED."

Lund rubbed his chin. "Yes…yes, it could very well work."

"Thrawn probably won't fall for such a plan." Sabine pointed out.

"But one of his minions might," Ezra countered. "Konstantine in particular."

Sabine smirked. "Right. Almost did forget that numbskull was under Thrawn's command."

"Even if we manage to destroy a sizable portion of his fleet, we'd still be outnumbered by a significant margin. I have one million troops in total on-planet and a hundred ships in orbit- the rest of my fleets and armies are posted across Hutt Space," Alexios spoke up, "and I have no way to contact at them."

"That's where those two smugglers you captured in the Blood Gulch will come in handy," Robb responded. "I take it these two are the same ones Theon, Rau, and I met weeks back down there?"

"Are their names Han Solo and Chewbacca?" Lund asked.

"Yep," was Theon's response.

"Then yes. The exact same scalawags you lot contacted," the Duke confirmed.

"I have a mind to execute those two for smuggling in weapons and credits for Ramsay and his thugs," Alexios uttered darkly, "though I take it you have something in mind for those two."

"Indeed, your grace," was Robb's even reply. "Those two will slip through the Imperial blockade while they are amid the chaos caused by the explosion of the rhydonium. After, they will jump into hyperspace and head towards the nearest Arcadian force."

"That would be at Sakifwanna." Lund clarified. "It's the location of both the Second Fleet and the First Army Group. Major training base for our forces there as well. Years ago, it was a contingency plan for the Hutts to make their fallback if Nal Hutta ever fell, though that's off the table, now, for obvious reasons."

"How far away is it?" Theon asked.

"About an hour away, if you go with a standard hyperdrive. Two if you're in some rust bucket," Lund answered.

"Did Solo say how fast his ship was?" Robb asked.

"No, though I'd imagine if he were a smuggler, we'd have to assume it's got a very fast hyperdrive," Ignatius reasoned.

"Then we hold out for two hours," Robb declared, "though we need assurance that Solo won't betray us."

"I can spare a few of my guards to accompany him," Alexios stated. "Mandalorians do have the effect of making men honest if I'm not mistaken."

Sabine smirked. "Always, your grace."

Robb nodded. "Alright, we've got the first part nailed down, then. Now, to where Thrawn will most likely land his troops, and where his true target is."

"The capital is an obvious target," Rau pointed out.

"Too obvious a target. He'll likely make a push for the city, yes, but it won't be his real goal," Robb countered. "He knows it's well-defended and well-supplied, and that many of his men will die trying to breach the walls. No, the city will be a secondary or even a tertiary goal of his. His primary target, I reckon, will be the shield generator at Mount Theron."

"There isn't only the planetary shield generator there," Lund added. "It's also home to our military research and development laboratories, not to mention it's considered the most sacred mountain in our culture. I don't think I need to state the obvious implications of losing it."

"Which is why it needs to be defended by the best of the best," Robb reasoned. "Is the 5th Tagmata Division still planetside?"

"Aye," Ignatius confirmed, "and eager to avenge the death of their commander."

"Even better. Send word out immediately to their acting commander that he is to move his men to the mountain post haste," he commanded, then he looked at Sabine. "In the meantime, can you try to restore the long-range communications and orbital defenses?"

Sabine nodded. "I can, but it will take me several hours working on it by myself. Ten at the most. When I did a preliminary analysis on the terminals, it turns out that the Empire uploaded a virus in attention to using the shutdown codes dear, sweet Moreena gave them," she said, with more than a hint of sarcasm coming in on the last of her sentence.

"I…uh…" Theodora spoke for the first time since the meeting began, shocking everyone in the room. "I can help Lady Wren here fix the defense and communication networks. My father taught me a lot about working with computers." Her face then became hardened. "Also, if it means that the deaths of my father and my uncle will be avenged, then I'm more than eager to help."

Sabine looked shocked for a split second, then relented. "Alright, my queen. I'd advise that you get armored up after this meeting, though. We're most likely not going to get the thing fixed before the battle begins, and the Imperials could very well send forces our way to make sure we fail."

Theodora nodded, "I understand. I'm…not much of a fighter, so can you keep me covered if things go wrong?" she asked the Mandalorian woman opposite of her.

"You got it," Sabine affirmed.

"I'll be up there with the fighter wings," Rau offered. "Seen those new X-Wings you have, and I wanted to test one out, see how it compares to a Fang. Besides, I'll be much more useful up there than down here."

"Alright," Robb complied.

"Just watch out for Vul Skerris," Sabine warned. "He's Thrawn's top ace, and he'll likely be piloting the Grand Admiral's new TIE Defender."

"Speaking of Thrawn," Theon spoke up, "would it not be imperative that the Grand Admiral be captured or killed? Even if we beat him in this battle, that still means that we'd have to deal with him down the line."

"Theon's right," Ezra confirmed. "The Rebellion and Arcadia don't need that particular thorn in our side. I've seen just how ruthless and efficient he is myself."

"What are you proposing Theon?" Robb asked.

"During the chaos of battle, a crack team of commandos and I will board Thrawn's flagship. There, we'll fight our way up to the bridge, and either captures Thrawn or kill him."

"It's a good plan, however it comes with significant risks," Lund countered.

"All good plans are risky," Theon replied. "Plus, I have expertise in this arena. Daresay if we succeed in this…it could very well swing the course of the war in our favor."

"Let's hope," Robb cautioned. "I'll head with the 5th Tagmata to Mount Theron and keep in comms with all of you."

"Then I'll defend the city with the King," Ezra offered.

"Very well," Alexios nodded.

"If that's everything, ladies and gentlemen, then I'd say this meeting is adjourned and that we should get a move on," Robb confirmed, looking at all of them. "Good luck, and may the Force be with us all."

With that, everyone in that room began to move out one by one, each one preparing for the fight ahead…

Everyone except Robb and Theon, that was, who elected to hang by the door. It was then that Theon noticed that Robb's hands were shaking, the way they used to so long ago when they were both fresh-faced boys going to war for the first time. He was nervous, that much he could tell.

They both were.

"How're you holding up?" he asked his best friend.

"Not so bad," Robb joked. "First time commanding an army since the Red Wedding, but hey, that's life," he laughed a bit, then when quiet. "I really do hope we live this."

"You and me both," Theon confirmed. "I think Bran would start whacking us both upside the head if we died now."

Robb chuckled. "True. Our godly brother would be immensely disappointed." He then clasped Theon's arm. "Old gods bear steel with you, Theon."

"Drowned God fight with you, Robb," Theon bid back, and with that, the two Westerosi went their separate ways, waiting for the storm to come.

They would not have to wait long.

Notes:

A/N: The battle you've all been waiting for is upon us at long last. Defense vs Offense. Rome vs Constantinople. The Grand Admiral vs the Grey Wolf. Who will triumph? Only one way to find out, and that is to tune into the next chapter.

Till next we meet.

Chapter 46: Non Auro

Summary:

The Battle for Arcadia begins

There were many ways a commanding officer of a ship or fleet could choose to decorate his or her private chambers. Some opted for a more spartan appearance, reflective of their cold, calculating natures. Others lavishly decorated their cabins, indicating their greed and arrogance. Onboard the Imperial I-class Star Destroyer Chimera, however, the commanding officer of the Seventh Fleet and Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy had a different taste.

His chamber was covered in sculptures, paintings, drawings…

Art.

At first glance, one might have thought that the greatest military mind in the galaxy was an eccentric collector, gathering pieces from across space to collect dust in a private art gallery.

But this man was no mere "collector". Unlike what most people thought, art did not just have aesthetic purposes

Know your enemy, and you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.

Mitth'raw'nurudo, known to the galaxy proper as simply "Thrawn", opened his eyes and studied the Arcadian flag before him, noting the flowing, powerful lines of the golden eagle, which appeared to be flying towards a brilliant three-pointed star of the same color.

Ascendant. The eagle designates their belief in justice, order, authority, and independence. The star is evocative of their religion, which is tritheistic. The deep red is symbolic of their commitment to duty, and their memory of those who shed their blood before them in defense of the "Fatherworld". The Eagle is holding the star, indicating a defensive mindset.

He next moved to a portrait of King Lysandus and his family. In particular, he studied the face of the now-deceased king's son, one Alexios Beniko.

Tense jaw, trimmed beard, hard eyes. Indicative of a stubborn nature. Most likely iron-willed. Most probably will give no quarter, and fight to the last. Might necessitate Base Delta Zero procedures on the capital to ensure planetary surrender.

He frowned. This was something he had no wish of doing. He hoped that once the defense network went down and their shield generator was destroyed, he could appeal to their sense of honor and have them surrender without further loss of life, though this was admittedly a slim, fleeting hope at best. He would do what was required of him to prevent further casualties that would result from a greater war, and then he would turn his attention to where it truly mattered…

If Palpatine permitted it, that was.

The Emperor grows more suspicious of my true loyalties with each passing day, he cursed. If he finds out that I am supplying my homeworld with information, he will kill me first, and then burn the Ascendancy to the ground. I cannot allow that to happen. He sighed. But we need the Empire if we want to survive the coming storm that threatens to consume us all. The tide of cold and death that has been unleashed in the Unknown Regions.

When he had originally come to the greater galaxy from the Unknown Regions, he had done so with the intent of securing allies against the Grysk, who was then the greatest threat to the Chiss. Nearly a year ago, however, that had changed, and not for the better.

Entire Grysk fleets and worlds had started to disappear without a trace. Occasionally, the Chiss would pick up frantic signals calling for help, begging to be saved from "monsters" and "undead freaks". What was more unnerving, however, was what they heard in the background: shrill, guttural shrieking and what sounded like harsh wind blowing, followed by nothing but silence.

Now, Thrawn was rarely a man who showed fear, even when he felt it. He had every bit to be confident in his abilities as a commander of men, and there wasn't an opponent yet that he had met that was his equal or even his better. But those things…these White Walkers…they terrified him, immensely so.

The Ascendency alone does not stand a chance against this "Army of the Dead", he mentally reasoned. Their numbers grow by orders of magnitude with each passing month. If the Arcadians and the Rebels are not defeated now, my people will be wiped out and the Empire will be caught flat-footed. Trillions will die, at the very least. This cannot be allowed to happen.

There was also the small matter of the dictate that the Emperor had given him on capturing Arcadia- he expected nothing less than complete victory, and he need not remind Thrawn of what failure would mean for both himself and the Seventh Fleet.

Thrawn frowned. If the battle did indeed turn south, and he was left with few other options, was it not more advantageous to give an orderly retreat and learn from one's mistakes? Wars were rarely won in one battle after all, and even if they managed to capture the capital, the Arcadians had other armies and fleets scattered throughout Hutt Space- forces that could flee and join the Rebellion to avenge their losses. Complicating that fact was that even if King Alexios didn't retreat from his capital, his family may very well escape his grasp and continue the fight elsewhere.

He grimaced. He could afford no more partial victories, not after Atollon and both the Emperor and Vader breathing down his neck ever since. He had to ensure complete victory here and now, if for no other reason than to save the lives of his men, his homeworld, and the lives of everyone in the galaxy, for if he failed here…

The galaxy could very well descend screaming into the nine Corellian hells, dead from either the Night King's ice or Palpatine's fire.

He breathed deeply once more and cleared his mind for the coming battle ahead. There was no reason to doubt his victory, he reasoned. He had studied his opponents thoroughly for months in preparation for this moment. They were more flexible than the Empire in many ways, but also quite set in their ways. They would try to play it safe, relying on their long-range and their quality equipment to try to win the day. He would close the distance with his more numerical TIE Fighters and his better Defenders first, then swoop in for the kill with his frigates and destroyers. Once the shield was down and the Home Fleet was knocked out, the battle would be all but over, and Hutt Space would be theirs, along with all the wealth therein. Perhaps then the Emperor would finally see the value of the TIE Defender as the true tool for which to secure his rule and scrap that ridiculous waste of money and resources known as the 'Death Star'… though an ever-increasing doubt in the back of his mind gnawed at him.

The TIE Defender had proven itself through multiple engagements, first at the Archeon Nebula where Governor Pryce had stupidly let the traitor Mon Mothma and that curious freighter, the Outrider, escape through her grasp, then at Atollon where they had shot down numerous Rebel fighters and corvettes without the loss of his prototype. A true snub fighter that could be piloted with skill by even the modestly trained, not to mention far cheaper and more flexible than any planet-destroying superweapon.

So why is the Emperor still insisting on funding the Death Star?

It was a question that was increasingly bothering him, little by little, day by day.

It was then that a familiar voice stirred him out of his reverie.

"Bridge to Admiral. We have passed Phase Line Besh and are one hour out from our ETA," his ever-faithful captain, Karyn Faro, reported to him over the intercom.

He suppressed an urge to smile, instead electing to give a brief affirmation and then made his way to the bridge.

He had the battle to win, and people to keep safe.

---

The city had a different air to it, Ezra observed grimly as he watched the troops in their tan armor man their positions along the massive walls that compromised their main line of defense. All along the wall, various anti-infantry and anti-armor ordinance were being set up, as tanks and APCs drove up to various fighting positions both behind and outside the wall, while more soldiers were finishing the last touches on the trenches, foxholes, and weapons pits they had been digging for the past six hours, turning the city into a near-impregnable fortress. Behind the walls, anti-air batteries and vehicles patrolled the streets, ready to intercept any airborne threat that made it through. An impressive defilade of fire, all things considering, though Ezra doubted if it could stop the overwhelming numbers the Empire would bring to bear against them.

All civilian traffic had been shut down, as the citizens had been ordered to either shelter in place or evacuate out of the city. There was only the rumble of tanks, the shouting of orders, the priming of guns, and the whine of repulsorlift engines as gunships and transports scurried to and fro.

And the bells…

Yesterday morning, they had rung for the wedding of a then-prince and his bride. Now, at four in the morning, they rang for horror and the coming of war to this world.

He absentmindedly twirled the hilt of his lightsaber in his right hand, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling his armor was giving him. He would have preferred to wear his shirt and trousers, but the King insisted on his protection, and he didn't want to wear some hand-me-down from the armory, so he had elected to wear Revan's old armor instead.

He looked behind him, past the skyscrapers and the other buildings. In the distance, Sabine was working on the communications tower along with Queen Theodora. He prayed to the Force and whatever gods were out there for her safety, mentally sending her his love.

He prayed as well for Robb, holding Arcadia's most holy mountain with only thirty thousand men, for Theon who was getting his commando team assembled, and for Rau, who was preparing for his first flight in an X-Wing.

It was then he noticed the King standing right next to him, observing the troops on the walls will that same face of stone he always seemed to wear, his eyes betraying nothing of his inner thoughts.

"Your grace," Ezra greeted, remembering his courtesies.

"Commander Bridger," Alexios responded curtly, using his rank in the Alliance forces. "It seems we picked a clear night to die on."

"We should hold out, though…" Ezra began to disagree, but then reminded himself that he was still the king's guest, war be damned.

"If that smuggler doesn't try to betray us and we can hold them long enough, yes," Alexios tepidly agreed. "But it doesn't hurt to prepare for death in any case. A Jedi should know that I would think," he added, then appeared to think for a moment. "Do you ever wonder what it's like on the other side?"

"I'd get to see my parents again, Force willing," Ezra replied, neglecting to add that he had technically already been to the other side.

"Force willing," Alexios scoffed. "I'm to believe that the same Force that tore my mother away from me when I was a boy and my sister a babe by the flu, of all things, is supposed to be just. I'm to accept that the same gods who neglected to punish Moreena for her treachery and instead let my father be murdered by a butcher are fair," he ranted, then turned to Ezra. "You Jedi never learn. The Force isn't a god or divinity to be worshipped. It's a tool. It cares not for good and evil, right and wrong. It is a powerful tool, though, and the Empire and its traitorous rulers have proven unworthy of that tool."

Ezra frowned. This line of thought went against all his teachings that Kanan, Ahsoka, and even Master Yoda had imparted to him. If Alexios didn't believe in the will of the Force, then just what did he believe in?

"Forgive me, your grace," he began, unsure of how he should begin, "but aren't Arcadians supposed to be…religious?" he asked, not willing to get into an argument with him about the nature of the Force.

Alexios sighed. "Indeed. My people are a pious and devout lot, and if it helps them believe that they'll win this battle against the Empire, then so be it. But any god that is so inclined to rob a boy of his parents when he needs them most is a god that deserves no worship. My devotion is to duty, my pilgrimage is to the law. That is enough for me, as it should be for any man worth his salt."

Ezra decided to drop the conversation right there, deciding it was pointless to continue this train of thought. The two had come from similar backgrounds in that they were technically both robbed of their mothers at a young age, yet it seems that Alexios had become embittered by his experience- or more hardened if one wanted to take a milder approach to it.

Soon, Alexios strode off, obviously to go attend some other matter. Ezra remained on the wall, looking out to the vast plains ahead…plains that reminded him strongly of Lothal. He could spot waves of wheat and barley, rows of corn, and a multitude of other plants growing in fields stretching as far as the eye could see. In the distance, the peaks of the Orthyian Range could barely be made out, with Mount Theron the tallest among them. It was on that far off-peak that Ezra could spot a dim, shimmering glow coming from the summit- the shield generator hard at work.

To his left, he heard laughter and the playing of music. Looking in that direction, he spotted a few soldiers taking advantage of the calm before the storm by playing one last game of Sabacc, replete with a song playing over a portable speaker. He strained to hear the song, taken in by the music.

It was a heavy isotope song, that was clear, but the band also sounded folkish, singing in what sounded to be either Huttese or Aqualish. Some of the men were singing along with the song- very badly, at that, as they couldn't match the tone or accents of the men in this band. From the little Ezra knew of Huttese, it sounds like the band was singing something about "black thunder" or some such.

"Yip, you cheating fuck!" one exclaimed. "how the fuck do you manage to get three winning hands in a row?"

"Luck of the draw, Theo," the other shot back. "Not my fault that Sofios favors me and not you."

"Yeah fucking right, ya ginger cunt!" Theo laughed. "Ya probably hid a damned 10 card up your sleeve. Now, what do ya say to all in?"

The banter continued, though Ezra decided to tune most of it out. His heart was panged. Zeb would have loved this kind of talk. Hell, if he were still around, they would have gladly joined in and played a few rounds of Sabacc with them. He was tempted, yes, but he simply was not in the mood, for he worried for his friends in this battle, for Kanan and Hera fighting on other fronts against the Empire, and for the future, as he simply could not get Melisandre's words out of his mind.

"The Long Night is coming, Ezra Bridger and only the Prince that was Promised can bring the dawn."

All of a sudden, throughout the city and across the planet, klaxon sirens began their eerie wailing. The men, who had been so eagerly playing Sabacc the moment before, jumped up to their feet, turned off the music, and began rushing to their positions, putting their weapons on "red" while making sure their armor was on and proper.

For his part, Ezra decided to put on "his" helmet- that old, battle-damaged relic from centuries past and looked towards the night sky.

In the distance, he could spot hundreds of slivers of light popping up into existence. This had to be Thrawn's armada.

He gulped and prayed to whatever god was watching over him that they lived through this battle.

---

Amid the Orythian Mountains- the longest and highest mountain range on the planet- stood the tallest and most sacred peak, the one whom according to the legend that Arcus Beniko received a divine vision from the gods upon, telling him that this would be a new homeland for his people.

This was Mount Theron, the Holy Mountain.

And the home to the Royal Military Special Weapons Branch.

Deep within the mountain was an immense labyrinth of workshops, weapons ranges, and laboratories, defended by state-of-the-art weapons emplacements and bunkers all around the mountain and the surrounding peaks, now reinforced by thirty thousand of the best shock troops Arcadia had to offer.

And here Robb was in the middle of it, surrounded by monitors and control panels in the largest command-and-control center he had seen, yet.

He sighed to himself, as the flurry of activity never ceased around him. It was, in many ways, entirely alien to when he had commanded at the front in the distant past, riding with his men and fighting with them in the thick of it. The soldiers he had commanded back then he had eaten with, laughed with, and knew quite a few of them by name. These? These men and women, brave they may be, were foreign to him, and he to them. To make matters worse, they were going to be hit hard by the hard heart of Thrawn's forces- presumably in the form of the mighty AT-AT walkers he's heard horror stories about.

Towering metal machines over twenty meters high and twenty meters long treading forth on long, armored legs, sporting weaponry that could vaporize bunkers and trenches in a matter of mere seconds, impervious to all but the heaviest of anti-armor munitions. Robb had read reports from what few survivors had encountered these mechanical behemoths, about how they were able to wipe out entire battalions of rebel soldiers with frightening ease… and if the weaponry and armor weren't enough to give him worry, there was also the fact that each walker could carry an entire platoon of soldiers, making these things not only tanks but also armored personnel carriers, combined.

He furrowed his brow as he studied the holomaps before him. Credits to cashews he would bet that the troops they would be carrying wouldn't be regular stormtroopers, but elite shock troopers, who were far a cut above the regular rank and file. Not to mention that there would also be storm commandos and Imperial Navy Special Forces operating in tandem with them.

All in all, this was going to be a hard slog…and he suspected that even if they won this battle, the war was just beginning.

A war that comes at a time when it was not needed.

He thought back to the wights they fought on Valaryos, and to his brother's warning. The Night King had returned. He didn't know how, yet, but that was irrelevant. The very survival of the galaxy was at stake, and if the warring factions could not put aside their differences, it would mean the end of them all.

He would not allow that to happen.

He doubted a man like Palpatine would see reason, though. Those hungry for power and slaughter never did. Too self-centered and arrogant to see the error of their ways.

As arrogant and selfish as he had been.

He cleared his mind of those thoughts. The White Walkers and the wars to come could wait. He needed to focus on winning the battle ahead of them.

It was just then the alarms blared.

"Sir," one of the aides- a major whose name he had forgotten already- called out to him. "Numerous Cornau radiation spikes detected in sector 32A. Count of spikes matches intelligence provided by MININT."

"Right on schedule, then," Robb murmured. "Let's see just what this blue bastard is made of." He turned to the aide in charge of planet-wide communications. "Is the Argo fueled and ready to go?"

"The droid pilot reports in the affirmative, sir," the aide replied after a few seconds of confirming.

"And the Home Fleet?" Robb asked.

"Holding on the far side of the planet, as ordered, and ready to engage on your word."

"Solo reports he's ready to go as soon as the enemy armada is damaged by the Argo," another aide reported.

"All forces in space and ground report green, sir," the major added in.

"Very well," Robb nodded. "Send the communique to the droid on the Argo. Operation: STALWART is green."

The major nodded, then keyed into his com. "Breaker One, this is Archangel Two. Be advised, STALWART is Osk Mern. I say again, STALWART is Osk Mern, over."

"Roger, Archangel Two. Breaker One is Cresh Mern. Breaker One, out. May the Force be with us all."

Robb took a good look at the holomap. Before the planet were hundreds of red triangles, each representing an Imperial vessel. Behind the planet, holding position until otherwise ordered, were a hundred or so blue triangles representing their fleet, and coming up from the planet was one, blue square, representing all their hopes and prayers.

He offered a quick, silent prayer to his brother and to whatever other gods they could get on their side.

Please…do not fuck us now…

---

Admiral Kassius Konstantine was many things. Handsome, Core-born, wealthy, and connected to name a few. He could trace his pure-born human lineage back to the early days of the First Republic, as far as back as 1050 CRC, and was born to one of the most prominent families on Coruscant. His position over the Fourth Fleet had been given to him by the Emperor himself, a reward for his family's long service to the ruler of the galaxy.

So why in the kriff did he have to serve under an arrogant bastard of a non-human?

It was insulting! Why did Palpatine favor Thrawn over him, a pure human? Here was that alien filth getting all the glory, all the funding, and all the credit, and meanwhile true Imperials like him were being ignored.

Sure, Thrawn had won many victories against otherwise elusive Rebel cells like those they had crushed on Atollon, but why should they be denied the glory?

He gritted his teeth. The Grand Admiral always had it out for him, giving him meaningless assignments and placing him charge of paltry operations. It was only by the Emperor's and Tarkin's insistence that he was placed in charge of the left flank of the task force- Thrawn would have left him out of this operation otherwise. He was sure of it!

Well, there would be no more of that. He would prove the Admiral wrong in this battle and regain his lost recognition in the eyes of the Emperor.

"Coming out of hyperspace in 3…2…1…" the helmsman reported. Before them, the swirling blues and whites of hyperspace gave way to the black canvas of realspace, dotted by distant stars. In front of them lay a blue and green marble, once the mighty Shield of Nal Hutta, but now almost utterly defenseless- no match for the overwhelming might of the Galactic Empire.

"Admiral, I'm not picking up any enemy vessels on my scopes," one of the technicians reported.

Konstantine frowned. Odd. He would have expected the weaklings to put up a fight, at least. He then smirked. No matter. This victory would be all the easier, then.

It was just then that the person he hated the most spoke over the fleet-wide communication system.

"All vessels under Task Force Shieldbreaker- you are to hold your current position until further orders. Things to not appear to be as they seem. Stay vigilant and watch for an enemy counterattack."

Konstantine could only stare blankly for a few, terse seconds. Then, he felt the dam burst.

No! Thrawn was trying to rob him of his glory yet again. He can't let it happen again. He would not let it happen again!

"The Fourth Fleet will move forward and engage the planetary defenses around the capital," he ordered briskly, ignoring the looks of shock and horror that his bridge crew was just now giving him.

"Sir…" the XO began to caution, "is it wise to ignore a direct ord-,"

"I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THE GRAND ADMIRAL AND HIS 'PLAN'!" Konstantine snapped. "Do as I order, or I'll throw the lot of you out the airlock!"

The XO sighed, clearly not agreeing with the order, but duty-bound to obey his immediate superior at any rate. Thus, the order was carried out, and the entire left flank- nearly a hundred Star Destroyers and their escort vessels in all- began to move forward to assault the planet.

It was then that Konstantine's commlink beeped, and when he picked it up, he got a very annoyed Chiss at the end of it.

"Konstantine," the Grand Admiral began, his voice seemingly calm yet carrying an edge of anger towards it. "I explicitly ordered you to remain where you were."

"I've had enough of your games, Grand Admiral," the lower-ranking officer snapped back, before turning off his commlink. He would not be robbed of his glory today!

As the Fourth Fleet moved closer and closer to the planet, Konstantine thought that he could see a small object in the distance.

"Admiral, we're picking up a single vessel! Coming straight at us!"

"Then train all batteries on it. Nothing gets through this fleet. Not even a freighter," was Konstantine's brief command.

Soon, the object became larger and larger, and it became apparent that this was some sort of cargo ship. A tanker, to be more precise.

"Sir, I'm not detecting any life-forms aboard that ship. It appears to be on autopilot," one of the technicians reported.

Konstantine frowned. Why would the Arcadians send them a single ship, and an autopiloted tanker, at that?

He sighed. It was probably some malfunctioning droid who assumed that there was a delivery to be made and wasn't shut off in time.

"Fine. Allow it through. Not like a tanker can do much damage to this fleet, anyway."

As the tanker got closer, Konstantine could begin to make out the name on its side.

Argo

He scoffed. What a pretentious name for an old freighter.

"Sir…" a technician warned, "I'm detecting an extraordinary amount of radiation coming from that tanker. Isotope matches the element known as…" he trailed off as his eyes went wide in horror.

As did Konstantine's.

"Rhydonium…"

Too late did he realize the danger he was in.

"All ships, steer clear of that tanker!" he frantically ordered, waving his hands about in sheer desperation. "You hear me? STEER CLEAR!"

"Sir! I'm detecting a massive buildup in energy coming from that vessel. It's going to blow at any minute!"

For the first time in his life, Kassius Konstantine truly panicked. He looked this way and that, finally bellowing out his final command.

"EVERYONE! GET DOWN!"

They would never get the chance.

To their immediate right, the payload aboard the tanker was unleashed, consuming everything in a thousand-kilometer radius in a bright, white ball of irradiated fire.

And for the briefest of moments, Kassius felt searing, hot, burning pain…

And then he felt nothing at all.

Notes:

A/N: The battle has begun.

Apologies for not getting this to y'all sooner. I was quite busy doing schoolwork and working, though this has all changed now.

For the astute readers out there, you might notice that I've labeled this chapter differently from the others. This is because the three-part battle will be named after an old Latin phrase. People versed in Roman history might know this saying, which is very relevant to the current event in this story.

To switch over to real life, it seems that we are entering our version of the Long Night once again. Plague grips the Earth while locusts ravage Africa, as the economy enters a period of depression, and rumors of another global war begin to stir.

To those sitting at home, quarantined into their homes out of fear of plague and war and rioting, I urge you to have faith. The sun will rise yet again, and we will come out of this stronger than before. A vaccine will come, jobs will return, and hopefully, war will be averted. We must all fight this together, though.

For when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

Chapter 47: Sed Ferro

Summary:

The battle rages on

Han Solo was no stranger to death.

He grew up an orphan on the rough streets of Corellia. He had seen comrades and enemies alike die in droves on Mimban, back when he still served with the Imperial Army. As a smuggler, he and Chewie had to gun their way out of more than a few situations.

But what he saw now genuinely horrified him more than anything he had ever seen before.

As he was just exiting Arcadia's atmosphere in the Falcon, a bright, white light exploded into being, temporarily lighting up the night side of Arcadia. He threw up his arms in front of his eyes, shielding them from being permanently blinded by the brilliant explosion of rhydonium in front of him.

In a matter of seconds, a hundred Star Destroyers and their escorts were vaporized, ripped apart by debris, or wracked by secondary explosions as the two-thousand-kilometer diameter explosion consumed metal and flesh alike.

As the conflagration subsided, Han could see the true terror that unfolded- charred debris and ashes floated freely through space, the remains of once-mighty destroyers and frigates, along with the bodies of anyone unlucky to not be instantly vaporized, their expressions permanently etched in pain and fear, forever.

He refused to turn on the comms to all channels. He didn't think he could handle hearing the desperate calls for help or the animalistic screaming of the wounded and dying aboard the lifeboats floating helplessly among the debris.

Chewie roared something, which shook him out of his horrified stupor. He looked back behind him to see the two Mandalorian bodyguards encased in their infamous armor, their helmets betraying none of their emotions.

Han sighed. "Right, let's get to Sakifwanna and warn your boys. Gotta feeling that this is about to get hairy here before the end of it all." He turned to Chewie. "Alright, Chewie. Punch it and let's blow past these Imp losers."

Chewie roared in agreement, and as soon as they cleared the field of debris, still burning from the bomb, the Millennium Falcon jumped into the swirling blues of hyperspace, leaving behind the opening stages of a battle….one that might spell an ill omen for the galaxy.

Han had a bad feeling about this.

---

As ever, Thrawn kept his exterior cool- a façade of impeccable calm and stone.

Inside, however, he was livid.

Konstantine, damn you. Damn you to the deepest hell in existence.

Why did that damn fool decide to be a glory hound and go against orders? Damn it all, he knew that Pellaeon should have overseen the left-wing, not that spoiled brat from Coruscant. In the beginning, Thrawn had thought Konstantine could prove useful, yet time and time again he proved a bungler, not even capable of commanding an Arquitens, let alone an entire fleet. It was only thanks to the Emperor that he had not been sacked.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He wondered if Vader had a point in executing people who failed so often. Normally, Thrawn would use failure as a teachable moment, and most of the time, those under him learned from their errors, and those who demonstrated insight and cunning found themselves promoted. The only things he couldn't tolerate were saboteurs, traitors, and insubordinate underlings, and those he could deal with as harsh as he wanted to.

Now that he thought of it, he really should have executed Konstantine and explained it to Vader and the Emperor later, politics be damned.

He heard whistling behind him, and it was not his faithful associate, Captain Karyn Faro. Rather, it was annoyance the Emperor insisted on having in on the final assault- a certain Inquisitor known for her brash nature, freakishly large size, and uncouth ways.

"Damn, Thrawn, your fleet's getting karked to hell, and it hasn't even been thirty minutes, yet," the Ninth Sister mocked, leaning on the bulkhead behind him and teasingly pointing out the window. "Wonder what the Emperor or Lord Vader would say about 'the greatest military mind ever' getting his blue ass kicked by a cargo hauler, eh?"

Thrawn did not give her the pleasure of a reaction. "Inquisitor. I thank you for your intrepid insight," he shot back. "I must wonder out loud, though, why you and your purge troopers aren't getting ready for the ground assault along with the rest of the troops. Lord Vader would have already been making his way."

Ninth snorted. "Hah. The boss would have loved to be here. Emperor summoned him to Coruscant though for some special assignment, and he was pretty mad about it, too. Malleus is heading to our fortress on Nur in the Mustafar system, so that leaves me as your resident Dark Sider," she shrugged. "Don't worry though, blue guy. I can handle myself against some half-trained king."

"Which explains the cybernetics," Thrawn coolly shot back, earning a sneer from the huge Force-sensitive before she thundered off the bridge towards the hanger bays.

There's at least one victory for today.

He turned his attention back towards the battle unfolding. Earlier they had detected a hyperspace jump that happened right after the explosion. He assumed that the Arcadians got a scout ship through, as one of the interdictors was in Konstantine's wing so that it must be meant that their timetable was reduced, significantly. He was running against the clock, and not to mention that his force had been cut down by a third, but if he could knock out the shield generator and cause enough damage, he could still turn the tides in his favor.

"Ugh. That woman is insufferable. Why did the Emperor insist that we bring one of their kind?" Thrawn's faithful subordinate and capable commander, Captain Karyn Faro complained to him.

"The Emperor suspected that the king may have employed Force-users as his spies before his untimely death. Our agent that was on the planet reported to Lord Vader and me that Ezra Bridger was on the planet alongside his compatriot, the Mandalorian Sabine Wren. Therefore, it makes sense that we would need the assistance of those who have experience dealing with Jedi…if the Grand Inquisitor hasn't dealt with him already," was Thrawn's answer.

Before Faro could inquire anything of him further, however, a shout from the bridge crew alerted them.

"Admiral, the Arcadian fleet is forming up behind the defense platforms. I count a hundred vessels in all!" one of the bridge technicians reported.

"They're going to be using the platforms as cover while their ships take potshots at us with their long-range cannons," Thrawn observed. "Very inspired. It's as if the person in charge of defending the planet has a lot of experience. Which means…"

"Alexios isn't in charge of defending his home." Faro realized as well.

Thrawn nodded. "Precisely, Captain. The commander we're dealing with uses the unorthodox and the conventional in equal measure. He's trying to keep us off balance, and at the same time studying us in turn as we are studying him. He knows of our strengths and weaknesses as we know the Arcadians, and thus caught us off guard with that cargo hauler."

Faro frowned. "Sir. Are you suggesting that a Rebel is in charge of Arcadia's defense?"

Thrawn stroked his chin. "It's a possibility that we cannot ignore. But he's played his card and expects a response," he said while deep in thought. "Have the armada move forward. Once we come into range of the Arcadians, we order all ships to cut power."

Faro's eyes shot up in surprise. "But…sir! That would leave us…"

"…completely immune to their first wave ion shot. Once that has washed over us, we turn all systems back on and set shields to double strength. Their ion and mass accelerator shots have a ten-second delay between them, and that delay will be crucial. After that, it takes five minutes for their Aggressors' main cannons to fully recharge, so we speed at double until our turbolasers are in the range of their ships. Then, we need to cut a path through the defending fleet to allow our ground forces through to the planet's surface."

Faro nodded. "Should I give the order to scramble fighters, sir? Commander Skerris has been begging to be launched in the first wave to clear the way, along with his squadron."

"Do it," Thrawn gave his assent, "and tell General Veers to get his walkers loaded up and ready for an assault on Mount Theron. The rest of our combined arms will make a play for the capital and either capture or kill the royal family. Remember, we only have a two-hour window to accomplish this, so inform the jump troopers that they are to make a beeline towards the palace and the communications array post-haste."

"Yes, sir," Faro replied, giving him a sharp salute before getting on her comlink and giving out the orders. Meanwhile, Thrawn nodded towards the communications technician to open fleet-wide comms.

"All ships on this net. Proceed towards Phase Line Cresh. Wait for my mark. Thrawn out."

The armada began to roll forth, as sublight engines blazed blue, propelling the ships forward to their destination.

Twenty-thousand kilometers.

Fifteen-thousand kilometers.

Ten thousand kilometers.

Within five-thousand kilometers of the planet- which was beginning to fill the viewports of the bridge, the sensor technician alerted Thrawn and Faro.

"Sir! I'm detecting ion bursts coming from their capital ships! Ten seconds till impact!"

"Cut power to everything except life systems. Now!" Thrawn ordered. Within seconds, every ship in the fleet had cut power off to nearly all systems, and not a moment too soon.

Several truly gigantic bolts of packed ion particles, as blue as the oceans of the planet, struck the Chimera and several other Star Destroyers and escort ships, the impact making the ship shudder underneath their feet. The crew held on to their terminals to steady themselves, feeling as if they were going through a large ground quake. Visible electric discharge sparked and cracked throughout the hull as it absorbed the ionization, but as the systems were shut down, it acted as a natural Faraday cage.

"All systems on, now! Shields to double strength!" Thrawn commanded yet again, and as if motivated by some divine wind, the fleet turned their systems back on and put most power towards the shields.

And again, not a moment too soon.

As soon as the shields were up, the mass accelerator projectiles hit, causing the Chimera to rock and groan, sending a few men sprawling to the ground and others clinging to their stations for dear life.

"Shield strength down to 75 percent and holding!" one of the technicians reported.

Other vessels were not as fortunate, as Thrawn came to find out.

Several Arquitens frigates were completely blown apart, killing most of their crews. The destroyer Judicator had not gotten its shields up in time, and the kinetic round that struck it had completely peened it from bow to stern, causing the primary reactor to fail and the ship to drift helplessly through space as secondary explosions began to wrack the stricken vessel. The other ships in the fleet seemed to be holding up well, however.

"All ships under my command. Ahead full." He ordered once more, and the fleet sailed forth once more, putting more power in their engines.

Four thousand kilometers

Three thousand kilometers

Two thousand kilometers.

"Sir," the gunnery tech informed, "we are now within an effective range for our turbolasers. Permission to open fire?"

Thrawn nodded. "Permission is granted, ensign. Clear a path for our ground assault teams."

On every destroyer and frigate present, batteries swung and achieved a lock on their target. Soon, green and red bolts were exchanged like some sort of deadly game of laser tag, as fighters launched from their ships and started to engage one another in dangerous dogfights.

The battle was on.

---

All his life, Fenn Rau had been flying, one way or another.

Whether it was using his jetpack to zip across the battlefield in the way of the Rising Phoenix or engaging enemy fighters in the cockpit of a Fang, there was nothing quite like the exhilaration of flight. The way the G-forces pulled and tugged at you, the feeling of the air blasting against your helmet. There was nothing quite like it.

On this occasion, he found himself in a brand new Incom T-65 X-Wing, in a squadron of the new multirole fighters, doing pre-flight checks aboard the Atlas-class carrier Agema before takeoff. Blue Squadron was their call sign, and Blue Lead was his designation.

Around him in the carrier's primary hanger bay, older but still reliable and deadly Z-96 Headhunters were taking off and joining the fight against the TIE Fighters of the Imperial fleet, while NTB-630 tactical bomber craft- descendants of the venerable Y-Wings- took off to engage against the Star Destroyers, who were trying to knock out the Arcadian Home Fleet, escorted by RZ-1 A-Wing interceptors.

"All wings, this is Blue Leader," he keyed into the comm. "Report status and prepare for take-off on my mark, over."

"Blue Two, all systems go, over."

"Blue Four, report all systems green, over."

"Blue Six, everything checks out, over.

"Blue Eight, solid on all systems, over."

"Blue Ten, green on everything, over."

Rau nodded, grimly smiling underneath his helmet. "Tower Two, this is Blue Lead. All wings are green. I say again, all Blue Wings are green, over," he informed the hanger's flight control station, which overlooked the entire bay.

"Blue Lead, this is Tower Two. Confirm all wings green. Permission granted for take-off. Give 'em hell, Blue Lead. Tower Two, out."

At the end of the bay, a flight director switched his hand-held panel from red to green and gave the sign for takeoff.

Rau turned on his repulsorlifts and his sublight engines, feeling the fighter lift into the air. He turned it towards the direction of the bay's entrance and nudged on the controls.

Soo, the small squadron of six X-Wings flew one after another out of the hanger, and into the waiting battle raging around them. Green and red turbolaser blasts were traded between Imperial and Arcadian capital ships, which were either absorbed harmlessly by powerful, shimmering shields, missed their mark entirely, or took chunks out of doonium and durasteel armored plating. TIE Fighters and TIE Interceptors engaged in deadly dogfights with Headhunters, X-Wings, and A-Wings, the winners often being determined by a combination of luck, skill, and teamwork.

"Squadron, this is Blue Lead. Form up behind me and lock S-foils into attack position. We need to clear a path for Greyjoy's commando teams to board the Chimera. Keep any fighters or gunboats off their back," Rau keyed into the commlink.

"Solid copy, Blue Lead."

Rau then pressed a button to put his fighter into attack mode, hearing a satisfying "click" as the audio receptors in his craft confirm that the S-foils were extended for combat mode.

Time to make some noise.

Soon, they were beset by a squadron of TIE Fighters, their eerie, screeching engine roar sounding through the audio receptors.

Fenn immediately went to work, targeting the nearest TIE and gunning it down with pinpoint accuracy. These TIEs were numerous, but their pilots were mostly barely trained, their craft essentially an unarmored coffin. By comparison, his boys were put through their rigors, and they had craft which could make mincemeat out of most of what Sienar could produce, and they were proving it right now, out flying and outgunning the Imperial pilots by a ridiculous margin

However, quantity had a quality all its own, as they say.

As soon as they downed or made one squadron of TIEs back off, another took its place.

"Blue Lead, this is Blue Two. How many gods' damned eyeballs are there out here? Space is thick with them!"

"Blue Four, Six. Got a TIE on my tail, need to shake him off!"

"Six, Four. Got ya covered, over. Forn Two, Forn Two."

A proton torpedo rocketed out from the missile bay of Four's fighter, the blue-trailed projectile homing in on its target via infrared sensors.

"Four, this is Eight. Confirmed kill on TIE, over."

"Lead, this is Two. I got a new eye on my scopes. Looks different from the other-."

That was all Blue Two got out, as green laser fire struck his fighter, destroying it outright and sending the wreckage hurdling into space.

Fierfek, Rau cursed to himself. It must be that new TIE Defender that Bridger was warning him about during the briefing.

To make matters worse, it was being piloted by an ace.

"Shit, he's on my tail! I can't shake this bastard!" Blue Four yelled into the comm in absolute fear.

"Karking fuck! He's got shields!" Six screamed in frustration

"Oh gods, I'm hit! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!"

Rau looked to his right and saw Four's fighter's engines get blown out by laser cannon fire, sending him tumbling- and screaming- into a cruiser, vaporizing him outright upon inevitable impact.

Haar'chak. Sabine wasn't kidding when she said this guy was the Empire's best pilot.

He keyed in his comms to relay commands to the rest of his fighters. "All remaining Blue Wings, this is Blue Lead. Fall back to the carrier and escort the Marties! I'll handle the new TIE!"

"Roger, Blue Lead. Will rendezvous at the carrier. Godspeed to you, sir." Blue Six reported to him. The remaining X-Wings broke off and retreated to the Agema. After the rest of his squadron had gotten to relative safety, he decided to open comms to all channels.

And his signal was picked up.

"Arcadian fighter, this is Commander Vult Skerris of the 181st Imperial Fighter Wing," the stentorian voice at the other end announced. "You are outmatched and out-gunned. Surrender immediately or perish."

"You first, di'kut," Fenn growled and turned his fighter to meet Skerris one on one.

The TIE Defender was quick, which was apparent and well-armed for its size. Six wing-tipped laser cannons roared to life, as Fenn nimbly dodged the emerald fire that spat at his fighter like cobra venom.

Alright, time to test the limits of this puppy.

He pulled the X-Wing into a hard-left turn, feeling the G-forces starting to stretch his skin as the internal dampeners were pressed to their absolute limit. However, it seemed that the Defender was more maneuverable than his fighter.

Much more so.

Try as he might, he simply could not get behind Skerris; Skerris was starting to get behind him. Fenn looked around. There must be something he could use to get this bugger off his tail.

He then looked toward's his left. Below them, a Star Destroyer was engaged in a fierce duel with an Arcadian cruiser, turbolaser flashes answered with shields flaring and armor plating being blown off.

That's it.

He broke off the engagement and swung his craft downward, flying towards the destroyer at top speeds before suddenly veering up, skimming only a few meters above its white-gray hull.

As he expected, Skerris followed suit, zealously chasing after him as a Kath hound does to fresh meat.

He put the fighter into full throttle, aiming for the bridge tower of the vessel. If he could time this right, then there was a good chance that Skerris would overshoot him and crash right into the bridge. If not…

Well, at least it would be a quick death, wouldn't it?

He kept up his speed, which would be suicidal for any sane pilot, dodging the steady stream of emerald fire spewing forth from wing-tipped muzzles, and just when he was only a few dozen meters away from the bridge tower…

He stopped his craft completely.

Hitting the brakes, he locked the S-foils back into flight position and let his craft "fly" backward and nose tilted-up.

Barely clipping the still-speeding Defender piloted by Skerris.

Rau was launched up and away, tumbling through space several hundred meters before he managed to right his craft and regain control, igniting the engines and pulling back towards the destroyer.

Skerris…had not been so fortunate.

As Rau's X-Wing had clipped his Defender so close to the bridge tower, the veteran Imperial pilot hadn't been able to pull up in time to avoid a collision with the right side of the command module.

The results spoke for themselves.

