Chapter Text
He had nothing, he had lost everything in the amount of time of a conversation and he... well, he didn't exist anymore.
Officially, he was happily married to the leader of a clone army on behalf of the Jedi Order and was going to live with him to get to know him and live happily ever after. Unofficially, he was deregistered from the Jedi Order because a Jedi should not marry, he had his lightsaber taken away, the symbol of his Jedi identity, all his possessions, symbols of his identity, and his com, the ultimate symbol of his freedom.
He was going alone to the enemy, unarmed and with no other possessions than bracelets that cut him off from the Force. He could remove them of course, they were bracelets, but he wouldn't. The Council had been clear, his husband didn't like "Jedi magic" and wanted a spouse who didn't use the Force. The Force was in them on a molecular level, they couldn't ignore it unless an outside force to compel them to. It was just him, his clothes and the bracelet... nothing else. He hadn't had time to see his Padawan or his Master again, and it had been made clear that his disobedience would result in unpleasant consequences for them, and Quinlan didn't want to be responsible for their misfortune.
The shuttle that would take him to a larger spaceship finally opened on the landing platform. Quinlan had been escorted by the Council and Temple Guards as soon as they informed him that they were destroying his life and would not hesitate to destroy the lives of those he loved to ensure his compliance. The clones on board looked at them under their impassive helmets and made no move, it was up to him to join them.
He did his best to move forward without faltering, hiding his awkward balance and his surprise - fear - at always seeing things without feeling them beforehand. It was a military shuttle, the seat was hard and uncomfortable, and his last glimpse of the Temple and everything he had ever known was a gathering of indifferent and unperturbable Jedi.
It was hard for him to fully understand that he would no longer be able to go where he wanted, even though it was a logical conclusion: no missions, no ships, no money... no rights.
What was he even allowed to do? All he knew was that he was going to marry the leader, whose title was "Alor", and that everyone obeyed him, without exception. The message had been clear: he was not an exception. It was also in everyone's best interest that Quinlan was satisfactory enough not to destroy the arrangement between the clones and the Jedi, so that it would open up opportunities of negotiation for a full-scale agreement between the military organisation and the Republic.
Around him the helmets were removed and voices rose without the typical vocoder of those masks and Quinlan forced himself not to react.
Identical faces, identical bodies, identical voices, identical armour designs... even with the different patterns on their breastplates and forearms, Quinlan could hardly identify them, so without... kriff, he doubted he would even be able to distinguish his husband from his hundreds of thousands of lookalikes without the armour.
They were joking and having fun if he had to judge the situation... because he didn't understand anything. But then… really: nothing. He didn't even recognize a word, between that and his disconnect from the Force, there was nothing to distract him from his own distress that caught his tripes and tightened his chest, even breathing was difficult... he made no sound and held back his easy grimaces, he was usually too expressive but he couldn't afford it. It was for him to be the best husband he could be to ensure Aayla and Master Tholme the freedom and life they deserved.
He would have to be everything he wasn't: gentle, docile and helpful. Quiet and submissive. Obedient. Invisible. Patient and innocent.
It would probably be easier without the Force and without a weapon. He wouldn't be tempted to fight back, and fear and pain were great motivators to adapt. And Quinlan would have to adapt a lot and strongly twist his ways to be even at the "acceptable" level: he was arrogant, mocking, disrespectful, and tend to disobey for the sake of pissing off the people who gave him orders. It was the complete opposite of what a warlord raised in some Mandalorian tradition might desire. He had no illusions that anyone willing to take someone like him as a husband would do so in rare cases, for he had nothing that anyone would want in a spouse: either his husband liked to have someone rough to deal with in his barbaric Mandalorian ways, or he was ignorant of Quinlan's background and would expect a "good" Jedi, and would make sure Quinlan assume his role and hold his rank. Either way, the Jedi knew to expect restrictions and punishment.
Quinlan at least thanked his tumultuous youth and Tholme's tolerance for his experience, he couldn't even imagine how he would feel if he were thrown virginal and naive, alone and afraid, into the bed of an unexpected husband. Especially knowing that several men could take turns to fuck him and he would know nothing about it, he would not even be able to distinguish the faces without the Force.
He was at least glad he had wanted a man, Quinlan would never have forgiven himself if Aayla had been sent in his place if he had wanted a woman, and that possibility seemed more obvious to him with every minute of further thought on the matter, knowing that she had inherited his catastrophic reputation and was a very pretty young Twi'lek. She would have been an ideal choice for a sacrifice. Better him than her. Besides his former Padawan, he still had his Master, but he was too old and too respected for the Order to do without him. Then he thought of his few friends and loved ones... there weren't many. The only friend he had left was Obi-Wan - though he was well on his way to ruining that last close relationship in recent years - and Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan was a good Jedi, but he wasn't the kind of person who could put up with the same things he could. Obi-Wan was gentle, and most of all, he loved his pretty blonde pacifist Kryze girl, dearly and wistfully, he wouldn't be able to be savagely fucked and beaten up and then get back up as if nothing had happened, because that was something you could only learn with experience, and it wasn't the kind of experience he wanted anyone to have.
The scars on his back always seemed to wake up when he recalled bad memories.
Right now, he felt like a giant wound.
He checked around him, and although they were still talking, the clones in his escort were keeping an eye on him.
Quinlan tried to make himself more comfortable - he couldn't - and sighed very softly through his nose. He made a promise to himself: he wouldn't cry. Whatever they did to him, no matter how painful or frightening it could become, he would not cry.
The Masters hated slaves who cried, and Quinlan had been a slave long enough to remember those lessons perfectly.
Basically, they were all clones of the same man and probably share a brotherly instinct. His husband would love any of his brothers far more than he would love Quinlan, especially since Quinlan was only there because his husband was making a deal with the Jedi for the safety of his own.
Quinlan couldn't alienate them, so he would have to be as helpful to them as he was to his husband, outside the marital bed.
He took another deep breath.
In the hope that he didn't like sharing his toys with others, that was enough humiliation.