A sizable hole had been blown into the Star Destroyer's tower, right next to the command bridge, flames jettisoning out like a lightsaber. All that remained of Skerris and his fighter were particles and debris, forever floating in the vacuum of space.

Fenn breathed a sigh of relief he didn't know he had been holding in.

He had done it.

He had entered a dangerous duel with one of the most dangerous fighter pilots in the Empire and come out victorious.

Score one for the Mandalorians

His victory was short-lived, however. It was just then he noticed that the Arcadian cruiser Archaeon getting broadsided by two ISDs, it's shields having been depleted and now was withering under intense fire. One lucky turbolaser shot managed to peen both her primary and secondary reactors, setting off multiple explosions that ripped her hull apart, culminating in a brilliant yet horrifying conflagration as the ship was torn asunder.

As the fire died down, Fenn could spot hundreds- scratch that, thousands- of Imperial transports of various makes and models making a beeline for the surface.

He sucked in a breath and made a beeline for the Agema to relay new orders to his squadron. Theon's raid would have to wait for now.

Giving Robb and the others a fighting chance on the surface was their priority, now.

---

The turbolaser towers were the first to respond.

Orange-red fire spewed forth from barrels as large as oak trees, the roaring wallop drowning out the yells of sergeants and the screams civilians sheltering in their homes, praying that a stray artillery shell or bomb didn't strike their house and kill them all.

Above them, one could see the flashes of light that marked turbolaser fire and missile contrails exchanged between capital ships, as smoke trails indicated doomed fighters hurtling towards the earth, their pilots either dead or soon to be dead.

In the distance, Ezra could spot the large, dagger-like shapes of several Acclamator-class assault ships and dozens of Gonzanti-class transports, backed up by hundreds of Imperial dropships and gunships, of the IDT and IPT variety, escorted by several squadrons of TIEs that had all broken through the defensive perimeter around the planet.

He winced inwardly and tried not to think about nausea from earlier.

When Robb's improvised bomb went off and wiped out a third of Thrawn's fleet, it had felt like a speeder bike had hit him right in the stomach. The deaths of so many men and women had caused a void in the Force, which nearly caused him to throw up.

"And so, we've come to it at last," Alexios observed grimily, having come to stand beside Ezra as they saw one of the Gonzati transports get obliterated by red canon fire, along with the tanks it was carrying. The king turned to the major who had accompanied him, as the Imperial transports began to land and disgorge thousands upon thousands of stormtroopers, accompanied by hundreds of tanks and armored personnel carriers. "Are the defenses prepared?"

"Yes, your grace. Your orders stand. No one will fire until we see the grill ports on their helmets."

"Good," Alexios nodded curtly, then turned towards the troops manning the walls, and bellowed in the loudest voice he could, making sure the radio transponder could pick him up so he could be heard all along the frontlines.

"STAND WITH ME AND HOLD THIS CITY!"

A loud war cry shook the gargantuan fortifications, echoing down the six-hundred-kilometer distance.

He looked at Ezra and nodded, then put on his helmet, and drew his lightsaber, igniting it and letting the golden blade light up the night sky.

Over the roar of the turbolaser fire that was now being aimed at the approaching Imperial tanks and armored transports, Ezra thought he could hear a low, distinct whine. Puzzled, he tried to figure out what it was until someone shouted out one, dreaded phrase.

"ARTILLERY! GET DOWN! EVERYONE GET THE KARKING HELL DOWN!"

Not willing to argue with the sergeant who had noted the incoming artillery fire, Ezra dove for the surface and covered his head, as the wall beneath him shook with the impact of heavy shells exploding against durasteel, duracrete, and doonium. Behind him, he could hear the rounds impacting the streets and buildings, sending debris flying everywhere, with some of it landing on him.

And over the roar, he thought he could hear the screams of wounded and dying men and women.

After what seemed like hours of the shelling, though in truth it had only been a few minutes, the incoming fire ceased. Jumping back onto his feet, Ezra looked over the parapets, and what he saw made his gut drop.

The Imperial forces, which had been few hundred kilometers away, were now only two kilometers away and closing.

"HOLD!" Alexios shouted for all to hear.

Ezra drew his lightsaber and ignited it, the vermillion hue contrasting nicely with Alexios' topaz blade and waited for the enemy to get closer.

One kilometer out and closing.

"NOW, ENGAGE!" Alexios bellowed.

The command was repeated down the line, and all of the weapon systems from blaster rifles to tank cannons opened fire, completely drowning out any other noise that dared to raise itself.

In the front of the wall, the tanks and infantry manning the forward defenses slugged it out with the Imperials trying to take them. Arcadian M102 main battle tanks had a field day knocking out Imperial 2-M medium tanks and shredding ITTs, though most had disgorged their stormtrooper complement a kilometer back and were now providing cover-fire for the Imperial soldiers trying to storm the trenches and the wall beyond.

Ezra, for his part, was trying to stay alive, deflecting blaster bolts with his lightsaber and nimbly dodging any laser cannon blast that was too large for him to block. Below him, he could hear the yelling of orders, the shouts of the men…

The screams of the wounded.

The cries of the dying.

A soldier of the Royal Arcadian Army was well-trained, well-equipped, and lead by NCOs and officers who had earned their mettle in the Clone Wars. Pound for pound, they were more than a match for the average Imperial stormtrooper, and right now they were proving it, as wave upon wave of Imperials were cut down by the precision of Arcadian weaponry.

However, quantity has a quality all their own, so they say.

It was only a matter of time before those in the trenches and foxholes before the wall ran out of ammunition, and for every stormtrooper they cut down ten more took his place. Soon, there were too many for those in the trenches to handle, and bloody hand to hand fighting began.

To his horror, Ezra saw men in the trenches and bunkers being burned out of their fighting positions by flamethrower-wielding stormtroopers, the shrill screams of the dying, incinerating men somehow reaching his ears over the din of battle. The tanks, mighty though they were, were soon flanked and destroyed by troopers with rocket launchers.

"Your grace!" a radioman called out to the king, who had deflected another shot. "The Imperials have broken through the front lines! They're going to be at the Sofios Gate at any second!"

"Tell Colonel Antiochus to pull his men from the reserves and defend it. The rest of you, with me-,"

That was about as far as the king got, for that moment, a stray blaster bolt hit him right in the shoulder, sending him reeling to the ground.

"Fucking hell!" he cursed through gritted teeth. Before Ezra could examine the wound, a medic ran up and began dragging the king towards the turbolift, the two Exorsitoi running right beside him.

"Bridger!" he yelled out to Ezra. "Hold the line! Do you hear me? Hold the bloody line!"

The wounded, yelling king was dragged almost kicking and screaming into the turbolift, where he disappeared out of sight, heading for a field hospital in the rear.

And he could feel the soldiers' morale start to drop like a rock.

Panic and despair were starting to set in, he could feel it. He even felt it creeping into himself. He needed to think of something, and he needed to think of it fast. The Imperials were going to come bursting through the gates at any moment. He thought. What would the Jedi of old do? Men and women like Ahsoka, or Obi-Wan, or…

Wait…

That was it.

"I'll lead the defense," he whispered at first, then he found his voice. "I'll lead the defense!" he yelled to the men, who were already starting to abandon the walls, their hope waning by the second, some murmuring in discontent, others angrily calling him names, such as "boy" or "foreigner"

"You want to call me a boy?" he finally cried out of frustration. "Go ahead! But if a boy is willing to defend your city, why aren't you men willing to do the same?"

"The enemy's already at the gates!" one soldier complained to him. "There's too many of them!"

"We can hold them off!" Ezra countered, formulating a plan in his mind. It was risky, and even in the best case it would drain him immensely, but if he pulled this off, then it could give the defenders more time. "Just stick behind me. We'll hold the archway and throw those bastards back into the sea!"

A few men got a chuckle out of that, though many more still looked unconvinced. He had to get their morale up some way. They needed something to fight for…

Wait…

That was it.

"Don't fight for your king…" he began, a fervor rising in his voice that he scarcely knew existed, "and don't fight for his kingdom. Don't fight for honor, don't fight for glory, and don't fight for wealth- you sure as hell won't get any!" He yelled, pointing his lightsaber towards the Imperials trying to swarm the walls. "This is your city Thrawn means to sack! That's your gates he's breaching! If they get in, it will be your homes that burn, your money they steal, your spouses they rape, and your children they enslave!" He pointed his saber at all of them. "Thrawn's a brave man for knocking at your door, lads. LET'S GO KILL THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

That was what seemed to do the trick, as the men below him on the streets and beside him on the walls suddenly erupted into a loud cheer, and as he took the turbolift to head to the Sofios Gate, he could hear chanting, though he couldn't make out what they were saying since he didn't speak a lick of Tionese.

He never had Sabine's talent for learning multiple languages fluently, after all.

After several minutes of walking, he found himself at the gates with a full regiment of troops stationed in various trenches, barricades, foxholes, bunkers, and all manner of defensive works.

He found himself standing at a laser gate, emitting a wall of electrons so powerful that it could incinerate anything that encountered it. Beyond that, he could see that the Imperials were trying to make their way through the outer blast doors, as the two-meter-thick gate was starting to buckle and crack.

He turned to the colonel in charge of the gate defense, Antiochus. "Open the laser gate. I'm going to confront the Imps. Once I give you the signal, your men will surge forth in a counterattack and take back the gates."

Antiochus looked at him as if he were growing genitals out of his forehead, "Are you completely cracked, mate? You won't survive ten minutes out there by yourself."

Ezra just stared at him through his helmet. "Just do what I say, please. I need to do this if we all want to live through the rest of the night," he spoke in a calm, yet authoritative manner befitting a Jedi.

Antiochus hissed through his teeth, but ultimately relented and signaled to the controller manning the laser gate to open it up.

"Alright, mate, it's your plan. Just don't bloody fucking die out there, hear me?"

Ezra nodded and strode forth to the now-open gateway.

The Periclean Walls weren't just tall, he noticed, but also thick- at their base the walls had to be at least twenty meters thick at the base, and the gateway he strode through now was more akin to a cavern, with a ceiling height of ten meters. He wanted to whistle. No wonder why so many of Arcadia's foes had been unable to take the city by force of arms.

Now he just had to make sure that record was unbeaten.

About halfway through, he stopped and waiting for the inevitable breach of the blast doors that would be made at any second.

Sure enough, the doors gave way, bursting atwain and allowing multiple companies of stormtroopers to pour through.

Behind him, the laser gate closed again, as the Arcadian soldiers awaited his signal.

"You, there! Jedi!" a stormtrooper shouted. The commander, by the looks of him, if the orange pauldron was anything to go by. "Halt! In the name of the Galactic Empire, lay down your arms."

Bridger said nothing, instead just choosing to stand there and stare at the commander, who grew increasingly frustrated.

"Are you deaf, you freak? Unclip your little glowstick, put your hands in the air, and surrender!"

Ezra breathed in deeply and exhaled just as deeply. Closing his eyes, he let himself get lost in the currents of the Force, letting the energy field guide his motions and control his movements. He was one with the Force, and it was with him.

He vaguely heard the commander give the order to his troops to open fire, but he was not concentrated on this. Instead, he put his hands out in front of him, and let the Force flow through him, and out of him. He heard hundreds of blasters firing, yet no bolt reached him…

For each one of those bolts was now being suspended in mid-air, about two meters in front of him.

He never felt such strain before. Using Force Freeze on a single target had been challenging enough and had required a good deal of concentration. Using it on hundreds at a time was pushing his limits, to the point where he felt his muscles start to strain and his vision start to go red. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain. He needed to wait until the right moment to release this.

The space before him was now filled with red and orange fire, as hundreds of ruby blaster bolts were struggling to break free, and when he felt that he could contain it no more, he gave it his all…

And pushed.

The bolts, which had all been intended for him, now flew in the opposite direction, into the bodies of the men who had fired them only a scant few moments ago. Hundreds of stormtroopers fell where they stood, their bodies pierced all the way through, with some being hit by multiple bolts. The stench of burning blood and flesh was heavy in the air, and as the surviving troopers tried to regroup and figure out what to do, Ezra heard that same chant from before coming from behind him, only this time it was yelled one time- as a war cry.

"ORA!"

Behind Ezra, sixteen hundred Arcadian soldiers came pouring out of their defensive positions, bayonets affixed to their blaster rifles and yelling at the top of their lungs, with murder in their eyes, intending to destroy the invaders who had defiled their world.

The young Jedi Padawan collapsed to his knee, exhausted from the intensive Force Freeze, as thousands of troops on either side of him and in front of him were engaged in the brutal clamor of close-quarters fighting.

There, an Arcadian was beating a stormtrooper to death with the latter's helmet.

Here, an Imperial stabbed his opponent in the throat with his vibroblade.

Punches, kicks, knives, bayonets, and the blasters themselves being used as makeshift clubs. Everything flew in this chaotic melee, as the screams and yells of the living and the dying morphed into a hellish chorus.

And he could concentrate on none of that.

As he tried to gain his breath and fight off the exhaustion that threatened to overcome him- a combination of little sleep and the events of the past twelve hours- he felt a sudden sense of cold overcome him. He grimaced. Great, just what was needed now. Another one of Palpatine's agents.

He stood up on shaky legs and drew his lightsaber, the orange light bringing small comfort to him, as a pair of heavy boots thundered in front of him. There, before him, was the biggest Inquisitor he had ever seen- a Dowutin female. Her eyes were covered by a split visor, but there was no hiding that predator's grin of hers. She must have seen a lot of battle, judging by the cybernetic leg and hand and the scratches on her pauldrons.

"Heh, so you're the Jedi brat Malleus couldn't kill," the Inquisitor thundered in a mocking voice. "Gotta hand it to ya. You're pretty impressive for Jedi scum. Not a lot of your kind can manage a Force Freeze like that, especially after fighting one of my kind, let alone fighting the Grand Inquisitor and surviving Lord Vader." She smirked. "Too bad your luck ends here, kid."

"Wouldn't count on it, whoever you are," Ezra retorted, adopting his familiar Ataru stance.

"Your exhausted, probably sleep-deprived, and you've been fighting for well over an hour now," the Inquisitor pointed out in that mocking tone again. "It would almost be unfair killing ya right now. But where are my manners? You can call me Ninth Sister. Heh, not that it's going to do you any good here in a few minutes," she announced, activating both ends of that annoying Inquisitorial lightsaber.

As the two prepared to duel, one thought wormed its way into the young Jedi's tired mind.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

---

A coward. Dar'manda. That's all I am.

The normally lively Johannes Cato was unusually sullen. As the din of battle could be heard outside, he was reminded of a time when he had served proudly under the banner of House Vizsla, fighting for Mandalore's return to the Old Way. Though he had always been an artist and a damned good one at that, he had considered himself an even better fighter, fighting on battlefields from Carlac to Sundari. It was serving in Death Watch where he had met his sister-in-law- the ever stubborn, proud, and honorable Ursa Wren, who was back then the heir to Krownest and the right-hand of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze.

He forced a smile onto his face. He remembered the joy he felt at the wedding of his little brother Alrich and Ursa, the elation he experienced as he became an uncle, first to Sabine and then to Tristan, and laughing as he had discovered that the elder of the two Wren children had picked up her father's talent in art and his humor, as well as her mother's feisty stubbornness and warrior prowess.

He then settled back down into a frown. How quickly it all went wrong. The Saxons had done their work well- them and their Imperial backers. Murdering his brother-in-law, pinning all the blame on his dear niece, forcing his sister-in-law to declare her daughter as a traitor and having to give her son and husband as hostages to ensure her loyalty. And what did he do?

He fled. He abandoned his home, his lands, and his duty, and disgraced the armor he once wore with his selfish cowardice, always putting up a cheerful façade and whoring out his artwork to those who just wanted something "pretty".

He stared into the fireplace, barely listening to the newscaster on the local channel, lost in his self-pity…until…

Until he heard a beep.

He shot his head up and looked at the tracking fob on the table. That signal…it couldn't be…

It was the signal he had given Sabine once- a code he had designed for her and Tristan that they could send out if they were in trouble.

He shot up, grabbing the fob and sprinting towards his closet, a few meters away. Keying in a few commands, he opened the doors, and shoving aside clothes hangers, he beheld the armor he had not worn in years, having forsworn it due to his cowardice and shame.

It was still in pristine condition, and he had applied a fresh coat of paint only days earlier to the beskar- a base of gray replete with green trimmings over a black bodysuit. On the right pauldron was the green rancor skull of Clan Cato.

Loyal to the End.

Those were the words passed down to him by his ancestors. The official saying of the clan. He had not lived up to those words, nor did he live up to the Resol'nare, but that would change…now.

He took a deep breath as he began the process of removing his clothes so he could get on his bodysuit and the rest of his armor, with one phrase coming to mind for him, one that all Mandalorians repeated on confirming to live by the tenants of the code.

This is the Way.

---

The ground shook beneath his feet.

Robb sucked in a curse as he heard yet another one of the turbolasers defending the mountainside get knocked out, the blip representing it on the holomap flickering and dying.

"Sir, we lost Battery 3!" an aide yelled.

"AT-ATs two kilometers and closing!" another one yelled out.

The former Lord of Winterfell clenched his fist. Although their outer defenses had knocked out or disabled a few dozen of those mechanical monstrosities, there were simply far too many for them to effectively hold off. Over a hundred of those lumbering behemoths had landed, and true to form they were blasting away at the bunkers and turrets that guarded the entrance to the mountain, supported by the nimbler and more numerous AT-STs. The only fortunate thing about their situation so far was that the anti-air defenses had been keeping away any TIE Bomber that had broken through the Home Fleet's defenses.

"How long until the shock troopers are at the gates?" Robb asked.

"Not long" the major reported. "Around ten mikes out, I'd say."

"Have the tagmata pull back from the outer defenses. There is only one way in or out of this mountain, and the Empire doesn't have the firepower at the moment to simply level this place. They're going to have to clear it room by room," he said, turning to the division's general. "I want your men defending every hallway, nook, and cranny of this place. Turn every place you can into a fatal funnel. The longer we can slow them down, the more time we buy for the reinforcing fleet to turn the tide," he commanded. The general saluted him, and after returning the salute, he turned back to the major. "If they get close enough, I want you to start deleting every file and destroying every piece of experimental equipment this place has. No matter what, the Empire cannot get their hands on any of this, or it will spell doom not only for us but for any hope the galaxy has of freeing itself. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," the major responded in the affirmative.

Robb nodded. "Good." He looked around the room. "If things get too hairy, I will assist directly in the defense, and you will have the command of this chamber. If worst comes to worst, we will destroy the entire facility, and take everything with us."

"Yes, sir!" everyone in the room cheered. Call Arcadians what you like, but they were steadfast in their duty, and dedicated to their homeworld, even if it meant laying down every one of their lives.

He heard at one point that the Arcadians were much like the mountain that he found himself inside of- mighty, unbending, and could withstand any challenge thrown at them, able to last through the darkest days.

He sighed. Well, that sentiment would be put to the test now.

They did not have to wait long. A few scant minutes have passed, and then he heard the gatekeeper's panicked voice.

"Alert! Imperial troops have breached into the base. Imperial troops ha-,"

That was all the gatekeeper got out before blaster fire ended the transmission in static.

"Patch me through to the closed-circuit cameras, now!" Robb barked out. Shortly, the central screen blazed to life, and he was greeted towards a gut-churningly familiar sight.

Scores of shock troopers were pouring into the destroyed front gate, already engaged by tagmata defending their positions with their dear lives. Robb was no stranger to war, so he gave no outward reaction as a rocket blast from a PLEX launcher blew apart a squad of shock troopers, with their limbs and other body parts hitting the bulkhead.

Despite the ferocity of the defenders, who cut down score upon score of attackers, there were simply too many of them for that narrow hallway, and so they were forced to fall back to a better-defended position.

Robb grimaced. They needed to buy more time.

It did not look good, he had to admit. As more shock troopers poured into the base and the more the tagmata were forced to fall back, he was tempted right there and then to give the order to start burning every file and project…and to start the countdown timer to the base's destruction.

He was about to leave the command center and take direct command of the defense when something extraordinary happened.

Something he would not have thought would happen now.

"Sir!" an aide alerted. "I'm getting a massive temperature spike coming from the gateway! It's off the charts! Over two-thousand degrees centigrade!"

Robb's eyes widened. Sure enough, he saw on the screen just before the feeds cut out a massive wall of flame engulf the shock troopers pouring into the base.

"Close the blast doors," he ordered. "YOU HEARD ME! CLOSE THE BLOODY FUCKING BLAST DOORS, NOW!"

A quick-thinking aide did as she was ordered, and before the wall of flame could reach the tagmata at the very end of the hallway before the main laboratory, the heavy durasteel blast doors slammed shut… and then they started to glow red hot.

Robb couldn't believe his eyes. Just what in the name of the Old Gods was this? Adding to the mystery, another aide who oversaw monitoring the sensors motioned to him.

"Sir…I think you need to hear this…"

Robb rushed over to the sensor monitor and took the earphones out of the technician's hand, and listened closely.

What he heard…

What he heard was a sort of shriek, a shrill cry that sounded like it came from some sort of huge bird or a lizard…or…

No…it can't be…

He shoved the earphones back into the tech's hands, too shocked for words now.

"Major…" he finally spoke, his voice gone quieter than he remembered it being before, "how long until the main hallway cools down?"

"A few more minutes, sir. The heat was enough to warp the durasteel, it seems."

Robb only nodded silently, making his way towards the door.

About thirty minutes of walking later, he had reached the front gates. As the major had said, the halls and the door had been warped by the intense heat of the fire, looking more like solid wax now than metal. He stepped outside into the crisp night air and saw a picture out of the Seven Hells.

All around him were burning husks of walkers. Some looked like they had a hole melted into them, others appeared as if some mighty force or wind toppled them over. Strewn everywhere were the burnt corpses of shock troopers and the ashen remains of others floating through the wind.

"By the gods…" one of the tagmata troopers who escorted him whistled, "what the hell could have caused this?"

Robb didn't turn towards the trooper. Instead, he intently stared at a set of rather large, reptilian footprints.

The creature was huge, judging by the size of the prints, which were themselves about as large as an average land speeder. There were three toes in front, and one in back.

"There's only one kind of creature that can cause this kind of destruction, lads,"

As if to answer his question for him, a gigantic shadow passed over them. Robb looked up to see the beast that conquered Westeros and helped to end the Long Night all those eons ago. Its scales looked once to be black but were faded to a dark gray, and as it flew off into the distance, it let out a long, shrill roar.

And it was at that moment Robb knew…

That they had been saved by a dragon.

---

Haar'chak, this was more complicated than even she had realized.

Whatever program Moreena had uploaded to the central defense network was, it seemed that the Imperial eggheads had designed it rather well. Every antiviral command or counter-hacking measure she tried, it seemed that the virus eluded her. It was extremely adaptive, almost as if it were sentient.

However, they were starting to make headway. As intelligent as the minds in the Imperial Military Research Division were, she could outwit them by a rural kilometer.

"How far away are we on getting comms back up, your grace?" she asked Theodora, who was busy replacing a fried power cell with a new one.

"About fifty percent of the way there," she replied. "Once you get that virus isolated and destroyed, we can power this tower up and get the stations back online."

"Easier said than done," Sabine sighed. "Whatever program our dear, sweet friend Moreena uploaded to the database, it's more advanced than your standard Imperial sheb. It's almost like…"

It then came to here in a flash. That's it!

"Like what?" Theodora asked.

"A spider program," Sabine explained. "I learned about it when I attended the Imperial Academy on Mandalore. It's a form of overwriting virus, and it can learn to defeat most antivirus programs that detect it."

"Right…" Theodora realized. "It's likely deleted the files start up the communication dishes and the power generators for the orbital defense platforms."

"Do you have any backups?" Sabine asked. "Even if I get the virus contained and destroyed, I'll have to restore the files it overwrote."

Theodora nodded. "Yeah. They're usually kept in an upload cylinder in a safe box. It's pretty close by. Right next to the computer console."

Sabine looked to her right and found next to the computer she was working on a metal box, locked up tighter than a Kuati purse.

How did I not notice that before?

Quickly shifting over to the box, Sabine immediately scanned it over. Great, it was a passcode-protected strongbox. She just needed to figure it out.

Let's see… the tower is located near the Ministry of Defense, so the numbers have to do something with it. Must be a date of some kind, something related to Arcadian history.

"Hey," she yelled out to Theodora, neglecting to use her title, though she thought it was forgivable due to time being of the essence. "When was your country founded, again?"

"The year 4970, by the Core Reckoning calendar," was Theodora's response.

Sabine nodded, and typed in the numbers 4-9-7-0, hearing a satisfying click.

Score one for the Mando girl.

Opening the safe box, she quickly located the backup cylinder and took it, heading back over to the computer desk, cracking her knuckles as she did so. It was time to work her magic.

She knew now how to defeat this virus. All it would require was one simple command.

The virus was aware of what she was trying to do, sending her warnings and danger signs her way. She ignored them completely. If the system had to be wiped clean for the virus to end, then so be it.

Confirm: Do you wish to go through with a complete reset? - the screen read.

She typed in the command: Affirmative.

The computer screen went blue for a few moments, followed up a series of pop-ups screeching of danger and peril- the death throes of a malicious program- and then completely black.

Great, now I just need to plug in the cylinder while this thing reboots.

It was just then she looked up…and saw a stream of jet trails heading her way. She knew that the Exorcistoi were busy guarding the palace or fighting alongside the King and Ezra, so that left only one other option- the kind that made her stomach churn.

Karabast, she cursed to herself, Imperial jump troopers!

"Your Grace, I'll cover you! Just finish with the system reboot while I hold of these Imps!" she shouted, jumping to her feet and readying her Westar blaster pistols.

"Got it!" Theodora replied, running over to the computer screen while Sabine zoomed her rangefinder in towards the Imps. She counted at least 12 of the bastards- a standard fireteam, in all regards.

She grimaced underneath her helmet. The options weren't good. She'd be outnumbered in the air by a good margin, but if she engaged them here, she'd put the queen at risk, and that was something she couldn't afford.

Making her decision quickly, she ignited her jetpack and flew off to meet the threat, the wind whipping around her as she took flight, the tower shrinking in the distance behind her.

She willed herself not to get lost in the nostalgia of flying without the aid of a spacecraft. Being taught in the ways of the Rising Phoenix was the last thing a young Mandalorian learned before going on the verd'goten- the Trial of Proving. She remembered that right after her Proving she accepted to learn at the Imperial Academy in Sundari…and then everything had gone downhill.

Focus, Sabine, she mentally chided herself. When she was within a few dozen kilometers of the incoming jet troopers, she lowered her head and fired her jetpack's heat-seeking missile.

The data feed on her HUD registered a confirmed kill, with at least five tangos going down in various states of dismemberment. So far so good, she decided, but that still left seven other troopers to contend with.

But then again…they were Imperials. Dangerous, perhaps, but still glorified police when it came down to it, ultimately. They were no warriors. They may be using jetpacks like her people, even fight like them after a fashion, but they weren't Mandalorians.

And she was going to prove it to them.

Within seconds of contact, she drew her pistols and started blasting, scoring a hit on one hapless trooper, as her bolt struck his jetpack and sent him into a tailspin hurdling towards the distant city below.

With no time to celebrate, she then got in a dogfight with another two troopers, as they twisted and turned through the night air like fireflies…

Fireflies were trying to kill one another.

She scored another hit on another trooper, sending him crashing into his compatriot and sending them screaming into the high-rises below.

It went on like this for several more minutes. Dodge blaster bolts, shoot the jetpacks, send them plummeting to their deaths. It was only a matter of time before she shot down all six targ-

Wait…

She counted seven originally.

So where was…

Sheb!

She turned around and flew back toward the tower as fast as her jetpack would allow her. Gods damn it all, how could she be so stupid? It was an obvious trap- their commander had known what he was doing. He chose to sacrifice his men as pawns so he could capture the queen, and that didn't even take into account the possibility that possibly more jet troopers were trying to go after the princess. It was clear she needed help, but who could she call. Every one of her friends and loved ones were either engaged in battle or too far away to call, all except for…

She quickly keyed in a comm code, a secret emergency code that she and Tristan had come up with, intended only for their family to come in their hour of need, and thanks to Irene, she knew she had family here on Arcadia as well.

She just prayed he could reach them in time.

When she got to the tower and entered the computer room, she was greeted to an alarming sight- the jump trooper commander had the queen in a hold around her neck with his left arm, and with his right was pointing his service rifle at her temple. Fortunately, it seemed that he had arrived at the tower right before Sabine did, as she noted that the reboot was still happening on the computer screen, and the cylinder was still plugged in.

Good¸ she thought, now I just need to keep him talking until Uncle Jo arrives.

"Honestly didn't think that would work," the commander growled through his helmet. "Can't believe you fell for it, you stupid Mandalorian bitch. I thought you would have stayed here and picked us off one at a time. Lucky for me you're such a dumb cunt."

"Are all you jet boys so charming?" Sabine deadpanned.

"We can be when we wanna," the commander retorted. "Why don't you hop in my bed like the good slut you are, and I can show you just how charming an Imperial jet trooper can be?"

I know more than a few people who would cut off your balls for that.

"Flattered, but I don't do sexist asswipes," Sabine shot back, leveling her blasters at the Imp. "Now, I'm going to ask nicely- release the queen, and fly back to your blue admiral currently getting his ass kicked up there by my friends."

"Not a chance, whore!" the commander snarled. "This harlot royal here is our ticket for negotiations, her and that bitch sister of the new king. Got some boys trying to break into the royal palace right now."

Shit, it was just as she suspected. She prayed to the manda that Irene took her advice seriously, that they had enough guards patrolling the halls, and that her and Ezra's wolves were on alert.

"They won't get far," Sabine chose to warn the commander. "This is your last chance, auretii. Let the Queen go or die."

"How bout you stick your gods-damned blaster up your cunt and kriff yourself with it, you karking Mandalorian th-,"

Before he could finish his sentence, a vibroblade suddenly protruded through his throat. His grip slackened on his blaster, making a loud clattering sound as it fell to the floor. Behind him, dagger in hand was another Mandalorian, taller than Sabine by a head and fair bit more muscular. His beskar was silver, replete with green trimmings, and on his right pauldron was the green, grinning rancor skull of Clan Cato.

"You aren't touching my niece," the Mando said, in a higher-pitched voice for a man than was normal, "and you aren't taking the queen, you demented fascist piece of shit."

The Mando withdrew his blade, and the Imp fell to the floor in an undignified, dead heap, his twitching body oozing blood.

"Uncle Jo!" Sabine exasperated, holstering her blasters and running over to her uncle.

"It's been a long time, ad'ika," Johannes greeted, his voice soft behind his helmet.

Memories came flooding back to Sabine, memories of home, of their family, of everything before it went all wrong. Unable to contain herself, she launched forward and wrapped her uncle in a tight hug, struggling to hold back her tears.

"I missed you, ba'vodu."

"I missed you, too, Sabine," Johannes said, returning the embrace. "Gods, how long has it been since I saw you and Tristan?"

"Too long," she muttered, pulling back from the embrace, "and much has changed."

"That I know," Johannes observed sadly. He then looked at a familiar object hung on her belt. "By the manda…" he breathed. "Where in the nine hells of Corellia did you find the Darksaber?"

She sighed. "Ir's a long story, Uncle Jo. I'll have to tell you later. Suffice to say Maul won't be a problem for our people any longer."

Johannes whistled. "By the blood of my ancestors. Maul is dead. Never thought I'd live to see the day that bastard was murdered," he said, then he looked straight at her. "You're going to have to tell me another time. Right now, we have the battle to win…and I don't intend to run from the fight a second time."
Sabine nodded. "Right. The princess is still in danger," she exclaimed, and then looked at Theodora.

The queen nodded at her. "Go, Sabine. I got the rest of this. May the Force be with you."

Johaness nodded as well and put his fist to his chest. "This is the way, ad'ika."

Sabine returned the gesture, putting her fist over her heart. "This is the way."

With that, she activated her jetpack yet again and flew off, leaving Theodora in the care of her uncle.

She had a princess to save.

---

She had cried for hours.

She did not remember feeling this broken before. She was too young to remember the death of her mother, and while seeing poor children at the orphanage was heartbreaking, none of that could even come close to the pain and despair she was feeling down.

The woman she had considered a best friend, a confidant, and something even more than that…had betrayed her completely- sold their family out to the Empire like a cheap whore.

Her father- the man she looked up to, the one who had guided Arcadia for over forty years through trials and triumphs, now lay in a coffin, slain by a monster he had invited to their halls as a guest.

The city she admired, and the planet her brother was mean to rule, was now under siege from a ruthless foe who would enslave them all, burning homes and slaughtering civilians.

There was no hope.

No meaning to life.

There was only pain and fear and anguish.

She looked at the dagger Sabine had given her, gripping it tightly in her shaking grasp. It would be so easy. With simple lengthwise cuts on both her wrists or by giving her throat a red smile, she could free herself from her pain- achieve everlasting peace and redemption from her failure.

She made up her mind. Rolling up both her sleeves on her dress, she took the dagger and pressed it to the skin of her left wrist, ready to begin the cut that would liberate her.

That was when she heard a knock on the door.

She sighed. Did the guards truly not yet understand that she didn't want to see anyone? No matter how many times they begged to enter or for her to eat something or drink something, the answer was still the same. She didn't want to talk to any of them!

There was silence at the door. That was odd. Normally she would hear a guard's voice, and the knocks they used were quite different as well. Theirs were gentle and soft. This one sounded harsher, almost as if the person on the other end was demanding entry.

She raised the dagger from her skin and jumped to her feet, clutching her knife in front of her like a shield.

Soon, the door flew open, a white armored boot appearing at the other end. Inside her room stepped three Imperial jump troopers.

"I have eyes on High-Value Target number 2," the one in the front said, motioning to his men. "Proceed with extraction and rendezvous at Waypoint One."

Her heart was racing. No, no, no. What did these men want? Were they trying to capture her? Enslave her? Rape her?

"S-stay back!" she warned, her voice quivering as she held the dagger out in front of her, shaking from fear. The trooper in the lead didn't respond and just raised his blaster rifle.

It was then she heard snarls coming from behind them.

The third trooper turned way too late and was tackled by a black, snarling mass of fur.

"What in the karking…?"

That was the last thing the second trooper managed to get out before he was taken down by a tan canine.

Both men fell screaming, and those screams morphed to gurgles as Storm and Runi angrily tore their throats out with sharp teeth

The wolves of Ezra and Sabine must have sensed that she was in peril and came to her aid as soon as possible. They recognized her as a friend of their pack, she realized.

She had to make her move now.

While the first trooper was distracted by the grisly spectacle before him, Irene ran up behind him and attempted to sink the dagger between his shoulders. He managed to turn around at the last second and grabbed Irene's wrists.

The two began to struggle over the knife, and though Irene was physically weaker than the man, she still held on for dear life, holding onto the blade for dear life, even slipping a few times and cutting her hands.

Though she was stubborn and determined, the trooper was way more physically strong and experienced than her, and soon landed a punch that left her seeing stars. She recovered long enough to see him standing with the knife, ready to sink it into her heart…

Only for a black, strange-shaped lightsaber blade to burst out of his chest. He gasped in shock, dropping the dagger, and was promptly shoved off the deactivated blade, his body crashing right before Irene's feet.

Behind him stood the armored form of Sabine Wren.

Sabine rushed over to Irene, and although Irene could not see Sabine's expressions behind her helmet, she guessed that she was wincing at the sight of her. And why should she not? Irene looked to be a frizzled, dehydrated, overall mess who was depressed to the point of attempting suicide only moments earlier. "Princess," Sabine asked, her voice filled with concern. "Irene, your hands are bleeding. Are you alright?"

She did not know how, but fresh tears began to fall from her eyes and spill on her cheeks. "No," she said, in a quivering voice that threatened to break free.

Sabine said nothing and instead wrapped her in a warm embrace, letting the Crown Princess of Arcadia weep freely into her shoulder.

Notes:

A/N: Done with the second chapter of this battle, finally!

In total, I believe I wrote around 11k words for this chapter, which beats my previous total by a good margin. It is, as of now, the longest chapter in this story. Whether that will remain the case is up in the air, as future chapters could very well be longer, though I doubt it as of now.

If you're unfamiliar with some of the terms being used, I included a list of Arcadian weapons, vehicles, and uniforms on my Tumblr page. Just look up GreyWolf93, and you should see my profile pic.

The next chapter will feature a surprise, but I'm not going to tell you what it is, yet.

Stay tuned.

Chapter 48: Recuperanda Est Patria

Around him, the space above Arcadia burned.

Imperial and Arcadian capital ships exchanged a flurry of volleys back and forth- the red and green turbolaser bolts lit up the black canvas-like strobe lights on a name-day celebration. Between the cruisers, the frigates, and the destroyers, fighters dodged and dived this way and that, either shooting each other down or being shot down. Burning wrecks of cruisers either drifted off into space or got caught in the planet's gravity well, shearing past the planetary shield and crashing into the earth below, where more fierce engagements between two opposing armies were taking place. Slowly but surely, it seemed like the Empire was gaining the upper hand in this fight…

… and Theon could concentrate on none of that right now.

He looked around the dimly lit cabin at the tagmata commandoes who were hand-selected to join him. Unlike the regular army soldiers- who were equipped with open-faced helmets, olive drab uniforms, sunglass-style optics that doubled as eye-protection, and plastiod plate carriers with only knee pads and vambraces to increase mobility- the tagmata were armored head to toe in a thick, dark grey composite armor that bordered on black. Their helmets completely enclosed their face, save for a silver, polarized visor which betrayed nothing of their visage, giving one a feeling of seeing some sort of wraith.

There were seven tagmata divisions in total, representing less than a hundredth of the overall size of the Arcadian Royal Army. However, those seven divisions- and the roughly eighty-thousand armored warriors put into them- represented some of the best special operations forces the galaxy had ever seen, perhaps even rivaling Mandalorians or Imperial Storm Commandos in tenacity and willpower.

The tagmata, as he had learned, typically deployed in small teams of five men each, being deployed either from gunships or via jump-packs in sub-orbital or high-altitude situations, hence their motto- "Hell from Above"

Right now, that hell was coming for Thrawn, flying at all haste towards the Chimera in three, state of the art Multi-Altitude Assault Transports, or MAATs, for short- a replacement for the venerable LAATs of Clone Wars fame. Sturdier, more heavily armored, and upgraded with the latest firepower specifications, the MAATs- or "Marties", as the troops loved to refer to them as, could go further, farther, and take more punishment than the old "Larties".

Theon just hoped that it could take enough flak to get them through to the hanger of the destroyer they were trying to board.

"All elements this net, this is Beta-Two-Niner. We are ETA five mikes from the target zone. Make sure all ammo and equipment are green. Be advised, the ride will get bumpy here soon. Beta-Two-Niner, out," the gunship's pilot announced over the onboard intercom.

The team of five commandos said nothing, instead electing to check over weapons and making sure their armor was put on correctly, as the light in the cabin shifted to dim red.

Theon nodded grimly and did a final check on his rifle, ammunition, and the side-arm he had strapped to his hip. Although he was grateful that Rau and what remained of his squadron of X-Wings were providing much-needed escort for this mission- keeping fighters and corvettes off their backs- he knew that it wasn't going to get any easier once they breached the hanger bay of the Chimera. A Star Destroyer typically held a full legion of stormtroopers for security and assault purposes, and he only had fifteen men in total coming with him for this little boarding action. This didn't even take into the sheer size and labyrinthine nature of Imperial-class ships- it could take precious time to even fight to their objectives. Not to mention that Thrawn was being personally guarded by deathtroopers, who could very well be a match for the tagmata, and if what Ezra told him was true, the Chiss admiral was no pushover when it came to close quarters fighting himself.

He smiled grimly. Since when was an Ironborn not outnumbered and outgunned?

The ship around him rocked, as the audio receptors inside the boat translated light and heat energy into sound, letting them know that they were taking an ever-increasing amount of flak from the destroyer's laser cannons.

Good, Theon thought, at least we're getting close to the hanger.

"Alpha team, thirty seconds!" he announced. The sergeant in charge of Alpha Team nodded, and raised their carbines into the ready position, intending to blast any "welcoming party" that waited for them in the hanger.

That is...if the gunships didn't make mincemeat of the stormies themselves.

After twenty-five seconds had passed, he felt the gunship slow down, indicating that they had passed through the hanger's shields. The swooshing-sound of missiles being launched, followed by muffled explosions and the raucous noise of beam cannon fire let Theon know that the gunships were clearing out whatever defenders were in the hanger.

The red light shifted to green.

The doors of the Marty slide open and the tagmata sprung forth into the cold, sterile light of the Chimera's hangar bay, which had been thoroughly wrecked by missile and beam fire. Burning wrecks of shuttles and destroyed equipment littered the hanger, along with the twisted and charred bodies of stormtroopers- a few of which were intact and recognizable as human soldiers. About a hundred meters in front of them stood the door to the rest of the ship, a few meters below the now-destroyed hanger control room.

"All teams, report status," Theon commanded.

"Alpha team, all up," Alpha-One reported.

"Beta Team, all green," Beta-One affirmed

"Delta Team is green, sir," was Delta-One's reply.

Theon had to suppress a grimace. It was common knowledge that the tagmata never revealed their actual names and rank to anyone but their immediate squadmates and their direct chain of command- neither of which he was a part of. He would have to deal with using code-names for now. It wasn't that he wasn't unfamiliar with aliases- he operated under a false name for the longest time, after all.

It was just that he was sick and tired of it.

He sighed and stuck the hacking cylinder into the terminal nearest the door. Soon enough, a complete schematic of the destroyer's interior layout popped up on his vambrace's projector.

"Alright, teams, listen up," Theon beckoned over to them. The team leaders and their immediate subordinates formed up in a semi-circle around him, while a member from each of the three teams covered the doorway, still listening in on their internal comms. "It'll be around thirty mikes before reinforcements come, and when that happens, Thrawn is likely to order a full retreat. Therefore, we've not got much time, so we're going to have to split up," he exclaimed, then pointed to the back of the hologram. "Alpha-One, I'm giving you and your fireteam the task of disabling the hyperdrive generators near the rear of the ship. We have to prevent the Grand Admiral from escaping, at all costs."

"Resistance is likely to be heavy," Alpha-One pointed out.

"Indeed it is," Theon confirmed. "With any luck, though, Thrawn deployed much of his contingent to the surface, although he'd still keep a sizable force onboard for security purposes, not to mention that they'll use every manner of trick in the book to slow us down or stop us. Speaking of which, Beta Team will have the honor of coming with me to take the bridge, and either apprehend Thrawn… or neutralize him." He then turned to the leader of Delta Team. "Delta, you'll remain behind and hold the entrance for our exfil in case things go south. I don't feel like getting trapped on this ship."

"Roger, sir," Delta-One affirmed. "Nothing will get past us."

Theon nodded. "If everything's settled, we can begin. Good luck, gentlemen."

With that, the teams moved out to accomplish their objectives. Dead or alive, Thrawn would be brought down.

All their lives depended on it.

---

Ezra was nearing his breaking point.

Having been awake for the past twenty-four hours and had been fighting for a good portion of it, plus having to use the Force extensively, he was now beyond bone-tired.

And he knew that he was losing ground.

At first, he held his own against the Ninth Sister. Dodge, parry, thrust, counterstrike. But he was straining himself, being unable to keep up against her more powerful, forceful blows. He was worn out, sleep-and-food deprived, dehydrated, and struggling to even lift his lightsaber now. His opponent, on the other hand, was fresh, eager, and well-fed.

He figured that both of them knew that the battle was coming to an end soon.

"Got to hand it to ya, kid," Ninth Sister complimented, "you've lasted a lot longer than most Padawan's I've faced. If you weren't so tired, you would have maybe even beaten me." She then shrugged. "Oh well. Was having fun but now I'm getting bored. So I'm gonna make this quick, Lothrat," she growled.

The Force only gave him a split moment's warning- he only had a millisecond to react before the Ninth Sister kicked him right in the sternum with her huge, armored boot.

The blow sent him flying back several meters, making roll a few times until he crashed into the ground, as his lightsaber was loosed from his grasp and clattered a few meters away from him.

He felt the air get knocked out of him as he landed hard on the cold duracrete street, and he was fairly sure her boot had cracked several ribs has he began gasping for air, trying to ignore the intense pain in the of his head, which was now exposed as his helmet had been knocked off earlier in the fight.

"Heh. Look at you. Gulping for air like a dying fishy. Might as well put ya out of your misery right now and gut you, Lothrat," the Ninth Sister mocked as she walked over to him, her lightsaber's crimson hue lighting up the aura in a blood-red glow, making the Dowutin appear as a demon or evil specter- which, in all honesty, wouldn't be too far off the mark. She came to stand over the struggling young Jedi, smiling like a shark as she did so. "Say good night, little Padawan."

The Inquisitor slowly raised her blade, ready to end his life, and Ezra took one more breath and closed his eyes.

He had failed.

In those moments, he thought of his parents. He thought of Lothal and it's wild, sweeping plains. He thought of his master, of Hera and Chopper, of Robb and Theon, and of Zeb, who he knew he would be joining soon.

Mostly, he thought of Sabine, and how their love had just been blossoming like a winter rose in spring, consumed by the fires of war, and by the hot singe of a lightsaber.

But the strike never came.

He waited for what seemed like a moment and opened his eyes. Before him stood two figures. The first was a man in his prime, with hair the color of fire and a scar running across his lip. He appeared confident and bold, yet grim and measured. It was this man who had stopped the Ninth Sister's ruby sword with a lightsaber of his own, the blade blazing violet. On his back was a small droid, of a make and model Ezra didn't recognize. Standing next to the man and his droid was a woman in exotic red garb. She had ashen skin, bordering on white, which matched her silver hair that was tied up in a ponytail. On her face were Dathomirian tattoos, indicating to Ezra that she must be a Nightsister...if the green magic emanating from her hands wasn't enough of a giveaway.

Too weak to join the battle, he finally let sleep overtake him, and passed into unconsciousness.

---

Cal Kestis was one of those few people in the galaxy who could say that he lived a real storied life.

He was found as a babe by the Jedi Order, during the time when Naboo had been under siege by the Trade Federation and a treacherous snake wormed and connived his way into the highest positions of power. He was made a Padawan to Master Jaro Tapal, an accomplished Jedi from Lasan, and the closest thing he had to a father. He remembered Order 66 and his father-figure's final sacrifice, of hiding on Bracca as a scrapper until being found by Cere Junda and Greeze in the Mantis after being chased by Cere's former apprentice-turned-Inquisitor, the mentally-deranged Trilla Sundri, known to the Empire as the Second Sister. He recalled being thrust into the search for a Holocron containing the map of Force-sensitive children, and the trials that went with it, during which he met the woman he would grow to cherish- one Merrin of Dathomir, The journey culminated when he defeated Trilla at the Inquisitorial fortress on Nur, only to barely escape with their lives when they had to flee from the terrifying Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader.

He recalled after destroying the holocron that they went after the Zeffo, intent on finding where this ancient race had fled to. They had traveled deep into the Unknown Regions, encountering strange worlds and even stranger civilizations. They had even encountered deadly foes- the most dangerous of whom were now threatening to destroy all life in the galaxy.

It was this threat that had brought them back into known space.

As always, he had let the Force guide him, and as fate would have it, it guided him to Sakifwanna, where he felt that something grand would happen.

And it did.

A pair of smugglers and a few Mandalorians came to that world, warning it's garrison that Arcadia was under heavy assault by the Empire. The army and fleet stationed there wasted no time, desperate to come to the aid of their homeworld.

And guided by the Force, Cal and his friends would also come to Arcadia's aid.

Now, he was here, standing over the unconscious form of a young Jedi Padawan he didn't even know, protecting him against a foe he had once thought dead, while Merrin kept any Purge Troopers at bay, her green magick cackling like fire in her palms.

"Mer," he calmly stated, keeping his eyes on the incensed Ninth Sister, "take BD and get the boy to safety. I'll handle the Inquisitor."

Merrin's soft brown eyes betrayed conflict, but soon hardened in resolve.

"Alright, Cal. Try not to get killed, please?"

Cal wanted to smirk and give a snarky reply back, but he knew with the snarling and angry Ninth Sister in front of him- being backed by more than a few purge troopers- there simply wasn't enough time, so he instead offered her a reassuring nod.

With that, the Nightsister put her hand on the young, knocked-out Jedi and his lightsaber, and with a flash of bright green energy, they disappeared, going somewhere away from the battle.

Cal fully turned his attention to the Ninth Sister, his countenance becoming one of grim determination.

"You…." the Ninth Sister growled.

"Me," Cal answered back nonchalantly. He immediately disengaged the blade lock and activated the other end of his lightsaber.

"You got lucky on Kashyyk, scrapper trash!" Ninth Sister slurred out. "This time, you ain't gonna be so fortunate."

"Funny, Massana," Cal shot back, using her real name, which shocked the Dowutin as her mouth slightly dropped open. "As I recall, I defeated you pretty soundly all those years ago. You're pretty resilient yourself, I agree. I also agree with you that this ends now."

With that, they launched at each other, his violent blade clashing against her crimson one, his Niman against her Juyo,

Like most dark-siders, Massana Tide relied far too much on reckless aggression and blind rage, and even though that might have made her a fatal opponent against an average solider or a Jedi Padawan…

...it didn't help her one bit when facing an experienced Jedi Knight like Cal.

"Urgh," she grunted, after having to parry another swing from Cal's blade, "standstill, you little.."

The knight dodged another strike from the Ninth Sister. Sloppy, he thought, she hasn't much practice since I last fought her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the purge troopers surrounding them. He knew if he didn't act fast and end this, they were going to cut him to pieces.

So, he separated his lightsaber into two pieces, a modification he had made to the blade when he had reforged it at Ilum. Massana Tide was about to get a nasty surprise, for he wasn't just a Niman practitioner…

He was also skilled immensely in the Jar'Kai fighting style.

The look of shock and terror on Massana's face indicated that she also figured the end was nearing, and after a few more blows, it ended.

The Ninth Sister, in desperation, went to block.

His first blade went through the center of her saber, cleaving it in two.

His second blade struck clean through her face and down through her diaphragm.

The Dowutin slackened her grip, dropping the cleaved saber which clattered to the ground with an undignified clang. The giant of a woman only stood for a few moments longer, before her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she fell face forwards into the cement.

The Ninth Sister, formerly Massana Tide, was dead.

And Cal Kestis breathed a sigh of relief, before refocusing himself and turning towards the purge troopers, who started shuffling and gripping their weapons tighter- he could feel their nervousness rolling off of them in sheets.

He pointed the saber in his right hand towards their leader- a big, bulky trooper with a vibroax. "Well, boys," he said, calmer than the skies of Naboo, "shall we begin?"

---

There were no lights on in the dark halls of the Gilded Palace. To conserve energy for the turbolaser towers and anti-aircraft batteries, all power had been rerouted towards military and essential functions. Not even royalty was spared from war-time necessity. However, at least one of the current occupants of the throne room didn't mind the dim hall, barely lit by waning moonlight.

It reflected her mood.

As Irene sat on her father's throne- no, it was her brother's, now- she heard the rumble of distant battle echoing outside through the walls. On the chair next to her sat Theodora, looking equally anxious and worried, and sitting on the dais were the two Mandalorians, their blasters in their hands, relaxed but ready to spring into action.

"Have reinforcements come through?" Theodora asked. "I've not heard anything on the comms yet since they were restored."

"They'll come," Sabine reassured. "I'm sure of it."

Irene said nothing and looked up at the banners hanging on the walls. The personal sigil of House Beniko- a golden eagle ascendant on a field of violet. Despite her grim mood, she could not help but smile and get lost in memory, as she remembered a story her father told her.

"Why's our symbol the eagle, papa?" a little Irene asked her dad, as she sat on his lap while he was seated on the throne. It was just the two of them in that room- no councilors to harry them, no nobles to bother them, and no grumpy Alexios to sour the mood.

Lysandus smiled at her. "Oh, that's a long and boring story, little Iri," he said, waving his hand while using her favorite nickname. "I'm sure you don't want to hear it."

"I do wanna hear it though, papa!" she complained. "I wanna hear it so badly! Can you tell me? Pretty please?"

Lysandus laughed. "Alright, Iri. You've convinced me," he offered. The king then looked towards the window. "Where to start...hmmm….I guess the beginning is a good a place as any. You know of our founder, Arcus Beniko, right?"

Irene nodded her head, attentive towards the story.

"Do you know how he came here and founded this nation?"

She shook her head. She had not taken the history courses that Alexios had yet. She was too little.

"It begins with the Vong War. Over three thousand years ago, a race of barbarians surged out of the Unknown Regions, intent on plunder and strife. Arcus' father, Theron, sacrificed himself to buy time for the people of their homeworld, which had been Zakuul at the time. The survivors of that world, along with others including Tion, joined Arcus and his mother to wander the stars,t trying to get away from the war between the Republic and the Vong as swiftly as they could, guided only by mysterious voices. It was those voices that lead them here, to this planet, still known back then as Varl."

"What was it like back then, papa?"

Lysandus sighed, "It was a very bad place, dear. No grass grew in the fields, no waves that crashed upon the beaches, and no air to breathe . All there were sand and stone, and the misrule of the Hutts. It was not what anyone had in mind when they were selecting a new homeworld. But the Force lead them there, and it was leading our ancestor to a specific spot."

"Mount Theron?" Irene asked eagerly.

"Yes, but it didn't have a name back then. Arcus chose to head down to the surface first, respirator and all, not willing to have another sacrifice himself for him so soon after he had lost his father. He began his ascent up the mountain, sustained by nothing but his willpower and his resolved, and once reaching the top of the mountain, he received a vision. A vision of the three gods we worship today."

"Ohhh!" Irene cooed.

"It was those three gods who showed him a land beyond the mountain- a large sloping hill that dominated a large cliff face. On that hill, an eagle roosted. It was on this hill that our palace was eventually built, and that eagle our ancestors took as the symbol for his house. The land around the hill became our city, Lanopolis, named after his mother, and he was named Arcus, First of His Name, King of Arcadia." He pointed towards the eagle on the banner. "That symbol, my daughter, represents more than divinity. It represents the just cause we strive for, the lofty ideals we aspire to, the duty we have to the people we rule, the authority that was granted to us by the gods to rule this world. Remember that, little one,"

A tear streamed down Irene's cheek as she was brought back to the present. How her ancestors would spin in their graves now, seeing their family defiled and their home under assault from malicious Core-born Imperials, and even if they won this battle, she did not see a way that they could win this war. The Empire was too vast and too powerful to be overcome by force of arms, even for one mighty as them.

"Princess…" Johannes asked her, his voice betraying concern, "Is everything alright?"

Irene shook her head. "No...no...it's….I was remembering a story my father told me, about how we received our sigil."

Johannes nodded, understanding. "You're holding onto the memory of your father. Remembering not that he died, but that he had lived, and that he had lived for you."

Irene sniffed. "I know...my brother never shows emotion to anyone, but I know he's hurting as much as I am, if not more."

Before they could speak more, a sudden flash of green light illuminated the room. Squinting her eyes, Irene thought that she could see some kind of portal, and when that green portal dissipated, a strange woman in red garb stood over a young man who looked familiar-

Wait…

"Ezra!" Sabine cried out, taking off her helmet and rushing towards him. The young Jedi looked to be knocked out, most likely due to exhaustion, if Irene had to guess. The young Mandalorian warrior came to kneel over the young Jedi, tenderly caressing his face, before shooting up a hate-filled glare towards the strange woman, who took a step back out of apparent shock. "What did you do to him, witch?" Sabine accused, pointing her blaster towards the now-apparent sorceress.

Irene was confused. Something had happened to Sabine that made her react this way, and it had something to do with the woman in red.

The white-skinned woman held up her hands in apparent surrender. "I did nothing to the boy. I swear it!"

Sabine narrowed her eyes "Coming from a Nightsister, I find that hard to believe," she spat.

The Nightsister...whatever that was...rolled her eyes. "You may not believe me, Mandalorian, but I tell the truth when I say that I am not here to harm any of you. We're here to help you."

"We…?" Johannes questioned, still keeping his blaster trained on her.

The Nightsister said nothing, instead nodding behind her. Popping out over her shoulder was a droid's head, followed by the rest of his little, chicken-like body.

Irene could only watch this little android in fascination. She had never seen a droid like that before. The little robot chirped something at the Nightsister, who nodded.

"Yes, Beedee, this is the one Cal wanted to be healed. Can you give him a stimpack and wake him up, please? He's not too damaged asides from some bruised ribs, fortunately. Else-wise I would have put him in one of the medical centers, and his friends here would have a reason to kill me," she snarked, much to Sabine's apparent chagrin.

The little droid chirped and got to work, sticking something in Ezra's arm.

Almost immediately, the Lothalian human man grunted, fluttered his eyes open and started to sit up, before having his face caressed by a very relieved Sabine.

"Gods, Ezra Bridger," she said as she looked at him straight in the eye, "could you go one karking day without worrying me to death?"

Ezra gave a pained grin. "I'll keep it in mind for the future."

Sabine said nothing, instead choosing to nuzzle her head into the crook of his neck while tightly embracing him. Ezra, for his part, closed his eyes and returned her embrace.

Irene, despite her grim mood, could not help but smile. It was abundantly clear to everyone in that room, she reckoned, that those two truly and deeply loved each other.

A fresh pang stabbed through her heart like a dagger. She was almost...envious of them. How would have things turned out if she had just told Moreena how she felt about her? Would she have betrayed them then? Would her brother and father approve of her relationship with another woman? As her thoughts churned and her emotions riled, she felt fresh tears stream down her cheeks once again...something she thought impossible given how much she had already wept.

"So this is the lucky lad, eh, adi'ka?" Johannes asked his niece. The older of the Mandalorians walked over to the young Jedi. "Hello. My name's Johannes Cato. Sabine is my niece."

Ezra gulped and nodded. "Hello...sir?" the youth said, unsure of how to greet this man.

Johannes laughed. "Sir...so formal. Please, though, call me Jo. If Sabine trusts you completely, then I do as well. Manda be good, I'm not Ursa after all."

Ezra looked surprised. He had never expected that. Irene knew that Mandalorians never gave out their trust freely, so this was something major. The young Lothalian then turned towards the Nightsister. "Thank you for saving my life," he said, earnestly "I never got your name."

The Nightsister waved her hands. "Think nothing of it. My name is Merrin. I'm...well, I'm the last of my tribe," she replied, with a hint of sadness in her voice, to which Sabine muttered something that no one quite heard, but Irene was pretty sure it was the equivalent of thank the gods.

"How did you come here, Merrin?"

"By ship, from Sakifwanna," Merrin answered. "We were on the planet when your envoys arrived, begging for help from the garrison stationed there.

A lightbulb went off in Irene's mind. "Wait...if you came from Sakifwanna, then that means…"

As if on cue, the transponder cackled to life, and on the other end of the transmission, a voice spoke...a voice that filled Irene with something that she had not felt for a long while now…

Hope.

"All stations this net. I say again, all stations this net. This is Anvil-Echo-Yew. Second Fleet has arrived in-system and is engaging the enemy. The eagle still flies! Anvil-Echo-Yew, out."

---

They had lost.

As the enemy reinforcements pulled in and his fleet was now sandwiched between the battered but still resisting Home Fleet and the incoming Arcadian Second Fleet, on top of the fact that the assault on the shield generator had been wiped out by some unforeseen force and the assault on the city had faltered, he could do nothing but think where it went wrong.

Ignoring Faro's responses to the enemy commandos currently infiltrating their ship and disabling systems on the way, he pondered on how he could have been defeated when everything had been going according to plan before this very moment.

He thought back to his encounter with that mysterious being on Atollon, the entity that called itself "Bendu". It had told him that his defeat was foreseen- your throat being crushed by the jaws of the wolf, while your face is torn by the eagle's talons.

The eagle's talons were now abundantly clear to Thrawn- the Bendu was warning him that he would suffer defeat by the hands of the Arcadians, partially, but the wolf's jaws confused him. Perhaps it was this foreigner in charge of Arcadia's defense who was besting him currently. Could he be a Shistivanen? No, not likely. The wolfmen were, by and large, isolationist, pack-oriented, and predatory. They rarely worked with those they considered "outsiders" unless it was for mercenary or assassin jobs. Therefore, 'wolf' was symbolic of something else, something that he had not thought of, and could not think of.

"Sir, our hyperdrive has been disabled!" one of the bridge crew yelled out. "Multiple squads down in sectors 5, 14, and 3!"

Thrawn sighed deeply while peering out the windows of the bridge. All he could see were the Arcadians squeezing his forces like a vice, sending down their own troops to the surface to relieve the siege of the city. He had lost his best pilots, his most capable general, and was in danger of losing the rest of his men. And now there was no way for the Chimera to retreat.

Even if the ship weren't damaged, he still could not go back to Coruscant to face the wrath of the Sith Lords, and he wouldn't want to risk his officers to suffer the same fate. But it was clear that there would need to be someone from their side.

And he knew just the person to do the job. One of the few people in this galaxy whom he could count on to replace him.

"Open a line to Commodore Pellaeon. Tell him and his squadron to retreat to the rally point at Vandor, and that the battle has been lost. After you've closed communications…" he paused for a moment, collecting his words. In all his years, defeat was something he had rarely experienced, and he knew that he had grown haughty as a result, yet for the sake of his people and his men, he knew that it was something he must accept, even if it wounded his pride. "Open all channels, and wait for my broadcast."

The tech saw the look in his eye and nodded grimly. After relaying Thrawn's message to Pelleaon, who's squadron did as told and promptly retreated through hyperspace towards Vandor, the communications technician opened up every channel on the fleetwide net, and also a few towards the enemy channels, as well.

Thrawn for the first time in his life felt the emotion show on his face, as he gulped hard and began speaking. "All Imperial forces, this is Grand Admiral Thrawn. You have all fought valiantly and well this day, inflicting many casualties on our enemy. However, the tides have turned against us in such a way that not even I can overcome them. Our fleet has been caught in a double envelopment, cutting us off from any aid. Our ground forces cannot advance further, and risk being surrounded by enemy reinforcements themselves. As we speak, more Arcadian fleets are presumed to head this way, intent on relieving their homeworld. As I have exhausted every available option, I have come to the hard but necessary decision that in order to preserve our lives, I must surrender. All forces will immediately cease firing upon the cessation of this transmission, and give themselves up to the nearest Arcadian unit. It has been an honor and a privilege serving with you all. Glory to the Empire. Thrawn, out."

As he finished his sentence, the guns everywhere which had been roaring for the past two-and-a-half hours fell completely silent. Among the bridge crew, he saw teary faces, clenching fists, and heads in hands. All around him he could hear weeping, cursing, and dejected muttering. Even his faithful subordinate looked utterly defeated and hopeless, and he was aware of wetness on his cheek that he wasn't aware of before.

Minutes passed, though they felt like days, and before he knew it he heard a knock on the blast doors. Nodding towards the tech to open the door, he let the would-be assailants step through. The tagmata commandos stepped through and covered them, keeping their guns trained on everyone in the bridge, and among them was a human man. Upon seeing this man, Thrawn's analytical mind immediately went to work.

Grey hair, gaunt face, lean body. Tall. Walks like a humanoid in his mid-thirties, yet facial features suggest premature aging. Mechanical hands indicate he has seen many battles. Dark brown eyes have a haunted look to them. Presume world-weariness and trauma. He wears a long coat over spacer clothes and a plastiod breastplate. The occupation must be that of a pirate or privateer. The Iron Fist. It must be.

He made a gesture towards his two Death Troopers, who were ready to blast the tagmata. Reluctantly, they lowered their rifles and put them on the ground.

"I presume you must be Grand Admiral Thrawn," the Iron Fist spoke in a Coreworlder accent. If Thrawn had to theorize, it had to be Kuati.

"I am indeed," the normally proud and collected Chiss answered, "and I presume you're here to accept the surrender of myself and my forces?"

"That is correct, yes," the Iron Fist spoke. "In the name of Alexios of House Beniko, the Fifth of His Name, King of the Sith'ari and the Tionese, Lord of Arcadia, Defender of the Faith, and Protector of the Realm, I, Theon of House Greyjoy, Lord of Pyke, hereby accept the surrender of yourself, your officers, your enlisted men, and your weapons, and will place you in custody according to the conventions of war and the laws set forth by gods and men."

Thrawn nodded, and unholstered his blaster, handing it to Theon as a sign of his surrender. The Greyjoy took it in acceptance, and as the officers and ensigns were ushered out of the room by the armed tagmata, Thrawn could not help but shed a tear. His men were safe, and his planet would not face Palpatine's wrath, but at what cost?

---

They could no longer hear the thudding of the guns or the explosions of bombs.

As the rays of dawn poked through the windows of the palace, all anyone could hear throughout the planet was silence, punctured occasionally by wails of grieving families and the hospital speeders dashing to and fro to treat the wounded.

Immediately outside the windows of the palace, Sabine thought she could hear birds chirping. Identifying the birds, she knew the warble of sparrows, but she also heard the caws of a raven or two.

Across all channels on the comms, the cessation of immediate hostilities was being broadcast. Sighs of relief were going up from the few people in the throne room, and right now, Sabine just wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with Ezra and sleep for at least a few days. By her luck, though, it would probably only for a few hours before getting dragged into yet another adventure. For now, though, she was content, and as the doors to the throne room were swung open- as a tearful Irene ran into the arms of her older brother, whose stone face broke and showed the first true sign of emotion that Sabine had seen, and as victory was being declared, Sabine nuzzled up to Ezra and let sleep overtake her, elated that at long last that the myth of Imperial invincibility had been shattered irrevocably.

The battle was over.

They had won.

Notes:

A/N: The battle is over, and the fate of the galaxy has changed

I found it right for this chapter to introduce a major player in the affairs of my story. Before 2018, I never even conceived of putting the Mantis crew from Fallen Order into my story. After playing through the game, however, I felt that I had to give Cal and Merrin a crucial role.

Many are wondering how Thrawn, the greatest military mind in SW history, could have lost this battle. Well, one is that his greatest strength- preparation, and planning- is also his greatest weakness, both in Legends and Canon. If he's unprepared for something that comes out of the blue (like space whales or the appearance of an unknown fleet), he doesn't do too well. Another reason is that he knows that even though he might beat off the reinforcements, there are more Arcadian fleets on the way, on top of the fact that most of his forces are now surrounded and cut off. He might be ruthless and authoritarian, but unlike the Sith, he knows when he cannot win a battle and seems to care about the lives of the men under him far more than Vader or other Imperials ever would.

Oh, and the reason why I spared Pellaeon? He's going to play a MAJOR role in the wars to come. But that's hush-hush for now.

Till the next! Skal!

Chapter 49: Robb VIII

"Sir. We're arriving at the capital now," the captain of the tagmata company informed him.

Robb awoke slowly, suppressing a yawn as he gazed out the viewports on the Marty transporting him to Lanopolis.

Even from here, the damage was visible. Parts of the wall had been broken or smashed, and the suburbs of the New City district that had lain directly beyond the wall were damaged, destroyed, burned out, or pock-marked with blaster hits.

"Land immediately outside the walls," he commanded the pilot. "I want to survey the damage myself."

"Roger, sir," was the pilot's stoic reply. Robb figured the pilot was privately confused at such a request, as this was far outside the norm for a general- not to mention the fact that he was supposed to be meeting his friends and the king soon.

The Marty glided down to the area outside the walls, having to find a landing zone amidst the debris of war strewn about the battlefield. Before Robb registered it, the doors swung open, and he was greeted with a familiar yet unpleasant stench.

The combination of burning hair, rotting flesh, excrement, and blood.

He breathed through his mouth as he got up out of his seat and stepped outside to the battlefield that lay before him. Everywhere he looked, he saw nothing but burned-out bunkers, knocked-out tanks and armored carriers, charred fields, and bodies- thousands upon thousands of them.

Every corpse he saw was different, yet the same. Here was the body of a stormtrooper missing his limbs. There lay the charbroiled skeleton of an Arcadian soldier who didn't escape a flamethrower in time. Overhead, crows, ravens, and other carrion birds flew, descending on the slain to fill their gullets with decaying meat, while the flies and gnats did much the same.

Wails and cries could be heard puncturing the otherwise silent afternoon. Among the dead were those wounded in battle. Some could walk towards the nearest aid station- while others had to be carried by stretcher towards a waiting medical vehicle so that they could receive better care in one of Arcadia's hospitals...which by now were stretching to the breaking point with the number of wounded coming in. A few field hospitals had been set up behind the city walls, yet even they were hard-pressed to stem the tide.

"What are the latest casualty reports?" Robb asked the commando next to him. The tagmata were silent for a long moment, as he switched to an internal frequency to get the requested data. Before too long, however, Robb got the answer he was looking for.

"Estimates still vary, sir, but among the roll calls thus far, we've suffered nearly 135,257 deaths on the ground with another 245,674 wounded. Over 500 armored fighting vehicles have been destroyed as well as 125 gunships. In space, the Home Fleet has lost around 57 warships. Our fighter and bomber losses are unknown, but they're estimated to be in the hundreds. All in all, we've suffered a thirty-eight percent casualty rate on the ground, while in space we've suffered around fifty-seven percent. And that's not counting the ninety-three thousand civilians who are dead and wounded. Over ten percent of the city has been damaged or destroyed in the fighting."

Robb grimaced. Heavy casualties, no matter how you sliced it. The Home Fleet and the Home Army would have to spend months out of action rebuilding themselves. Not to mention those in the suburbs would now be homeless and without food. It would take a lot of time, money, and material to rebuild from this, and that was on top of the war Arcadia now found herself in.

From what little he had heard, though, the Imperials had suffered far worse. Over two and a half million Imperials lay dead, with another two million wounded and captured. Among their task force, 235 Star Destroyers had been knocked out, along with most of their frigates and escorts. From what was left, nearly 41 destroyers had been captured along with their crews, whilst a full squadron of 24 ISDs had escaped the battle with their escorts. All in all, a ninety-two percent casualty rate, and even for a polity as strong as the Empire, that was not a defeat you could easily bounce back from. If Robb had to guess, there would be multiple rebellions flaring up all across the Outer Rim now, as the Imperial Navy would now be spread thinner in this region.

That brought him small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

A wheezing sound snapped him out of his thoughts. Turning to his right, he saw something that he was sure would haunt him for the rest of his days.

There, about three meters to his right, lay a stormtrooper, sans helmet. The trooper- a young human male who looked to be no older than seventeen- was laying on the ground coughing up blood, as a sizable hole had pierced his chest. Judging by the wound, it appeared that he had gotten hit by mortar shrapnel, and was now suffering from a sucking chest wound.

To make matters worse for him, there was no medic around to save the boy...if one could save him even if there had been a medic.

Robb walked over to the lad and knelt beside him, getting a closer look at him. The youth had light skin and blonde hair that bordered on red, with lake-green eyes that once had the shine of emeralds. The freckles on his face accentuated his youth.

Robb was taken aback. This was supposed to be the enemy- a jackbooted thug who blindly carried out the will of a tyrant. Yet all he saw now was a kid who was far from home, thrust into battle, and dying before he could even start a family.

The dying lad looked up at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out were strangled gasps and wheezes. It would not be long now before he expired, the former Lord of Winterfell realized.

By instinct, Robb grabbed his hand, squeezing it in a false assurance that everything would be alright for the lad. The lad struggled to look at him, and although his eyes registered fear of death, they also became softer, as the lad must have accepted that he was dying, grateful for the comfort that Robb was giving him in his last, painful moments.

Soon, the lad's hand slackened, and he took his last, wheezy breath as the life left his eyes, which were now cold and dead.

The youth had passed on.

Not quite understanding why he was doing it, Robb closed the young man's eyes as he drew out a shaky breath. He then looked down at the corpse's belt, and one of the pouches appeared to be open. Inside of it was a small notebook, bound in leather. His curiosity got a hold of him, and Robb retrieved the small book from the dead man's pouch. Moving towards the gates, he began to read the journal of the young man, deigning to skip through several 'chapters'…

Journal of ZT-6866, PFC, 2nd Platoon, B Company, 1st Battalion, 275th Legion.

25 March, 7975 CRC

Just graduated from the academy on Carida . Mom and Dad were there at the graduation ceremony. I've never seen them so proud of me in my life! I've got a week of leave, and then I'm off to my first duty station. I'm to be assigned to the 1 st Battalion, 375 th Legion stationed on Mykapo. A good unit, from what my instructors have told me. I'm incredibly excited to begin this chapter of my life!

15 June, 7975 CRC.

Well, here I am writing in this journal again. The first month or so of being stationed in this unit was hard, but nothing unexpected. I was the "karking new guy". Some of the guys nicknamed by "Sixer", due to my operating number being ZT-6866. Not the one I preferred, but the one that stuck. Oh well, Sixer it is. So far I've not seen much action here, other than the occasional arrest and raid. Ever since Grand Admiral Thrawn drove the rebel cell out months ago, it's been rather quiet. Some of the older veterans call me and the other new guys in my unit too full of 'piss and vinegar', but it doesn't bother me. I'm going to bring glory to my family and the Emperor, come hell or high water.

13 August 7975 CRC

Met a girl the other week while out on patrol. Her name is Katy Yaron. I know that we aren't supposed to fraternize with the locals, but I can't help it. She's the most striking woman I've ever seen. We've been talking ever since we met, and we've been drawing closer and closer. Some of the older guys are making fun of me for falling for a local, but I don't care. Tonight I'm going to ask her out when I'm off.

17 September, 7975 CRC.

Lost one of our guys today. SPC Jahn Zeklon, FY-7895. We called him Joppy, for reasons I will not mention here. Anyway, Joppy was stabbed to death by a criminal while patrolling the market in one of the backwater towns today. I...don't know quite how to feel. I feel angry, sure, but also...numb. It's hard to explain. It was only yesterday that he was in the formation celebrating my promotion to Private First Class. I think I'm starting to lose my eagerness for combat and starting to see just what the older veterans were talking about. Anyway, I need to go to a briefing soon.

5 October 7975.

There's something big going on. They won't tell us what or how due to operational security. All that's been passed down to our battalion is that we're to redeploy to Vandor for a major operation. To some of the specialists and corporals I've talked to, it sounds like the biggest operation the Outer Rim has ever seen since the end of the Clone Wars. Can't be for some rebel cell, or even this "Rebel Alliance" I've heard some rumor that the target is Arcadia, in the middle of Hutt Space. It would make more sense, I suppose. They have a larger military than most and are perhaps the only ones capable of fighting us in a straight-up battle. My nerves are on edge right now. I'm faced with the prospect of death, and I don't like it. Our officers assure us that we'll come out on top, but something in my gut is telling me that this is going to get fucked. Oh well, I'm a trooper. I do what I'm told.

25 October 7975.

Vandor is a frozen karking shithole. How do the local boys stationed here put up with this shit? I'm freezing my nuts off. Ugh. At any rate, we've got a lot more information now that we're here at the staging area. The target IS Arcadia. Operation: SHIELDBREAKER is what they're calling it. We're going to be the first, assaulting the capital world with a force of over three hundred ships and four million troops, with follow-up forces attacking the rest of their fleets throughout Hutt Space. We were selected, apparently, because of our combat record and our steadfastness. Thrawn is in charge of this operation, and I'm feeling more at ease because of it. If there's anyone who can pull us through, it's the Grand Admiral. We're to move out on the night of the 5th of November, and preparations are almost complete.

My first "real" battle. Heh. Hopefully, the gods will see us through this. I'm going to call Mom when I get the chance. Probably call Katy while I'm at it. This is gonna be my final entry for a while.

Robb exhaled a shaky breath, and put the journal down, feeling a tear rolling down his cheek while trying not to collapse. All this time, he had thought of his Imperial enemies as wholly evil. Unthinking drones who followed orders to the letter half the time, and rapacious barbarians the other half. Yet here he was, staring at the corpse of a man who was no older than Ezra was; a boy who died fighting so far from home for a cause he had believed in, who had thought he was on the right side of history.

This lad would never get to see his lover or his mother again.

A scream snapped him out of his thoughts, and just as he turned his head to see what was going on, he saw an Arcadian soldier level his rifle at a wounded stormtrooper, who was crying and putting his hands up, begging for his life. Not in the mood for mercy, the Arcadian shot the Imperial point-blank in the head, the bolt leaving a sizable, smoldering crater. As the king's soldier walked off, he spat on the corpse of the man he had just murdered in cold blood.

Robb grew sick to his stomach. He was used to the horrors of war, and how it can twist and eat at a man. That's not why he wanted to vomit now. No, the reason why was because it reminded him of himself before he had met his new family- before Hera and the others had shown him a better path, one more honorable and pure.

Vengeance is already settling in their hearts, he thought, and the thing is I can't entirely blame them. Their homes are burnt and their loved ones are dead or wounded.

He cleared his mind of such thoughts and stood up, walking back towards the Marty, which was awaiting him to take him to the palace.

---

When Robb got to the palace, he found everyone had gathered in the throne room. Sitting on his father's throne was Alexios, grim-faced as ever. On his right sat his sister, her face forlorn, and on his left sat Ignatius, who looked similarly tired. Standing next to them was Lund, and before them stood all Robb's friends, who were busy talking among themselves, along with a few others.

"Robb!" Theon called out, walking towards him. The Lord of Winterfell smiled and walked towards his friend. They pulled each other into an embrace when they got close enough, laughing in warmhearted joy.

"That was a tough one," Robb exclaimed after breaking from the embrace. "Was thinking for a while we weren't going to make it."

"Certainly was a close one," Theon remarked. "Almost as close as…" he trailed off. Robb's smile faltered at that moment, for he knew what battle his friend referred to.

The Long Night.

"Robb!" a familiar voice cried out. All of a sudden, Robb was nearly tackled by Sabine and Ezra as they locked him in a hug.

"Gods be good!" Robb exclaimed. "Didn't know you two cared that much about me."

"You're our brother, di'kut," Sabine jokingly chided. "Why wouldn't we care about you."

"Besides, it's not like there's anyone else aboard the ship we can make fun of for being grouchy and grim most of the time," Ezra added.

Robb chuckled. "I suppose you two got me on that front. Trying at least to work on that 'grouchy' bit." He turned to Ezra. "Heard on the grapevine that you managed to rally the troops on the wall and held off entire regiments of stormtroopers by yourself."

Ezra rubbed the back of his head, and Robb didn't fail to notice a slight wince. "Heh. Well, I wouldn't say myself. Had some help from another Jedi. Come on, lemme introduce you."

He waved a couple of people over, and the two Ezra motioned over and walked towards them.

One was a human man, dressed in blue spacer clothes with a protective padded jack over his chest, indicating that he had once been a blue-collar worker of sorts. His hair was red, bordering on orange, and across his lip ran a distinct scar. His green eyes were the highlights of his pale face, and they spoke of mirth and humility in equal measure. From his hip hung a lightsaber, of a make Robb had not seen before.

Next to the man was a woman, who was a member of a near-human species Robb did not know of. Her hair was a rich shade of silver or mouse-blonde, while her white skin at least on her face was marked with gray tribal tattoos, which brought out the brown of her eyes. She was covered in exotic red garb fit for a priestess of an animist or polytheistic religion… or a sorceress who practiced strange magic. Besides the two strangers was an equally strange, bipedal droid which chirped like a hen.

"Robb," Ezra spoke, pointing his hand to the couple, "may I introduce you to my fellow Jedi, Cal Kestis, and his Nightsister companion, Merrin of Dathomir."

So that's why her tattoos look so familiar, he thought. She belongs to the same tribe as Maul.

"A pleasure to meet the two of you. My name is Robb Stark, Master Chief Petty Officer in the Alliance Navy, and as my compatriots have already told you, combat specialist onboard General Hera Syndulla's vessel The Ghost."

"Indeed he has," Cal confirmed. "Before you came in he was talking about his master to us. Kanan Jarus. I've never heard of the man, but from what he described of him, it sounds like a true knight and a good man."

Robb nodded. "He is, and he's a good father figure to the boy."

"Most masters are good parents towards their padawans," Cal remarked, and Robb could detect a sadness behind his words. Robb decided not to press him on that. He knew how hard it was to lose a parent or a mentor, and it wasn't a wound you wanted particularly dredged up.

Before any of them could speak any further, the banging of staff on the ground silenced all activity in the throne room, and all eyes turned towards the dais.

"His Grace, Alexios V Beniko, King of the Tionese and the Sith'ari, Lord of Arcadia and Protector of the Realm shall now announce his proclamation," the steward loudly proclaimed. Alexios, for his part, stood up from the Onyx Throne, and put his hand behind his back,

"Let these words echo in eternity," he spoke, not-so-subtly commanding the court scribe to write down what he had to say. All holorecorders in the room were fixed upon him at that moment, as well. "Yesterday, November 6 of the year 797- a date which shall hereafter be ever infamous, we invited the Imperial delegation as guests of my wedding, in good faith and by all the laws and customs gods and men have set forth. Without warning, we were all betrayed, and deceived by the men we called guests, and a woman we called our friend. My father, your king, along with countless others, were slain in cold blood by the forces of the Empire of Coruscant. They were not satisfied with finishing the job, however. Six hours afterward, our home was suddenly and deliberately attacked by the naval and ground forces of the Empire of Coruscant. Our forces fought bravely and died valiantly, crushing our insidious foe while being outnumbered three-to-one, and for their sacrifice, we are ever grateful.

This, my countrymen, has proven one thing, however; the Empire has never been interested in peace or harmony. Only conquest and wanton slaughter please Palpatine and his minions. Therefore, we shall answer this deliberate transgression against all things good, decent, and just with arms of our own. With the consent of the Royal Council, the backing of the commanders, and the blessings of the gods, I hereby declare that a state of war exists between the Empire of Coruscant and the Kingdom of Arcadia. With all the resources at our disposal and the steadfast nature of our people, we will fight against all odds to absolute victory!"

The crowd in the throne room erupted into massive applause, with chants of "war!" being heard throughout.

Unsurprisingly, the only ones who were more subdued were the ones who had fought in wars.

"Robb Stark," the new king called out. "Step forth."

The former King in the North did as he was commanded and stepped before the throne, genuflecting before it.

"Lord Stark, you were instrumental in the defense of our homeland. Without your tactics, your strategy, and your resourcefulness, we could not have endured the onslaught of Thrawn and his forces. To that end, I hereby give you the honorary title of 'Defender of the Realm' and have directed my newly appointed treasurer to reward you with the sum of five billion credits. I have also been in talks with your commanders- in particular Senator Mon Mothma. She has decided that in the Rebel Alliance, you are to be promoted to the rank of general."

Robb was floored. For a second, he didn't know what to say, managing to get out "Thank you, your grace," before getting up and moving towards the crowd again.

"Ezra Bridger, step forth," the king commanded, and this time Ezra came forth and knelt before the throne.

"If it weren't for you, Bridger, the city would have fallen. You were the flame that burned against the darkness of that night. To you, I give you the title of 'Savior of the City' and have instructed my armorers to fully repair and restore your armor. You will always be welcome in our city...Stormbreaker."

If Robb had been flabbergasted, Ezra seemed outright dumbfounded, as all he could manage was a nod before scurrying off back to the crowd.

"For the rest of you, and all the heroes who fought and died in this battle, I hereby award you the Order of Arcus; the highest medal my family can bestow upon you. I will also commission for those who fought in this battle a monument, which is to be set ten meters away from Sofios Gate, where our forces made their valiant stand."

Another round of applause broke out, and to that, the king briskly left the dais, heading back towards his chambers, while his wife and his sister both followed suit.

Curiously, though, Lund did not leave the room. Instead, the overweight porcine alien walked his way toward where Robb, Theon, and the rest were standing.

"Congratulations on your victory," he offered, lighting a cigar and puffing it. "Well...it turns out Rotta is innocent. He had no idea his father and the Emperor were going to pull this off. We've got him in the guest apartments right now, but the lad's pretty shaken up about the whole thing."

Robb nodded, "Understandable. What about the smuggling duo?"

"King decided to release them, on one condition- they're going to be doing errands for me for a long while now, and seeing as we're at war and all that, it means they're gonna be quite useful at gathering intel."

"Such as on the Empire's secret weapon?" Robb inquired.

"Yeah, that… but that's a conversation for another time and another place. Right now, I need to get to planning and doing. This war ain't going to be won with just blasters and ships…" he trailed off, took another puff of his cigar, and started to walk off, but not before Robb stopped him.

"What is to become of Thrawn?" Robb asked.

To that, Lund sighed. "Since Thrawn was involved in much of the planning for the operation, and the people are demanding justice…"

Robb realized what he was getting at, and a grim pit settled in his stomach. "The king wants to execute him, doesn't he?"

Lund nodded. "If you want to visit him, now is the time. There is to be a trial, but the evidence is overwhelmingly in favor of a guilty verdict, as far as I'm concerned."

Robb was silent for a long while, deciding how to respond, before looking Lund in the eye, "Alright, but if his grace does go through with this, I want to request one thing- that he execute Thrawn himself."

Lund raised a questioning eye ridge. "And why would he need to do that, Stark?"

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," was Robb's stoic reply, recalling the wisdom his father had imparted to him. "If you take a man's life, you owe it to him to look him in the eye and hear his final words, and if you can't stand to do that, then maybe he doesn't deserve to die."

"That is your tradition, Stark, not ours," Lund reminded. "Besides, I recall you killed without mercy or recourse before. Who are you to give the king a lecture on morality?"

Robb said nothing but turned and walked away, much to the confusion of his friends. Lund was right, of course. He had been ruthless and uncompromising in the twelve years before he met the Ghost crew. He'd be damned though if he'd admit that to Lund, of all people.

"Robb!" Sabine called out before he could leave. "Robb, I wanted you to meet my uncle, Johannes of Clan Cato. He owns a store here on Arcadia, and he helped me and the Queen get the network up and running again."

Standing next to Sabine was a taller Mandalorian man sans helmet. He was encased in armor that was colored silver and green, with a grinning rancor skull on his right pauldron. As far as features went, he shared a lot of similarities with Sabine; namely, he shared the color of her hair, as well as the hue of her skin. His eyes showed a myriad of traits- mirth, determination, and sadness, to name a few.

"That's probably saying too much," Johannes waved off, "but yes, I did assist Sabine during the battle. I don't intend to turn my back on family...not now, not ever." The elder Mandalorian then turned to Sabine and looked her in the eyes. "That's why I'm selling my store to Palto and joining you."

Sabine's mouth dropped open, "R-really? But I thought-"

"Ah, it's just an old store. That doesn't matter to me as much as making things right by kin and clan," he responded. The younger, brighter-colored Mando didn't say anything. Instead, she launched herself at her uncle, wrapping him tightly in a hug.

Robb smiled for a moment, before faltering and turning again to head to the prison. There was someone he needed to talk to, after all.

---

There was a reason why they say Fort Redemption is the most secure prison next to the Citadel.

The penitentiary was a vast, well-guarded fortress, standing on a nigh-barren island in the middle of the storm-prone Malgean Ocean. Every fall, hurricanes battered it without mercy, and every summer, the heat, and humidity sweltered to nigh-unbearable heights, making the place the closest thing to hell there was...next to Mustafar, of course.

No one had ever escaped Redemption, and those who tried had either been drowned in the ocean or eaten by the megalodon sharks that prowled the waters around the island. The facility was guarded by security droids and a few organic personnel under the purview of the Ministry of Law.

As for those who found themselves imprisoned on this island, one could expect your usual 'worst of the worst' scum- murderers, rapists, abusers, traitors, and above all else, war criminals.

It was here that Thrawn and most of his officers found themselves interred.

As the MAAT set down on the landing pad, Robb put on his helmet and stepped outside into the whipping rain and roaring thunder. Fortunately for him, it was a relatively weaker tropical storm they had flown into and not a full-fledged hurricane. Else-wise, he'd have to wait for a week to talk to Thrawn, and to be honest with himself, he was sick and tired of staying on Arcadia.

Within moments, he found himself at the heavily guarded gatehouse, staffed by a security droid.

"Identification please," the droid commanded in a drool, monotone voice.

"Wolf-One-Actual," Robb said, giving his identifying code phrase.

The machine was silent for a while, apparently processing and checking the code phrase before its photoreceptors lit up green in recognition.

"Confirmed. Welcome, Lord Stark. Prisoner 1138 is located in Cell Block 5, Section D, Level 4. For security concerns, I have to ask that you leave your helmet and blaster with me."

Robb nodded, and took off his helmet and his sidearm, handing them to the droid behind the counter, who pressed a button. The doors slid open, and Robb stepped into the prison complex…

Into one of the grimmest places, he'd seen.

The interior of the complex was dim. The bulkhead, the floors, and the ceiling; all were painted almost entirely carbon black. The only light that was given off came from the sterile blue lights above him, as well as the cold, cyan-colored ray shielding that separated the cells from the corridors, making the entire place seem like some sort of eerie, frozen hell, guarded by emotionless droids who might as well have been demons for a place like this.

Robb put those thoughts behind him and pressed on, trying to shrug off the feeling of crushing oppression the prison seemed to be giving off.

After what seemed to be an eternity, he finally arrived at Thrawn's cell. Nodding towards the security droid that had been escorting him to open it, he waited until the ice-hued ray shield momentarily deactivated, and he stepped through, finally finding himself face to face with the greatest military commander the Empire had ever known.

If one had been expecting a clean-shaven Chiss in a resplendent white uniform, they were bound to be disappointed, Robb mused. What sat before him was a Chiss male in an orange prison jumpsuit, his face unshaven and his hair disheveled. But his eyes...his red eyes were studying Robb, looking over him like he was an equation to be studied, or a piece of artwork to be analyzed.

Robb found himself intensely scrutinizing this alien man in turn. He found it hard to get a read on this man- Thrawn kept his features chiseled out of the hardest rock, it seemed.

"The sigil of the wolf…" Thrawn spoke first, after several long moments of silence between the two. Robb tracked his eyes to where he was staring- the wolf insignia on his breastplate. "Of course. That's what the strange creature was warning me of. I was thinking too literally at the time when I should have been paying more attention to the stories of the legendary Grey Wolf."

"Some creature was warning you?" Robb questioned.

"A curious being I met on Atollon. I recall that it called itself 'Bendu," Thrawn clarified, "and judging by your eyes widening ever so slightly, it seems you have a familiarity with it."

"You could say that," Robb quipped. He did not feel it prudent or wise to reveal that the Bendu was his brother, nor that he had come from the distant past. Some things could just not be believed by a mind that operated almost entirely on logic and reasoning, after all.

Thrawn bid him sit beside him. Robb decided to oblige him and took a seat on the metal bench next to the disgraced Chiss admiral.

"I must say," Thrawn began, "I've devoted my life to studying and perfecting the art of war. I've faced opponents who have earned my respect, and I've had allies who were worth less than spit. In all my years, though, I've never once been bested in the field of battle...not until I fought you. You have my utmost respect, Lord Stark."

Robb nodded, "and you likewise, Admiral. Truth be told, there were several times during the battle when you had us on the ropes, and the victory isn't mine alone. My friend, Ezra Bridger, played a large part in it."

At that, Thrawn's eyes widened. "Truly? I had always disregarded the lad as a bumbling oaf who played at war. How exactly does one such as him help you in victory?"

"By rallying the troops when their morale was lowest. By defeating an entire regiment of stormtroopers on his own with his powers. By fighting an Inquisitor and her entourage to a standstill, until help arrived. He fought and held his own until the very end when our reinforcements came and turned the tide. That is how he aided me in victory," Robb corrected. "He is socially awkward, aye, but he's cunning, tenacious, and a talented warrior. I daresay, Grand Admiral, that you've quite underestimated him and Sabine Wren both."

Thrawn hooded his eyes and sighed. "Yes, it appears I have. I never wanted to harm his homeworld. Everything I have done...all the blood I have spilled, the lives I've destroyed in the name of the Emperor...everything to ensure the safety of my people. To…" At this, Thrawn's normally calm voice began to crack, showing for perhaps the first time in a long while emotion, "to protect my niece."

"I fail to see how siding with the Empire would save your people," Robb countered. "The Emperor and his minions are perhaps the worst tyrants I've seen in a long time. It stands to reason that they would have more likely enslaved your people at an opportune moment, or worse."

"It was a risk we were willing to take," Thrawn responded. "Do you have any idea what's coming for us all? What kind of danger the galaxy is in? What will happen if the Rebellion wins and it's plunged into further chaos?"

"The White Walkers," Robb whispered, his voice lowering an octave.

Thrawn's eyes truly widened now. "You know of them?"

Robb nodded. "We fought them before, on a planet far in Wild Space. Ezra lost half his limbs fighting them, and we lost a good friend."

"Then you know of what peril we face if we don't stand together," Thrawn pleaded with him. "For the sake of your friends, please."

Robb smiled sadly. "As long as Palpatine continues to sow fear, mistrust, and hatred among the people, they will never unite," Robb commented. "I wish there was another way, Thrawn. I do, but the galaxy will never heal as long as Palpatine sits on the throne."

Thrawn nodded and sighed. "Then we have nothing more to talk about," he said, and for the first time in their meeting, Robb saw the defeat in his eyes. An acceptance of fate, and despair that he had failed.

At that moment, Robb knew that Thrawn, despite his faults and crimes, did not deserve to be executed...and there was nothing he could do about it.

Robb nodded. "Farewell, then, Thrawn. May we meet in a better place than this."

"Farewell to you, as well, Stark. You have my respect, for however long I have left to live. Before you go, I wish for you to talk to the man in charge of the evidence locker. He has something that belongs to Hera Syndulla that I wish to return to her."

Robb said nothing. Instead, he chose to slightly nod and turned to walk out of the cell. As the ray shield closed behind him...as he walked towards the evidence locker with his escort, a million different thoughts were playing through his mind, but one reassuring one dominated the rest.

They were finally going home.

Notes:

And the Arcadian Arc is FINISHED!

Now, there will be two or three transition chapters before we head to Yavin and see what's up there, and there will be a slight time skip for story-related reasons once we see Yavin.

Here we see Robb realizing that this war isn't as black and white as he had thought.

Now, the reason why I'm executing Thrawn is simple. I want to show the darker side of Arcadian society, as well as hit home that, again, not everyone is going to make it out of this war alive. Expect to see more things like this.

Up next, more plotting, more war, more revelations. Stay tuned!

Chapter 50: Kanan II

It had been over a month since he last saw them.

Hera was a bundle of energy. Excitement and apprehension flowed through here like water through a gorge. Such stress wasn't good for their baby, he had argued to her, but she would hear none of it. Her adopted children were coming home, and that was all that mattered right now.

Well… everyone except Zeb, he mused sadly.

The burly Lasat had been the first crew member they picked up on the Ghost, and he had been an inseparable part of the crew since. When the news came of his death on Valaryos, they were all stuck to the hilt. Hera had wept for hours, and he had found it hard to even meditate for weeks after that. They had eventually moved past their grief, but the scar would always be there in the background, flaring up on occasion when someone would comment on how nice the Ghost smelled.

He let out a sigh. He needed to focus on the here and now, not the past.

Sabine and Ezra were alive and well, though the latter was now sporting two cybernetic limbs in place of organic ones, and from what Robb had told them, the two had finally confessed their feelings for one another, entering a romantic relationship.

Kanan smiled for a moment. He had known for quite some time now that the two had feelings for one another, though neither would admit it to the other. It was only after their harrowing experience on Valaryros that they finally admitted it.

His smile then faltered. Robb told him exactly what had happened on Valaryros...about the creatures that had killed Zeb and maimed his Padawan. Demons of ice and cold...monsters from Robb and Theon's past that had come back for some unknown reason to terrorize mortals once more. As if the Empire wasn't bad enough… now there was a potentially apocalyptic threat out there.

He looked out through the Force, using it to see where he had once previously used his physical sight, and spotted his partner on the landing area outside the Hera, feeling her anxiety radiate off her.

He walked towards her, putting a hand on her shoulder to comfort her while safely ignoring the stifling humidity that Yavin was infamous for.

They said nothing for a long time. There was no need for words between them in these private moments. A simple nod here, a touch there. Their relationship had grown so much in these past decades to the point where they could communicate just with simple expressions.

Kanan felt Hera's anxiety subside somewhat, being replaced by comfort and reassurance.

"Been a long while since I've felt you this nervous," he joked, breaking the long silence at last.

Hera chuckled at that, "Can't blame me for that, can you now, love?" she asked, half-rhetorically.

Kanan shook his head. "Not one bit. I've often been wondering just how much the kids have changed since we've last seen them. At least once they get back we'll get back to some semblance of normalcy."

Hera laughed. "Kanan, darling, since when have any of our lives been really 'normal'? As far as I'm concerned, it's like we're thrust from one bizarre adventure into the next."

Kanan smirked and put his hands up in the air. "Alright, alright," he conceded, "you have me there. Hopefully, when this war is over it will be normal for us, though."

Hera nodded, sighing, "For all of us," she said, putting a hand on her swelling womb.

Kanan smiled. Although he did not know whether their child would be a boy or a girl, he loved them already. A part of him worried about if the child was born Force-sensitive, as he was. The Empire was still hunting them down, of course, either forcibly inducting them into their Inqusitorius program or outright murdering them. It did not take a scientist to figure out that Palpatine and Vader didn't want the competition.

He would cross that bridge when it came to it, however. Right now, he needed to keep his mind in the present, and judging by the communications officer running up to them, he guessed the present was now.

"General Syndulla, Commander Jarrus," he said, ignoring Kanan's wincing at being referred to by military rank, "we picked up two ships exiting hyperspace. One identified as a Komr'k-class vessel, callsign Starbird, the other is a Latero Spaceworks S-161 XL yacht, callsign Stinger Mantis."

Kanan quirked an eyebrow behind his mask. The Starbird he knew belonged to Sabine, but what was the Mantis? Was it someone they picked up on Arcadia? He was going to have to question them after they landed, he decided.

Soon, he felt a familiar presence enter Yavin's atmosphere. Ezra, Sabine, Robb, Theon, Rau. They were all there. He also felt some new presences….including a couple of very powerful ones.

This was getting more interesting by the minute, he thought.

Through the Force, he "saw" the Starbird and the Mantis make their descent onto the landing platform, escorted by two A-Wings. The Starbird touched down first, folding up its wings and extending its landing gear, making a graceful landing like its namesake. The Mantis followed suit, switching the position of its own "wings" to allow it to touchdown.

Hera tightly held his hand, and he 'saw' why. The first to exit out of the Starbird were Ezra and Sabine, who were holding each other's hands, followed first by their two wolves- Runi and Storm, then by Rau and another Mandalorian none of them had seen before, and finally Robb and Theon.

Hera let go of his hand, running up to wrap the kids in a tight hug, with tears running down her face.

"Stars above," she whispered to them, "don't you kids frighten me like that ever again. You hear me?"

"We'll try not to, Hera," Sabine said back, returning the hug.

"Can't make any guarantees, though," Ezra joked, then his tone softened. "We missed you guys out there."

Kanan walked up to them after they got done hugging Hera, and found Ezra brightening at his presence.

"Thought you could skip out on training, huh?" Kanan joked, smirking at his apprentice.

"Wouldn't miss it for anything, master," Ezra joked back. Before long, the two were embracing one another, father to son. "I'm so glad to be home," Ezra said.

"I am too, Ezra," was Kanan's reply. He could tell something was troubling the lad, and he didn't want to talk about it right now. He knew he'd bring it up when he was ready, however. He just needed time right now to rest and relax.

Ezra and Sabine moved on to go into the base along with their wolves- who were happily panting- ostentatiously to greet the droids who, contrary to their own words, were just as excited to have them back…especially Chopper, who was saddened upon hearing of Zeb's passing and was missing Ezra especially terribly...if only to find another person to prank.

The next people he greeted were Rau and the other Mandalorian who had come with them. Looking through the Force, Kanan found that this man had a similar signature to Sabine's...yet also distinct from hers.

"Jarrus," Rau greeted, "it's been too long since we've last seen each other."

"Likewise, Rau," Kanan greeted back, shaking his hand. "Mind if you introduce your friend here?"

"Certainly," Rau said, "this is Johannes Cato. He is Sabine's paternal uncle, and he's here to help her, and by extension the rest of us."

"That I am," Johannes answered, in a voice that was unusually high-pitched for an older man. "I've fled from my duty before, but by whatever gods are out there, I am done with running. It's high time I helped Sabine and the rest of my family, and time I helped bring down Palpatine and the rest of his rotten Empire."

Kanan nodded. "Well, it's good we have you on our side, then. Go ahead into the base. Some of the others will show you around."

"Sounds good," Rau nodded. The two Mandalorians left, leaving Robb, Theon, and these new visitors to greet.

"Heard you defeated the great Admiral Thrawn," Kanan joked upon walking up to the Westerosi duo. "The legend of Robb Stark is already starting to spread among the ranks in the Alliance."

"Probably exaggerating it just a bit don't they think?" Robb replied.

"Probably," Theon confirmed. "They're most likely leaving out a bunch of things...like that dragon that saved us."

Kanan shot his eyebrows up. "I'm sorry, but did you say….a dragon saved you?"

Robb waved it off. "I'll explain it later. Right now, our friends on the other ship would like to talk to you. One in particular wants to meet you." The former Lord of Winterfell said, then pulled him into an embrace. "It's good to see you again, brother."

"Likewise, Robb," Kanan said back, patting him on the back. "I'll see you in the debriefing later."

Robb nodded, and left, with Theon in tow. With all his friends and family greeted, Kanan walked over to the Mantis, where he spotted several people through the Force...with at least three of them leaving powerful signatures.

The first was a short Latero man, who looked to be heading into his elder years if the grey hair was any indication. The second was a human man, of a similar age to Kanan, with fiery red hair and a scar across his lip. His Force signature was powerful, radiating like a star.

Standing next to him was a woman of Dathomirian origin. Judging by her red garb and tattoos, she was a Nightsister and a more subdued one at that.

Kanan suppressed the urge to frown. None of his crew had a good experience with Nightsisters, but for the sake of civility, he chose to keep his face neutral.

The fourth person to come out of the Mantis was a middle-aged woman leaning on a cane. Dark-skinned and gray-haired, she radiated wisdom and knowledge- the kind you get after much hardship and pain.

"Ah, hey, look, another Jedi!" the Latero joked. "And he's blind at that!"

"Not by choice, I can tell you that much," Kanan informed him. "Kanan Jarrus. Jedi Knight." he greeted the same.

"Cal Kestis, also a knight," the red-haired man greeted. "The Latero man is Greeze, the Nightsister's name is Merrin, and the captain of this ship is Cere Junda,"

Kanan's eyebrows shot up at that. "Cere Junda? As in 'Knight Cere Junda'?"

Cere nodded. "Yes, though I don't like using that title these days. Simply 'Cere' is fine," she spoke. There was a phantom pain behind her voice...one that reminded him of Ahsoka whenever she had spoken about Anakin Skywalker. Kanan knew all too well what pain that was.

"Cere, if you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Kanan alone," Cal said to his companions.

Cere nodded. "Not at all, Cal. We'll see you later."

As the rest of the Mantis crew made their way into the base, Cal turned and indicated to Kanan. "Mind if we take a walk?" he asked the slightly older knight.

Kanan shrugged. "It won't bother me one bit."

With that, the two knights began to walk off into the jungle, following a trail that leads to the ruins of a shrine a kilometer away, dedicated to some long-forgotten Massassi god.

"Who was your master, Kanan?" Cal asked after a few minutes of silence, stepping over an overgrown root.

"Depa Bilaba," was Kanan's answer. "Yours?"

"Jaro Tapal," was Cal's answer. "I think I recall our masters meet. It was at that…"

"...security briefing Master Kenobi provided," Kanan finished for him.

Cal nodded. "Yeah. As I recall, you were the one who gave Master Kenobi an idea to reverse the security protocols in case the Temple was compromised."

"Something that ultimately saved you and me from the Purge," Kanan replied. "I remember after that briefing you and your master went to Bracca. My master and I went to Kaller with our legion…" he trailed off from there.

"...and then Order 66 came down," Cal sighed. "I still don't for the life of me understand entirely what happened. One moment I was chatting amicably with the clones and laughing with them at their jokes, the next minute I was running for my life clutching my late master's lightsaber on a junkyard planet."

"I know what happened," Kanan answered. "It was a chip that Palpatine had planted in their heads that enabled him to control them whenever he gave the code phrase."

"How do you know this?" Cal asked.

"A former clone captain. His name is Rex. He works here at the base. You can see the scar on his head where he removed his chip,"

Cal nodded at Kanan, "I see. That would explain a lot of things then," he sighed. "There are too few of us now, Kanan. Aside from us, the only other ones I think who survived are Kenobi and Yoda. Six Jedi when there used to be ten thousand. A far cry from the old days."

"But at least now we have allies. The Rebellion, Arcadia, and others to name a few. Wasn't like the last few decades where he had to go on the run constantly,"

Cal chuckled at that. "True," he said, "though we aren't out of the woods yet, not by a long shot. Speaking of Arcadia, though…"

"I heard you saved my Padawan's life from an Inquisitor," Kanan said. "For that, you have my gratitude."

"Aye, I did, but I don't know if you heard about what he did before that."

Kanan shook his head. Other than what was told to them over the hologram by Robb, who left the details sparse, he didn't hear a word about what happened during the battle.

Cal saw this as they came to the shrine, which overlooked the Rebel base located in the Great Temple. He looked out towards the pyramidal structures that dotted this landscape, before turning back to Kanan. "From what I've heard, your Padawan managed to rally the defenses of the city by himself and held off the Imperial forces for two hours until we arrived. He even beat back their assault at the gate using the most powerful Force Freeze I've heard of. He had even engaged two Inquisitors, one of them being the head of their order."

Kanan was shocked by this. He didn't realize until now just how much his Padawan had grown. A part of him didn't want to admit it, but lately, he was realizing that he was running out of things to teach him and that Ezra- the boy he had practically raised into a young man, now- was increasingly taking on more and more challenges on his own. He had even managed to hold his own against the new Grand Inquisitor and held off the Ninth Sister until Cal had arrived.

He was silent for a long time, thinking things over, before finally speaking.

"I'm honestly at a loss for words right now," he admitted at last, "I've taught him everything I know, and he's picked up things along the way from other people and events."

Cal nodded. "From what I've seen and heard of the lad, he's passed his trials of skill and courage, and his mechanical appendages are proof enough that he endured the trial of flesh. Which means there's only one trial remaining…"

"The Trial of the Spirit," was Kanan's wary reply. It was the most difficult and dangerous trial any Jedi had to face to prove themselves worthy of knighthood. When he went through it only a year ago, he was harrowed by his fears of Ezra turning into a Sith. Though he had passed his trial and was confirmed a knight by Yoda. Facing the mirror, as many in the old order had called it.

"The final lesson any Jedi must learn, and the one that's the most difficult for all of us, even after we've been knighted- learning to let go. Of our anger, our fears, our regrets. It's still admittedly one I have to relearn time and time again."

"As do I," Kanan agreed. He drew out a long breath. "His birthday is less than six months away."

Cal nodded. "Then on that day should be his trial. There must be a place suitable for it on this planet."

"There is," Kanan confirmed. An uncomfortable pit grew in his stomach. "It's infested by the Dark Side of the Force, though. If I'm remembering my history lessons right, it's the burial tomb for the Sith Lord Exar Kun. But even if he passed his trial, there's no master around that can knight him."

Cal shook his head. "Kanan, any knight can make another knight. I was knighted by Cere in the absence of the council or any master. You were knighted by Yoda, or a vision presented by him, in the absence of the council. The time of the old order is over. If we are to survive, we have to begin again anew." he said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon. We must get to the briefing."

"Right," Kanan agreed. As they walked back, the thoughts churned in his head.

There was a change coming, and it was inevitable.

He had to be ready for it when the time came.

Chapter 51: Paelleon I

Normally, the corridors of the Imperial Military Headquarters on Coruscant would have been a somewhat comforting place for him. He had been there quite a few times before, after all. But in all thirty-six years of his service to the navy, the middle-aged Gilad Pellaeon was never more nervous than he was now...

...for he was about to come face to face with an almost-certainly irate Emperor Sheev Palpatine, and his equally angry Sith Enforcer, Darth Vader.

He was not certain that he would make it out of this meeting alive and had thus passed instructions along to his executive officer aboard the Harbinger to take command in the event of his death. Those in charge of the Empire were almost certainly looking to make an example of someone if nothing but to calm themselves down and rid themselves of the blame.

As he came before the doors to the conference chambers, flanked by two Royal Guards who had been sent to escort him, he could not help but feel that this was the moment of his death. He was almost certain that His Grace would find a way to blame him for the catastrophe at Arcadia, even though he had been doing his duty and had only retreated with his squadron on the Grand Admiral's orders.

Sighing and resigning himself to whatever fate was in store for him, he nodded to the guards to open the vast doors for him.

Stepping into the room, he first noticed the Emperor sitting on the largest chair at the far end of the giant, ebony-colored rectangular table- a standard Imperial design with a holograph projector in the middle and chairs all around. The Emperor sat with his hands folded in front of his face, and Pellaeon could see nothing of his expression save for those piercing, sulfuric yellow eyes that seemed to burn right through his soul like a plasma beam. Besides, the Emperor on the right stood the tall, menacing presence of Darth Vader, his mechanical breathing drowning out any other source of sound in the room.

Sitting around the table were the Joint Chiefs of Imperial High Command- General Cassio Tagge of the Imperial Army, Admiral Conan Motti of the Imperial Navy, Colonel Wulf Yularen of the Imperial Security Bureau, Director Armand Isard of Imperial Intelligence, as well as Grand Vizier Mas Amedda, Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin, Grand Inquisitor Malleus, and two faces he had never seen before- one a young, tan human woman with short red hair and a forlorn face, and the other a human male with a pale visage and a metal jaw, who looked bored.

"Ah, and here is the man who brought us the message," Palpatine rasped in a low and dangerous tone. "Commodore Pellaeon, would you please kindly inform us of the events that led to this...disaster over Arcadia?"

Pellaeon gulped and began to recount the events of those two hours.

"When we arrived in-system around 0400 on 7 November 7975, it seemed at first that everything had been going according to Operation: Shieldbreaker as scheduled. The Arcadian government was in disarray, and their defense grid and communications were down, thanks to Agent Krai and Agent Bolton, here, respectively," he began, acknowledging the two new faces in the room. "At 0405, Grand Admiral Thrawn ordered the fleet to halt in place, as the Arcadian Home Fleet did not move to engage us at that time. It was at this time that Admiral Kassius Konstantine broke ranks and ignored orders, charging his Fourth Fleet towards the planet's defenses. The Fourth Fleet was wiped out by a ship-borne improvised explosive device that we believed to be primarily composed of rhydonium. Casualties were near total. It was then that the Arcadian Home Fleet appeared, and we became locked in space combat. One hour into the battle, we were beginning to gain the upper hand, and our forces on the surface reported progress being made into the shield generator base and the city. It was then an unexpected event occurred that changed our fortunes for the worse,"

"Unexpected?" Tarkin questioned him.

"An unknown force wiped out General Veers and his forces near Mount Theron. We don't know where this...thing...came from, nor what it exactly was. All we received was an audio transmission from one of our walkers before it was destroyed," Pellaeon informed. He took a recorder from his pocket and began to play the transmission.

"Venerable, this is Kath Hound 2! Taking fire from an unknown force! Massive casualties! Lost Kath Hounds 4 and 6. Requesting air support- shit, here it comes! Brace!"

The transmission abruptly ended with the sound of a loud, shrill cry- similar to an Acklay's but louder- and static. Turning off the recorder, Pellaeon looked at the assembled council and continued his speech.

"At Lanopolis, it was reported by our forces that we were being held back by a Force-user. The Ninth Sister went in to engage this person and failed. At two hours, Arcadian reinforcements from Sakifwanna showed up at our rear, and as we were still engaging the Arcadian Home Fleet, our fleet was surrounded in an envelopment, and being unable to fight out of the pincer movement, Thrawn ordered my squadron and I to retreat. It was when we arrived at Vandor six hours later that I heard of his surrender and our defeat."

With that, Pellaeon concluded his briefing, and what followed afterward was silence.

A long silence.

As the quiet wore on, Pellaeon became increasingly anxious. He was almost certain now that he was going to be executed on the orders of the Emperor.

"What was the name of the commander Thrawn faced?" Tarkin finally asked.

"I think I know that," was the black-haired man's answer. "His name is Robb Stark. He was a general of great renown on my home planet."

"How did we never hear of this man before?" Tagge asked him.

"I believe that he went by an alias," the red-haired woman answered him. "We believe that he went by the nom de guerre 'The Grey Wolf' during his time as an agent of Arcadian Intelligence, and some time afterward."

"I can corroborate Agent Krai's account," Yularen spoke up. "We've been tracking the Grey Wolf's activities across the Outer Rim, and according to Agent Krai and Grand Inquisitor Malleus, he and the Iron Fist have joined up with the Rebellion."

"Yes, they were spotted with two known rebels. Sabine Wren of Krownest and Ezra Bridger of Lothal," Krai confirmed, though Pellaeon detected a little pain in her voice.

"So the Arcadians have entered an alliance with traitors," Tarkin mused. "This will unnecessarily complicate problems. To make matters worse, we are now spread too thin across the Outer Rim. How thoroughly, I must wonder, was the Old Boar able to infiltrate our ranks and learn of our plans."

"We sussed out every possible spy in our ranks, Rebel or Arcadian," Isard defended. "If there was any intelligence leak, it must have come from the ISB!"

"You're a fool if you think that, Armand," Yularnen shot back.

"Oh really? Your best student betrayed you and fled to the Rebellion like a beat dog," Isard countered. "Meanwhile, we've no traitors in our ranks!"

"And yet somehow the Arcadians were able to find out about our plans," Yularen muttered.

"Perhaps if Motti had better picket lines at Vandor, Thrakas Lund would not have learned of our fleet," Tagge suggested, to which Motti shot him a dirty look.

"If we're assigning blame, then maybe we should also blame Orson Krennic for taking too damned long with Project Stardust. Had the Death Star been completed by now, we could have wiped Arcadia off the map and be done with it," Motti countered.

"And lose its abundant resources?" Tarkin questioned. "I daresay that I think you've gone quite mad if you think that destroying every world that raises its little finger towards us is the right course of action. The Death Star, as designed, is a weapon one only needs to fire once. Fear of force, gentlemen, not force itself, is what keeps the peace," Tarkin said and then looked pointedly at Motti, "and as I recall, sir, you were the one who pushed the invasion plan while Thrawn disagreed. You were the one who used his connections to His Majesty to get this… abomination approved," he spoke, in a calm, low voice.

All eyes turned to the Emperor, who did not move a muscle but instead cast his piercing gaze towards Motti, who began to sweat in sheets. "It seems, admiral, that most of the blame can be assigned to you. You, who ordered our greatest asset into a trap. I must wonder why. Perhaps it is because you felt threatened that he would take your place at the table? That he would dictate naval strategy at your expense?" Palpatine sighed. "It seems in your jealousy, Motti, you have failed utterly, and in my navy, I have no patience for those who have completely failed such as you," he proclaimed.

The head of the navy looked around in an apparent panic, his eyes begging for Tarkin to save him, while the older man just regarded him with a cold, calculating expression. Alliances only went so far in the upper echelons of the Empire, after all.

"Y-your grace, please," Motti began to plead, his voice cracking and his normally proud facade giving way to reveal the scared, sniveling wretch underneath. "H-he did not deserve your respect! He was a nonhuman! A worthless creature! I-I didn't know that they would counteract our plans! P-please have mercy!"

As Pellaeon saw, the Emperor simply rolled his eyes and gave a subtle nod to Vader, who silently strode forth and lifted his right arm, closing his hand in a 'strangling' motion.

Suddenly, Motti stopped speaking and began to choke. It was as if an invisible rope had wrapped itself around his neck, and was growing ever tighter, denying him sweet, precious air, as everyone looked at him in horror and fascination.

Without warning, Vader closed his fist, and a sickening snap was heard as Motti's head bent sideways, falling limp onto the table.

He never rose again.

Vader motioned to two stormtroopers guarding one of the exits, who proceeded to lift the dead Motti out of his chair and carry him out of the room. With that, Vader returned to stand beside his lord and master, not saying a word. Death incarnate, was Pellaeon's only thought as he regarded Vader at that moment.

Palpatine folded his hands and gripped them on his chair, seemingly satiated at least that someone was punished for failure, but still looking quite disappointed. "Gentlemen, I would be remiss to say that I am still very disappointed in every one of you. Thanks to your collective bungling, our Empire skirts closer to the edge of absolute disaster," he rasped, turning towards Malleus, "how were you not able to kill Bridger? You are the Grand Inquisitor, one of our finest Jedi hunters, and yet you were fought to a standstill by a Padawan?" he asked, incredulous.

"The boy has grown powerful, my master," was Malleus' carefully worded answer. "He has not only learned much from Kanan Jarrus but he was also taught by Ahsoka Tano while she was still among the living, as well as learning from several Holocrons he picked up over the years. Very few can penetrate my mental defenses, master, yet he was able to do it with ease. Not to mention that if the reports are true, he managed to halt an entire battalion of troopers with the Force, and fought the Ninth Sister until Arcadian reinforcements arrived."

"I see," Palpatine mused, "if he could be turned, he would make a great asset. He could very well be the key to…" he trailed off, then turned to Vader. "Lord Vader, I want you to pour every resource into finding Bridger and his friends. He is the key we need for complete domination of this universe. Once you have him, bring him, and we will unlock the true secret of Lothal."

"As you wish, my master," Vader rumbled, his deep, mechanical voice echoing throughout the chambers.

With that, Palpatine turned towards Pellaeon once more. "As you survived the battle, and we need officers of Thrawn's caliber and expertise, I will congratulate your rapid promotion to the rank of Admiral, Gilad Pellaeon. Please, take Motti's former seat as Chief of Staff for the Navy," he proclaimed with a smiling face, gesturing his hand to the now-empty seat. Pellaeon saw it for what it was, though- it was not a request. It was a command.

And he dared not disobey His Grace.

Sitting down on the seat, he found a guard presenting him with an admiral's rank bar. Taking the rank, he quickly replaced his commodore's rank with it, handing the old rank to the guard, who scurried away in a hurry.

"Now, to the matter at hand," Palpatine announced, "We must pursue a new strategy for prosecuting this war, at least until the completion of the Death Star."

"Agreed, your majesty," Tarkin spoke up. "The battle at Arcadia has shown to us severe flaws in our current military doctrine."

"Most notably our over-reliance on walkers," Tagge argued. "The AT-AT has its uses as a force deterrent and a siege weapon, aye, but it is too slow and vulnerable to more mobile forces. Hence, gentlemen, why I propose we use these," he said, pulling up something on the holoprojector, which came to life and showcased a heavily armored repulsor tank. "Gentlemen, this is the S-1 Firehawk main battle tank. Fast, strong, and devastating. It is in all respects a match for the Arcadian M102 tank. I am told that Colonel Johans has had remarkable success with these tanks in the 112th Armored Regiment. Combine these with our ITTs, we will have a much more mobile and sizable force on the ground ready to counter the Arcadians."

"Well, that may have the ground game covered, but we must also place a priority on the naval game," Pellaeon argued. "The losses at Arcadia represented a fifth of our standing forces in the Outer Rim. We're stretched far too thin to hold every system at present, even if we still have tens of thousands of destroyers and tens of billions of troops at our disposal."

"Indeed," Tarkin agreed. "I've received innumerable reports from Eriadu about uprisings breaking out all over the Outer Rim. If we are to contain them, we must draw forces from the Core Worlds, and that is a risk I'm loathed to take, as I'm sure are you. So, Admiral Pellaeon, what do you propose?"

Pellaeon thought about this for a moment. He then recalled something Thrawn once said to him- he who defends everywhere defends nowhere. It was there that he had his answer.

"The Outer Rim is vast," he answered, "and much of it is underdeveloped and not worth much in strategic value. While it is true that we cannot abandon the Outer Rim in its entirety, we can neither afford to defend every system. As it stands currently, the Arcadians can concentrate their forces far better than we can, not to mention our supply convoys are being attacked by Rebel fighters on a near-daily basis, now. Therefore, I propose this;" he said, taking a breath before delivering his answer. "We pull back from sectors that have little to no strategic value and instead concentrate our forces on defending the major hyperspace routes and industrial centers. When we pull back, we take everything with us and leave nothing for the Arcadians or the Rebels to acquire. Destroy fuel centers, rip up power lines, and take every item of food and water we can with us. Let the Arcadians extend their supply lines to the breaking point, while we sit rested and well-supplied for the battles to come. Once they have expended themselves trying to hold on to so much territory, we throw them back and force them to come to terms. We have the numbers and the men, we just need to be sure to use them properly," he finished. An uneasy pit settled in his stomach, however. Scorched earth was the last thing he wanted to do, but in the face of this disaster, it was the only thing that made sense in the long run. He would make sure that the Navy got the people who would suffer this the supplies they needed once they won this war.

If they won this war.

"I see," Palpatine mused, "playing the Arcadians' strength in defense against them. It's very poetic. Worthy of your mentor, I have to say," he said, then looked right at Pellaeon. "I am sure that you will not fail in your task, admiral."

Pellaeon understood the threat behind the words. "If the Empire requires that I give my own life for failure or defeat, then I will gladly give it, my liege," he answered, truthfully and honestly. He had the opportunity to betray the Empire before, with his previous superior, Grand Admiral Savit, and in the end, he chose his duty to his country over loyalty to any man.

The Emperor grinned and nodded towards him. "Then it is settled, then. Gentlemen, I leave it to you to prosecute this war in any manner you see fit. Just be sure to bring me victory… and the head of Alexios and his sister on a platter," he commanded. "Come, Lord Vader, Inquisitor Malleus. There are matters that we must discuss in private."

With that, the Emperor got up out of his chair and walked towards the exit, flanked by his two royal guardsmen and followed closely by Vader and Malleus. As soon as the dark-siders had left, the rest of the Joint Chiefs of Staff began to leave as well, intent on carrying out their duty...and winning favor and glory if it could be helped.

Before he could leave, however, Tarkin halted him, beckoning him over. "Admiral, a moment of your time, if you will," he asked...without really asking.

Curious, Pellaeon obliged him, coming to sit next to the Grand Moff.

"Motti was a fool about many things," the Governor of the Outer Rim Oversector confessed, "but he was correct in his assessment of Krennic's ineptitude and sloth. Once this project is completed, I will be taking command of the Death Star. I have a mind to use it on Arcadia or one of its outlying bases first before we destroy the Rebels with it, but even if we destroy our enemies without, it does nothing for our enemies within," Tarkin warned.

"Enemies within?" Pellaeon questioned.

"I forget that you are new to the politics and infighting in the upper ranks. There are more than a few general officers, governors, senators, and magistrates who wish to usurp the throne and seize the Empire for themselves. As long as Vader is there to protect our Emperor, I have no fear of them. The one I am concerned about, however, is Malleus," Tarkin answered and sighed. "After the Jedi had largely been dealt with, I warned His Grace that keeping the Inquisitorius around was risky. One sect of Force-users had betrayed him, after all. Who is to say this one won't? And Malleus is the most crafty and conniving of them all. Never be fooled by that man's smile and piety- underneath that mask is a lion ready to pounce on its prey when the opportunity presents itself."

"I'm sure Lord Vader could handle him," Pellaeon argued.

"That is true, but Vader is only one man. The Inquisition has dozens. They are weaker than Lord Vader, but even a powerful man can be undone by insurmountable odds. And if they take him out…"

"The Emperor will follow…" Pellaeon finished.

Tarkin nodded. "Correct, my friend. And then comes madness. Madness and stupidity. Once I take command of the Death Star, I will push for the Emperor and Lord Vader to disband and disbar the Inquisitorius, and once the Rebellion and Arcadia are crushed, I expect a long peace to follow."

"Well," Pellaeon said, "let us hope so."

"I almost forgot," Tarkin remembered," I wanted to introduce you to my protege. Admiral Pellaeon, I wish for you to meet my liaison to you, Commander Ellain Zahra. She has succeeded in every task I've set for her, and I expect greater things to come from her in the future," he said. His voice was as pointed as ever, but over the years serving with Thrawn, Pellaeon picked up on some pride seeping through Tarkin's tone.

He's grooming her to be his heir, he quickly realized.

A tall, young human woman stepped forth from the shadows. Her ebony hair was cut short and slicked back, where it barely reached the nape of her neck. Her cold, calculating blue eyes complimented her pale features, while her dark red lips were set in a neutral line. Like her mentor, she neither smiled nor frowned, but instead simply studied Pellaeon with a predatory gaze, as if she were a lioness stalking her prey.

Like father, like daughter, Pellaeon thought.

"Hello, Admiral Pellaeon," she greeted. "My mentor has told me a great many things about your superior. I'm curious if you live up to Thrawn's reputation. It would be a shame if the man's lessons fell on deaf ears."

"I'm sure the Admiral will perform quite well, Commander Zarha," Tarkin reassured, but Pellaeon picked up on the threat behind the words. Any failure will be met with swift death and disgrace. "Which reminds me… I am assigning the commander to be my liaison to you during the duration of the Outer Rim campaign. I have taught her everything I know in regard to politics, military tactics, and strategy, but it's high time that she learns what it means to command a fleet. I can think of no better way to do this than to accompany you on your mission."

Not to mention it would be the best opportunity for you to keep your eyes and ears on me at all times, Pellaeon thought. But he chose to keep that to himself, and instead answered, "If she's anything like you, governor, I do not doubt that she'll excel."

Tarkin said nothing in response, but instead offered a slight smile and a nod of encouragement, then got up to leave. "Admiral, Commander, it is here we must part. I will head for Eriadu and prepare. I bid you goodbye and good fortunes."

With that, Tarkin left the conference room, leaving just Pellaeon and Zarha in the cold, cool chamber.

The younger woman turned towards the older man, her eyes always calculating, but Gilad could detect a hint of excitement behind those hard blue orbs. The kind of excitement you see when a hunter finds her prey.

"Well, Admiral," she spoke, her voice commanding yet inviting, "shall we begin?"

Notes:

A/N: 'Nother chapter is done!

If anyone is unfamiliar with Ellain Zarha, she's essentially the "canon replacement" for Daala, who was a major figure in the post-ROTJ Legends-verse. Unfortunately, in canon Zarha is rather underutilized, so here I will be making proper rectifications.

The Empire is reeling from their defeat at Arcadia, but are gearing, as ever, to strike back. I'm not entirely sure yet if I want to do a Sloane or an Irene chapter next, but after this next one will start Ezra's "Trial of the Spirit" among other things.

Till next time!

Chapter 52: Irene II

The bells tolled their grim, melancholic tune, as the sky was dark and weeping, soaking the attendants where they stood. No smiles were worn on the faces of the select few who had been chosen to attend this execution, and the firing squad seemed even more forlorn.

Alexios, honorable to a fault, had decided that Thrawn would not face the public in the town square to be hung like a common murderer, but rather a private execution by a blaster shot in the palace courtyard, attended by only the new courtiers, the royal family, and a few officers.

From the far end of the open yard came Thrawn, his hands cuffed behind his back, escorted by two of the Excorsitoi. His old uniform had been given back to him, and for this occasion, he had been shaved off his beard and had his hair trimmed, as befitting an officer of his rank.

It was quite ironic, Irene thought. They were dressing him up to die.

They stopped before a stake set up in the middle of the courtyard. The guards quickly undid his handcuffs and proceeded to place him in front of the stake, tying his hands behind it.

Her brother walked before the disgraced Chiss admiral, studying him as the firing squad marched into place.

A long moment of silence passed between the two, before Alexios spoke, in his monotone, solemn voice.

"If you have any words, sir now is the time," he requested.

"I only request this, your grace," Thrawn spoke, clear and calm as ever, "that you give my body to my family on Csilla, so that I may have an honorable burial, and that you take the threats from the Unknown Region seriously."

Alexios stood still for a short moment, then nodded tersely, and walked away from the stake, coming to join Irene and the others in the small crowd.

The firing squad turned to face the admiral, who looked on blankly as if he had accepted his fate and was just counting down to the inevitable before another guard put a blindfold over his eyes.

"Squad, attention!"

The squad stood ramrod straight.

"Firing party, load weapons!" the sergeant commanded.

In perfect unison, the firing squad loaded their cartridges into their blaster rifles. However, only one cartridge was loaded with any charge. The rest were blank, for no one could know who fired the shot.

"Firing party, ready weapons!" was the command given.

The squad all aimed their weapons at Thrawn. The air became so tense that you could cut it with a lightsaber. And then...the pregnant pause gave birth to one, simple, loud command.

"Squad, FIRE!"

Five rifles crackled, and one bolt flew.

That bolt sped its way through the heart of the Chiss admiral, burning through his body, through the stake, and hitting the sandbags placed behind them, dissipating in the cool dirt. Thrawn's body jerked as his heart burned and exploded in his chest, then fell limp, his legs losing strength and collapsing underneath him. His body was prevented from completely falling over by the stake, and thus the corpse came to a sort of "sitting" position as his head tilted forward.

A medic ran up and checked on Thrawn, and after a long, silent moment, shook his head.

"Prisoner is confirmed deceased. Time of death is 1505, on the 12th of November, 7975."

Irene let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. It was done, then. The man who was responsible for assaulting their home and killing so many men, women, and children was dead.

So why wasn't she...happy?

Deep down, she knew the true reason why, though right now she did not want to admit it to herself. The man who killed her father was still at large. The woman who had betrayed her was still at large. The grief and the depression were still there, but now it was being replaced by something else, something she didn't know she was even capable of.

Anger.

Rage.

Hate was beginning to well up inside her. She loved Moreena, and she had repaid that love with treachery. Now, she wanted nothing more than to see her brother bring her Moreena's head and mount it on a spike for all to see, along with Vader's.

Patience, something inside her said, you will have your vengeance against all who wronged you and your country soon enough. Your brother will see to it that the Hutts, the Empire, and your traitorous former lover pay dearly for this.

She shook her head. She shouldn't be wanting this! Her father had warned them of the folly of their ancestors who had been among the ranks of the old Sith, of how they let their rage and lust for revenge destroy them time and time again. The Patriarch and all the priests of the Triad also warned those who submitted fully to bloodlust would damn their souls to oblivion.

But why did Moreena deserve forgiveness? She betrayed the family that took her in and loved her as one of their own. Irene had even planned on courting her for her hand after the wedding- damn what the church thought!

It was with these conflicting thoughts churning in her head like a storm that she hurriedly walked out of the courtyard back to her room, not bothering to see Thrawn's corpse being dragged away by the soldiers to be interned for transportation to the Chiss Ascendancy.

And unknown to her, her brother followed close behind.

---

Arcadia was so beautiful this time of year, she mused silently and absently.

The weather was cooling, and most people were beginning to wear sweaters or jackets to keep warm in the cool, crisp air. Trees around the northern hemisphere were beginning to shed their leaves, turning the foliage from green to beautiful shades of orange, yellow, brown...and red.

Soon, winter would be upon the capital, blanketing the lands in white snow and grey clouds. Fitting, she thought. Winter was known to be a time of darkness and death, and many young men and women, not to mention countless civilians in the Outer Rim and elsewhere, were going to die in the fires and horror of war.

Her thoughts were still churning after the execution. By all rights, she should be glad that her brother was taking the fight to the enemy which had wounded them so. She wanted vengeance as much as her brother...and yet she didn't. Before the Red Wedding, she hadn't experienced someone dying violently before. She was only an infant when her mother died from the influenza epidemic that had swept through the Outer Rim, and due to her palace upbringing, she had been largely inundated by the harsh realities of the galaxy. Sure, she had seen poverty, crime, drug addiction, and despair aplenty on her charitable missions to the Blood Gulch, but she had never before that night seen a man's throat ripped open, nor did she hear how sentients screamed when wounded and dying.

She never knew just how much blood was in a person's body until she saw it cover the floor in that reception hall like red water.

She heard a sharp rap at her door. She did not bother turning to see who it was. She already knew.

"How are you holding up?"

The way that Alexios phrased it, it almost sounded like a command rather than a question, though she knew her brother well enough to realize that he was meaning well.

"I don't know, big brother," she answered, feeling distant from him right now. "Other than being betrayed by my closest friend and seeing my father and most of the people I knew growing up being murdered in front of my eyes by guests we had invited into our home, I'm perfectly peachy."

Alexios said nothing, choosing to shut the door. Even he knew well enough that some things should be said in private, after all.

"Sister," he said at last, "I've known you practically all my life. I know when you're lying."

Irene did not say anything. He was right. He knew her too well. She turned to her older brother, whose eyes were not the hard topaz gems that people usually saw, but soft and understanding.

"I…" she tried to get out but found that she couldn't find the words to describe her grief.

Perhaps there were no words.

"You loved her, didn't you?" Alexios asked. There was no malice behind the question. Only an observation, and a tone of realization.

Without saying anything, Irene ran to her brother and collapsed into him, her body wracking itself with uncontrollable sobbing.

For his part, her older brother didn't say anything, wrapping his arms around her and stroking her hair, instead.

"Why…" she choked out. "Why did she do it…"

"She wanted to protect what was left of her blood family," Alexios replied, "but that doesn't make it right. Our enemies have made our kingdom bleed, Irene, and I do not forget that. I will not forgive that," he said, removing her from his grasp and looking her in the eyes, "and I swear to you, I will kill them all. Every last one of them."

---

That night, Irene learned much from her brother's new council. He was efficient, that much was clear. To start with, the Arcadian Fourth Fleet had initiated a blockade of Nal Hutta and its moon, and the Ministry of Law was already in the process of confiscating their former benefactors' immense wealth. For better or worse, Hutt Space was now the unofficial territory of the Arcadian Kingdom.

Some on the council wanted to initiate an orbital bombardment of Nal Hutta's surface. Others wished for a more limited strike on the Hutt Council Chambers. The one thing they agreed on, however, was that the heads of the Hutt clans had signed their death warrants when they agreed to commit treason with the Empire. In particular, Jabba was going to be rooted out of his palace and fed to a Sarlacc, or so Lund claimed, with barely disguised glee.

Long-awaited vengeance, Irene supposed.

But it wasn't all "good" news. They had received reports that Imperial forces had been abandoning large parts of the Outer Rim, dismantling all critical infrastructure, burning crop fields, and taking livestock as they went. It was clear to anyone with half a mind- that the Empire was engaging in scorched earth tactics, reinforcing their strong points in the Outer Rim while ensuring that the Arcadian supply lines would remain stretched out to the breaking point.

Thus, instead of a grand offensive like many officers had originally hoped for, Alexios ordered a limited offensive concentrated on their eastern flank, intending on seizing the supply routes running through Teth, Formos, and Syvris, with the eventual goal of seizing important industry and research centers around Kessel. As one general put it, it would effectively cut Imperial communications and supply routes in half while freeing up their forces for bigger campaigns.

At the meeting's close, Alexios had sent out an ultimatum to those Hutts and others in Hutt Space who had yet to receive him- bend the knee or be destroyed root and stem. Most, Irene figured, would obey this missive out of fear.

After the meeting, everyone retired to their bed-chambers, with the curious exception of Lund, she noted. He had claimed that he needed to meet with a special agent of his on a matter of grave importance, but for what he would not say. Both her kingly brother and her uncle had decided to leave it alone, and she followed suit.

It was just now that she found herself in her bed-chamber, staring at the ceiling in her nightgown, trying to calm her still-turbulent thoughts to go to sleep.

She wanted revenge, that much she knew, but she also wanted things to back to the way things were. No, they couldn't go back to the past. Things have changed too much, now. She was changing too much now. Her skin was turning from porcelain to ivory, and eventually, it would become steel, she was sure.

But as her brother told her- her family will get justice. They were the blood of Revan, and they would answer any wrong done to their family and their people with fire.

Fire and blood.

Notes:

A/N: Well, here's my short little 'filler' chapter before we get back to Yavin. At some point, I'll do another Sloane chapter, but it isn't right now.

Yeah, I know. A lot of you are going to be pissed off that Thrawn died, but as I said before- I wanted to show the darker sides of Arcadian society. And here, he gets a more dignified death than he does in Legends or in some fanfics I've seen.

For those wondering why Irene seems so incoherent right now, it's because she's still grieving everything that happened. She's angry, lost, confused, and wanting to 'fix' everything, and for a Force-sensitive, that's not a good combination. Whether she'll become like Daenerys remains to be seen.

Till next!

Chapter 53: Hera II

In all her years of commanding men into battle, in all her time at war…

There were few things as boring or as drool as briefings, and oddly enough there were few things as important as them. It was quite the conundrum, she mused quietly.

"In short, our offensive into the eastern Outer Rim is going very well," Lund spoke through the hologram. Currently, Alliance High Command was engaging in an "inter-service briefing" with their Arcadian counterparts. "Teth and Formos have fallen to our forces, and the Seventh Fleet is laying siege to Svyris as we speak. The Imperials in that sector have been encircled."

"Excellent news, Minister Lund," Mon Mothma congratulated. Before she could continue, however, Duke Lund raised his hand.

"Unfortunately, however, our attack on Daalang was repulsed. Moderate losses, however, we both need every man we can spare. For the time being, we are in a stalemate with the Empire until more troops and materials can be mobilized and sent to the front. Now, how is it on your end?"

Mon Mothma sighed, "Not as well as I hoped. While your supply of surplus weapons and vehicles has aided immensely, as well as those former Imperial naval personnel whom you sent over to us, the truth of the matter is that we're still rather limited right now to guerrilla strikes on Imperial transports and depots. Until we get a breakthrough on any industrial world like Mon Cala or Mandalore, we aren't going to be able to aid you in a conventional battle, Minister Lund," she informed, her voice full of sadness.

Lund groaned and rubbed his hand down his porcine face. "I fucking figured as much. Dank Ferrik. At any rate, your help is appreciated immensely. Because you incited rebellions and lightning strikes on the convoys, the Imps have been taken to guarding their most important worlds while leaving the undeveloped ones out to dry."

"We also appreciate the aid your intelligence agency has given us," General Dravin of Alliance Military Intelligence spoke up. Standing next to him was Captain Alexsandr Kallus, once an ISB agent and a sworn enemy, now a good friend of theirs.

"I likewise appreciate what your intel has given us," Lund thanked back. "Without your intel, we would have never caught and defeated that ambush near Ylesia. Now, ladies and gentlemen, I must get back to my duties. Good luck, and may the Force be with the lot of you."

"And also with you, Thrakas Lund," Mon said back. With that, the hologram shut off, and the Alliance generals were left alone in the dark, dimly lit room.

"Permission to speak, Senator?" came a familiar voice at the far end of the holotable. There, in an Alliance general's uniform, was Robb Stark, and Hera knew exactly by the look on Robb's face what was about to happen.

Oh, fuck, she thought as she put a hand to her swollen belly, this is going to be bad.

"Permission to speak is granted, General Stark," Mon replied in that neutral tone of voice. Robb nodded to her and began.

"Senator, with all due respect, it has been nearly six months since the Battle of Arcadia. Six months we've let the momentum slip by and get back into the hands of the Empire. We now have the men, the ships, and the material for to mount an assault on Lothal or aid the Mandalorians in their struggle for independence, and yet what are we doing?" he asked, his voice starting to rise.

"The Empire has too many-" Mon started to say before the Grey Wolf angrily cut her off. It was then Hera knew that Robb had reached his breaking point.

"Bollocks, Mon!" he exclaimed, "Bloody fucking bollocks! Seven months ago, we risked life and limb to give you the Katana Fleet. Six months ago, we gained one of the most powerful allies we could ever ask for, and the crew needed to operate the fleet. Four months ago, we finally received enough fuel and munitions to launch our assault on any target of our choosing, and yet you want to sit here and do what? Wait for a FUCKING COMMITTEE OF PEOPLE WHO WOULD RATHER SIT AND COWER BEFORE THE EMPIRE?" he yelled, slamming his hands on the holotable. "I get not wanting to waste men on fruitless ventures, especially not when the enemy outnumbers you ten-to-one. But by all the gods, you can't just twiddle your damned thumbs and wait for the enemy to make a move! Hell, we've known about the Death Star for over a year, now, and yet we don't launch a raid on Scariff because, why? WHY?"

"We don't know what the station's weakness is," Dravin countered, "and even if we did-"

"Then bloody find that out then!" Robb snapped. "Every minute we waste hands the Empire backs the momentum. They are fighting a war most of this leadership thinks even hasn't started. Gods damn it all…" he sighed. "Saw might be a terrorist and a butcher of innocents, but at least he's out there fighting."

"Well, you certainly did your share of butchering back then," muttered General Madine, and Hera knew before he did that he had fucked up...big time.

Sure enough…

Robb rounded the table and got in Crix Madine's face, and in a voice so low that everyone had to strain to hear him, he spoke.

"Compare me to that madman again. I dare you, Crix. Say that I bomb civilians and gun down Imperial civilians as he does. Go ahead. I'm waiting," he said, in a low and dangerous voice.

The room went as silent as the void. Everyone held their breath, waiting if the two generals were going to come to blows, or if one would back off.

As fortune would have it, Madine backed off first, averting his eyes and lowering his head. Robb stood triumphant, before turning back towards Mon Mothma. "Forgive me, ma'am," he said, his voice now sounding strained, "it's been long several months, and my men seek action. All they want to do is win this war, Senator."

Mon nodded, looking drained from the experience. "We all do, General Stark," she sighed. "I believe this concludes the briefing, ladies and gentlemen. Good luck, and may the Force be with you all."

With that, everyone filed out of the briefing room, and Hera made it her mission to find where Robb stalked off. She had a feeling she knew where, but she wanted to make sure, first.

---

If there was one thing she did not enjoy while being pregnant, it was walking long distances. The strain the baby was putting on her back was killing her, and it made it worse having to work all this time. Kanan kept telling her to take it easy, but the Alliance still needed her, and she wasn't one to shirk duty. However, she made a note to go to check in with the base's doctor for a sonogram, as she was past her sixth month and was at the beginning of the third trimester. Within two more months, the baby would be due, and if she were being honest with herself, the thought both excited her and terrified her.

It's not that she didn't want a child. Far from it. But a large part of her worried about her child's safety and wellbeing. A war was nowhere near the best time to raise a child, and with her duty as a general and Kanan's as a knight, she did not know how they were going to raise them properly.

A part of her considered asking her father, but she shot that out of her mind immediately. He had his own hands full with Ryloth's struggle for liberation, and she wasn't too sure if he'd accept a "half-Twi'lek", given how staunchly traditionalist he was.

She sighed out loud. She would just have to cross that bridge when it came to it.

Reaching the hangar bay, she spotted a few familiar droids. She could pick out Chopper from a distance, and with him, she spotted the grumpy logician AP-5 and the murder-happy HK-47, who now had a brand new body- a late Clone Wars model BX-series commando droid, which had been painted dark orange upon his request and modified extensively to be even more lethal.

"Exclamatory: Ah, General Syndulla! What brings you out here? If you are inquiring about where your Jedi lover is, he's out training with Master Bridger and several of your meatbag friends, including Captain Wren," HK spoke first.

Hera quickly waved him off. "I'm not looking for Kanan right now, HK. I need to ask if any of you have seen where Robb ran off. He erupted at the briefing and stormed off when it was over."

"I believe I saw General Stark," AP drolled. "He walked off to the Ghost, where I believe he went into his room and shut the door. I don't think I've ever seen him that angry before."

Chopper warbled in disagreement. The cranky astromech had seen Robb that enraged before- multiple times. It was mostly when he felt people were putting them in danger.

"Advisement: General, it may not be my place, but you might want to ask Admiral Greyjoy what to do. You did tell me that he's known Stark for the longest, and he might be able to help you in that regard."

She paused. Theon has known Robb since he was a boy. Perhaps he could be able to help after all.

"Alright," she said, "I'll consider it. Do any of you know where Theon is?"

"Hmmm," AP pondered, "if I had to venture a guess, I'd say he's helping out young Lieutenant Mattin on his X-Wing. He's taken a shining to the boy, I think."

That was news, Hera thought. Ever since Commander Sato's death, Mart had been rather listless and lost, much like how Ezra was when they first encountered him on Lothal. Theon had taken it upon himself to act as a mentor to the boy, and she had noticed a marked improvement in his performance as a fighter pilot- when she had still been able to fly, that is. He was even close to rivaling Wedge and Hobbie in prowess. She had considered enrolling his two friends in her squadron, but Gooti insisted on working in maintenance, and Jan was too enamored with learning infantry tactics from Rex to be a fighter pilot.

She nodded towards the droids, "Thanks, guys," she said in gratitude, then looked pointedly at Chopper, "Don't shirk your chores too long, Chop. I still need the comms on the Ghost re-calibrated by sundown."

Chopper warbled in protest as Hera walked away, while HK comforted the astromech by saying that they could try to murder some more Imps later on, and AP just groaned in disgust.

Hera found that she had only a little way to walk before finding Theon and Mart. The former was given the latter advice on how to more accurately navigate through tight corridors, and how to find and use secret hyperspace lanes, while Mart was doing maintenance checks on his X-Wing.

"So the key to charting a hyperspace route is basically to take the known position of each star or other celestial body, do a bit of guesswork on its mass, and take small jumps until you make it safely to your destination," Theon finished explaining as Hera walked up to them.

"Isn't that still incredibly dangerous?" Mart asked. "There are uncharted black holes and space debris from previous battles floating around, to name a few things."

"Yes, it is. But it also helps to have a local guide when finding secret lanes. The Wookiees, the Hapans, and numerous other groups have hyperspace lanes known only to themselves and a few select others. Knowledge is power, and if you know more than your enemy, you can defeat him easily."

Mart laughed. "True, I suppose, but it almost makes you sound like Thrawn," he joked.

Theon smiled. "We all learn from the best, I suppose." He turned his head to see Hera looking at them. "Ah, Hera. What brings you over here?" Theon asked her.

"It's about Robb," she informed him. "He got into a rather heated argument with Mon Mothma and the other members of High Command. Now he's locked himself in his room on the Ghost, or so I was told. I was wondering if you have any advice for me."

"To talk to him?" Theon inquired. When Hera nodded her head, Theon sighed. "My best advice to you is to leave the man to simmer down. Stark men are stubborn, and when they get angry, they become extremely hard-headed. Not unlike Mandalorians. So, I'd just let him meditate and clean his sword. When he's ready to talk to you, he will," he advised, running his hands through his silver beard. "I take it that he got angry over Mon Mothma's refusal to do any remotely large operation?"

Hera nodded. "That's the long and short of it."

Theon grimaced. "I see. To be completely honest, Hera, I agree with him wholeheartedly on this. You can't run a military operation like a civilian government. I know most of the Senators who've formed this Alliance want to act as if the Republic was already restored, but in the process of making every major decision, the Council is hamstringing the generals and admirals. Not to mention that it's going to start making King Alexios question our very coalition. They need us to open up another front, and we can't do that by being overly cautious. I can tell you that everyone's frustrated by this, even you."

Hera winced. She did not want to admit it, but he was right. She had joined this rebellion in the hopes of eventually liberating Ryloth, but so far Mon Mothma was still adamant in shooting for a diplomatic solution, even when she and most others had long recognized that the time for diplomacy had long passed. It seemed that out of the Senators who compromised the Council, only Bail Organa and his daughter, Leia, had any real sense about them. The others seemed to think that they could force Palpatine to the table, but she knew better-

Her father had seen Palpatine's horrendous cruelty and narcissism firsthand.

No, the only way the Alliance could win this war was by destroying the Imperial government root and stem. Robb and Theon had the right of it. They had the right of it all along.

But she couldn't just act against orders. She was still a military woman at heart, and orders were orders. Until Mon Mothma gave the order to move, they were stuck there.

But did they have to be?

Hera knew that Sabine was planning on leaving for home soon to help liberate and rally her people. Perhaps...perhaps if she could persuade one of the other general staff into covertly authorizing a strike using the Katana Fleet, maybe to support an attack on Lothal, or to aid Sabine in some way, then maybe Mon Mothma could come to see that they needed to go on the offensive instead of sitting idly by.

A plan was forming in her head. It was risky- very risky- and it went against everything she knew as far as military decorum and ethics went, but if this worked, then not only would they relieve pressure off the Arcadians, but they'd force the Empire to fight a multi-front war.

A war in which this coalition of there's could realistically win.

"Thank you, Theon," she said. "I think I know what to do, now. But before I do anything else, I have to get a sonogram scheduled for my baby," she informed him while placing a hand over her rounded belly.

Theon nodded. "Anytime, Hera. Good luck with the doctor."

With that, Hera turned and walked towards the direction of the med-bay. Now that one problem was resolved, there was another that needed her attention...

---

Fortunately for her, the base's doctor had few and far between appointments today. Guess there was one good thing about not seeing much in the way of action aside from the occasional raid and mission- the nurse droid was able to schedule her fairly quickly, and now she was in one of the maternity wards, surrounded by medical equipment of various kinds, laying rather comfortably on the bed. Kanan had gotten done training with Ezra, Sabine, and Cal Kestis a while ago, and was now in her with her, sitting beside her, holding her hand.

It was just then the base's chief doctor came in. It was a middle-aged Umbaran woman by the name of Tai Parsis- along with her assistant, a 2-1B series medical droid.

"General Syndulla," the doctor greeted kindly, "Knight Jarrus. It's been quite a while since I've seen either of you. I hope the stress of the war isn't putting too much stress on you and the baby."

"I'm managing just fine," Hera politely informed her.

Parsis nodded. "Good. If you would please lift your shirt, we can begin. I need to apply the transducer gel before we can use the ultrasound."

Hera did as she was asked, raising her shirt to expose her swollen belly. Dr. Parsis put on a pair of medical gloves and had 2-1B take out a tube of clear, translucent gel from one of the medicine cabinets. When the droid handed it to her, she opened it and applied a bit of it on Hera's stomach. Then, she had the droid hand her an ultrasound tool- a small, wand-shaped device with a white ball at the end of it, designed to emit high-frequency sound waves and translate them to images on a special hologram set up at the other end of the room. The doctor took the wand from the droid's mechanical wand, and pressed it on Hera's belly, not applying too much pressure in consideration of the little passenger inside of the Twi'lek rebel.

"Alright, I'm getting a good reading," the doctor announced. "If you both would draw your attention to the holoprojector," she indicated, pointing towards the device.

The holoprojector whirred to life, and a three-dimensional image of Hera's abdomen appeared. There, inside the uterus, was a small, human-like creature, still developing but at this stage recognizable as a sentient lifeform.

It was their child.

"Well, the baby looks healthy, and at this stage in your pregnancy, we should be able to determine the sex. Let's take a look here…" the doctor said, moving the wand around the little.

The holographic projection of the baby moved, as the doctor needed to get a better look at the bottom half. With some finagling, she finally managed to achieve it, and they saw it-

A pair of lumps forming where the genitalia would be; the beginnings of a penis and a pair of testes.

The baby was a boy.

"Congratulations, Syndulla, and Jarrus. You're going to have a son," she congratulated, smiling at them. "Hope you have a name picked out for him."

Hera looked at Kanan, who 'looked' right back at her with a smile on his lips. They had been discussing for a long time what they were going to name their child, and although they hadn't yet agreed on a girl's name, they eventually decided on something for a boy, and it had ultimately been her suggestion for it that Kanan agreed to- a memory of her deceased older brother.

"We already do," she said to the doctor. "His name will be Jacen Syndulla."

Doctor Parsis nodded. "Well, I wish you both and Jacen a long life and happiness. When you're due, please come see me again, and I'd be more than glad to welcome Jacen into this world. You can leave here at any time you wish, General. I bid you both a very fond farewell for now."

With that, the doctor got up and left the ward, followed closely by her assistant droid. After they had left, Kanan helped Hera to her feet, and then the two embraced each other.

No matter what happened in this war, she swore to herself as tears of joy streamed down her cheeks, she would protect her son from anyone who would harm him, nor would she let anyone take him from them. Not the Empire, not pirates…

No one.

Notes:

A/N: And here is where I (sort of) introduce our little cucumber into the mix.

So, tensions are high between the general staff of the Alliance and the Council which runs it. One of the most baffling things to me about the new canon is the absolutely horrendous decisions Mon Mothma seems to consistently make. She presents almost willful blindness in her quest to restore things back "to the way things were before Palpatine", seemingly unaware that the way the Galactic Republic was is the very thing that led to Palpatine's rise to power. Dictators are never born out of a vacuum, after all. This doesn't even get into the fact of how she and other dissident Senators want to run the Alliance as they would run the civilian side of the Republic, even though the Alliance is strictly a military organization designed for fighting a guerrilla war against a larger armed force.

Up next, Ezra's birthday, his Trial of the Spirit, and a few surprises Sabine has in store for him. Maybe some lemony goodness… ;)

Stay tuned!

Chapter 54: Ezra VIII

Summary:

Ezra undergoes his trials. Sabine has a surprise birthday present for Ezra.

Notes:

A/N: THERE BE LEMONS AHEAD. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

This was never a day he looked forward to.

Other men his age could look forward to their birthdays. When most men turned eighteen, they celebrated leaving the homes of their parents or their guardians, going out to make their mark on the galaxy, or gaining some measure of freedom in their respective worlds. He, however, could never celebrate the day of his birth…

For the Galactic Empire was born on the same day he was, the very same Empire that had stolen away and murdered his parents when he was but a young child, leaving him as a starving orphan on the cold streets of Capital City on Lothal.

Every year, on the twentieth of May- Empire Day to the rest of the galaxy- he became quiet and forlorn. Though the pain had subsided over the years thanks to his surrogate family in the Specters, he still ached on his birthday.

He let out a sigh as he sat on top of the Ghost, watching the sunrise in the east. He pulled out a device in his pocket and activated the holopicture of his family, the one that Sabine had restored for him years ago, back when he was a selfish beggar and she was a warrior artist with a broken past.

"Mom, Dad…" he began to speak to the photo, as if his parents were really there, "Today's a big day for me, aside from the obvious reasons. Kanan said that it was perhaps going to be the most important day of my life. Dunno how much that's true, but I feel something major will happen soon. I've got a lot of feelings right now. I'm worried about the future and excited for it at the same time," he chuckled, though it was one without mirth. "I… don't know what to do about Azhadi," he confessed after a moment. "I need to know the truth, but… I'm afraid of what I might find. If he willingly sold you out to save himself…" he trailed off. He willed himself to not go down that road. He would confront him when the time came, but that time was not now. He needed to focus on the present.

He sensed a warm, familiar presence coming from behind him, emerging from the hatch. He didn't need to look next to him to find his lover coming to sit next to him.

"A credit for your thoughts?" Sabine asked him.

Ezra sighed. "Just have a lot of thoughts on my mind due to it being...well, my birthday," he admitted after a moment of silence. "One of the things that keep coming back to me is what Malleus said to me when I was dueling him. That Azhadi betrayed my parents to save himself."

Sabine frowned, ever so slightly. "I don't think you should worry about the words of some Imperial Sith-spit. Especially the words coming from the Grand Inquisitor himself. He was trying to get inside your head, from where I'm standing."

Ezra nodded. "Yeah. You know what Robb told us, though? 'Every lie has a kernel of truth hidden in it, no matter how small.' I get that he was trying to deceive me, or at least get into my head during that fight, but I have to know the truth."

Sabine looked at him, understanding in her eyes. She knew that anything related to his parents was important to him. "Well, we won't know until we go back to Lothal, and when you confront him on this, I'll be by your side, all the way," she told him, squeezing his hand for comfort. "Anyway, Kanan told me to come and get you. He has something to tell you, but he wouldn't say what it was," she informed him.

Ezra's curiosity was piqued at that. For the past six months, he felt that something had been building up, but it seemed that everyone had cats steal their tongues whenever he brought it up - Kanan and Cal remained tight-lipped to this day about it.

He nodded to his girlfriend. "Alright, then. I guess I better go see what he wants, then," he told her. Before he got up, however, Sabine turned his face to meet hers, and the twinkle in her eye told him that she was up to something. "Don't be too long, Ez'ika", she said, using her new, endearing nickname for him, "I got a few surprises for you when you get back from whatever you and Kanan are going to do."

Ezra raised his eyebrow and smirked. "Oh? And what might those be?"

"You have to wait and find out," she countered, winking at him, before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. She soon clamored down the hatch, and after a while, Ezra followed, curious as to see what Kanan wanted. He had a good feeling that it was something important.

He just had no idea how important it was.

---

It was mid-morning by the time that he had reached his master, who he found alongside Cal on the outskirts of some ancient ruin- a tomb that sent shivers up his spine as he neared it as if some malevolent wraith was abiding in this place.

Like other Massassi tombs and temples, it was constructed in the shape of a great pyramid, situated in the middle of a small island in a lake. Unlike the other temples, however, this one had a far more sinister appearance, for it was constructed of black basalt and obsidian. A tall statue of a long-dead Lord of the Sith straddled the top of the structure, leering down at the three Jedi as if they were unworthy intruders to its dark domain.

Ezra suppressed a shudder. "Hey, Kanan," he greeted. "Sabine told me that you needed to speak to me about something important. Guessing whatever it is has to do with this place?"

Kanan nodded. "It does. This place, as you may have sensed already, is a place infested by the Dark Side of the Force. It's the tomb of a powerful Sith Lord, and it's the site of your last lesson. Your final test."

Ezra's eyes widened in surprise. "My final lesson?" he asked

"Yes. I've taught you everything I could, Ezra, and you picked up on things from other people. There's only one thing you have yet to understand, and this place will teach you. That's..all I can say about it. You're going to have to find out for yourself what it is," Kanan informed him.

Ezra didn't know where to begin. What was this final lesson? Why was Kanan being tight-lipped about this? So many questions and he had no answers to any of them. He figured, then, he would get those answers in that dark, foreboding temple, only a few dozen meters away on a desolate island.

He turned to move, but Cal stopped him. "One more thing, my young friend," he warned. "You won't need your weapons in there. Trust me, it's better if you relied on the Force."

Not willing to argue, Ezra took off his utility belt and handed both his blaster and lightsaber to Kanan, who nodded and put them on a nearby ledge for safekeeping.

"May the Force be with you, Ezra," Kanan said, a slight smile on his face.

"And with you, master," Ezra told him back, warmly, before turning towards the dark temple in the near distance. He looked for a way to get across the lake and found that there was a path of stepping stones, standing a few inches below the water.

Carefully, he stepped onto the first black stone, squinting to see where the others were, as it was difficult to see in the murky water. Somehow, he got the feeling that it was designed this way, forcing him to keep his head down in "reverence" to the monster buried in this decrepit place.

After what seemed like half an hour of crossing his way across the perilous path, he arrived at the entrance to the tomb. On the archway were carved ancient runes. He could not read them, as he did not focus on runology as Ahsoka had, but he figured that they were a warning to trespassers like him to stay away.

Steeling himself, he pushed open the great onyx doors and entered the dark tomb. As he entered, the door slammed behind him, completely encasing him in silent, cold darkness… for a moment, that was.

A little Jedi comes into my abode, and a deep, wicked voice spoke. Well, now. This is indeed exciting. Come on in, friend. Come deeper into my home. I'll be sure to make you welcome here.

In almost an instant, dim green flames appeared on torch scones throughout the chamber, making this place seem more unholy and abominable than before.

Stowing his dread, Ezra treads further into the tomb, repeating a familiar mantra to himself. "I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me…" he whispered to still his racing heart.

The dark voice laughed. "Yes. Deeper. Into the depths you go, little Padawan. I can feel your emotions. Anger. Fear. Hatred. You have tasted the Dark Side before. I can sense it. It felt good, didn't it, my young friend?

Ezra pointedly ignored the cavernous voice, continuing to the antechamber that stood right before the main burial chamber. That's when he stepped on something...strange.

It wasn't stone, nor was it dirt. It was wet, cold, and crunchy. Something that shouldn't have existed in a hot, humid jungle world like Yavin, and yet here it was.

A pair of voices came from the distance. At first, they were indistinct, but as he trod closer to the source, they became more and more clear. One was warm and familiar to him, the other was foreign and stony, but both sounded related.

"You must realize that this is for the good of the clan," the elder woman was saying, "Without this marriage, we wouldn't stand a chance of defeating the Empire alone. With the resources of the Skiratas, however, we can tip the odds in our favor."

"I know, mother," the younger, familiar woman said, sighing. The women came into view at long last, and Ezra was struck by the visage of Sabine and her mother, but Sabine looked...different. More regal and less colorful. Her hair was its natural shade of brown, and she had a grim air about her that he never felt before.

Was this the future, he wondered? Was this something that was meant to be?

"I just wish… things were different. That I wasn't marrying out of duty to my home and people," the vision of Sabine said.

"We all have to sacrifice, Sabine, to achieve victory. Your Jedi friend understands that, or at least he should. Now, come along. We have to prepare for the ceremony…"

As the two walked off, Ezra attempted to reach out to them, to talk Sabine out of it, but then it hit him-

This was it.

This was the final lesson that Kanan was talking about.

This was what this dead Sith Lord was mocking him over.

A Jedi, he realized, above all else had to place duty above love.

A Jedi had to learn to let go of his attachments when the time was right.

With tears coming unbidden to his eyes, he let the vision pass, and the chamber was restored to normal.

Emotion, yet peace

He drew a deep breath, and continued onward, ready for whatever this temple was going to throw at him, certain that this Sith spirit would conjure up more mirages to break him.

Soon enough, he came to the main chamber of the temple- a large burial room, replete with stolen treasures of a culture long destroyed. At the end of the chamber, a large mural of the Sith Lord who haunted this tomb peered at him with stained-glass eyes, ever-guarding the stone sarcophagus in the center of the room.

The sarcophagus itself was set on a tall dais made of black onyx, with runes carved all around it in dedication to the Dark Lord buried within.

Ignorance, yet knowledge

As the first vision, he began to hear a voice coming from the other side of the chamber. It was older, male, but also familiar to him. He had only known who the voice belonged to for a brief time, yet he knew too well who it was.

Sitting at a desk, in an Imperial uniform, was a slightly younger Ryder Azhadi, looking haphazard and speaking to someone Ezra very much disliked through the hologram- Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin.

"Governor Tarkin, sir," Azhadi was pleading, "with all due respect, arresting Ephraim and Mira Bridger…"

"Will serve as an example to the rest of the rebellious rabble on your planet, governor Ahzadi," Tarkin cut off, "or perhaps I should arrest you instead and make you watch as my forces dismantle your capital piece by piece, and send off it's...citizenry to the mines of Kessel and elsewhere?"

Ryder's face fell. "No. I'll...make the call to Senator Trayvus. He can lure the Bridgers in, where our security forces will be waiting for them."

Tarkin nodded. "Good. I would hate to have to replace you with Pryce. You know that Arhidna has been itching for her chance for vengeance against you, correct?"

"Yes.." was Ryder's sullen response.

Ezra felt his fist clench. Did everyone whom his parents trusted betray them? Did Ryder do this to save himself, or save Lothal?

What are you waiting for? Kill him! Take your vengeance now, the voice spoke again, this time stronger and louder.

Ezra unclenched his fist and shook his head. No. This wasn't justice. This was his feelings of petty vengeance and anger towards anyone who harmed his parents. He realized at once that this, too, he needed to let go.

Passion, yet serenity

At once, the vision dissipated, and behind him, Ezra heard a terrible rumble, like the crash of thunder on the mountainside, or the roar of an erupting volcano. Out of the sarcophagus rose a dark spirit, cloaked in malice and hatred. Fiery red eyes fixed themselves upon the young Padawan, and the wraith spoke in a terrible voice.

"YOU LITTLE FOOL OF A JEDI. HOW DARE YOU DEFY MY WILL. DO YOU NOT KNOW OF WHO I AM? OF WHAT POWER I WIELD? I WAS THE GREATEST OF THE DARK LORDS IN ANCIENT DAYS! I SLEW COUNTLESS JEDI, ENTHRALLED ENTIRE WORLDS, AND BUILT MONUMENTS TO MY GLORY! I AM EXAR KUN, LORD AND MASTER OF THIS UNIVERSE!"

Ezra stared at the spirit, his mind steeled and his fear melted away. His mind had come to enlightenment, and all he could do was smile, for the spirit itself did not exist. This Sith- Exar Kun- had been long since dead, his soul consigned to the depths of the abyss. The only thing that remained of him was this mirage of a specter, terrible but impotent, having only the visage of power but not being able to harm any living being.

Chaos, yet harmony

"No," Ezra responded, his mind clear and his will stronger than beskar, "you are nothing. Nothing remains of your monuments. Your legacy is dust. You are nameless and faceless. Go back to the nothingness, and be forgotten once more."

The wraith screamed at him, reaching out to strike him, and then as if struck by a higher power, vanished, leaving the chamber cool and darkened once more.

Death, yet the Force

---

Sometime later, Ezra found his way out of the dark temple, bathing himself in the light of Yavin's noon sun. He made his way across the stone path leading back to the mainland, where he found Kanan, Cal, and a throng of his other friends waiting for him, including Sabine, who was wearing a knowing grin on her face.

Kanan nodded at Ezra as he came onto the beach, and activated his lightsaber, thumbing the switch to the "low-power" setting. "Ezra Bridger," he said, his voice more authoritative and proud than Ezra had ever recalled hearing before. "I bid thee kneel."

His heart racing, Ezra did as he was told, going down to one knee and bowing his head. He felt Kanan walk closer to him, and then felt the hum of his master's blade on his shoulder.

"In the name of the Council, I charge you to be brave," Kanan began, lifting his blade from Ezra's left shoulder and then settling it on his right. "In the name of the Order, I charge you to be just." He again switched to Ezra's other shoulder. "In the name of the Force, I charge you to defend the innocent," he finished, lifting his blade off his shoulder. "Arise, Ezra Bridger, a knight of the Old Republic."

At that moment, Ezra felt his breath left him. He had done it. He had passed every test set before him at that moment in time and had become a Jedi Knight, like his master before him, and countless generations back.

He stood up, both his flesh and cybernetic legs shaking underneath him, and he pulled his master- his surrogate father- into a hug, which the latter returned wholeheartedly. Around them, their friends and family clapped and cheered, and Sabine ran up to Ezra after he broke his embrace with Kanan, kissing him on the lips and embracing him tightly.

"Don't forget your surprises tonight, Ezra Bridger," she whispered to him, giving a playful nibble at his ear before breaking off the embrace.

Ezra smiled back at her. Oh, he would find out what surprise she had in store for him, and if her behavior was any indication, they were both going to enjoy it immensely.

---

The sun was just about to set when Ezra decided to head to Sabine's room after he had gotten done eating dinner in the mess hall. After about ten minutes of walking around the base, he arrived at her room. He rapped on the door and heard her voice coming through the durasteel.

"Come in, Ezra!"

The door slid open, and Ezra stepped inside to a world of color. Wonderful paintings of their friends and family adorned the walls, along with renditions of starbirds, wolves, ravens, and other animals, all done in her unique styles. He saw his lover standing in front of something that was covered by a sheet, while she had taken off her belt and had just gotten cleaned up. Interestingly enough, she had also taken off her beskar armor plates and set them to the side of the room, leaving nothing but her Mandalorian jumpsuit.

"Alright, Bean," Ezra spoke, waving his arms. "You've been acting coy all day, dear. What're these surprises you've got me so worked up about now?"

Sabine smirked and sashayed over to where the covering was. "Well, Ez'ika, for your first surprise birthday present, I did this for you," she said, taking off the cover.

It was Revan's restored armor, but it was the Prodigal Knight's no longer. Instead of the blacks, reds, and grays that had defined the gear of one of the galaxy's most well-known figures, instead, it was colored deep orange, highlighted by tan and gold lines. The cape and cloak, which were once black as night, were now a rich shade of midnight blue. Emblazoned on the breastplate was a black wolf and a white cat circling one another, and painted onto the cape where the twin moons of Lothal, faced one another. This was no longer Revan's armor, he realized in elation. This was now fully and officially his armor.

"Not much of a knight without armor, I'd think," Sabine joked, with a knowing smile on her face.

"Sabine...I… I don't know what to say. Thank you!"

"You're very much welcome, love, on to your second surprise," she said, and before Ezra could ask what it was, she started to slowly pull down the zipper of her jumpsuit, seductively biting her lip as she did so. She peeled back the top layer of the suit, revealing her bare skin, covered only in tattoos of her design, and a pair of perfect, round breasts covered by a bra.

"I want you to see me, Ezra," she said, slowly and surely. "I want you to see all of me."

Ezra was speechless for a moment. How often did he fantasize about this as a teenager? He quickly got the hint, however, and began to remove his clothing, starting by throwing off his shirt, and letting Sabine see the full results of nearly five hard years of war and training.

The Mandalorian warrior moved closer to the Jedi Knight, and before one could say 'ah', they began to hungrily kiss one another, their tongues dancing in each other's mouths like ballerinas in a performance. As they took breaths in between their passionate make-outs, they began to remove each other's remaining clothes. Ezra found himself undoing the strap of Sabine's bra, while she unzipped his pants and pulled them down. Soon, the two young adults were completely without clothes at all, tossing them by the wayside, and admiring each other in their glory.

Before him, Ezra found Sabine perfect in every way. From her tanned skin, and her athletic build, to her petite, perked breasts, and her sheath covered by a mound of hair, colored purple to match the hair on her head. In turn, he found Sabine eyeing him hungrily, looking at his lean, muscular physique and his sizable endowment.

Moving to kiss one another again, the pair moved to Sabine's bed, with the knight laying his warrior queen down on the sheets. He began to kiss her on the cheek, then he moved down to nibble her neck, eliciting moans from Sabine. He continued his movement downward, first at her collarbone, then at her breasts, where he paused to lick and kiss at her nipples, causing them to perk and harden for him. Hearing more approving moans from his lover, he continued to kiss her belly, then her thigh, and finally he arrived at her warm, inviting sheath. Pausing only for a moment, he began by kissing and licking at her button right above her entrance, causing Sabine to gasp in delight.

"Stars, yes. Keep going, please!" she pleaded to him.

Doing as he was told, Ezra quite licking at her button, and put his tongue into her sheath, burying his mouth into her delicious folds. He moved his tongue this way and that, making Sabine gasp and moan in ecstasy, as he smelled her sweet scent.

"Gods above! Yes, more!" she yelled, as she held her lover's head to keep him there, keeping a firm grasp on his hair, and she started to buck her hips into his face, burying it deeper into her velvety folds.

Soon, Ezra heard her scream, "Oh, kriff!" and was rewarded with her sweet nectar as she experienced an intense orgasm. Eagerly, he gulped it all down, savoring the taste of her.

Sabine indicated that she wanted to switch, and so Ezra obliged her, laying on his back while she peppered him with kisses, going down slowly until she reached his member. Smiling at him, she began to stroke him, leaving him shuddering in pleasure.

"You like that, don't you?" she asked him, her voice sweeter than candy. When he nodded wordlessly, she smirked, and put her lips over the tip of his rod, kissing it at first, then taking more and more of his member into her mouth. Soon enough, her head was bobbing up and down as she sucked on it, her tongue worming its way around the shaft, driving Ezra into the throes of absolute bliss.

"Oh, sweet kriff...Sabine…" he breathed. This was better than he could have imagined it to be. And it was all with the woman he loved and cherished above all else.

As Sabine continued to wonderfully use her mouth on his member, going almost to the hilt at times, he felt a pressure build up in the base of his loins, a pressure that continued to build and build, until finally, he could not contain it any longer.

"Sabine...I'm going to…" he said, and it was apparent that she got the message loud and clear, for she did not take his member out of her mouth, and wantonly returned the favor Ezra had done her previously, swallowing the ropes of seamen Ezra shot out of his shaft.

As soon as he was done pulsating, Sabine removed her mouth from his rod, licking the tip clean with a satisfied expression on her face.

They looked at each other, deeply as only lovers can. They saw no lust in their eyes, no wantonness. Only a deep love and a willingness to please the other.

"I'm ready, Ezra," Sabine whispered to him, after catching their breath for a moment. "I want you inside of me."

Ezra nodded. "Alright. Are you.."

"Safe? Yes," she confirmed to him. She then straddled him and grabbed his member, lined it up with her entrance. Slowly, she lowered herself, letting Ezra's tip penetrate her first, and then taking the rest of his member inch by inch. She stopped for a moment, and a passing look of pain appeared on her face. Seeing Ezra's worried look of concern, she shook her head. "It's alright, Ez. I just broke my hymen. I'm just getting used to you inside me," she assuaged him.

After a moment passed, the look of pain subsided, and she began to lower herself up and down on his shaft, moaning and grinding as she did so.

Ezra began to match Sabine's movements, grinding into her as she ground forward and back. Soon, a steady rhythm developed, one that increased speed as their pleasure began to build, and the sweat glistened off them like dew in the morning.

"Oh manda, yes! Faster, harder!" Sabine cried out, groping her breasts for additional pleasure.

"Force, Sabine...you're so good!" Ezra gasped out, as he once again felt the pressure between his legs build to a crescendo.

And as fortune would have it, Sabine was the first to come.

"Oh… FUCK!" she cried out loud as she experienced one of her most intense orgasms yet. As she shuddered in coital bliss, the walls of her sheath squeezed Ezra's shaft, driving him over the edge and releasing his orgasm, shooting thick ropes of white substance into Sabine's womb.

As the two came down from their high, gasping and laying for breath on one another, Sabine began to giggle and pelt his lips with kisses, stifling a yawn as she did so.

Tiredness began to overtake them, so they threw the covers over them, with Sabine wrapping her arms around Ezra, securing him like a blanket, as the two started to drift off to sleep in each other's warm embrace, she whispered this to her lover and comrade-in-arms;

"Happy birthday, Ezra Bridger."

Notes:

A/N: Well, Ezra is now officially a Jedi knight. Bringing the total of Jedi up to… a handful. However, this is going to have important ramifications from here on out. What they are, I cannot say, but mayhaps Ursa Wren will take him a bit more seriously once she knows his accomplishments instead of dismissing him as "some child".

As for the scene itself, I took inspiration from the last good episode of Game of Thrones itself, the one where Jaime knights Brienne. It was by far my fave out of that season.

Yes, there is some level of lemons/smut in this story. What, did you think this was rated M for cussing and blood alone? However, I do not do smut lightly, nor do I partake in it often. A sprinkle here and there is a story is enough for me. Too much and it just becomes a fapfic.

As for Ezra's trial, I actually got inspiration from Yoda's arc in TCW, where he realizes that all the Sith spirits on Korriban/Moriband can do is create illusions. They are utterly powerless in death. I also got some inspiration, oddly enough, from Galadriel casting out Sauron from Dol Guldur in the Hobbit films.

Next up- Sabine makes preparations to head to Krownest, Robb plans an offensive of sorts, Rae has her first true taste of warfare in the Unknown Regions, and Malleus makes a desperate gamble. Stay tuned!

Chapter 55: Sabine VIII

Sunrise came early to the little moon of Yavin 4, with the blue light of dawn shining through the window of Sabine's room in the Great Temple, bathing the two sleeping lovers in the warmth of the morning.

Sabine was the first to stir awake, although a better part of her still wanted to sleep comfortably in Ezra's strong arms; her knight acted as a blanket of security and reassurance for her, a haven from her doubts and fears.

More specifically, her fear of returning home and confronting her mother.

She sighed, in part content and part anxious, for today was the day they were leaving for Krownest. She wondered how her family would react to her return. Would it be with tears in their eyes? Hardly likely. More probable would be that her mother, at the very least, would treat her with scorn and contempt. She did not know how her brother or father would react, though she did not imagine it to be all rainbows and lollipops with her brother, as he was closer to her mother than she was. She was always her father's daughter.

She released her hold on Ezra, throwing off the blankets that covered their naked forms, and swung herself out of bed, stifling a yawn as she stretched her limbs out and put on a bathrobe, intent on getting a shower before everyone else in the base did.

She took one last look at her lover still sleeping soundly on the bed, with their two now rather large wolves curled up at the foot. She smiled at them and turned to head out the door, wanting to get cleaned up and ready for this big day.

---

Hours later, just as the sun was nearing its height at noon, the Starbird was nearing preparations for the journey to Krownest. As there was not enough room in the Phantom II for the number of passengers plus their two wolves- who had now grown to the size of ponies- Sabine had elected to take her ship, even if it wasn't as stealthy as the shuttle was.

Perhaps it was for the best, anyway. She needed to be seen as not a lackey for the Rebellion but as a Mandalorian righting her wrongs and helping her people throw off the shackles of oppressive Imperial rule. Making amends with her mother was the first step in that, and her mother was one who only respected honor and tradition. Therefore, taking the Starbird wasn't a choice- it was a necessity.

She absentmindedly thumbed the hilt of the Darksaber on her belt. Over the previous months, she had grown attached to the blade, and she was almost loath to give it up. However, she knew that she was not the right leader for Mandalore. Far from it, in fact. She needed to give this blade to whoever was worthy enough to be the ruler, and so far, the only person that came into mind for her was Bo-Katan of House Kryze, leader of the Nite Owls and Mandalorian patriot par excellence.

However, doubt crept into the back of her mind. Bo-Katan had ruled Mandalore previously, only to be overthrown swiftly by the Saxons and the Empire. Her resistance movement, although notable, had not generated the support that was needed, as most Mandalorians elected to stay put and "ride the tide", not wanting to risk hearth and home fighting the battered but still powerful Empire. Would the last heir of the Kryzes truly be a good ruler of Mandalore?

So many doubts and thoughts plagued her mind that she nearly didn't see Robb walk up from behind out of the corner of her eye. Startled from her musings, she turned to face the older man, who was wearing his grim mask once more, his eyes stony and determined. He was planning something, that much was certain, but what he was plotting Sabine could only guess at. The man had become increasingly at odds with Mon Mothma and the rest of the senators who made up the Alliance High Council, save for Bail and his daughter. Sabine could not blame him, however. The council acted in the complete opposite way from the violent and often reckless Saw Gerrera- they were rather timid, overcautious, and a paranoid lot.

"Hope everything's for your journey to Krownest," Robb asked her.

"Ship's prepped and fueled. Got enough food to last us for months, and I'm bringing some of the closest people I know with me," she said to him. So far, it was her, Ezra, Uncle Jo, Rau, Kanan, Chopper, HK, and their two wolves going on this trip to meet her birth family. Hera was busy with carrying Jacen and working on new stratagems for the Alliance, Cal and his crew were occupied with an important mission of their own, and she knew that Robb and Theon were plotting something big; something that they had not designed to share with the rest of them. If she had to hazard a guess, though, their plans involved the use of the Katana Fleet… and their plans did decidedly not have the approval of Mon Mothma.

She had wanted Rex to come with them, as he was also familiar with her mother, having fought alongside her during the Siege of Mandalore nearly two decades prior, but he was far too busy training the recruits and organizing the special forces branch of their military. Plus, as she discovered, going back to Mandalore would remind him of the last time when he had fought side-by-side with Ahsoka, his dearest companion, and she did not want to reopen the old man's unseen wounds.

She suppressed a sigh. It seemed everyone could have used her counsel right about now. Out of everyone she had known, she was by far the wisest and most patient person that she had met. Now, though, Ahsoka Tano was nothing more than dust on the wind, as dead as the old order she once served.

"It pains me that I cannot go with you, but we all have duties of our own," Robb lamented. "With any luck, Theon and I will finally manage to convince those oafs in the council that this war can be won. That's all I can say, though."

Sabine's eyebrow shot up at that. "Why can't you say anymore? Something going on?" she asked.

"Drevan has too many eyes and ears on base," was Robb's answer. "Only a select few know of our plans, and they've been sworn to secrecy. Just know that when you get back, the Alliance isn't going to be looked upon as the weaker and junior partner of our coalition with the Arcadians."

"If I get back…" Sabine joked. With emotion welling inside her, she wrapped her friend in a hug. "Farewell, Stark," she softly spoke.

"You too, Wren," Robb said back, "Old gods bear steel with you."

With that, the two warriors broke the hug, and Sabine turned to head inside the Starbird, beginning the preparations to head to her home… and to a past, she did not know if she was truly capable of facing.

---

Many of the worlds in this galaxy could be described as 'frozen'. Hoth, for example, was the very definition of an icy hell. It was rare, however, to find such a cold world that was capable of supporting extensive life, let alone have a sizable sentient presence.

Krownest was just such a world.

Thanks to its elongated orbit, the planet saw short, mild summers during which most of the planting and harvesting was done, and long, cold, harsh winters, where the only survival method was either by the ancient ways of hunting and gathering or by outside resupply from more fertile worlds. Such hard places bred hardy people, and Krownest had been no exception to that rule. Even before they had converted to the Mandalorian way, the Wrens of Krownest had ruled as their lords since before there even was the concept of Mandalore. After the great expansion under Mandalore the Great, the Wrens of Krownest had sworn fealty to the Vizlas of Concordia and had been loyal bannermen to them for nearly five thousand years, now. Wherever the Dukes of Concordia lead, the Counts of Krownest followed, bringing the wrath of winter with them, as their phoenix banners and their silver-and-gold standards flew in the heat of battle. Such friendship had lasted until the dark days of the Clone Wars, and the bitter strife caused by Maul's coup.

Among friend and foe alike, the Wrens were renowned for their honorable conduct, steadfast courage, and unwavering commitment to justice, and among the notable Wrens throughout history, there were none quite as honorable or dutiful as the current lady and countess of their clan- Ursa Wren, known also as the Quiet Phoenix. Both Rau and Johannes spoke of her mother in glowing terms, and from what little Sabine knew, she had fought alongside Rex, Ahsoka, and Bo-Katan in the Siege of Mandalore with valor and stubbornness that was very typical of Mandalorians.

Sabine knew all too well that her mother had a dark side, however. Every human did after all. Ursa was ambitious to a fault, prone to rash judgments, quick to anger, and slow to forgive a slight, and doggedly refused to admit a mistake or change her ways, even if it was for the better.

Now that she thought of it, her mother sounded a lot like a Stark, from what Robb described of his family.

As the twelve-hour journey from Yavin to Krownest was nearing its end, she looked at the three men in the crew cabin sitting in the chairs around her, with her boyfriend sitting in the co-pilot's chair next to her, and Rau and Uncle Jo sitting behind them. Kanan was in the back with the droids in deep meditation, most likely trying to concentrate as the two were chatting with themselves about how it was the most pleasurable to put Imps out of their misery.

Those two should have never been paired up like this, she realized.

The navigation lights flashed green on the control panel, indicating that they had reached their destination. She flipped the switch, and the kaleidoscope of hyperspace gave way to the black of real space. In the distance among the backdrop of stars and nebulae was the winter-covered world of Krownest.

Home.

"Well...here we are…" Sabine announced to everyone who had just come up to the cockpit, "Home sweet home," she sighed more quietly, her nervousness and anxiety coming back to her like a flood, now.

"Do you think it will be that bad?" Ezra questioned her.

"I haven't been to Krownest since I left for the Imperial Academy, Ez," she answered him, "and I didn't exactly part with my mother on good terms, remember?"

"Well…" he offered, "maybe things have changed. Perhaps they'll be happy to see you," he offered. Sabine knew that he was trying to offer her a bit of encouragement, but right now she very much doubted that the ever-stubborn and proud Ursa Wren was capable of changing her mind.

"You don't know my family, Ezra," she said in a forlorn tone.

"But I do," Rau spoke up. "Your mother is the leader of Clan Wren, and her word is respected by all our people. She might appear to be loyal to the Empire, but I've always suspected that her true loyalty has always been to Mandalore and her family."

Sabine sighed, "Even if it were true, she still thinks I'm a traitor, Fenn."

"That may be so, but if you can convince your mother of your cause, the entirety of Mandalore could follow you and the Darksaber," Fenn proclaimed.

Sabine grabbed the hilt of the now-familiar blade. There it was again. The dreaded prospect of ruling an entire nation and an entire nation of unruly warriors hyped up on honor and combat at that. She did not know what Fenn saw in her to be worthy of a queen, but as far as Sabine was concerned, there had to be someone better out there. Someone who wasn't hated, but loved, and could truly unite the clans.

"Well...uh...I better let them know we're coming," she uneasily proclaimed, desperate to change the subject away from her. She flipped on the external comms and dialed them to the stronghold's frequency.

"Su'cuy aliit Wren. Ibic Sabine Wren. Ara'novor gedet'ye. Me'vaar ti gar?" she spoke into the receiver. Only a second later, she received a terse response, one that made her suspicious.

"Elek, Sabine Wren. Ke parer."

As if to confirm every bit of her suspicions on what kind of welcome she received, the comms suddenly went dead, emitting only static. Great, just great.

"What just happened?" Ezra asked warily as they began to enter the atmosphere.

"They're jamming us," Sabine responded through gritted teeth, just as Chopper beeped out a warning to them.

"Cautionary: Mandalorian meat bag, I don't wish to be the bearer of obvious news, but my fellow murderer is picking up five hostiles bearing down on our position, and closing rather fast, might I add," HK pointed out. Sabine looked out the cockpit windows and saw the shapes the assassin droid was referring to; five Mandalorian warriors, all bearing Clan Wren colors, to make matters worse, Sabine immediately recognized who was leading them when she zoomed in on them using the scopes. A certain cousin of hers who had it in for her.

Karking hells. Should have figured Sasha would try to kill me when I got back.

"Hang on tight! This is going to get rough!" she yelled into the back, making sure everyone had themselves strapped in before going in for a steep dive, trying to shake off Sasha and her little group of hardliner warriors.

Try as she might, though, Sabine quickly discovered that she wasn't even close to Hera or Rau in terms of piloting skill, as the metallic clump on the hull of the ship confirmed to everyone in there that someone had landed on the ship.

Red lights on the console flared up, as an incessant beeping sounded on the speakers, indicating to Sabine that Sasha had found and taken out the ship's gyrostabilizers, which meant that Sasha was under strict orders from Ursa not to kill Sabine, but to apprehend her. Still, though, it wouldn't mean much if they crashed and burned, which means that there was only one thing left to do.

"They've taken out our stabilizers!" she announced to everyone else in the cabin. "I'm going to have to go in for a hard landing. Strap yourselves in."

The ship rocked violently as Sabine struggled to control the descent of the vessel, noticing the smoke coming from the aft side. Fortunately, this was her home, and in her youth, she had explored it extensively, and thus she knew a particular spot with soft ground about five kilometers outside the keep. To their extra benefit, they were in the middle of winter, and thus this soft ground was blanketed by an extra meter of snow, which would further soften their otherwise hard landing.

Thinking fast, she aimed for that spot, gripping the controller so tight that she felt her knuckles starting to pop, as she tried to slow their descent to an appropriate speed. And it was just in the nick of time, as well.

The Starbird plowed hard into the snow, rattling the occupants inside the vessel and causing the wolves to whine as they skidded through the snow and dirt. The craft slowly ground to a halt, coming to rest near a grove of pine trees.

Sabine panted for a bit, and catching her breath, turned to look at everyone else. "Is everyone alright?" she asked.

"Had rougher landings," Fenn deadpanned.

"Could have been worse," Kanan agreed.

"We're all alive and in one piece, so I'd call this one a happy landing," Ezra joked.

"Still have to deal with my sister-in-law," Johannes muttered.

"Statement: Not the first crash I've been in, and I somehow doubt that this will be the last," HK stated, as Chopper just bleeped out a complaint about letting Fenn fly the ship next time and the wolves just pawed at the door, wanting to get out and see just what awaited them, be it friend or foe.

Sabine stood up, and walking past the men, she put on her helmet, and stepped outside, with Ezra doing much the same, wearing his signature armor. Their wolves rushed outside, sniffing the ground and sticking close to their masters.

Kanan and Uncle Jo exited next, followed by HK. Rau elected to stay with the ship for the moment with Chopper, partially due to his knowledge of Komr'k class ships and how to repair them, and partially because he was now considered a wanted criminal by the Saxons, and right now they could not be too sure if Ursa would sell him out to save her family. Thus, it would be better if he remained hidden for the time being.

As expected, several Mandalorian warriors bearing Clan Wren colors surrounded their position, including one particularly tall and bulky Imperial Supercommando, all leveling their blasters at them. To that end, Ezra attempted to grab his lightsaber, but Sabine stayed her lover's hand in the nick of time. Damn what her clan thought of her, she would have no more of their blood spilled on her count, nor would she see her boyfriend or her closest companions die here and now without need. She turned to the other Mandalorians present.

"I am Sabine, daughter of Lady Ursa of Clan Wren," she announced to them. "I demand an audience with my mother."

"Sabine?" the one wearing Imperial Supercommando armor questioned, and she swore at that point that his voice was very familiar to her. "Shakajiir!" he shouted to the other warriors, who did as they were commanded, and lowered their rifles, though Sabine knew that behind their helms they likely were glaring at her.

She wasn't exactly welcome here, after all.

She removed her helmet, and as Ezra and Jo did the same with theirs, so too did the Imperial Supercommando, and it all clicked for Sabine.

It was none other than her little brother, Tristan, now all grown up.

"Been a long time, big sister," he said, giving a half-smile down at her. She was quite amazed at just how tall and strong he grew in her absence- the very spitting image of a young Mandalorian warrior. "See you changed your hair color again." he complimented her.

"Well, you know me," Sabine snarked back, flicking her white-and-magenta hair some.

"Do I?" Tristan asked her, his smile fading somewhat. Of course, she realized. He was still hurt by her leaving, even if he didn't resent her as much as their mother did. He sighed. "I can take you to Mom, but don't expect a warm welcome. I don't think you should have returned right now."

Sabine shook her head. "I wouldn't have, but I need to speak to Mom regardless. It's important."

Tristan nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Alright, then. Follow me. I would just ask that your Jedi companions leave their lightsabers behind on the ship. Don't need a fight on our hands right now."

"Tell that to Sasha," Sabine muttered under her breath. Thankfully, however, Ezra and Kanan did as they were asked, putting their lightsabers back inside the ship, knowing that Rau would give them their blades if they needed them.

As soon as they did so, they were off to the keep, escorted by Tristan and his squad. Noticeably, Sasha was absent from the group, though Sabine figured that her cousin would likely try to confront her during her audience with her mother- if Ursa was willing to grant them an audience instead of just having them thrown into the keep's prison cells.

After an hour or so of walking, they finally arrived at the keep, and nothing much had changed about it- it was still the same building of Mandalorian cubist design, replete with automated defenses and hundreds of household guards keeping a vigil eye over the abode of the Wrens, with the banners of Clan Wren flying proudly over the stronghold, the black starbird ascending over a silver field and a gold bar.

This place, she achingly remembered, was once the place she called home.

She had never thought about it until now, but she was suddenly struck by how similar her home and Robb's old home of Winterfell were. From the colors to the cold, and everything in between. It was almost uncanny, now that she thought about it.

She put aside such thoughts for now, however, for just as they reached the entrance to the keep, the guards at the door nodded, and one of them stepped inside. A few moments later, the same guard stepped out, and following not more or less than five paces behind him was the figure Sabine had been dreading to meet with again all this time. This figure- a human woman in her late thirties- wore ornate armor, colored similarly to the other guards but more finely decorated. Her helm was different as well, for it featured two "ears" that formed part of the top, making the helm look like the head of some great avian creature. The most striking thing about this woman, however, was the sheer authority she could command through just her gaze alone.

Finally, the figure turned to look at Sabine, and the younger warrior found herself staring into the older, colder, sterner, and plainer version of herself, with her hair tied back in a bun and her brows furrowed in disappointment.

This was the Countess of Krownest and Lady of Clan Wren. The Quiet Phoenix herself, Ursa Wren.

Ursa regarded her daughter with apparent contempt in her cold, brown eyes. "So…" she began slowly, her voice edged with discontent, "you've returned."

"Mother, I…" Sabine began to say, but she was immediately cut off by her mother, who did not appear to want to hear any of it.

"Throw them all in the cells. They'll face trial come the morning," she commanded.

Something then erupted inside Sabine. A kind of hot fury that had been building all these years. No! She would not be denied here and now, not when she's come so damned far, and especially not by her mother, of all people!

"Mother...MOTHER!" she yelled out, shoving past Tristan and grabbing the hilt of her blade. "We need to talk, now!" she implored, activating the ancient sword, as the black blade sprang to life.

Every Mandalorian present save for Jo stood in shock and awe, but none was more dumbfounded than Ursa, who could only whisper out two words in amazement.

"The Darksaber…"

Sabine smirked in this small victory. She had her mother's attention. Now she would just have to hold it…

And hope to the gods that Sasha did not try to murder her in the meantime.

---

Notes:

A/N: And so, we begin our Mando Civil War arc, at long last.

Next up- an Ursa POV, followed by Malleus plots, Rae struggles, Pellaeon commands, and Robb and Theon go behind the back of Mon Mothma, all leading to climactic conclusions…

And as for Sabine remarking on how similar Winterfell and Krownest are...keep this in mind. It ties into the origin of the Mandalorians and the ultimate fate of the Westerosi remnants.

Till the next time we meet, and may the Allfather guide you.

Chapter 56: Ursa I

 

Throughout her entire life, Ursa Wren has tried to live with honor.

From the time she could first start walking and speaking, she strove to abide by all the customs and traditions of their people, upholding the values of Mandalore and proving her loyalty to family and throne with steadfast dedication.

People have noted how stoic she was from the time she was just seven years of age, back when her father, Roland Wren, was Count of Krownest. So silent was she at times that people had nicknamed her "the Quiet Phoenix." Contrasting her silent, often taciturn nature was her younger brother, who was generally mischievous, flirting with any man or woman of his choice, and overall jovial. Hence he was named by his peers "the Wild Phoenix". Despite their apparent differences in nature, however, the two siblings had been as thick as thieves, with the only other people in her life being that familial to her were her husband, her father, her children, and Lady Bo-Katan, her dearest friend and the sister she never had.

As soon as her father had been killed in those first few months of the Clone Wars, fighting under the banners of House Vizsla and the Death Watch- those patriots who had tried so hard to return Mandalore to the old ways and free them from the yoke of the Republic and their puppet duchess Satine- she had assumed the title of Countess of Krownest and Lady of Clan Wren, with all the dignity and laconic grace a position like that demanded, and no small amount of internal trepidation.

She found her honor being tested during those dark times, as she found herself doing things and abetting events she would have never thought of doing beforehand. She had nearly quit the cause in disgust at one point due to Pre Vizsla and her dear friend Bo massacring villagers on some forgotten planet in the middle of nowhere, but ultimately she refrained from leaving as it would have broken the oath she swore to the Vizslas.

All oaths had to be upheld, and a word once given must be kept. This was the very cornerstone of the Mandalorian way, the basis upon which all their beliefs were founded.

This did not mean that Ursa was not pragmatic or cunning, however. Far from it. Her father trained her in realpolitik, and she inherited his drive to constantly improve Clan Wren's position in the dangerous realm of Mandalorian politics.

It served as a constant test for her, trying to balance honor and pragmatism, and one of those tests had cut her so deeply that she had been debating with herself ever since if she had made the right decision.

It was on the day she found out that her brother - her cherished brother - had been slain along with his followers in the ruins of Keldabe, murdered by treachery… and her daughter's weapon.

A weapon designed in particular to slaughter Mandalorians.

What followed that day was a blur to her, but she remembered the toughest decision she had to make all too clearly - banishing her wayward daughter stripping her of all ranks and titles, and casting Sabine to the wind as dar'manda.

And now, standing before her, defying all sense and reason, her daughter stood with her friends, wielding the ancient blade of kings, a relic she thought had been lost with Maul.

Ursa stood silent for a long moment, studying the figures before her while trying to process just how her defiant oath-breaker for a daughter managed to get a hold of the Darksaber itself from the clutches of a ruthless Sith Lord and criminal usurper. To Sabine's left stood two Jedi, one a man in his prime, wearing a mask without any channels for the eyes, so it was safe to assume this Jedi was as blind as a mynock. The other was a younger man - a boy - if she wanted to be pedantic about it. The older man was clothed in a simple green tunic and trousers, while the younger man was armored in a suit that looked vaguely familiar to Ursa, though she could not place what it was.

To Sabine's right stood two very familiar Mandalorians. The first was her son, garbed in that ridiculous Imperial Super Commando armor, but so far the only one in her family who had heeded her lessons, and the other…

The other was another oath-breaker. Her craven of a brother-in-law. Johannes Cato.

Behind them stood a droid. He was a vermilion-painted BX-series commando droid, with red photoreceptors that made it look like some sort of malevolent demon from myths past.

Her daughter truly had an odd collection of friends, that was for certain.

After what seemed to be an eternity of silence, Sabine broke the pregnant pause.

"Kanan Jarrus and Ezra Bridger," she said, motioning her two Jedi companions over, "this is my mother, Ursa Wren, Countess of Krownest and Lady of Clan Wren," she announced, carefully using her proper titles.

Well, thought Ursa, at least some of what I taught was retained.

"Greetings," the elder of the two Jedi greeted her. The younger of the two swiftly followed suit, saying a quick "Hello," while both performed a slight bow. It seemed that Sabine had informed them of Mandalorian customs and feudal procedure. She supposed it was good enough - she didn't feel like cleaning up Jedi blood. Still, though, something had to be aired out…

"What in the name of the gods did you think would happen here, Sabine?" she said at last, looking pointedly at her daughter. "Did you seriously think that we'd welcome you back with open arms after what you did? You're quite fortunate that Sasha didn't kill you upon entry! You're a wanted criminal by the Empire!"

Sabine sighed, obviously knowing that this would be how their reunion would be - full of bitterness and unmended wounds inflicted on one another. "Yes, I know, mother, but I'm with the Rebellion now. Please just hear me out. You can kick me out again later. Just listen to what we have to say. That's all I'm asking."

Ursa was silent for a moment as she considered the options. On the one hand, she held no love for the Jedi, and her daughter broke her oath. On the other, she hated the Empire and the Saxons even more, even if she was terrified of them, and news had reached her ears of the Emperor's forces being dealt a devastating blow at Arcadia, and Arcadia was indeed a powerful nation...

Finally, Ursa found the strength to nod. "I will tolerate the presence of the Jedi inside our ancestral home, provided that they leave their lightsabers," she said, beckoning Sabine and her compatriots inside, all the while making sure that the guards had their weapons primed and ready. She would not permit guest rights to a group of traitors, after all. On the other hand, though, she could not permit Sasha to exact her long-sought-after revenge on Sabine. The Countess had been called many names before, but she was damned before the other clans accused her of fomenting kinslaying. Ursa then turned and went into the keep, ignoring the conversation between Sabine her friends, and her uncle.

She strode with purpose into the throne room, intent on getting to the bottom of why her daughter dared to come back here after all these years, after everything that had happened. Reaching the White Throne of Krownest after some walking, she sat down on the double-wide chair that was intended to seat two comfortably, a fact that never escaped her. Behind the Countess was a painting of herself done by none other than her husband - an anniversary gift that he had given her right before he became Gar's hostage in Sundari.

Setting her helmet beside her, she regarded the ones assembled before her with a silent glower, before deigning to address them. More specifically, she began by addressing her wayward, stubborn, outcast eldest daughter.

"Your rebel friends are going to bring down the Empire on all of us!" she began, glowering at her daughter, trying to get her to see the point of her folly. "Do you think that the Darksaber is going to keep you safe? It won't! It's a symbol, nothing more."

"Yes," Sabine began to argue, "a symbol that's united all Mandalorians in the past. If we stand together now-"

"Stand together?" Ursa repeated, incredulous. "Sabine, it's all I can do to keep the other clans from wiping us out because of what you did!"

"I didn't know that the Empire was going to use the weapon I built against our people!" Sabine protested, "But you don't believe me, do you?"

"Even if I did," Ursa countered, "it wouldn't stop the other clans from seeing you as dar'manda. Your brother is now forced to serve in Gar Saxon's guard so that we can prove our loyalty to the throne and regain some amount of status."

"Gar Saxon is a murderer and a tyrant," Sabine spat, and Ursa then saw the hate in her eyes for the man, the hate that threatened to consume her very being.

"Gar Saxon is the Viceroy of Mandalore and Imperial Regent of-" Tristan began weakly before Sabine cut him off.

"He's a usurper who slaughtered the Protectors to a man!" she proclaimed to him.

"They were traitors who were executed for treason," Ursa countered. "Just as Fenn Rau will be when he is caught and brought to justice."

The Protectors were loyal to Mandalore, and the Saxons betrayed them!" Sabine yelled. "Just as they betrayed Uncle Lucius!" she added, causing a stunned gasp among many of the Mandalorians present.

"ENOUGH!"Ursa thundered, silencing everyone in the hall and calming the situation before it could escalate into a fight between a vengeful Sasha and a defiant Sabine. "Fenn Rau's people are dead, and mine are living. I intend to keep them that way, all of them!" she proclaimed, casting a glare at Sasha before returning her gaze to Sabine, who sighed and cast her gaze downward.

"Everyone except for me," was what Ursa heard her daughter mutter in resignation.

Upon hearing that, Ursa's normal beskar heart broke. Her poor, naive, broken daughter. Did Sabine truly have no idea of how much she had suffered after she decided to cast her out? How she had broken down and wept after she sent her away, only finding comfort in Alrich's arms, of how she spent her days and weeks in loneliness and grief as both her husband and her son were also taken from her by Gar, one a hostage and the other a glorified bodyguard. She needed her daughter to understand this...just as much as she needed to understand Sabine if she could not admit it out loud.

Promise me, Ursa.

"Walk with me," she pleaded to her daughter in a much softer voice. "Please."

With that, Ursa got up and walked out of the throne room, heading towards the balcony that overlooked Lake Rumar.

After a while, Sabine came to join her, coming to lean out on the railing to her left.

A longer moment of silence passed between the two. It was again Sabine who broke the tension and cut right to the chase.

"Mom, how could you side with the Empire?" she asked. "After everything they've done to our people, after everything they've made me do?"

"Do you honestly think that I never tried to stop it?" Ursa counterpoised, "There was nothing I could do, Sabine. Mandalore was on its knees before the Emperor. After he put Lord Saxon in power, he gave us a choice - bend the knee or be destroyed. Your father…"

Sabine turned away. "Don't tell me…" she whispered, obviously expecting the worst.

"He's alive," Ursa finished, "On Mandalore, and a hostage to the Saxons. If we act out against the Empire-"

"They'll execute him," Sabine finished grimly. She then looked straight into her mother's eyes. "Why didn't you try to find me?"

"Find you?" Ursa repeated, unsure if Sabine was trying to understand her here. "Sabine, when you ran away, it saved you! Don't you understand? Coming back here has put you in great peril, almost as much as you are holding that blade," she pointed out, looking at the Darksaber. "Where did you get that from, anyway?"

"From Maul," Sabine began to explain. "He was hiding out in a cave in Dathomir, and I and a friend began to fight him to save-"

"You won it from him in combat?" Ursa asked, not quite believing that her daughter could take on a trained Sith and win. Not even Pre Vizsla could have done that, as she bore unfortunate witness to it.

"Well...not entirely. I saved-" Sabine tried to explain, but Ursa cut her off once again.

"So you don't have a claim to it," Ursa stated in a flat, tone-of-fact manner.

"I'm holding it," Sabine countered in that irritatingly stubborn way of hers, "that's a pretty good claim."

"Anyone can hold the Darksaber," Ursa preached. "The trick is to keep it, along with your head. Do you even know how to wield a lightsaber?"

"You'd be surprised what hanging around two or three Jedi can do for you," Sabine said, which caused Ursa to scoff.

"You were always so immature and selfish," she lectured.

"Oh, and you?" her daughter snapped back at her: "The woman who puts politics and power plays above the wellbeing of her own family?"

Ursa glared at her. How dare she! "Everything I do is for the protection of our family!"

Sabine rolled her eyes. "Oh please! You've always done it for control."

Ursa was about ready to snap another retort, then thought better of it, and sighed. "Your father calls me stubborn and defiant. Now I see it in you…"

My damned reflection

"And what is it you see in me, exactly?" Sabine questioned.

"A warrior," Ursa clarified. "Not the one I had hoped for, but still…"

"Well, I am your daughter. How can I be anything less?" Sabine sarcastically retorted.

Another period of uncomfortable silence passed between them before the daughter turned to the mother once more.

"Listen, Mom, the Rebellion is going to be taking the fight to the Empire, and they're planning something big. The Arcadians have already struck a real blow to them, and if we can do it, it will show the galaxy that the Empire can be beaten once and for all," Sabine informed her.

"Can you please tell me if your Rebellion consists of more than one blind Jedi and one child? Your uncle counts naught in this."

"First off, that child held off an entire Imperial regiment by himself," Sabine countered. "Second off, our numbers are growing more and more every day. We've made common cause with Arcadia. Mother, this could be the key to freeing all of Mandalore from Imperial control."

Ursa stared out at the lake, mulling over that thought. She could not see how the Empire could ever be overthrown. Their resources and manpower were simply far too vast, their spy networks too tight.

"I'm no traitor," she whispered silently.

"Mom, I want to save Mandalore too, but it needs a strong leader. I need you to trust me...just like I'm choosing to trust you."

Ursa shot her head up at that. After all these years, after all this pain and fury and heartbreak…

Sabine trusted her?

Before they could continue their conversation, however, Tristan stepped onto the balcony through the doorway, his demeanor grim.

"Mother, you're being summoned by the capital. Urgent message from Governor Saxon."

Ursa sighed, hiding her bitter contempt for the man, before nodding at her children and stepping in through the doorway, closing the door behind her. She made her way towards the keep's communications center, nodding towards the two guards near the entrance. Stepping through, she shut the doors, and walked over towards the terminal, pressing the button to accept the call from Sundari. Almost immediately, a holographic image of Governor Gar Saxon appeared, wearing his crimson Imperial Supercommando outfit.

She always thought those things looked ridiculous, though she would never admit it out loud.

"My lord," she greeted.

"Countess Ursa," Gar greeted her back, his alligator smile not quite reaching his eyes of steel. "I see you're still as beautiful and cold as the winters on Krownest. How is everything going? Is everything the norm in that frozen shithole you call home, or is there something you want to say to me?"

Ursa pressed her lips for a moment. Gods damn it all, she would have to word this carefully, or else she'd either betray her daughter's trust or risk her clan's entire lives.

"My daughter has come home to make amends for her crimes," she stated, careful not to give away anything that might raise Gar's suspicions.

"Ah, I see…" Gar chuckled. "And what of her Rebel friends? I know she prefers to travel with a boy in particular. I encountered a young Jedi on Concord Dawn. You wouldn't happen to know where he is, would you?"

Haar'chak! This was bad. No, this is worse. Somehow Saxon knew the Jedi was with her. Who could have informed him of this?

Tristan? No. While he was Saxon's bodyguard, there was little reason for him to betray family secrets, not to mention the fact that he genuinely loved his sister despite his disappointment in her.

With dawning horror, Ursa realized who it was who informed Gar of Sabine and the Jedi's location.

Sasha, what have you done?

"Yes…" admitted Ursa, pleading with the manda that Sabine would forgive her for this. "She arrived with two Jedi, though I can't be sure that these are the same Jedi you encountered."

"Chances are high they are," Gar informed her. "You're doing well, Lady Wren. Keep them there until we arrive."

Ursa pursed her lips. The Jedi she could not spare, but Sabine…

"I will hand over the Jedi, but my daughter is to stay with me, my lord. She is my blood, and I wish for her to make amends according to my whims," she informed him.

Gar smiled and nodded at her, "Don't worry about a thing, Countess. Clan Wren will be well taken care of for this service," he said, before shutting down the transmission.

For whatever reason, the way Gar phrased his last message sent a chill down Ursa's spine. Gutless coward he was, even he would not break the tenants of the Resol'nare…

Would he?

So lost in the tumult of her thoughts was she that she nearly jumped out of her skin when one of the guards approached her.

"My lady, the Jedi are requesting your presence in the throne room," he intoned. "As...is your niece. They're...beginning to argue. Loudly."

Ursa sighed in irritation and dread and strode with purpose back to the throne room. If Sasha was trying to pick a fight with Sabine's friends…

As she entered the throne room, she was greeted with a contentious sight: Sasha was standing in one corner of the room, her helmet off and her hands straying dangerously close to her yet-holstered blaster, her amber-brown eyes registering fury, and in the other corner were the Jedi and their combat droid, unarmed but no less dangerous, staring Lucius' daughter down with a mix of cool resignation on the part of the blind man and steel contempt on the part of the younger boy. In the middle was Johannes, looking confused and annoyed in equal measure.

Honestly, Ursa could not fault him for this.

"You dare ally yourselves with that filthy murderer?" Sasha seethed at them. "You have the gall to call that traitorous bitch your friend?"

"Yes, she is my friend. More than a friend, to be honest," the younger Jedi, Ezra, answered her coolly, "and I'd appreciate it if you stopped spewing bile at her."

"Fuck her!" Sasha screamed. "She murdered my father! If it weren't for her weapon-"

"Building a weapon isn't the same thing as using it," the elder Jedi, Kanan, stepped in. "You need to let go of your hatred towards your cousin, Sasha. She did not pull the trigger on your father,"

"She might as well have," Sasha snorted. Normally, Ursa would have agreed with her, but after she found out what her niece had done, she wasn't having it.

"Sasha, that's enough out of you!" Ursa yelled, silencing her wroth niece with a glare. "We will talk more about what you've done later. For now, you will be silent and listen," she commanded, then turned her attention to the two Jedi. "And as for you two, you dare suggest that you know my daughter better than I do?"

"With all due respect, my Lady of Krownest," the elder Jedi, Kanan, began, "you don't know what it's taken just for her to come back here. You should listen to her."

Ursa scoffed. "She's only a child."

"The child is no longer," Kanan corrected her. "You're vastly underestimating the woman she has become."

"And why would you side with the Empire, anyway?" Ezra asked her, and Ursa could detect a rising edge to his voice. "Sabine once told me that you were true Mandalorians, loyal only to -"

"You have no idea what you're talking about, boy!" Ursa snapped at him.

"On the contrary, I know damned well what I'm talking about, my lady," Ezra retorted back. "I know, for example, that Sabine was telling the truth about Saxon and the Protectors. We fought against the Governor on Concord Dawn's third moon, and Gar was proud of what he had done. He gloated to my face about wiping them out to a man," he then turned to address Sasha again, "And we're not asking any of you to forget your dead! I'll never forget mine!" he took a breath and sighed. "I lost my parents and some of my closest friends to the Empire. What we're asking you now, though, is to think of your children, because none of us are going to have children of our own if we don't band together," he said, looking at everyone in the room. "The Empire is only one threat. There is something much worse out there, something Sabine and I faced, something I lost my brother and half my limbs to, and it's going to come for all of us. No one alone can stop it. Only together we can defeat it. All of us, and even then, it might not be enough, but at least we'd give the fuckers a fight!"

Kanan nodded, "I can vouch for what my apprentice says, on all counts. Under the Empire, my lady, Mandalore is divided and broken, and a divided Mandalore cannot stand against what's coming from the Unknown Regions."

Ursa was stunned for several moments, unable to find the words for a long while…

"Sabine...dueled Gar Saxon?" she asked, praying that what she just heard wasn't true.

It was.

"She did, and she held her own," Kanan confirmed to her.

Ursa sighed and felt nothing but shame as she swore she could feel the angry gaze of her ancestors upon her. "I'm so sorry about this. Forgive me."

She motioned to her guards, who immediately leveled their rifles at the two Jedi and their combat droid. Across from the throne room, Ursa could see Johannes shaking his head at her in disappointment, and on the other side, Sasha grinned in triumph.

And on her throne, for the second time in her life, Ursa wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and stay there, as she heard the distinct rumble of the engines of a Komr'k class ship.

Sabine, please forgive me.

Notes:

A/N: Finally done!

Apologies for this arriving much later than usual. I was playing Skyrim again, and getting engrossed in that game. But soon the nostalgia wore off, and here we are two months later.

Admittedly, since we don't really get Ursa's POV as much as we do someone like Sabine's, it's a bit difficult to accurately write her character. Someone once said to me that she's an odd mix of Ned Stark and Cersei Lannister.

I admittedly was going to have Sasha duel Ezra out of her bloodlust and vengeance against Sabine, and I was going to have Johannes argue with Ursa, but the former I changed to Sasha being more hypocritically backhanded, and the latter I'm going to put off until a few more chapters in, maybe.

Next up - Vendric makes a return only to see his brother go do something idiotic - I.e., try to wipe out Clan Wren and their Jedi friends with only four men, and after that, we're going back to the Unknown Regions to see what Rae is up to.

Until next time!

Chapter 57: Vendric II

Sundari was an interesting place.

Large, built-up, cramped, and all the buildings had the same dull cubist appearance. The people here were not much better off if Vendric was being honest - frightful sheep who flocked to whomever they thought would provide them the most safety, whether it was the pacifist isolationism of Duchess Satine Kryze or the militant expansionism of groups like Death Watch. Dull, is cowardly, and unworthy of the name 'Mandalorian', in his opinion. They only wore this title by sole virtue of being born on the sacred soil of Manda'yim. No one here had gone through the Proving, nor were they born into any of the clans, be they major or minor. Nor were they even adopted into the creed, as had been commonplace for generations uncounted. No, these people were simply, by and large, the laity, only existing to drive the machine in exchange for protection.

Nothing but sheep to be sheared on occasion.

His distaste for the vast plebeian masses aside, Vendric was all too well aware that even though the sheep required strict rules and guidance, you had to take care not to abuse them. Fear, not hatred, was the order of the day, and as the current war between the Empire and the Arcadian-Rebel coalition was proving, hatred could overcome fear if you let it fester and grow long enough.

Unfortunately for him, it seemed that his brother had never cared to learn that lesson.

Case in point - his latest scheme, which he was explaining to him, and the more Gar explained to him, the more enraged Vendric grew under the surface.

"So...let me get this straight, brother," Vendric at last decided to speak at length, neglecting to use Gar's proper titles, "you plan to trick Ursa Wren into giving up the two fully trained Jedi knights under her care in exchange for her protecting her daughter, then betraying the Wrens and wiping them out, and finally enslaving Sabine Wren so she can rebuild the arc pulse generator?" Vendric questioned him, straining to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

"You're correct, brother," Gar affirmed, "the Wrens have been a thorn in my side for far too long. Once they're dealt with, that bitch Bo-Katan will have nowhere left to run and we'll finally be able to deal with her. I've half a mind to use the Duchess on her. Imagine the irony, of being disintegrated in your armor by the weapon named after your late sister!"

"So you plan to publicly and willfully break your oath and violate the sacred rights of hospitality, bringing a small force of guards against Ursa Wren and her entire household guard, not to mention two trained Jedi Knights. Need I remind you how easily Ahsoka Tano cut through our forces during the Siege? Veterans of many conflicts and wars, with multiple kills to their name, and she slashed through them like she was carving a pie…" Vendric explained, scarcely believing he was having to explain all this to his brother. "This is beyond foolish. Lord Vader explicitly warned you-"

"Vader will reward me for removing a threat to the Empire!" Gar countered. "And I won't be going with only a small group. I'm counting on you to bring in additional backup in case the fight turns south. The smaller group will only be there as… an honor guard. Besides, Tristan Wren is loyal to me. He would never side with his treasonous family."

It was at this point that Vendric knew that the time had come. Gar has gone too far to see reason now. Any continued leadership by him would lead to nothing but a disaster for Mandalore. The choice was clear, and though part of him was pained to sacrifice his older brother, the larger part of him had little but disdain for his incompetent older sibling and relished the chance to get rid of him. So, Vendric did the only thing that made sense in that time and place.

He lied.

"Of course, dear brother. If things should turn south, and they most certainly will, I will be there with two companies of our most trusted warriors," Vendric said, knowing that Gar would not see through the ruse. "I must take time to muster them, though, and many would undoubtedly have reservations about attacking someone as respected and honored as Ursa Wren."

Gar waved his 'concerns' off. "They'll do their duty to their lord and the Empire, I'm sure. If nothing else, they will learn from the example I am going to make of Ursa and her clan. Muster them quickly, though, brother. I am counting on you."

"As my lord wills," Vendric swore, masking his falsehood even more.

With that, Gar nodded and turned to head towards his ship. As his brother was leaving, Vendric finally let the mask slip, letting his true feelings be known once the elder brother was gone.

"I thought the fool would have never left," came a somewhat nasally, yet commanding and authoritative voice from the shadows.

Vendric turned to greet the man, whom he had always known was there watching them. The man was a dark-skinned human in his late forties. His black, short, wiry hair was already beginning to grey, and a thin, dark mustache was the only hair that graced his otherwise clean-shaven face. The man's brown eyes exuded both confidence and cruelty in equal measure, and adorning his grey-green uniform was an equally grey breastplate and pauldrons - the mark of an agent of the Imperial Security Bureau.

"It's better for all this way, Agent Gideon," Vendric greeted him, "soon, my brother will be dead, and perhaps we might find some measure of sanity."

"I certainly hope so," Gideon agreed, "but you may forgive me for having any doubts. I've studied the files in the Academy, and the records of all the clans registered in Mandalorian space. Even if your moron of a brother bites it, Sabine Wren and her compatriots remain a grave threat to your newfound rule. She's a talented weaponsmith, first in her class in leadership, marksmanship, and other subjects before her defection, and above all she knows how we operate. Not to mention we now know that she wields the Darksaber - the very weapon which could give her a claim to your throne."

"If she won it fairly in battle," Vendric countered. "If she does not, then she merely holds it. However, I do agree with you that she is a threat that must be dealt with. Your work convincing the Kar'a that she was the one most responsible for the deaths of her uncle and his entourage has done us a vast favor, but if the truth ever came out that it was your idea to kill Lucius Wren in the first place…"

"The idea your brother went along with, may I remind you," Gideon warned him, "and one that had your tacit approval, even if you do not agree with the weapon involved."

"Lucius Wren was to be put on trial and executed lawfully," Vendric argued. "Being butchered like a nerf with a weapon meant strictly for battlefield purposes has only incited the anger of the clans. Those same clans may now decide to join the Wrens or what remains of the Kryzes."

"If they do," Gideon began to counter, "they sign their death warrant. You know as well as I that the Emperor will not permit the shipments of pure beskar to stop from this world, whether or not its people inhabit it."

Vendric raised an eyebrow. "I see. Destroy what you cannot have. Crush what is not yours to possess. A fair philosophy. To deny your enemies any crucial advantage makes sense. However, I must note that it only works in the short term. You can't possibly rule over ashes, after all. Otherwise, how would you supply your armies? Your factories? Your shipyards? Fear, after all, only goes so far, and if you let it fester into hate, there will always be those who defy you, no matter how many we kill."

"Fair," was Gideon's reply. "At any rate, I know that you will be loyal to our Emperor. I'd hate for our arrangement to be broken."

"As equally as I'd hate that, Agent Gideon," Vendric answered. "My loyalty to the throne is always guaranteed."

Gideon nodded at that. "In this case, we have nothing to fear, then. I'm taking my leave, Viceroy. Have a pleasant day." With that, Gideon turned and left, leaving Vendric to stare behind his back as the ISB agent went out the door.

It's a good thing I swept this room for any bugs and rid it of any electronics. Can't have that one snooping through my quarters

He stifled a snort. Sure, being allied to the Empire was the best course of action for Mandalore, but he was, after all, a Mandalorian first and foremost. Certainly, he liked power, and right now the Empire was the best option for securing that power, but he felt that the winds were shifting against the seemingly-mighty regime. Large portions of the Outer Rim had been abandoned over the past few months, and their failed offensive against the Arcadian Kingdom had laid bare their inadequacies for all to see.

If there was a commonality between Vendric and his older brother, it was this - they both had a keen sense of opportunity. However, while Gar rushed at it, Vendric patiently waited for it. He would play the part of Imperial puppet for the moment, but once it was clear to him that the Empire was weakening, he would discard these stormtroopers and agents as easily as any other riff-raff. To play the game of thrones, you had to hold no true allegiance to anyone but your own. All he had to make sure of was that when the time was right, he could eliminate both his problems in one fell swoop, and then his house would be in the undisputed position of supremacy over all Mandalore.

He began to formulate a plan in his mind. If he were to kill two birds with one stone, he had to make the bait irresistible to both parties. His loyal warriors he would hold back when the inevitable assault from the Wrens and their allies came, letting the Imperial legions and fleets act as cannon fodder instead, and once they were both weakened, he would swoop in for the kill.

This required careful planning. He would have to let Sabine Wren win her battles at first. He needed to draw everyone who opposed him out in the open, letting them gather under the banner of Clan Wren. He would also need to keep his plans secret from the prying eyes and ears of Gideon and the agents under him. He assured himself, however, that he would plant his dagger in the Imperial's back when the smug bastard was least expecting it.

It was during his musing that he heard a knock on his door.

Allowing for it to open, he motioned the man in. This man- another Mandalorian- looked much like him. However, he was far younger, around his early twenties, with blonde hair shaved on the sides and with the top hair tied at the back. His face was clean-shaven, and his eyes were far brighter than Vendric's own. His armor was far different as well, being made of plastoid instead of beskar, and modeled after Imperial Jump Troopers rather than the traditional patterns of their people. However, he still wore the Saxon sigil on his left pauldron, and stripped down the armor were his clan colors - red and black.

"You summoned me, father?" the younger Saxon asked him.

Vendric nodded at his son. "Yes, I do, Tyber. We are about to depart within the hour for Krownest. Your uncle thinks that we will be there to back him up in his supposed annihilation of Clan Wren."

"But we aren't going to...are we?" Tyber asked as if already knowing the answer.

Cedric shook his head. "No, we are not. Your uncle has made far too many errors and has refused to learn from any of them. He is not the same man he was two decades ago. His strength and his mind wane. If he is allowed to continue to rule further, he will lead Mandalore into disaster. Therefore, it is time to exercise the tumor, and we will let the Wrens do that for us."

Tyber's eyes shot up in surprise. "But...father...that will cause a full-blown civil war!"

"Yes, and that's what I'm counting on. Our enemies need to be drawn out into the open. Open conflict will make our foes reveal themselves. What's more, we need to ensure they gather in one place, for one decisive battle. If they continue to passively and secretively resist us, they can continue to slowly sap us of our strength. One large battle, however, will serve our ends more clearly."

Tyber nodded, though his eyebrows rose. "Yes, father. But would the Quiet Raven and her kin fall for such a ruse? I always remember you and Uncle Gar telling me of her cunning and prowess on the battlefield. Not to mention her daughter - wayward as she is - is supposedly even better when it comes to thinking outside the box."

"Indeed," Vendric admitted, "Ursa and her daughter, Sabine, will prove challenging. Not to mention those two Jedi knights who have accompanied them…" he trailed off, then looked straight at his soon. "Come and let us continue our conversation aboard the cruiser. I've something to show you on the bridge…"

---

It was around three-quarters of an hour later when the two Saxons finally reached the bridge. All around the viewports, the black ink of space greeted them, punctuated by endless stars and faint, but brilliant nebulae.

Vendric turned to his son and pointed out towards the cosmos outside the transperisteel windows. "Son, tell me what you see," he commanded of Tyber.

The younger of the two men took a good look around the bridge viewports. "Well, I see stars, nebulae, meteors…"

Vendric shook his head. "No. Tell me what you see."

Tyber looks confused by this inquiry. "I don't know what exactly you want me to see, father. There isn't anything out here. Only nothingness."

"Incorrect," Vendric corrected him. "No nothing. What you see is Mandalore," he said, pointing out the window. "Fly four hundred parsecs in that direction, you're still in Mandalorian space. Three hundred parsecs east. Five hundred north and south. Over two thousand systems lie under our jurisdiction. Mandalorian Space is larger than a third of all the other sectors of the Empire combined, and soon, I will be Governor, and you, my son, " he proclaimed, putting his hand on Tyber's shoulder, "will be my lawful heir. From this day forward you shall be known as Tyber of House Saxon, Count of Adderia, and Lieutenant Governor of Mandalore."

Tyber stood for a moment, speechless, then bending his knee before his father, bowing his head in reverence. "Thank you for this, Father. I swear upon my life and blood that I will be worthy of our name and position. I swear that I will not fail you."

"I know you will not, son," Vendric affirmed. Before they could continue their conversation, however, an aide interrupted them.

"My lord," the young Imperial ensign announced, "Your brother has arrived at Krownest. We await your word…"

Vendric nodded, and turned towards the viewport, looking at the endless sea of black. "Have the ship move to the edge of the Krownest system, right outside their scanner range. Gar expects us to reinforce him. It's too bad we will not arrive on the planet in time…"

With that command, Vendric felt himself smiling, away from any prying eyes who might have seen his facade crack. He did not know what the future after this would hold, but there was one thing he was sure of.

Mandalore was his, and he intended to keep it that way.

Notes:

A/N: Well… that one took a lot longer than expected.

I had planned to release this over two months earlier, but a little thing called 'work' got in the way (namely dealing with an unruly client which has taken up a lot of my time and attention).

Well, now that Vendric has betrayed his brother, now what? Will the duel between Gar and Sabine go much the same way it did in Rebels? Or will things change?

Including a younger Gideon in this made sense, from my perspective at least. Din mentioned that he was an ISB Agent stationed on Mandalore right before Sundari was glassed during the Purge in Mandalore.

The character of Tyber here is going to be quite a bit different than the one in Rebels. More adaptable than his father, to be sure, but he doesn't have as much of a hardon for the Arc Pulse Cannon/ Duchess as he does on the show.

Stay tuned next chapter, for the Duel for the Darksaber.

Ciao.

Chapter 58: Cato I

The situation in the throne room was tense, and Johannes wasn't even sure if that was an apt enough description of it.

Externally, he kept calm, but internally he wanted to scream at his sister-in-law for being so daft, and at Sasha for being so blinded by vengeance and hate. How could his extended family be so stupid? Trusting Gar Saxon at his word? He would have rather stuck his head into a rathar's maw and hoped that it didn't clamp down on him. In fact, he probably would have preferred that.

As if giving voice to his thoughts, it was at that moment that Sabine and Tristan came rushing into the throne room, with the former wearing a panic-stricken face.

"Mother!" she cried out, "What have you done? You can't do this!"

"She indeed can," came a voice from the shadows, and Jo cursed himself. It appears that Gar Saxon had slipped through the entrance while no one had noticed, along with an entourage of four bodyguards. "It is because she's loyal. Just not to you or your friends," the tyrant and Palpatine's puppet continued. He then turned towards Ursa. "I believe that you have something for me," he commanded her.

Ursa, who still wore a face of despondence, meekly handed over a familiar-looking object to the Governor.

"NO!" Sabine shouted, but it was too late for her plea. Gar Saxon was now in illegitimate possession of the blade of kings, further adding to his title of 'usurper'. The snake smiled at his new possession and then smirked at Jo's niece.

Here comes the sudden, yet inevitable betrayal

"Your mother betrayed everything you believed in to keep you safe. It's an admirable sacrifice…" he mockingly intoned, and then his voice took on a hard edge to it. "Except, she conspired with known traitors to do it," he proclaimed, to Jo's complete lack of surprise.

"What are you talking about?" Ursa questioned him, a look of genuine confusion washing over her face. Jo could have laughed at the absurdity of this if the consequences weren't so damned dire.

"Why, Countess, you are harboring rebel fugitives. Clearly, Clan Wren is a threat to the Empire, and therefore must be made an example of,"

Jo raised his eyebrow. He was going to try to kill them? With four guards? Against two Jedi and Ursa's entire household guard, not to mention an assassin droid? Gar was either braver than Jo took him for, or more reckless.

Well, either that, or Gar was expecting reinforcements from Mandalore, and his party was just the vanguard of a much larger invasion force. Either way, things had just gone from bad to predictably worse, and the only grim comfort Jo could take from it was the look of hurt shock on Sasha's face.

Thus is betrayal repaid by betrayal.

Before any shooting could commence, Tristan stepped in between the Imperial lapdogs and his family, holding his hands up in a gesture of reconciliation.

"Wait, Governor," he asked, addressing Gar. "It doesn't have to come to this! We're all Mandalorians here!"

Gar's eyes did not soften one bit, even as his voice became as smooth as honey. "I've been fair to you, Tristan, and you've served me well and loyally, so I will give you a choice; join me, or die with your treasonous family," the elder Mandalorian warned the younger one.

A look of conflict washed over Tristan's face, and as he turned towards his family and friends, he could see his nephew's hand stray towards his blaster, though Jo wasn't a Jedi, he could feel the terror and despair set in those who were in the room.

Just as everyone thought that Tristan would betray his kin, a look of steel passed over the youngest Wren's face, and he turned towards the puppet of the Dark Lord, leveling his blaster at him. "I choose family," was his response of beskar.

Anger flashed in Gar's eyes of coal. "Then Clan Wren ends here," he declared, igniting his stolen Darksaber, the black blade humming to life and searching for death.

Before the battle could be joined – before blades could clash and blasters could fire – a lone figure in the blue-and-gold armor of the Journeyman Protectors came crashing through one of the windows of the keep, and right behind him were the large, snarling, angry wolves of Ezra and Sabine. Rau had come, and now the tides had turned.

"What took you so long?" Jarrus asked Rau, as the last Protector threw the few surviving Jedi their lightsabers.

"I've been busy!" shouted Rau, as the knights activated their blades, shining the color of sea and fire, respectively.

"RAU!" screamed the governor in absolute hate, and at once the battle was joined. Saxons against Wrens. Rebels against Imperials.

Mandalorian against Mandalorian.

The skill and precision of the Imperial super-commandos were extremely evident. Traitors they might have been, but they were still Mandalorians and thus outpaced any other warrior. Right now, even as they were outnumbered by the Wrens and the two Jedi, they fought valiantly. But like any warrior, Jo knew that numbers eventually won out, and this case was no exception.

"Remember, only hit the guys-" Sabine warned, just as she deflected a shot from a blaster with her personal deflector shield. Jo did not fail to notice her impeccable speed in doing so, almost as if she was predicting it.

"In white! I got it," Ezra shouted back, as he and his master were more concentrated on defense than taking the fight to the Imperials, as the Wrens more than had that covered, and the wolves did their deadly work, taking Gar's guards down from two to four in a near-instant, their mouths red with the torn flesh of Imperial throats.

It was then that Jo noticed Gar trying to sneak up on Ursa, who was distracted from fighting one of the last remaining Imperials, drawing the Darksaber and preparing to strike her down.

Fortunately for his good sister, Sabine, and Ezra had noticed it as well, with the latter yelling the former's name and tossing her his lightsaber. His colorful, fiery niece caught the blade, activated it, and using her jetpack to assist her, jumped toward her mother's position, intercepting Gar's blade with her own right in the nick of time.

The Emperor's Hand glared at the White Raven. "You will be dragged back to Sundari to finish what you started, as the last living member of Clan Wren!" he sneered at her.

Sabine snarled at him, and between the two warriors began a deadly samba of swords. Gar launched his attacks first, fighting with all the savagery and ruthlessness of a krayt. Sabine, for her part, expertly defended, parrying his strikes almost without effort and dodging his blows with ease.

Soon enough, however, Gar apparently grew tired of fighting within the confined quarters of the keep and thus decided to tackle Sabine into the window using his jetpack, shattering the glass and sending the two warriors tumbling out into the snow below.

Jo had wanted to rush to aid his niece, but right now they needed to deal with the remaining super commando.

Tristan seemed to have the same idea as Jo, for when the last Imperial turned his back to fire on Rau, he took the opportunity to shoot the treasonous fascist, killing him outright.

"Sabine!" Tristan called out for his sister, and the entire group rushed out to the balcony in front of the lake, where they saw something spectacular take place.

Sabine and Gar had resumed their deadly storm of swords, and it was obvious who was the better, at least in Jo's eyes. Gar was the more experienced combatant, having fought in numerous wars alongside Death Watch, but nearly twenty years of peace, power, and isolation combined with old age and a lack of expertise in melee fighting put him at a disadvantage. Sabine was thirty years younger than him, more driven, and with months of near non-stop training with a lightsaber under her belt. Her parries, dodges, cuts, and thrusts reminded him of a graceful ballerina, using her speed, youth, and flexibility to outpace her opponent. Gar, on the other hand, was like a butcher hacking at meat, using the Darksaber as a cleaver. Inelegant, and sloppy, and it was clear that he was trying to leverage his superior upper body strength, but the constantly heavy swings were going to wear him down sooner or later.

"Impressive, girl," Gar snarled out after she had pushed him back. "I'll admit that you have some skill, but it won't be enough to save you!"

"That's funny," Sabine shot back at the oath breaker, "I was just about to say the same thing to you!"

As the two combatants resumed their fierce duel, Jo noticed Ezra attempt to leap over the balcony, presumably to help out the one that he loved the most, only to be halted in his attempt by Ursa's steady hand on his shoulder.

"By Mandalorian custom and law, no one can interfere in a duel of honor," she stated as a matter of fact. Before Cato could counter his absolutely dense sister-in-law, however, the elder Jedi, Kanan, seemed to speak for everyone on that balcony, as he laid into Ursa with a sternness that would make even beskar bend like plastic.

"Are your traditions seriously worth more to you than the life of your own daughter?" he asked her, point-blank. Across Ursa's face, Cato could see the deep guilt and shame she had carried for these past five years surface. And at that moment, he saw a far different side to his brother's wife than he had seen before- a woman who was conflicted between tradition and family, and a countess who had constantly asked herself if she was doing the right thing.

Ursa, isn't Sabine's survival more important than your pride?

He was distracted by his thoughts by the duel happening on the ice. Gar had taken to the air with his jetpack and was trying to blast at his niece with his pistol. Sabine nimbly dodged the bolts and responded by shooting a bright orange wall of flame toward Gar with her flamethrower. The older man barely got out of the way in time, and when the flames died down, he did not spot his opponent any longer. Frantically, he looked for her, only to realize far too late that she had run behind him and taken aim with her wrist-mounted dart gun. She fired, and the dart sailed true, hitting the Governor in his jetpack, and sending him spiraling out of control onto the ice. Rolling several meters, he managed to get up and discarded his now-useless jetpack. Now, both combatants were fully committed to the duel.

Parry

Counter

Thrust

Counter-thrust

As the two fought, the ice began to crack beneath them, unable to hold the weight of two skilled warriors in armor for long. Gar, sensing the end, went in for the strike, bringing his black blade down…

...only for his wrist to be met by Sabine's orange blade swinging in an upward arc.

The Darksaber sailed up into the air, along with Gar's right hand. The severed appendage spasmed and let go of the ancient sword of kings, and fell into the hand of its now-apparent rightful owner, who crossed both swords in front of the now-kneeling and stunned Gar's throat.

"Yield!" Sabine commanded, and her voice carried the icy wind of Krownest on its breath.

For his part, Gar could only glare at her with unrestrained hatred and hubris. "I will never yield to you, girl!" he spat. "You'll have to kill me!"

The air grew deathly still. As Cato and the others made their way down from the balcony onto the lake shore, he could see the two Jedi exchange worried glances, and he knew precisely what they were worried about - even from this distance, he could see the hate and fury in the eyes of his niece, and for reasons he understood completely. The Saxons and their Imperial masters had taken much from her, far too much. For Mandalorians, taking vengeance for such slights was natural, and in many clans, it was even encouraged. However, the cost of that revenge must also be considered – would Gar's family be compelled to seek their own revenge? How long would the cycle continue? Until Mandalore was but ash and the clans were nothing more than a distant memory? After what seemed like an eternity of tension, Sabine did something that surprised many who saw what she did next.

"That might be the old way," she exclaimed while deactivating her blades, "but it's not my way. Not anymore."

She turned away from Saxon, heading towards her family, only to turn right back around and clock Gar in the side of the head with the hilt of the Darksaber, knocking him out cold.

The only sound that could be heard was the whistling of the cold winter winds, and the harsh croaking of the ravens, which were abundant on Krownest and adorned the banners of Clan Wren.

Sabine had done it.

She had defeated the Viceroy of Mandalore in single combat, and now...

Now, no one could possibly say that she did not have a legitimate claim to the Darksaber, that ancient blade of rulers.

The first to greet Sabine was her mother, who wrapped her daughter in a warm embrace - an oddity for the mighty Ursa Wren.

Cato strained to hear them, as Ursa talked in a low, sorry-sounding tone and Sabine gave her mother a comforting nod, but if he had to be a betting man, it would appear that Ursa was apologizing to her daughter, and her daughter was willing to completely forgive her. An aide ran up to them, hurriedly whispering something in Ursa's ear. Her face betrayed surprise, followed by relief. Jo could only guess that it had to do with no reinforcements for Gar.

Has Vendric turned his back on his own brother?

Behind them, they heard a groaning. Everyone turned to see Gar beginning to regain consciousness and roll around on the cracking ice, trying to get a footing, so he could stand up. Perhaps it was to reach for his blaster, perhaps it was to run away. No matter the case, it was clear that the man wasn't going to give up unless he was in chains, or he was dead.

And before anyone could react, the matriarch of Clan Wren decided to put an end to it, once and for all.

As soon as the battle-tired and broken Gar got up, the Lady of Krownest kicked him back down again, hard, nearly shattering the ice beneath him. She then placed her boot on his throat, and Cato saw Gar's eyes widen in terror, for he now faced a Mandalorian mother's wroth.

"Let me make one thing abundantly clear, snake," she snarled, her eyes full of hate and fury, "no one harms my family."

The viceroy's eyes began to bulge and turn blood-red, as he was desperately trying to gasp for air, as he frantically searched the skies for somebody. It seemed Ursa caught on to what he was doing, for her face contorted into a nasty grin.

"No one is coming to save you," said the Countess. "We have received confirmation that your brother's cruiser had left the system nearly 5 minutes ago. He's betrayed you, just as you betrayed your people." She looked down at Gar, turning purple from the lack of oxygen, and leaned in closer.

"Don't worry, my lord. You will not die by my hand..." she spoke in a hard, low tone, before shoving him off her boot and stepping back. "Instead, I will let Krownest itself avenge our dead."

The ice finally gave way around Gar, and into the freezing, dark water he fell. He surfaced a few times, trying desperately to grab any edge he could, but he kept slipping off the slick ice, and the dense weight of his armor pulled him under, after a few more minutes of bubbling, the water became still once more.

Gar Saxon, Imperial Viceroy of Mandalore, Count of Adderia, Chief of Clan Saxon, and Emperor's Hand, was dead.

Lucius Wren and all those slain in Keldabe had been avenged.

"Good riddance to that filth," Fenn Rau spat, as he came walking up behind them. "Gar Saxon was guilty of treason against the throne, collaboration with the enemy, and the unlawful murder of my fellow Protectors," he said before he crossed his arms and sighed deeply, "but when the rest of Mandalore finds out about his death, there will be chaos."

Ursa turned to face him, and Cato immediately recognized an old fire in her eyes, as if her daughter's courage had renewed her. "Then perhaps we need chaos if our nation is to become strong once more, and so that we may find a ruler worthy of our people."

Johannes could not help but smile, as Sabine and her Jedi lover immediately began their playful banter. Before they could continue, however, the whining of ship engines drew their attention, and the familiar avian of the Starbird came into view.

"Oh, sure, now you show up, just when all the fighting is done!" Ezra deadpanned, as their grumpy astromech exited the craft to inform them it was time to leave.

Cato understood although a part of him wished that his Rebel friends were staying. There were other planets and people in need of their aid, and if Jo had learned one thing about the Jedi during his time spent among them, it was that they were always willing and able to help those in need.

Kanan began to stroke his beard in deep thought, then turned towards Ursa.

"The Empire will come for you once they figure out what happened here. The Rebellion can help out," he offered.

Ursa scoffed. "The same rebellion who sent you to ask for my aid?" she said, shaking her head. "No. Mandalore must rise by itself. We protect our own."

"As do we," Kanan affirmed, but as he turned to leave, Cato noticed that Sabine did not go to leave with him, staying put and looking as if she were having an intense debate within herself. "Sabine?" Kanan asked.

"She's right," the first daughter of Krownest answered.

The younger knight's eyes rose in surprise and sadness. "Wait...you aren't coming with us?" he asked.

Sabine shook her head. "I'm done running away, Ezra. My father is a prisoner on Mandalore. We'll find a way to free him. And then, we'll rejoin the fight against the Empire, but right now, I will do more good here, with my family and my people," she spoke, with all the confidence and authority befitting a queen.

Kanan smiled as he walked up to her. "I am so-"

"Don't say that you're proud of me," Sabine snarked.

"Me? Never!" Kanan smirked, just as Sabine pulled him into a hug, "But I am going to miss you. We all will."

After they broke the hug, Sabine turned towards Ezra. Between them, no words needed to be exchanged. Between silent nods and reassuring smiles, they could communicate with each other perfectly, the way only soul mates could, and Jo had seen it only in one other couple before – between Ursa and Aldrich. They closed the distance between them, and their mouths met in a display of longing and love, lasting for a short while that seemed like forever, before the knight rested his forehead on hers and cupped her cheek with his hand of flesh, which she grasped gently, her eyes closed, and breath shuddering.

Reluctantly, Ezra broke off the contact, and turned away from her, walking back toward the Starbird with the more senior Jedi, all while Sabine stared after them with somber, longing eyes.

As the shuttle took off into the atmosphere, Jo noted Fenn approaching Sabine from behind.

"You did well here, today," he said, complimenting her while laying his hand on her shoulder. "All of Krownest has seen what you've become, and soon shall all of Mandalore. I would be honored if you would lead us, my lady," he said, the sworn guardian bowing his head toward his liege.

Sabine gave him a tight smile. "No. You are my sworn sword, and I would think of no better man to be the Lord Protector. But I can't accept that honor. This was about saving my family, not winning the throne," she refused, looking up at the sky towards where the capital of their kingdom lay, in the distant stars. "I am not Mandalore's ruler, but I will find the person who is."

Notes:

A/N: HAHAHA! I'M ALIVE! BY THE OLD GODS AND THE NEW, I HAVE RETURNED FROM MY ANCIENT SLUMBER!

Ok, to be serious, if people are wondering why I've been gone in over a year, it's because I've been going through an…. Interesting period in my life. And by interesting, I mean finding out that I'm transgender and starting my transition to womanhood. So, I guess this is hi to the new me!

So, the reason why Ezra goes with Kanan instead of Sabine...well, there are multiple. Firstly, although he loves Sabine and wants to fight alongside her, he knows his greater duty right now is towards the Alliance. Secondly, with Ezra's skills growing and improving, we've seen that it's attracting the personal attention of Sidious and Vader, the latter of whom is all too willing to bring harm to Sabine to get to Ezra, and thirdly...well, I'm saving that for later, hehe.

Next up, Robb prepares his campaign, Rae encounters the enemy, Paellaon is tested as a full admiral, Theon resolves to hunt down Ramsay to end his threat, and Malleus plays the game of thrones.

Till next time, and to use the battle cry that's become most associated with fighting imperialism and tyranny this past year- Slava Ukraini!

Chapter 59: Robb IX

There was a certain kind of mindset one got into in the preparation before a campaign.

Seeing the ammunition and supplies being loaded onto the ships, reading the reports of crews and personnel doing final checks and services, making sure all personnel were present, accounted for, and at their assigned stations, looking over the sergeants running drills with their men to make sure that they were ready for the battles ahead… this kind of hustle and bustle would have overwhelmed ordinary men, but Robb was far from an ordinary person by this point.

Unlike the dreaded waiting before an engagement, Robb found that he was calmer in the preparation phase of a campaign. He could more easily separate tasks and focus on what was at hand.

However, that does not mean that he was unafraid.

They would be striking deep into the heart of Imperial territory, way behind enemy lines, into a presumably well-defended and supplied shipyard world. Despite the advantage, the Katana Fleet gave them, even modified Dreadnaughts couldn't go toe-to-toe with Imperial-class Star Destroyers in a straight-up fight. This fight, then, would require to be as quick and devastating as a lightning strike – to get in, destroy, or damage as much of the target area as possible- and get out before the Imperials could bring up quick-reaction forces and heavier reinforcements.

He thought back to his days as King in the North, when he led that successful ambush of Stafford Lannister's reserve army during the Battle of Oxcross, within the very core of the Westerlands. That had required good scouting, excellent intelligence, and no small amount of stealth and deception. This current operation would be no different on that front.

He poured over the star map of the target system, and the layout of the shipyard they would be striking. This was not as large, complex, or as heavily defended as the manufacturing plants on and around worlds such as Kuat and Fondor, but this system was still a major build and repair center for all but the Empire's heaviest vessels – both military and commercial - and thus would aid the war effort immensely if it were to be knocked out of action, if not destroyed irrevocably.

More to the point: this planet was the very capital of the Imperial Outer Rim Territories and home to the Emperor's left hand, the Grand Moff of the Outer Rim Oversector, and the Butcher of Gorman himself.

Before Robb could continue that train of thought, the comms on his desk began to ring. Sighing to himself, he pushed the button to allow the other person on the end to speak.

"Sir, Captain Faro is here for her appointment. Shall I send her in?" his secretary asked him.

"Affirmative," he replied, groaning as this wasn't something he particularly wanted to go through, but damn it all, he needed men and women of experience, and he could not alert Mon Mothma or anyone else on the Council too heavily of what he planned to do.

The door swung open, and in stepped a human woman in her late twenties. Her tanned face spoke of years laboring in the harsh environment of somewhere in the Outer Rim or Wild Space. Her hair was a dark shade of brown, bordering on brown, reminding Robb of a rich dark chocolate. She carried herself with a stoic demeanor, yet even a stony face could not betray just how uncomfortable she looked in an Alliance officer's uniform. "Captain Faro, sir," she greeted, going sharply to the position of attention and saluting him, though Robb noted that there was a slight moment's hesitation on her part.

He returned the salute. "At ease, captain," he commanded, and she almost immediately put her hands behind her back and opened her stance up ever so slightly. "I've been reading over your files. A very impressive resume, I must say. From humble origins on Tahl to being second-in-command to the best fleet of the Imperial Navy. Quite a career track. And then you were captured in the Battle of Arcadia, made a prisoner of the Arcadian Royal Navy, and then transferred over to the Alliance Navy…"

"After you requested me," she finished for him.

Robb nodded. "Aye, that I did. I value those who fight well and fight competently. And from all records, you're the best the Imperial Navy had to offer in terms of executive officers. You must have been if you were picked by none other than Grand Admiral Thrawn to have been his second-in-command for all these years," he said, looking straight into her chocolate-brown eyes. "I want you to be my executive officer on my flagship."

Karyn Faro's neatly trimmed eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Excuse me, sir, but...permission to speak freely?"

"Aye," was Robb's simple reply.

"Why me? Why a career Imperial with no love or loyalty to the Alliance? Why not Admiral Greyjoy?" she asked.

"Theon is one of my best friends and confidants, and he will be second-in-command of this fleet. But I need someone former Imperials can trust when running the ship. You're it," Robb said, sighing. "Look, Karyn, I'm not asking you – a monarchist – to be loyal to a cause that's decidedly republican. I'm asking you to be loyal to your friends, to your subordinates, and ultimately to me," he asked, and then he turned grim, "but know this; I give second chances. I do not give thirds. If you or any other ex-Imperial in my fleet betrays me, I will not hesitate to execute you."

Karyn did her best to remain stoic, but Robb noticed the impeccable widening of her eyes and the downturn of her mouth. She must have known that a person like him did not issue empty threats. Robb, however, knew that it took more than just fear to ensure a person's loyalty – for fear alone was pure iron, hard yet brittle. He needed genuine trust and cooperation among all his men, and that required a multitude of things, one of which was fighting alongside them.

Something he was very good at.

"What made you join the Empire in the first place?" he asked, and he must have taken her by surprise, for her mouth opened ever so slightly. It was apparent to him that she was now at a loss for words. He indicated for her to sit in the chair opposite his desk, and she obliged, sitting ramrod straight and with her hands folded over her lap. Even when invited to relax, she never lost her discipline or organization.

She looked lost in thought for a brief moment, before deciding to open up, "As you know, I grew up on Tahl. It was a very poor world, with nothing but farms and villages. Poverty was rife there, as well as crime. That was before the Empire arrived when I was just a little girl. I remembered that they bought order, opportunity, prosperity, and most of all for us young kids, hope. Hope that by making the entire galaxy a safer place for everyone, we could finally heal from the damage the Clone Wars did to us."

Robb nodded, silent as a winter's morn. The crew and soldiers who had defected or were transferred from the prison camps had said as much.

"I made the decision when I was sixteen to apply for the Imperial Academy as an engineer. After my graduation…well, I'm sure you read the reports, sir," she continued.

"Aye, I did," Robb affirmed. "You were pretty insubordinate towards a lot of officers. Some called you rebellious, defiant, and stubborn. Others call you a maverick, insightful, and innovative. You were well on track towards command of the Eleventh Fleet before your capture by Arcadian forces." He then leaned closer towards her, his hands folded in front of him. "I need that kind of fire in my fleet, captain. The same drive and brilliance you showed Thrawn. If you prove your loyalty to me and my friends, I will repay that loyalty in kind. I cannot promise you your wildest dreams, but what I can offer you is this – I will not let this galaxy fall to chaos and discord. Not while the blood of my ancestors runs in my veins."

Karyn stared at Robb, a mix of emotions in her eyes before she cleared her throat. "Permission to leave and return to my duties, sir?" she asked.

Robb nodded sharply, yet softly. "Permission granted. You are dismissed, Captain."

Karyn stood up and saluted Robb, to which he returned, and she then sharply turned on her heel and walked out the door, which closed with a clang behind her.

Robb leaned back in his chair for a solid minute, thinking about what just happened. She was an exceptional officer, that much was clear… but there was something about her that seemed strange to him. Something familiar… it was as if she were a figure from his past… one he held a close, dear connection to.

Stop it, he chided himself internally, Karyn is not Talisa. She is a subordinate officer who will prove her loyalty or die a traitor. Nothing more, nothing less.

Still, however, a small part of him insisted that there was something that attracted him to her, and her to him. What it was he couldn't say… or mayhaps, deep down, wouldn't say.

He began to rub his face in his hands. He was getting tired, and he needed to be at his best, for tomorrow was the planned day to launch the campaign. He rose from his desk, stretching his arms high in the air, and went to his quarters to retire for the day.

---

He was standing before a building he had not seen before, on a planet he had never traveled to. The only shapes he could make out in the flat, dusty plain were large domes, the largest of which had starships of various shapes and sizes going to and fro. He refocused his attention on the building before him. It was small, in ruins, dilapidated, but something was calling him to it, something inside it.

He stepped inside the doorway, the floorboards creaking before him. It looked to be a simple home, with furnishings for the kitchen, living room, and beds, but something felt off…

Then he saw it…

There was a stairwell off to his right, leading down into darkened depths of which he did not know the extent of. A voice beckoned him into the yawning void, a voice that was at once both familiar and strange, ethereal in quality, yet somehow not.

"Know the past," said the voice, "and save the future."

Robb steeled his nerves and took his first steps, down into the yawning void, down the winding staircase, and into the depths of what felt like the underworld. As he descended, the light from the outside world became dimmer and dimmer until it ceased entirely, necessitating the use of his flashlight to see the downward path before him. Down and down he went, with each step echoing more loudly than the first, the wooden steps of the house giving way to stone.

It was some time before he saw a dim, orange glow near the bottom of the staircase. Reaching the last floor, he turned into the entryway where the light was coming from, and before him was a hall, covered in runes and stone reliefs, each telling a different story, all lit by torchlight.

He elected to walk over to one of the carvings and was struck by how detailed it was. Figures seemed to be leaving one circle with lines of fire around it – indicating an old planet that was burning – for a new one, which was carved on with an 'O' rune. Around this carving were both the runes of the First Men and the staves of the Mando'ade, speaking the same message, which Robb did his best to translate

"We flee our homes for better lands. To start anew on greener soil. Our people have survived. Our gods have endured. Cregan, son of Eddard, commissioned this in honor of the Old Country."

Confused by this, Robb's attention was then drawn to a relief further down the hall, towards the very end. It seemed to be the centerpiece of the work, given how large it was. There, he saw something that took his breath away.

A relief of a mythosaur and a direwolf stood facing one another, the former representing the future and the promise it held, and the latter symbolizing the past and the pride it cherished. Between them was the very symbol of all Mandalorians themselves – the elongated, diamond-shaped Iron Heart.

---

Robb's eyes shot open as his alarm blazed on relentlessly. He looked at the clock, which read 0515 in neon green lighting, and shut off the wake-up alarm. In a few hours, the operation that would change the fortunes of the Alliance in this war would commence, and he needed to be ready and alert for the battle to come.

Yet his mind could not sit still.

Yet again, it felt like the Force was pushing him in a certain direction, as if it wanted him to discover something on this planet he had not seen before – something that was related to both his people and the Mandalorians. There was a link between them, but what it was, Robb had scarcely a clue.

His thoughts drifted to Sabine, his fiery adopted sister who had reminded him so much of Arya. He wondered how successful her mission was to convince her family to throw off their chains of oppression and aid her in leading all Mandalorians into revolt against the Empire. He had not had contact with her or Ezra lately. He prayed to the gods they were ultimately successful.

Know the past, and save the future, the words repeated in his head.

He sighed, threw off the covers, and began his morning routine, trying to get the dream out of his head. He could not afford to focus on this right now. He needed to bring all his attention to the task at hand and bring about victory for the Rebellion.

Within fifteen minutes, he got ready and was making his way to the command bridge at the front of the ship. Compared to the eerie silence and the dark halls that he had encountered over half a year ago when he had found this vessel, it was now full of light and life, as personnel rushed to their stations – or discussed the upcoming operation- and droids attended about their tasks, whether it was maintenance, protocol, or manning the various weapons systems.

Soon enough, he arrived at the bridge, and the nearest ensign called out his presence. "Attention! General on deck!" he shouted out. Everyone on the bridge stopped what they were doing and saluted him, which Robb returned naturally.

"Carry on, everyone," he commanded, and as quick as lightning, they resumed their tasks, going hither and thither like ants in a colony, making sure everything was in good order for their journey. Robb looked about and found it well to do, before making his way to his command chair. Flanked on his right was Theon, who looked concerned about just who they made executive officer of this ship, and on his left was Karyn, who looked less uncomfortable than she had before, but still on edge.

"You think we can trust her?" Theon whispered to him.

"I trust she'll act in her self-interest," Robb answered, "and right now that self-interest includes cooperation for survival."

"I certainly hope so," Theon remarked, and Robb had to agree with the sentiment. He could only pray that she would choose the right path in the end, and frankly, he didn't relish the thought of having to use Longclaw to execute her if it came down to it.

He looked to his left and noticed that Karyn had an expression of sadness on her face. He looked away, knowing that he was ordering her and countless others to fight against their former friends and comrades. Even if it was for a good cause, it still didn't sit well with him.

Once he was sitting down, Robb stared out at the inky, starlit blackness of space before sighing and giving his first command for the day.

"Give me the final sitrep. I don't want any delays for our operation," he ordered his crew.

"All supplies and ammunition are accounted for, sir. We are green on everything," one officer said.

"All vessels and fighters fueled and primed," said another.

"All personnel present and accounted for, sir," gave one more.

Robb nodded and stared ahead, about to announce to give an order to go into hyperspace, when all of a sudden he was alerted by his comm officer to something important.

"Sir! Admiral Ackbar's vessel is trying to hail us!"

"Damn it…" Robb cursed under his breath before looking at the comm officer. "Put Home One through, lieutenant. I wanna hear what the old salmon will do to stop us from departing," he commanded. The lieutenant obeyed his superior's command, and before Robb materialized the shimmering blue hologram of a stern-looking Admiral Gial Ackbar, the Supreme Commander of the Alliance Military.

"General Stark," Ackbar greeted. "I hope you realize that you're not authorized by the High Council for this operation. Technically, I should bring my fleet around and imprison the lot of you for insubordination."

"Yes, I realize that Admiral," Robb retorted back, as calm as he could be given the situation, "and you also know that we need to deal a serious blow to the Empire in any way we can. The Arcadians cannot fight this war on their own."

"Indeed," Ackbar harrumphed, "which is why I signed emergency authorization for your operation this morning, General Stark, and had it approved by President Mothma."

Everyone on the bridge was dumbstruck. The two most powerful people on the Council had just approved their operation? Mon Mothma was secretly agreeing with them the entire time? Robb put his hand to his mouth. He had not given the woman nearly enough credit as she deserved – there was far more to her than met the eye.

"Thank you, sir," he replied, his voice coming out an octave lower.

Ackbar nodded, smiling. "General Syndulla sends her regards. Good luck, and may the Force be with you," he offered, giving Robb a Mon Cala salute.

Robb saluted him in return. "And with you, admiral," he replied.

With that, the hologram disappeared, and Robb found himself again staring out into the star-punctured void. He took a moment to get his bearings, still trying to process the fact that Mon Mothma and Ackbar had given the green light after all, and after a while motioned to Karyn, who nodded and gave the order.

"Vessel to heading 0-2-6. Set destination for Eriadau!" she barked out

"Aye aye, ma'am! Setting hyperspace coordinates for Eriadau system," the helmsman confirmed.

"Sir! All vessels are in formation. Waiting for your order to execute," the comms officer informed Robb.

He nodded and stared back out the viewports. "Punch it," he ordered. The helmsman nodded and pulled the lever on his console. The Katana lurched forward, and in mere seconds the stars became elongated, and stretched, and with a familiar bwrrrrrrrr-TWANG*, the vessel shot forward into the kaleidoscopic, swirling blues and whites of hyperspace, along with one-hundred-ninety-nine other cruisers, heading for a battle where the very fate of the galaxy could be decided.

Robb just prayed they were on the winning side of it.

Notes:

A/N: WHELP. AFTER ALMOST A YEAR I'M DONE WITH THIS CHAPTER!

So...sorry about my not updating for over ten months. Due to unfortunate life circumstances (losing a job and going deep into debt along with having to deal with traffic court over lapsed insurance) as well as political bullshit affecting me as a trans gal, I fell into a very depressive funk where I was unmotivated to do quite a bit.

But now I'm back and I'm praying to Bragi that I won't lose motivation again.

As for where this story is going – well, with me having watched the entirety of Ahsoka and looking back on my fic, I realize that I had also been making Sabine Force-sensitive (just gotta tweak it a bit to line up with what we know now). I also realize that with Robb's warging and greensight he's also Force-sensitive. Now that I reflect upon it further, Sabine's Force-sensitivity will tie in with my Mandalorian Civil War arc.

As for characters from Ahsoka such as Baylan Skoll and Shin Hati? I don't know yet. I might make them agents of Bran (about the two wolves of Odin), but we'll see.

Peridea, however, is gonna figure into my endgame. Huyang will be making a very important appearance along with a certain fan-favorite character who will appear at the turn of the tide. ;)

For those who stuck with me so far, thank you! Till next we meet!

Chapter 60: Malleus III

How dare they insult and sideline him like this!

Deep within the Fortress Inquisitorius on the watery planet of Nur, Grand Inquisitor Malleus meditated, stirring in his anger and hatred, using it to hone his powers in the Dark Side of the Force. He despised and loathed many, innumerable in count and name, but there were a few on the top of his list that he would eliminate with a smile plastered on his face. For instance, Bridger and his little Mandalorian slut.

Oh, he would so thoroughly enjoy making that young Jedi brat watch as he ripped her annoyingly colorful head from her wretched shoulders. 

To think, he could have done just that… the things the Emperor had discussed with him and Lord Vader about Ezra Bridger made it clear that he was a great threat to their rule – or perhaps a great asset if he had the right motivation . He was certain that he would assist Lord Vader in tracking down the ‘Stormbreaker’, as he was now becoming known to the wider galaxy.

However, he was infuriatingly sidelined for his failure to kill the now-King Alexios and his sister. Vader, like always, was going to get all the glory, and he would be given mere scraps once more, cosigned to simply hunting down children who had accidentally lifted a cup with their mind or murdering some casino patron who had an incredible streak of luck. It made him wonder why Palpatine had any need for his Inquisitors at all…

The words of the priestess wormed their way into his head, about how Palpatine cared nothing for the legacy of the Sith, how he would rather see it all burn than be given to another. He wondered if that meant Palpatine would do something similar to Order Sixty-Six on the Inquisition. Eliminate them all in one fell swoop to keep anyone from interfering with his true plan.

Malleus gritted his teeth. He would rather burn in nine hells than see all he had built be turned to ash and dust. He had outlasted the last Grand Inquisitor, the Pykes, and his competition, and he was becoming increasingly confident that he would outlast his masters .

That is...if he could manage to outwit and outmaneuver them.

He began to think long and hard on this, carefully putting mental shields up to not alert any prying minds who might be loyal to the two current Sith Lords. His first obstacle of course would have been Vader. The cyborg lord was immensely powerful in the Force, an exceptional swordsman, and one of the greatest pilots and commanders in the galaxy. In any head-on confrontation, Malleus would lose rather handily. Not only this but even if Malleus could land a blow or two on the Lord of Mustafar, the cranky bastard was tough to kill. Many before him had left Vader for dead, only for him to rise again like a dark vengeful specter. He needed some way to wear Vader down before striking the killing blow. A patsy to…

An idea came to his head, and he grinned ever so faintly. Yes, he could kill two bothersome birds with one large stone. Use Bridger and his fellow Jedi companions as bait for Vader, and then wipe them all out from above. He could then supplant the cybernetic cripple as Palpatine’s direct apprentice. Darth Malleus...it had a certain ring to it, one that he liked very much.

Speaking of Palpatine, if it indeed came to it, he would be the harder of the two to overcome. It's much, much harder. The man appeared to outsiders to be frail and elderly, but anyone who truly knew Sidious knew that it was a deception. The man was powerful to the extreme, knowing of every secret the Sith had passed down for long millennia, and so silver-tongued he could convince you of anything and everything. His powers of foresight in particular were of great concern to Malleus. He could sense most threats coming at him from a kilometer away, and chances were that he had already thought of the ways you would try to assassinate him before you even thought of them.

This he thought long and hard about. He needed a way to break Palpatine’s concentration and focus; get him off-balance and focused on the wrong thing. Perhaps more than that, he needed to find a way to nullify his abilities.

There were rumors of creatures from Weyland that could do this – a lizard that somehow could repel the Force as if it operated in a void. The difficulty of this was that these creatures were supposedly elusive, making tracking them down and capturing them a challenging task, to put it mildly. He needed a bounty hunter who was supremely skilled in tracking and capturing. There were a few on top of that list, but if he had to hazard a guess, the best bet for this kind of job would be a certain Trandoshan hunter he had met a while ago who had helped him track down a Jedi sympathizer. 

If there would be anyone who could bring in a ysalmari or two, Bossk would be that man.

Moreover, he needed confirmation that Palpatine’s supposed plans to destroy the Empire in the event of his death were real. To that end, he needed a team of experts. It would be pricey, and he’d have to find a way to steal the funds, but he would do anything to save the one thing bringing order and stability to this galaxy.

The one thing that had the best and only chance of defeating the White Walkers.

He shivered as he remembered the reports Sloane had sent him. She had been finding more and more worlds that had once been teaming with life and civilization, and now were just frozen Hoth-like wastelands of snow and ice and death. 

To defeat the Night King, the Empire first had to defeat the Rebellion and the Arcadians, but the former the Emperor still didn’t take seriously, and the latter had effectively fought them to a stalemate despite their smaller size. Not only this, but the admiral who could have solved this crisis was now dead, and his replacement, although great within himself, was not his equal, and none of this took into account the bickering and backstabbing of Imperial officers who would surely join the Rebels if it looked like they were winning.

He was interrupted from his dark meditation by a chime sounding from his door. Someone wanted to see him, and he sensed that whoever was at the other end was anxious and impatient, indicating a certain urgency.

He sighed, got up, equipping his now-single-bladed and repaired lightsaber, and keyed in the comm on his wristpad.

“Report,” he commanded to the man waiting on the other end.

“Forgive my intrusion, my lord,” the man – a young officer, by the sound and the timidity in his voice – “but there is a bounty hunter who wants to see you. A certain Mandalorian by the name of Boba Fett.”

Ah, finally. Fett must be here with the information he sought out. Straightening his armor and tunic, he made himself look as presentable as possible and opened the door, seeing the nervous young lieutenant in front of him.

“Well, lieutenant, lead me the way to Fett. I’m curious to know just what he’s found out,”

“Yes, my lord,” said the young lieutenant. He turned sharply on his heel and led Malleus to the hangar where the most infamous bounty hunter in the galaxy was waiting.

As Malleus trod down the hall with the lieutenant, his mind was racing with possibilities. The mission he had sent Fett on was perilous and secretive, known only between the two. He did not know what Fett could have possibly found in that backward desert hellhole, but whatever it was, he thought it important enough to inform Malleus directly on Nur.

As soon as they reached the hanger, he could spot Fett’s distinctive Firespray-class patrol ship, the Slave I . Before the entrance of the ship, covered head to toe in battle-worn green Mandalorian armor, and wielding a deadly EE-3 carbine was Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy.

“Ah, Fett!” Malleus greeted with a sly grin. “I was beginning to think you’d never make it to the humble abode of us inquisitors!”

“Wasn’t too hard to find,” Fett quipped in that dry stoic voice of his, “I just set coordinates for Mustafar, figured Lord Vader would keep you lot on a short leash, and found your wet little moon right after.”

Malleus decided to pointedly ignore that laconic humor Mandalorians were all too versed in. He wanted to get straight to the point, and he had a feeling Fett did as well. “Shall we discuss business in my office, or should we conduct it elsewhere?” he asked.

“My ship,” was Fett’s reply. “We don’t want any of your buggered little ‘friends’ poking around now, would we?”

“Indeed,” answered Malleus. Together, the Grand Inquisitor and the bounty hunter entered the cramped quarters of the ship, with the former shutting the door behind them. It was dim, dull, and perfect for clandestine business such as this.

“So, my green armored friend,” Malleus began, “start at the beginning. Tell me everything you found out,” he commanded.

“Wasn’t all that much,” answered Fett. “Got to Tatooine like you asked. It was a lot harder than before, now the Arcadians have it locked down after they killed my old top employer, but I managed to slip through. Tracked down every moisture farm I could outside the four major settlements. It was only outside Mos Eisley did I found what you’re looking for. A farmstead belonging to the Lars family. Two old coots run that place along with some sandy blonde guy I assumed was their son, at first, but later found out he was their nephew, and he doesn’t share their last name.”
“Curious,” Malleus mused, “and tell me, what was this youth’s name?”

“Didn’t catch his first name, but I heard some of the locals call him ‘Skywalker’.”

At that, Malleus’ cold heart nearly stopped, as he was sure the shock registered in his face.

Skywalker

Darth Vader… has a son.

A child no one knew about until now.

He found he could not speak for a moment. When he finally could, it came in several octaves lower than he was used to. “You will find the credits deposited in your account almost instantly,” he told Fett. “I will contact you again for more jobs if you desire so.”

“Thank you for your patronage,” Fett quipped, checking on his wristpad to see that the credits were now indeed there, “and if the credits are still as good as this, consider me at your service for future work.”

With that, Malleus turned and exited the ship, hurrying back to his chambers as Fett’s ship began to lift off from the hanger. His mind churned, and soon enough a plan was beginning to hatch. Yes...he now had the piece he needed to enact his plot against Lord Vader. He quickened his pace to his chambers, remembering his latest mission, one that had yielded some fruitful results. 

He had tracked down and killed a Rebel infiltrator on Ord Mantell. The fool had been stupid enough to bring his encrypted holodisk with him – a holodisk Malleus decided to keep for himself. If he could program the right frequency in there, he could contact the Rebels and give them the juicy information they so craved… and the chance to take down the hated Dark Lord who terrorized their ranks. He could then turn to Lord Vader and tell him that he had found where Ezra Bridger was holed up, thereby setting up a confrontation where only Malleus would emerge as the victor.

He soon reached his chambers and hurried to his desk as soon as the door closed behind him. He pulled out the holodisk from a secure drawer, and a wicked smile began to spread across his face.
Soon, Vader would be no more, and for the first time in thousands of years, the galaxy would begin to realize something it had long forgotten.

A Lannister always pays his debts, and soon, everyone is going to hear him roar.

Notes:

A/N: Chapter – complete!
So, it took me a wee bit longer than anticipated to come out with this chapter, namely due to a nervous breakdown that required a brief hospitalization (OCD onset, yay….)
Anyway, we see Malleus begin to truly plot against the two reigning Sith Lords. Shall he succeed in climbing the ladder? Who knows… (me, hehe).
Up next – Sloane has first contact with the enemy, Pellaeon proves his tactical skills, Rau goes on a negotiating mission, and the Mandalorian Civil War heats up as Sabine leads her first true engagement.
Until next time!!!

Chapter 61: Sloane V

Summary:

Rae encounters the only enemy that matters.

Rae was growing more and more uneasy.

It had been well over a year since her mission began, and all she’d been finding was worlds of ice and abandoned, ruined towns and villages. 

Only ghosts.

It was clear to her that the White Walkers were swiftly gaining ground, but how they were doing this was still very much a mystery. There were no hyperspace wakes, no gravitational disturbances that would indicate the movement of large fleets, and no sign of landing craft. All that remained were the howling winds of winter. 

Currently, she was sitting in her office in the forward operating base they had established, the air conditioner on full blast due to the sweltering heat and humidity on this high summer day in the plains that surrounded them. She looked at her chronometer and groaned. It was only a bit past noon, and the hottest part of the day was still to come.

So far, for the past few months, her men had done little but patrol, drill, and repeat. Every square kilometer of this planet had been mapped out, and every section of the space around it had been charted. Outposts had been established on the smaller worlds and moons around them, each sending back the same reports of an eerie quiet, day in and out. 

A part of her yearned for action like a foolhardy cadet or an arrogant young officer. She knew her men were getting restless and impatient, and she could not blame them for that. She had a mind herself to find something to do to get out of the boredom and monotony.

And as omen would have it, that something would be heralded in the form of a lone speeder, zipping towards the base at top speed as if running from the devil himself. The speeder pulled up to the headquarters, and the scout trooper quickly hopped off, not bothering with the proper protocol as she shoved the stormtrooper posted on guard aside and barged into the building.

“Where is the Admiral?” she asked in desperation. “I need to see her! It’s urgent! Please!”

Rae heard the commotion and rushed outside her office to see the scout trooper with her visor flipped up, her green eyes wide with terror, and her entire body shaking with fright. 

“Jayne?” asked Rae as she came closer, “Private Reynolds? What’s going on? TN-757, answer me, damn it!” she yelled, shaking her shoulders to get Jayne out of her terrified stupor.

“They’re...they’re coming...ma’am…” the younger woman managed to get out. “Thousands upon thousands of them...all shrieking and hacking and biting… the other scout trooper I was with… they...they got him…”

It dawned on Rae what she meant, and a dread overtook her as she stared at Jayne. “Reynolds, return to your fireteam. Get armed and ready,” she commanded before rushing to find the chief meteorologist, who happened to also be rushing to find her, as it turned out.

“Ma’am,” he said with an audible tone of worry in his voice,” you need to see this…” he spoke, giving her his datapad which had radar data displayed. On the radar map, she could see all was normal for summer conditions this time of year, except for one, very horrifying thing – a large splotch of blue of varying shades, moving right towards them in defiance of the prevailing wind and climate.

And it was moving at the pace an army on foot would move at and be only ten kilometers out.

She shoved the pad back into the scientist’s hands, and quickly fumbled around trying to find her comm device before she picked it up out of her pocket and keyed it in.

“Attention all base personnel. This is the admiral. We are general quarters. I say again, sound general quarters,” she spoke into it and sprinted to her quarters to get her armor on as the klaxon alarm sounded throughout the base and troopers rushed to their positions or manned their vehicles.

As soon as she got her armor on and her helmet strapped, she grabbed her sidearm and walked briskly out the door into the open ground in the middle of the base. She made her way to the walls surrounding the structure and ascended the staircase near the gate that led to the only slope one could walk comfortably on, all the while trying to ignore the rapidly dropping temperature. When she looked out beyond the battlements, she saw a wicked cloud of greyish-white steadily approaching their positions, and even though it was still kilometers away, she thought she could hear the sounds of shrieking, hissing, and even more disturbing laughter that reminded her of ice being thrown on a frozen lake.

“Good gods, what the hell is that?” one trooper asked.

“It’s the middle of summer here. Why is there a damned blizzard approaching?” another wondered aloud. 

Rae then grabbed a pair of electrobinoculars from an aide, and zoomed in on the approaching snowstorm, turning on the thermal imaging setting.

What she saw made her want to scream, though she held her terror down and focused, as she saw a massive blob of green and yellow below the swirling whites and blues, running full tilt, without tiring or stopping.

“Gordon, this is Rae,” she spoke hurriedly into her comm device after fumbling it to the right frequency, not even bothering to use proper etiquette in this instance. “We got the motherload of enemies bearing down on us. Prepare for a firing solution. We’re also evacuating all non-combat personnel. We gotta buy some time so we can blow this place to hell and get out of here!” she practically yelled.

“Understood, ma’am. Awaiting firing solution and preparing to cover for evacuation. Gordon, out, ” her subordinate said at the other end.

“ Fleet Fire Control, this is Titan-Three, clear net for fire mission. Fire for effect, over,” the legion-level forward observer nearest her began speaking into the comms. The chatter went back and forth, with the fister giving grid coordinates and approximate enemy type and size, while the fire control officers confirmed it all and advised to use medium-powered turbo-laser rounds for effect. 

Rae heard a booming noise coming from above. She looked overhead and saw bright green streaks of superheated contained plasma bursting through the clouds onto where the pseudo-blizzard was. The ground rumbled as the turbo laser fire pounded the enemy position, blowing huge chunks out of the earth and obliterating all in their way. The bombardment continued for a hot minute, eventually falling silent as the batteries had to recharge their tibanna reserves. The snowstorm stopped moving, and the shrieking of the wind had fallen silent. 

Rae sucked in a breath. Did they win? No, they couldn’t have, she realized with dread. The snowstorm would have dissipated otherwise. As if to confirm her suspicions, the blizzard began to move once more, faster this time, and the shrieking and cruel laughter became louder, and though she might not be Force-sensitive, she could feel the hope leaving her men.

“Oh gods, what are we going to do?” one trooper wailed.

“They just tanked a bombardment. What chance do we even have?” despaired another.

Rae looked around and took a deep breath. “I’m gonna tell you what we’re going to do - we’re going to fight these bastards. Hold them off for as long as we can until the non-combat staff can evacuate, then call in fire on top of our positions as we hightail it on the last rides out of here. But we got to make sure we hold them back first!” she cried out. “Once they get in range, give them everything you got and then some. If we fight, we will survive, and if we survive, we will win!” She then got a blaster rifle, signifying that she would not abandon her men to death and enthrallment. 

It seems that the men’s courage was renewed, as many of them stood with resolution or raised their rifles to the approaching blizzard, which was getting closer, and closer, and closer. Before they knew it, it was upon them, blinding those without thermal visors, as the winds of winter blew so fierce that the Imperial flag was torn off its pole.

And the wights were nearing the front trenches, shrieking and snarling and gnashing, eager for the flesh of the living. Rae would ensure all they would eat was blaster bolts.

“Open fire!” she cried out. The command was repeated down the lines, given across comms, and almost an instant later, her army opened up with everything at their disposal. AT-ATs and AT-STs fired their large cannons, mortars launched round after round, and all manner of blasters lit the space up before them. Soon, the space between the trench and the wights was filled with red fire and smoke. Scores of the undead were being cut down, but scores more were being hit and shrugging off the fire like nothing had happened to them. Soon they reached the front trenches, and Rae was greeted with a horror that would stay with her for the rest of her life.

The wights were diving into the trenches, hacking, biting, and dismembering the troopers within, who screamed in pain and terror as they were being torn to literal shreds and eaten alive. She saw the blood splatter and guts fly everywhere, and she had to will herself to not vomit or soil herself. She then remembered a tactic she read in that book of hers.

“Aim for the head! Aim for their heads!!!” she cried out. Soon the remaining troopers shifted their aim, and it seemed to be working, as more and more wights were being cut down than were reaching the trenches. Still, though, it seemed the enemy was infinite, and they were beginning to reach the support and communication trenches. It would not be long before they reached the wall and began to scale it.

“Ma’am!” a trooper called out, “last transport for non-combat staff is away! We need to get out of here, now!” 

Rae nodded and spoke into her comms. “All stations this net, this is Admirable-One. Be advised, we are pulling back to the ships. Naval artillery will provide cover fire on the previous position, over.”

Everyone operating on the battlenet confirmed her orders, and soon a phased retreat had begun, with squads and platoons either falling back to the ships or providing covering fire for their comrades while they ran past them. As the last troopers fell back, the wights reached the gates and started to claw and push at them.

“Ma’am, we need to fall back! The other troopers are at the ships!” a trooper called out to her. Rae had only to take one look over the wall to see that the undead were beginning to form a ladder out of their bodies to agree with the man, and together they began hightailing it out there to the last shuttle.

“Gordon, this is Rae,” she exclaimed into the comms device as she heard the shrieking grow closer. “I’m not using etiquette right now because that’s gonna take too long. Have the destroyers fire on the base,” she ordered as she neared the shuttle with her escort.

“But-”

Rae quickly cut off her subordinate's reply. “Just carry out the fucking order before the rest of us die!” she yelled into the comms as she reached the shuttle, which had its ramp down. She stepped in first as it began taking off, and fell on the deck.

Her stormtrooper escort was not so fortunate.

He grabbed his hand on the ramp, holding on for only a few moments before he slipped and fell into the waiting mass of wights below, and as the ramp closed, Rae swore she could hear his screams of mercy above their guttural screeches. 

Then, everything fell silent, with only the rumbling of the shuttle and the distant thud of turbo laser shots pulverizing the base on full power being heard over the eerie quiet. Red emergency lights provided the only source of sight in the hold, making the shuttle feel like a tomb.

And Rae was almost sure it was.

---

She was not even sure where they were going.

As her fleet had jumped blindly into hyperspace to throw off their pursuers, Rae could not help but obsess over what had just happened. Here were some of the finest soldiers and technology the Empire could offer, and the only thing they had been able to do was slightly slow them down, and those who remained could only watch helplessly as yet another world was lost to the cold winds of winter.

Was there anything different they could have done? She had no obsidian or beskar on hand, and she didn’t have anyone who knew how to operate slugthrowers capable of firing such rounds, let alone building them. Even if she had the time for her scientists to conduct a proper geological survey of the entire planet, they would have had to fashion what obsidian they found into spearheads and arrowheads, and ancient closed-order battle tactics were something her troops were NOT suited to.

And there was the matter of just how the enemy got to the planet without any sort of detection. It was as if the Army of the Dead had just teleported to the world, but that was impossible. You needed hyperspace-capable vessels to ferry troops around, and no ships were detected at the start of the engagement.

She downed another gulp of scotch. Normally she would not be one to eschew discipline like this, but after what they had experienced, she wasn’t giving a damn anymore. Her shaky hands grabbed the stained flimsiplast document in front of her, and disheveled unfocused eyes tried their best to read once again the after-action report. It did not change a thing.

Of her total contingent of two hundred and sixteen thousand troops, nearly forty thousand were dead, most of whom had been in the trenches trying in vain to fight off the assault of the White Walkers. Twenty percent of her ground strength was just gone like that, and what was worse was that now that the Night King had forty thousand more wights to his army.

She threw down the report and buried her face in her hands, trying and failing to hold back sobs of pain, despair, and failure.

She had failed them, she thought as the sobs wracked her body and the weeping dehydrated her. She failed them, and she did not deserve her rank, station, or command. The only thing she deserved was death.

So busy was she weeping and spiraling into dark thoughts that she did not notice Gordon enter her office. She did not notice his look of grave concern, nor did she hear his footsteps as he came to sit beside her using one of the office chairs. She did notice it however when he started rubbing her back. She looked up at him with red, puffy eyes. No words between them were spoken, and none needed to be. Gordon understood her better than anyone else in this damned galaxy, and the look of sympathy and compassion in the old man’s eyes reminded her of her grandfather.

They wrapped one another up in a warm embrace, with Rae letting out the last of her sobs, and Gordon comforting her, all the while tears of his own fell down his aged face.

They stayed like that for a long time.

---

She walked on a grassy field that stretched for miles on end. No mountains were in sight, nor sea or cliff. Only gently rolling steppes with the occasional hill and woodland as far as her eye could see.

She heard a rustling behind her and turned around. Out of the tall grass came two cats, one with blue eyes and the other with brown. The felines regarded her curiously, acting almost as if in perfect unison with one another. Behind them out of the same grass then came something far larger and more fierce. It was a wolf the size of a pony, with fur the colors of steel and silver, and its eyes a gold so piercing it seemed to stab right through her soul.

“The two are one, and the one is two,” the same mysterious voice that had been speaking to her for nearly two years now said here. “ The promised prince shall reveal themselves soon. The song of ice and fire shall once more be written. But it is not enough. A shield must be paired with the sword, and the dragon must have three heads.”

---

She groggily awoke from the dream and saw darkness all around her. She blinked to get the cobwebs out of her eyes, letting her pupils dilate and adjust to what little light there was in the room. She did not know how or when, but she had ended up in her sleeping quarters on her bed. Across from her, sleeping in her chair, reclined back, was Gordon. She realized that he must have carried her here after she had drifted off to sleep in the office.

She silently thanked him for taking care of her, quietly getting a blanket and covering him up with it. It was the least she could do to repay the favor.

It was then that her comm device started to blink. Curious, she thought. She didn’t think anyone would call her at this hour. She walked over and grabbed the device as quietly as she could, then exited the room to not disturb her dear friend. When she was far enough away, she answered the blinking device.

“Sloane here, go ahead,” she responded, her voice still strained.

“Ma’am, we just completed our last hyperspace jump, and we…well, we ran into a bit of a…uh…situation,” the executive officer at the other end of the line said, his voice lined with uncertain caution.

Rae was once more alert and on edge despite her hangover and tiredness. “What situation?” she demanded.

“I think this is something you gotta see for yourself, admiral,” the XO responded. With that, the conversation ended, and Rae double-timed it to the bridge, getting to the turbo-lift and making sure it would take her there as soon as possible.

A few more moments later, she reached the bridge, and before she could even ask what was going on, she saw what was going on…

A massive fleet of ships of various makes and models had surrounded her fleet. Some of these ships were bioorganic in appearance, others were decidedly metallic. They all, however, had Rae and her smaller fleet vastly outgunned and outnumbered.

"Ma’am!” the communications ensign called out, “the lead ship is trying to hail us.”

“Put them through on the holoprojector,” she commanded, “and let’s see just what they want.”

“Aye, ma’am,” was the response, and as she made her way to the holoprojector in the back, she could not help but notice these vessels had not fired on them, therefore ruling out the White Walkers. No, this had to be the other group she had been assigned to combat, the motley collection of barbarians united under a common cause; the so-called Free Folk.

Making it to the holoprojector, she keyed it in to allow outside communications, and soon it whirred to life, revealing three figures. The lead one was a human man with grey hair that most likely was black at one point. His skin was the shade of olives, and a yellow mark ran across his face. The second one was a Dathomiran female, a stoic expression on her tattooed face and her hair shaved on the sides, with the top being long and swept to one side. The third one was a human female in her thirties with tanned skin, brown eyes, and blonde hair, and her expression spoke of confidence and sacrifice. On each of their belts was carried a lightsaber. Jedi , Rae realized.

“Well, well, well, look at what we have here. A small fleet of Imps who’ve lost their way home. Never thought I’d see the day where they’d be brave or foolish enough to venture this far out here,”  the man joked. “Judging by the look in your eyes and the way the Force is rolling off you, I’d say you had an encounter with those undead bastards and their demon masters. So, what we’re gonna do is this - stand down and come to us for a peaceful negotiation. We’re not your enemy. At least, not like the Night King is,” he offered.

“And if we refuse your offer?” Rae asked, though she already figured out the answer to that.

“If you try anything stupid, your entire fleet will be wiped out. We don’t prefer it, but we’ll do what we must to protect our own,” the Dathomiran woman answered matter-of-factly.

Rae sighed. “Very well. We’ll stand down and I will come over there to talk,” she said, knowing that she didn’t have much choice in the matter. “Do I have your word that no harm will come to any of us?” she asked the man.

“I swear by my honor and the Force that no harm shall come to you and yours, Admiral,” said the man.

“Well, Admiral, seems a feast is in order!” said the younger human woman, mirth sparkling in her earthen eyes. “The Free Folk welcome ya!”

Notes:

A/N: Done! That wasn’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be! I just love a good angsty, hurty, somewhat-comforty chapter, don’t you?

So, looks like the Imperials got their asses handed to them by the Army of the Dead. And to make matters more complicated for her, the Free Folk have surrounded them.

 

Watchers of TCW and Bad Batch will already recognize the leadership of the new Free Folk. To those who don’t know….well, I’m not telling you yet! >:D

Up next: Pellaeon and Zarha get their first true taste of independent command, Robb does his tactical genius hijinks, and Sabine plans out her campaign against the Saxons. Until next time!

Chapter 62: Pellaeon II

Summary:

Pellaeon leads his fleet. A distress signal is received.

“Admiral! Enemy ships at bearing 1-8. Count ten caps, numerous fighters! IFF markings tag both Rebel and Arcadian ships!” the comms officer called out.

Giliad looked out the transperisteel windows of the bridge. Certainly enough, he could spot the enemy force in the distance - five Arcadian destroyers, two frigates, a fueling tanker, and two wings of Rebel fighters. They have not yet seemed to notice his squadron hiding in the asteroid field, thankfully enough.

Right now, he was applying all he had learned under Thrawn. He knew that to launch an assault on the critical hyperspace hub of Boonta, the Arcadians and the Rebels would have to cross the large asteroid belt surrounding the system. It would be very tricky, navigation-wise, as some asteroids were larger than your standard destroyer and traveling as fast as a TIE Interceptor. Secondly, many of these Arcadian commanders were bloodthirsty, still eager for understandable vengeance after the attack on their homeworld, and the Rebels were desperate to prove themselves to be worthy as equals to their larger counterparts. Combined, this made the Allied forces sloppy and prone to mistakes, which he could use to his advantage.

“Is our assault force in place?” the old admiral asked Tarkin’s protege, Commander Zarha.

“The fighters and bombers have reached their phase lines and await your word, sir,” Zarha responded.

Pellaeon nodded. “Good. Those bastards should be getting closer. Once they are within close range, turn on all systems and fire on my command,” he ordered to his crew as he looked again out the window. So far, his plan was working perfectly, as all the vessels in his squadron were running at very low power right now, making them extremely hard to pick up on sensors. Combined with all the asteroids and dust around them, it meant that the enemy was blind and oblivious to the true danger lurking in the field.

And as a nexu would pounce on shatual at the right time, so too shall they spring their trap at the right moment.

Closer, thought Gilad, wait for it….wait….

“Now!” he ordered as soon as the enemy vessels got within half a kilometer of their bows. Systems all across the fleet began whirring to life, and only moments after that turbolaser batteries swiftly locked onto their targets and began pouring out a punishing wave of green fire.

The enemy had been caught with their shields either down or at half-strength, clearly not having expected their Imperial counterparts to jump them in a dangerous asteroid field like this. The lead Aggressor- class destroyer was stricken first, having taken the brunt of the fire before its primary reactor was penned all the way through and tore itself apart in a brilliant nuclear explosion. Then, the rear frigate was taken out, spiraling out of control and into a large asteroid when its propulsion systems and control center were knocked out. The Allied ships were now trapped, and the Arcadian capital ships’ greatest advantage - their large magnetic accelerator cannons - was now their greatest weakness, as they struggled to maneuver their ships in the dense asteroid field to return counter-fire. 

“They’re trapped,” observed Pellaeon aloud, “and soon, the killing shot. Tell Commanders Fel and Von Rutte to commence their attack run at once,” he ordered. Zarha nodded and relayed the instructions to the flight control officer, who further relayed the instructions to the commanders of the two fighter and bomber wings. Within a few minutes, Pellaeon watched out the bridge windows as the fighters and bombers screeched into view. The TIE interceptors of the 181st Fighter Wing quickly engaged the Rebel starfighters, keeping them off the back of the TIE Bombers of the 342nd Bomber Wing, who set about doing their deadly work and attacked individual capital ships in squadron formation.

The prime target, of course, was the Arcadian fuel tanker. As its escorts either got knocked out, destroyed, or too damaged to fight effectively, it lay there helpless, as a young fawn would, with only a few paltry laser cannons for defense, and those were pitifully ineffective against ten TIE bombers with multiple proton torpedoes hurling towards it.

From his viewpoint, Pellaeon saw orbs of whitish-blue streak towards the tanker from the bombers, and only seconds later, the tanker was wracked with multiple explosions, starting to glow as the materials within caught fire.

“All fighters steer clear of that tanker! All ships, shields to double front!” Pellaeon ordered, knowing very well that an explosion of that magnitude was not something to be trifled with.

“BRACE!” yelled Zarha, and the space outside was filled with a brilliant white light that lasted for more than a few seconds, and the crewmen clutched their consoles tightly as the destroyer shuddered from the shockwave and asteroid impacts.

Fortunately for the Imperials, it seemed that either the tanker was not carrying rhydonium, or it wasn’t even halfway full, as the fireball that resulted from the explosion was only a ‘small’ one measuring half a kilometer in diameter. Still, though, an explosion of that magnitude had to mess up something, and as it turned out, it had wiped out the small remainder of the Arcadian task force.

“Status report,” ordered Pellaeon, after they had all gotten up and began surveying the carnage before them.

“No casualties reported among the capital vessels, sir,” the communications officer informed him. “Among the fighters, we lost four interceptors and three bombers,” he reported.

Pellaeon hooded his eyes for a moment, “we will hold a memorial for those seven brave pilots on the morrow,” he said, before turning back to his comms officer. “What of the enemy?”

“Casualties for the Arcadians and Rebels are near total, sir,” reported the officer. “All eight capital ships destroyed or knocked out, and over three-quarters of the Rebel fighter force wiped out,”

“Excellent,” Pellaeon exclaimed as he let out a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he had been holding in. “Call off the pursuit of the remaining Rebel fighters. I want their leadership to know what happens when you cross the Empire - we always strike back,” he ordered, then turned to the helmsman. “Move the fleet out of the asteroid field. We must make sure we can get a clear signal if orders come through,”

“Aye aye, sir,” responded the helmsman, and as the massive destroyer began to lurch out of the belt, carefully maneuvering as to avoid any large asteroids, Pellaeon began walking back to his office, leaving the ship’s captain in charge for the moment, with Zarha following the old commander almost right on his heel.

As soon as he got back into his office, Pellaeon shut the door, walked over to his imported oak desk, and sat down in his chair carefully, as he knew all too well he was aging and thus not as able to just plop down in it like he used to. Zarha sat in one of the chairs opposite him, looking decisively smug. She was convinced that this was some sort of great victory, one worthy of song and legend. That, or she was putting on a show of some sort, trying to butter the old man up.

“A brilliant victory you’ve won here today, sir,” she complimented with a cheeky smile, “Near-total losses on the traitors’ side, and minimal losses on ours. Boonta is secure, and the northern advance of our enemies has been halted,”

“Indeed,” grumbled Pellaeon, “their northern advance has. But it’s a far different story on the southern front. I do not know if you have heard yet, but Syrvis has fallen to our enemy, and we are completely cut off now from the eastern route to our south. Now that they’ve completely secured their eastern flank, the Arcadians are sure to attack Bothawui. I do not think I need to tell you the ramifications of losing one of our most important strongholds in the Rim.”

“We still managed to evacuate the facility at Eadu and relocate all the personnel to the Maw,” Zahra argued, “and your strategy has gained us quite a bit of breathing room. We’ll be able to begin another offensive soon.”

“Yes, but how successful will that be?” countered Pellaeon. “We take one planet, they gain another. Back and forth, back and forth. Even if we can win by attrition, it will cost tens of millions of lives, if not billions, and the longer this war goes on, the more revolts will break out,” he said, sighing.

“The Death Star will be soon completed,” Zarha retorted, “and once it’s online there isn’t a power in this universe that can stop us.”

Pellaeon looked at her as if she were growing a huge wart on that otherwise immaculate forehead. “Technology has its place, but you never place your eggs in one basket, my dear. I’ve seen plenty of wonder weapons in my time, each was claimed to win the war and bring everlasting peace. One by one, they’ve all failed, for one reason or another,” he said, leaning in closer. “It’s not wonder weapons that win wars, Ellain. It isn’t gold, either, although those things do help. What wins wars are soldiers, and right now the Allied side has more motivated and willing men. We have mostly conscripts and volunteers looking to collect a paycheck,”

“We still have more men and ships,” Zarha pointed out.

Pellaeon leaned back in his chair, exasperated. He needed to teach this young girl something if she were ever to become a true leader. “What’s the bigger number? Five or one?” he asked her.

“Five, of course,” she answered with a puzzled look on her face, obviously confused as to where he was getting at.

Pellaeon nodded. “Five,” he said, holding up five fingers with his left hand. He then curled his hand into a fist. “One,” he said, shaking his fist slightly to prove his point. “One army, united behind one leader, with one purpose. That is how you win a war,” he emphasized. “Our purpose died with the Confederacy and the Jedi. Too many officers and nobles are more interested in stabbing one another in the back nowadays. It’s how we lost at Arcadia, to begin with, and why we’re stalemated now. Do you know what will happen soon? The Arcadians and Rebels will switch up strategy, and they will instead attack our most weakly defended worlds while we’re holing up on our comfy fortified crossroads planets. How long before the people start wondering if the Rebels are the rightful government after all?”

Realization dawned on Zahra’s face. “The southern front is not what’s troubling you,” she observed.

Pellaeon shook his head. “No, it’s not. What troubles me is that battle we just fought. We were expecting over thrice the number of enemy ships, yet they sent only a paltry squadron. Why?”

Zahra thought it over for a moment, before coming to an answer. “It’s a distraction,” she rationalized.

“Indeed. It’s a diversion, but what are they distracting us from, that’s the question,” Pellaeon mused…

Before either of them could continue, the comms device on Gilad’s desk began sounding off, and whoever was on the other end must have had something urgent.

“Pellaeon here,” he answered, “what is it?”

“Sir, we need you up on the bridge!” the captain spoke, an alarmed tone of voice, “we’ve received an urgent message, priority clearance one!”

Pellaeon cursed to himself. “On our way,” he spoke tersely into the comm device, then hurriedly got out of his seat and rushed out the door, Zahra following close behind him. Damn it all to the nine hells, he just knew something was going to go wrong. When he got to the bridge, he found a flurry of activity, with the captain barely being able to keep order.

“Captain, status report,” he ordered. “What in the Corellian hellpits is going on?”

“Eriadu, sir,” the captain said, dread in his eyes. “Eriadu has just been hit by a massive Rebel fleet of over two hundred vessels. Damage to the shipyards is major and extensive. Casualties are high,” he answered with a grim tone of voice.

“And Governor Tarkin?” asked Zahra, the concern for her father figure evident for all to see and hear in the room.

“He’s safe, ma’am,” the captain answered. “We also received word that he is at the Maw Installation, supervising the final phases of Project Stardust. He will be wanting the head of whoever was responsible for the disaster, however,” he informed them.

Pellaeon nodded. “I believe many of us do, my friend. I believe all of us do,” he affirmed. “Helmsan, lock a course for Eriadu! Comms, establish a communication line with whoever is in charge there. I want to know how and why this happened. Fleet control, have all units at readiness condition red. We need to keep alert for any trap we might spring. Let’s move, chaps!”

With that order, everyone and everything sprung into action. Dials were turned in, buttons were pressed, orders were given, and within minutes, the ship lurched toward its hyperspace launch coordinates.

“Navicomputer locked in, sir!” yelled the helmsman.

“Punch it,” ordered the admiral.

Soon, the star-ladden darkness of realspace gave way to the swirling blues of hyperspace, and the fleet was underway to their destination.

Pellaeon just hoped he could keep his head after they reached it.

Notes:

A/N: Oh mah gosh! Competent Imperials? In a Star Wars (ish) story? It’s more likely than you think!
But for real, the Imps needed a win, and I wanted to showcase that they could indeed win convincingly and that the Arcadians also have glaring weaknesses.
However, we also see Pellaeon fall for the same trick Tywin did, Robb’s patented “Send a fake army to attack this target while my real army attacks that one” shenanigans. There is no need to feel ashamed, tho. A lot of people fall for that trick.
Up next, Sabine goes over battle plans and helps out a fellow Mandalorian clan, as well as being confronted about her choice of partner in Ezra.
Until next time!

Chapter 63: Sabine IX

Summary:

On Krownest, plans for war are made. Sabine and Ursa have a discussion. A lord has a pirate problem.

The first signs of spring were beginning to appear on Krownest’s lands and waters.

The temperature had been steadily rising through the past few months, which had led to the snow beginning to melt and the ice on the lakes beginning to break apart. Very soon, the first shoots of grass and other plant life would start to sprout out of the thawing ground, and the trees would grow green once more.

Normally, Sabine would have loved to paint the contrast of colors. The transitional seasons like spring and fall were some of her favorites. But right now, she had other more pressing matters to focus on.

Such as the war council she is attending right now alongside her mother, brother, uncle, cousin, and Fenn Rau.

“How is the situation across the kingdom?” asked Ursa as the meeting began and the holoprojector whirred to life.

“So far, my lady, less than ideal,” Fenn spoke up first. “Two of the biggest clans have already joined up with the Imperials - the Kasts and the Loks. Along with the men the Saxons can bring bear and the two legions of stormtroopers present on Mandalore, we’re looking at roughly thirty thousand men we’d be facing. Any march on Sundari right now would be a suicide trip.”

“I get the Kasts joining up with the Imps. They were always closely allied with the Saxons, and they’ve no love for us Wrens or Catos, especially after Maul usurped the throne,” said Uncle Jo. “I wonder why the Loks would join up with them, however?”

“Lord Erko has promised his daughter’s hand in marriage to Lord Vendric’s son, Tyber,” informed Fenn. “And his second son is one of the Saxons’ elite guards. He’s vested by blood in their cause.”

“What of the Kryzes, the Skiratas, and the Ordos?” asked Ursa.

“Well, we know the Kryzes oppose the Empire, and Bo was your old friend and superior. I don’t think we'll have any trouble convincing them, my lady,” Jo spoke up.

“We've also received word that Lord Aden Skirata has been engaging a pirate threat around his space without assistance from Imperial forces. If we aided him in his fight, he could aid us in ours,” Tristan suggested as well.

“The Ordos have long been staunchly loyal to the throne,” said Fenn, “and they lost family at the Keldabe Massacre, so they’ve little love for Imperials, I’d reckon. They’ve got the most men in our space next to the Saxons, as well. They’d be powerful allies if we can get their aid.”

“Sabine?” her mother asked her. Everyone then turned to the heiress of Krownest, awaiting her input. She held in a sigh. This rebellion was her idea, after all, and she needed to be seen as helping to lead it.

“There are far more houses and clans in Mandalorian space than the Kasts or the Kryzes. A hundred more, at the very least, and that doesn’t even consider the nomadic tribes and the coverts,” Sabine at last pointed out after considering the options for a second. “We can start small and build with every victory we win,” she informed them.

“A well-conceived plan, my lady,” Fenn complimented. “If our people see that we have even a chance of victory, they will flock to us.”

“I know of one such nomadic tribe,” Ursa interjected, “they… staunchly cling to the old ways, but they are powerful warriors all.”

“If it’s the same tribe I’m thinking of, they’ll be hard to convince, and that’s optimistically speaking,” quipped Fenn. “Taking the Resol’nar to such extremes as never removing their helmets and believing all others of our kind to be heretics and apostates… madness, all of it.”

“Madness to us, yes, but to them a time-honored tradition,” Jo responded. “And if nothing else, reclusive tribes that hold to the old way such as the Children will bear little love for a craven turncloak like Vendric Saxon.”

“What of your friends?” Sasha asked Sabine, turning the conversation to her. “Surely the Rebellion or Arcadia could spare us a few men?”

Sabine bit her lip as she felt a pain in her heart as if an arrow pierced her chest as she thought of her lover. She wished Ezra were here with her right now, wrapped in his strong arms and warmed by his lips, giving her encouragement and compassion. “The Arcadians cannot spare their manpower at the moment, not with them fighting on every front” she finally deigned to answer, “and the Alliance doesn’t have the men or the ships to aid us in a meaningful way. For the time being, we’re on our own.”

“As we’ve been throughout most of our history,” Ursa sighed. “No matter. We will win the day as we’ve always won it – through beskar and bravery,” she declared. “We must now turn to the task of sending emissaries to the other clans who will aid us.”

“I’ve fought alongside Aurelius Ordo and his sons before. I’ve got a good rapport with him and his house. I will go to Dxun and seek their aid for the coming battles,” Fenn offered.

“Sasha and I can go to Navarro. The Children of the Watch have a covert there, and I know someone who might be willing to advocate for us,” Jo interjected. Sasha nodded at this, apparently eager to see just what this cult was all about.

“I’ll go aid Lord Aden against the pirates threatening his planet,” Sabine stated. “If I’m to lead in this revolt, I need to be seen fighting in it.”

“I’ll go with you, sis,” Tristan declared. Sabine smiled at her little brother’s loyalty. It was honestly endearing.

“Then I will go to Kalevala and seek out Bo’s aid,” Ursa said. “Let us be about our tasks then, and may the ancestors be with you.”

With that, the meeting was adjourned, and everyone started to go about their respective tasks, prepping for their trips and making sure their ships had enough fuel and supplies to last the journey. Just as Sabine was heading out with Tristan to the Starbird, however, she heard her mother’s voice call out to her.

“Sabine? Might I have a word with you in private before you leave?” Ursa asked her, though Sabine knew that it was a command, and one who knew the Countess of Krownest knew that it would only be a few seconds before her more stern, intimidating voice came out. Plus, tempting as it was, Sabine wasn’t feeling like sassing her mother, not when she was making amends with her family. Thus, she nodded to Tristan to continue without her, then turned back to walk to her mother, who was waiting with her arms crossed in front of her breastplate. “What is it, mother?” Sabine asked Ursa, who looked around to make sure everyone else was out of earshot before speaking to her.

Her mother bit her lip as if she was trying to think of a way to say what she needed to, before she decided to speak at last. “Sabine,” she began, “About you and your… friend…”

Sabine crossed her arms. “What about me and Ezra?” she asked her, already wary of where this was going.

“I know that you’re… close to him,” Ursa said, apparently trying to choose her words carefully. Sabine kept up and impassive face, though inside she was grimacing. Of course, her entire family had seen her and Ezra kissing and rubbing their foreheads together before he left to go back to Yavin IV. Her mother had said nothing to her, of course, but that didn’t mean that she necessarily approved of the relationship the two young adults had fostered. It then clicked on her what her mother was trying to ask her, and she fixed her with a hard look, two sets of brown eyes boring into one another.

“You’re trying to arrange a marriage for me with one of the other clans, aren’t you?” she accused.

“Sabine,” Ursa began, mirroring her pose and adopting a sterner inflection to her tone, “you know as well as I do that we must secure every advantage we can in the war to come. There are clans who won’t lift a finger to help us unless we offer them something in turn. Marriage is the best tool we have in our arsenal right now!”

“Yet you didn’t think to consult me before this, mother? Did you just want me to call Ezra and tell him ‘oh, I’m sorry, my dear, but we cannot be together because I must secure a political alliance with another house and get a husband who will be unhappy with me’? I’m sure that would go over splendidly with him!” Sabine snapped at her mother.

“I’m not asking you to leave him!” Ursa retorted back. “Just…keep him as a paramour!”

“As a paramour?” Sabine voiced her disbelief, incredulous that her mother would suggest such a thing. “Do you even hear yourself right now, mom? You’re telling me I should subject him in a lesser relationship to someone I wouldn’t even know, let alone actually care for! To potentially subject any children he and I have to being illegitimate bastards!”

“No!” Ursa snapped, “but none of us exist above duty and tradition, Sabine! Not even I do!”

Love is the death of duty.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the space between them. Again, things had come to an argument between them, each unwilling to truly see each other’s point, unmoving like mountains. Sabine drummed her fingers in silence for a moment, regarding her mother with frustration in her eyes, before breaking the quiet tension with decisive words.

“Ezra is my riduur, mother, in all ways but by ceremony. If the other houses object to that, then they can complain about it to my face,” she said with finality, then she turned sharply on her heel and walked away at the fastest pace she could, not willing to give her mother the last word on this.

Heading towards the ship, Sabine brusquely brushed past her brother, who eyed her with a inquisitive look as she ascended the ramp and made her way to the cockpit.

“Is everything alright, sis?” Tristan asked her, ever the concerned younger brother, coming to sit by her as she tried to focus on the launch sequence, attempting to stave off the conflict brewing in her gut.

“I’m fine, Tris,” she dismissed, trying not to let him hear the quiver in her voice or the tears beginning to form in her eyes. “I’m….fine.”

---

Kyrimorut, Sabine came to discover, was a world of mountains and valleys, of hills, cliffs, depressions, and mesas. Much of it was forested, with rivers, lakes, and even a few seas here and there. What wasn’t forested was covered in rolling grasslands and meadows, and all about were the sounds of birds and beasts. That, however, was not what Sabine could concentrate on at the moment. What she focused on was the large, imposing castle on the tallest hill in this vale. This keep of steel and stone was the stout home of Clan Skirata. All around the castle, the sky-hued banners of the Skiratas flapped proudly and defiantly, the steel gray war-hammer they used as a sigil befitting their clan motto – “Duty until Death”

After making their way up the long, winding path from the landing platform and past the tall stout walls, Sabine and Tristan arrived at the great iron doors of the keep, escorted by Lord Aden’s household guard. The doors opened with a mighty creak, and in they stepped to the great hall.

If Krownest’s keep was dull, then Kyrimorut’s was downright grim. There was almost no color on the walls – everything was some various shade of gray or brown. The only decorations around were the clan banners interspaced at regular intervals and steel reliefs detailing the mighty deeds of Skiratas stretching back for millennia. Light streamed in from the windows and from fluorescent lamps on the ceiling, giving the place an almost gothic feeling. At the end of the hall, atop a dais of granite, was a throne of steel, and on this metal throne sat a man of stone. His aged, tanned face was covered by a black beard that was beginning to gray in parts. His dark hair was cropped short, almost to military standards, and his eyes were like two muddy pools, betraying no thought behind their dark-brown visage and giving no warmth or friendliness.

This was Aden, Count of Kyrimorut and Chieftain of Clan Skirata.

“So, I see that Lady Ursa sends her only children to treat with me,” he spoke up in a gravelly voice with a Concordian accent. “A pair of birds flying into my hall, seeking my aid. That’s why you’ve come, is it not?”

He seems familiar, Sabine thought to herself, but how can that be?

“That is correct, my lord,” Sabine began, trying to focus herself, “we are seeking to overthrow the Imperials and their Saxon puppets. The Wrens cannot fight this war on our own. We need to stand united against the Empire, or else be ground down one by one until none of us are left to stand.”

Lord Aden said nothing, and instead walked at a brisk pace until he was about half a meter from where she was standing, and he appeared to tower over, as he was taller than her by a head.

“My brothers and I,” started Aden, “fought for the Republic twenty years ago. We bled for a regime that did not care for us, and a man who viewed us as naught but cheap tools to be dropped at the first inconvenience. So imagine my disappointment to hear that this so-called Rebel Alliance – the very same rebellion you’re a part of, Lady Sabine – is trying to bring back a system that became so corrupt and neglectful that the people of the galaxy preferred to place themselves under a fascist dictatorship. Why should I risk my clan, my family, for this sort of cause?” he asked, raising one of his thick eyebrows.

Sabine grit her teeth and held her ground. “I don’t care for the restoration of the Republic. I don’t care what system of government the people of this galaxy choose. What I care for is Mandalore! Our people! We who’ve been enslaved by aruetii bastards and sold out by craven dar’manda traitors! If you choose to remain in your castle to mope, my lord, so be it. I will at least fight these Imp monsters to the bitter end.”

Aden’s mouth twisted into a grin, and a chuckle escaped his throat. “Ah! You certainly have your mother’s fiery stubbornness!” he exclaimed. “I would be honored to aid you, Sabine of Clan Wren, but I must have your aid first,” he informed the two, then beckoned them to follow him. “As you may have heard, my clan has been having issues with pirates. To be more specific, a pirate lord by the name of Gir Kybo Ren-Cha. A gluttonous and vain prick of a man who gorges himself on the wealth of others,” he informed them as they walked down the corridors to a large room with a holotable in it. “Normally, my men and I wouldn’t have an issue dealing with this raider scum, but Kybo Ren is different animal entirely, not because of his motivations or the quality of his men. Rather, it’s because of this.”

He keyed in a few commands to the holographic projection, and it immediately zoomed into a large, semi-triangular ship with a large hanger on it’s bow. Sabine recognized it immediately – it was a Gladiator-class destroyer, an escort vessel that the Empire usually deployed as a long-range patrol ship. To see it in the hands of a pirate gang was… odd, to say the very least.

“How did this guy manage to get his hands on an entire Imperial cruiser?” Tristan wondered aloud for the both of them.

Aden shrugged with a sigh. “No one knows. He could have stolen it from a drydock, or he could have bought it off the black market. That, however, matters little. What matters is that our Fang fighters and Komr’ks don’t have the firepower to deal with that ship, meaning he’s been harassing any shipping or travelers coming into our space at leisure for nearly a month now.”

“And of course, the Empire isn’t wanting to help you out,” Sabine finished, a thought forming in her mind. “It could be that the reason for their reluctance to aid you is because Kybo’s on their payroll. Unofficially, of course. Wouldn’t want it leaking out to the public that they’ve been funding the very pirate problem they’ve justified their military expenses for, after all,” she snarked.

“Aye, it would make sense,” Aden agreed. “But how do we go about getting rid of these vagabonds is the question.”

Sabine stared at the image of the cruiser, a plan forming in her mind. It would be risky, but if they could pull it off, it would mean that not only would they get the Skiratas aid, but also bag a fairly powerful ship for their cause as well. “Do you have any freighters?” she asked suddenly.

Aden stared at her with an inquisitive look “Aye, we do in the town below. They’ve all been grounded until Kybo’s been dealt with. Why do you ask?”

“Simple. We gather a strike team of the best warriors, and use a freighter as bait to lure out the pirates. We’ll make them think we’re a smuggler ship loaded with valuable metals and spices. Use their greed against them, and when we’ve been pulled into their hanger, that’s when we’ll make our assault,” she answered, pointing to the large bow hanger.

Aden nodded, a grin forming on his lips. “I like it. I like it a lot, Lady Wren. If you manage to pull this off, then my swords will be yours,” he said.

---

From here, Kyrimorut looked like a distant teal dot, glowing faintly amidst the backdrop of the star-dotted blackness, and off to the right even farther from it was the warm light of it’s main sequence star, not even close to the end of its life yet and still burning brightly.

In this old YT-1210 light freighter that had been given the codename of the Copacabana, there were about six Mandalorian warriors ready to spring the trap on their pirate foes. Two were pilots, and had been assigned to the cockpit to operate the ship and make sure the transponder was running at full frequency. The other four, including herself and Tristan, were in the cargo hold checking over weapons and equipment, making sure that everything was good to go before the commencement of the operation.

Sabine looked at the other two Mandalorians sitting across from her. One was an older man in his forties, with dirty blonde hair tied in a half-up, beard, and gray-green eyes that regarded her kindly. The other was a younger man in his twenties, with eyes of dirt and trimmed coal hair, clean shaven and serious. This young man, she came to know, was Venku Skirata, Lord Aden’s nephew and presumed heir who went by the nickname of ‘Kad’, while the elder of the two went by the name of Bardan Jusik, who was one of Aden’s closest friends and advisors. That’s not what was getting her attention, however.

What was drawing her gaze was the lightsabers on their belts.

“I see you wondering about our swords, my lady,” Bardan spoke up, regarding her with a smile.

“I… yeah. Why do you both have lightsabers? Did you find them or did you… kill Jedi for them?” she asked, a bit hesitantly with that last part.

Bardan laughed. “No, no, certainly not, my lady. For myself, this is my own lightsaber. I was once a Jedi Knight, you see, and fought in the Clone Wars alongside Lord Aden and his brothers, when they were still fighting for the Republic as ARC troopers and Republic Commandos.”

Realization dawned on Sabine. So that’s why Lord Aden and all his brothers looked like Rex. They were clones…

Bardan motioned over to Kad. “Kad got his saber from his mother, who was a Jedi and a dear friend of mine,” he said.

Kad nodded. “Yes, my lightsaber is from my mom. My armor, however, is from my father, Darman Skirata,” he said in a quiet voice. It was apparent he had lost both his parents, that much Sabine could tell, but the “how” and “when” she got the feeling were very much not for her to discover. Thus, she only nodded.

“Cockpit to cargo, we’re coming up on the pirate cruiser now. They’ve got tractor beam lock on us and are bringing us in,” the pilot interrupted over the intercom.

“Good. Let them bring us into their hanger. We’ve got more than a few surprises waiting for them,” Sabine replied back into the intercom. At that moment, Bardan, Kad, Tristan, and herself did their final checks, put on their helmets, and readied their blasters, waiting now for the inevitable firefight that was about to ensue.

They felt the telltale shudder of a vessel passing through a particle shield, and the hissing groan of the landing gear deploying. At last, the loading ramp opened, and they made their move, with speed and violence. The pirates who had come to inspect the loot were shocked by the site of four fully armored and armed Mandalorians rushing at them, and had no time to even raise their blasters as the quartet gunned them down without mercy.

If Sabine were a greedy pirate like Kybo, then she would have been watching on the closed-circuit camera system to see what kind of loot a ship is bringing in, and to make sure her men wouldn’t get any funny ideas. Sure enough, the klaxon alarms started to blaze throughout the ship, and the hanger doors were immediately closed with a large crash.

“Well, we’ve got their attention now,” Bardan quipped as they ran down the corridor away from the hangar bay. “Now what?”

Sabine flashed an Imperial code cylinder that she had nabbed years prior. It was doubtful a bunch of pirates had the foresight to change the codes used for Imperial ships. “We break through everything these scumbags have to throw at us,” she exclaimed. “Come on! The bridge is this way!”

Through the destroyer they went, killing pirates and slicing through blast doors, their pace as relentless as a firestorm. It was not even fifteen minutes later when they reached the entrance to the bridge. It was, of course, shut by a blast door, and Sabine figured that Kybo and his best men were inside, guns drawn on the door. Not that it would help these bandits, of course. Their blasters were no match for beskar’gam or personal ray shields, and that didn’t even take into account that two of the strike team were Force-sensitive and trained how to use lightsabers.

Sabine plugged her key cylinder into the door consol. A few beeps and clicks later, the console lit up green, and the blast doors opened, revealing the crew and it’s captain, all of whom, as predicted, had their blasters trained on them.

“You scurvy womp-rats killed most of me hearty lads!” a short, fat little man with a thin moustache and goatee shouted at them. “What seek ye? The bounty on my head? Ha! I’ve been captured time and time again, and each time I’ve escaped to plunder anew! No one holds the great Kybo Ren for long!”

“No,” declared Sabine, drawing the and activating the Darksaber, “we’ve come here to bring justice upon you.” She pointed the black-lit blade at him. “Yield, and we shall show your men mercy, and you will answer for your crimes before Lord Aden. Fight, and die,” she pronounced, cold venom seeping into her voice.

Kybo sneered at them “Kill these Mando fools!” he bellowed, and the crew opened fire upon the four warriors, who swiftly went to the bloody work of killing. Bardan and Kad brought their lightsabers to bear, emerald and sapphire light flashing as bolts were blocked and limbs were sent flying. Tristan, for his part, blasted every pirate he could, nailing an obese, Imperial armor-wearing human with red-hair with a precise shot to his ugly head. Sabine marched straight towards Kybo, blocking all the shots of his blaster pistol using her shield, not stopping for anything. When she got close enough to him, she knocked the pistol out of his hand with her shield, and then followed it up with a sideways cut with the Darksaber. The black blade pierced through his thick neck easily, and when she finished her cut, his lifeless body crumpled into a massive heap, head rolling off his smoking neck and down to the consoles that controlled the ship’s functions.

That was it. Victory was theirs.

She heard a whistle from besides her. She turned to see Kad nodding in approval at her killing Kybo. “That was some fine sword work, Sabine Wren,” he complimented her. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you learn to wield your saber?” he asked politely.

“From a couple of Jedi I’m friends with. Kanan Jarrus and… and Ezra Bridger,” she said, the thought of her Jetti lover causing her to blush and feel warm all over. She was thankful she was wearing her helmet.

Kad nodded again. “I see…” he began, then trailed off. “So, I take it you and this Ezra Bridger are together then?”

She stammered for words as she cursed herself. Of course, he was a Force-sensitive. He would have obviously sensed her feelings for Ezra.

Kad laughed. “Worry not, Sabine. Clan Skirata is a friend to the Jetti. My mother was one, after all, and Bardan here was in the Order. Not to mention we sheltered many Jedi refugees on our world. Plus, Mando and Jedi couples are rare, but they do happen,” he proclaimed, and Sabine swore he was winking through his helmet. “Anyway, my uncle will want us to contact him immediately. Is there a comms device we can use nearby?”

Sabine nodded. “There’s always one in the back of the bridge with any Kuat-build vessel” she affirmed. “Follow me.”

The other three followed Sabine into a large room in the back of the bridge, with a holographic table in the center and chairs surrounding it. Sabine walked to the table and keyed in the Kyrimorut comms frequency. Not a few seconds later, the shimmering blue holographic form of Lord Aden appeared, crossing his arms over his breastplate and smiling faintly.

“Ah, Lady Wren. I was wondering when you were going to contact me. I take it, then, since you’re talking to me, that the mission was successful?” he asked, though he most likely already knew the answer.

“Yes, my lord,” Sabine confirmed. “All hostile forces on the ship have been eliminated, including Captain Ren-Cha. We suffered no casualties. The ship – the Demolisher – is yours, my lord.”

Aden’s grin widened, and he clapped his hands. “Not only did you manage to get rid of my pirate problem, but you also gift me a Star Destroyer! I daresay, girl, you’ve impressed me greatly. Sabine Wren, I am in your debt, and it is one I aim to repay in full. I hereby accept your offer of alliance. My swords shall be yours to command, until the day the Imps are driven from our space, or we die fighting.”

A rush of elation spread over Sabine. Her plan was starting to work. They now had allies. And she knew with more victories, more would join her.

She just hoped it would be enough.

Notes:

A/N: Hiya folks! I know it's been a... while (stares at calendar), but here's another chapter for yall!

Those of you who've read the Republic Commando novels will recognize the Skiratas. I did change some things for them to fit in more with my work, such as Kyrimorut being an entire planet instead of a village on Mandalore, but there story otherwise remained the same.

And yes, that is indeed Kybo Ren from the silly Droids cartoon from the 90s.

Ah, and here we see two stubborn Mando women clash yet again. Both have good points. Love and duty rarely mix well together, after all.

Until next time!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of A Song of Ghosts and Wolves