Chapter Text
Book I: Introduction
Hope is to endurance as optimism is to denial.
What gives a word meaning?
Hope and optimism go hand in hand, so how can one exist without the other? The smile on his face, the reassuring words—they were lies of optimism. A flimsy lie, though it may have been, could give way to hope that will strengthen and endure. Or so Obi-Wan told himself, as the last of his people walked, and walked, and walked.
They could not run, for that would give the appearance of fleeing. And when one is being hunted, quick movements and those out of place are always noticed first.
But optimism. Obi-Wan felt hope, but not optimism, as a young Jedi woman came to him with a list of their resources, her eyes desperate as she handed him a very short list—the sum of everything a group one hundred strong possessed, fitted neatly on just a few lines scratched into thick paper.
There was no room for optimism, as the last of their food rations were divvied out five days later.
Optimism is to denial as hope is to endurance.
To be optimistic was to be blind to the cries of hungry children, the stumbling of weary, cracked feet.
To hope was to understand that there will be an after, and one can only hope that the result of their actions, their decisions makes it a good after.
Coruscant lay burning behind them, the Separatist army having razed it to the ground. The absence of his fellow council members was never felt more keenly as he felt it then; wishing for wisdom to lean on and experience to inform his decisions.
And while he did lean on the love and comfort of his crèchemates, and was informed equally of opportunity and risk surrounding them by the few Knights they have left, the decision-making was now all up to him.
Hope pushed them onwards.
Book II: Qui-Gon
'Obi-Wan!' A shout came to Obi-Wan from behind him, causing the redhead to quickly put down the satchel he was mending.
His mentor, Qui-Gon, had caught up to them only a few days prior. He had been traveling the countryside to follow the Will of the Force, so tuned into its guiding hand within all life. It must have been a miracle—a work of the Force itself—that he had run into their troupe of travelling Jedi, as he had intended to end his travels back in Coruscant where the Temple—his home—lay. Obi-Wan had moved to stand and ducked out of his tent to meet the harried man, a state he was unused to seeing the ever-serene man in. To his old mentor, he spoke with equal urgency: 'What is it, Master?'
His baritone voice had been laced with a myriad of emotions, fear and betrayal at the forefront as Qui-Gon cried: 'They are near us: over the hill, it is my old Master and his followers!'
As he stood, looking troubled, Obi-Wan rubbed a hand over his travel-dusted beard and said: 'The Separatists. They are chasing us, to ensure we are completely destroyed. It seems that our ousting is not enough for the Count and his generals.'
Qui-Gon had remained silent, unable to deny his apprentice's words, but the memory of the kindness his old Master held once for all living things remained in his heart and in his mind and so he could not agree, either. At the dour reminder hanging in the air, Obi-Wan asks: 'Has Garen and his scouts returned yet? I see they are not delivering this news.' With the focus brought back upon the reason for the conversation, Qui-Gon is quick to send word on his behalf to the scouts. The elder Jedi leaves, long hair brushing over his shoulders as he dipped out of the tent.
Obi-Wan stopped his old teacher with a raised brow, and said: 'And just what were you doing out alone? We are vulnerable, Master, and you are one of our few capable fighters. We need you here. Often a feirce storm rattles this landscape, I warn you that these calm winds are but only a trick to lull us into a sense of security. It is just so, with the Force: our Seers, myself included, feel no doom on the horizon. Still, just yesterday, a mare returned without its rider, riddled with arrows—foamed at the mouth in such tremendous pain.'
The older man had turned inwards, his shoulders hunching in contritement as he spoke: 'My once Padawan, I felt that I could be of assistance. After all, I am a capable Jedi Master, as you say. I confess that I did indeed go out without weighing care from your conscience, and so I will do as you say.'
The red-haired Jedi had just sighed, knowing his Master's whims were to be channeled, not cut off. He speaks: 'Take someone with you, then, if you must go.' He shook his head, turning to the map of the lands drawn by their scouts. This was not a war. How could it be, when only one side is chasing, and the other running? This is not the honorable war of stories past. This would be a tale of survival, or a tale of tragedy. It could only end one way.
If honor is being cast aside, then what does that leave room for?
The word of Garen brought news of the army they face. A small contingent of soldiers—an arrogance on Dooku's part. He believed they were far fewer than they truly were, and that left them with an advantage. Still, in the breasts of their people, beneath the fragile armors of muscle, sinew, and bone, hope still beat in the lifeblood of every being—from the youngest to the most venerable—pulsing golden strength to their fingertips, to their toes. They were still hungry, weary members of a temple against hale and hardy soldiers with glittering shields and gleaming bronze plating. They must hide their numbers to maintain the illusion. A lightning strike, a dive of a hawk. They must appear from nowhere and leave their adversaries dazed. Through the veiled woods they advanced, their helms crowned with branches, until the forest itself seemed to move with them. What thunder their march made was created not of numbers, but of their wills and faith in the hand of the Force—a storm conjured by resolve alone. Shapes and shadows rippled across the hillsides, and whispers carried word legend and warning ahead of them. The enemy, watching the trees come alive, saw a host where only a handful stood, and terror, not steel, broke their ranks. One by one, armies were scattered and enemy Commanders forced to flee. First the foot soldiers faltered. Fear, once a whisper in the ranks, swelled to a roar as they saw the trees come alive, and the forest itself seemed to bear down upon them. They cast aside their spears and fled, their discipline unmade by the phantom of an army greater than their own. Commanders, left stranded upon the field, shouted until their voices failed—their words lost in the tide of retreating men. And when the first line broke, the next followed, seeing only dust and ruin where their brothers once stood. Confusion became contagion; courage curdled into dread. One legion’s flight doomed the next, and soon the whole plain was alive with the drumming of retreat—the ground quaking from the unorganized footsteps of escape. Banners fell, trampled into the mud; shields were abandoned like husks.
The Jedi could not help but cheer as they watched the backs of their enemy grow smaller in the distance, until a scream—shrill and piercing—cut through the noise. The moment hung still, as mist floats in the air or a downy feather rides a warm draft—breath held in breasts, shouts stuttering in throats. A sword, tinged in the red of blood and ruby plunged through the gut of a man. General Maul Opress withdrew his blade and ran, his own bleeding abdomen leaving a trail of his lifeblood in the shore grass.
Obi-Wan ran to his Master's side, knees slamming into the dirt as he looked upon the wound. It made for a hollow victory, as Qui-Gon's life bled from him as fast as the Separatists fled out of sight. Still, despite his rapidly waning energy, the older man looked up to his protégé with a kind smile.
Here, alas, Obi-Wan lost his poor teacher, his mentor and father-figure, who had given comfort in every trouble and misfortune. The Force hadn't given any warning of the coming grief, no gut-clenching feeling of wrongness that prophesied many horrors. Qui-Gon was laid to in the sandy soil of the wave-washed bay they found themselves near by. What had been sights of tall reefs and jutting rock beyond of pearly white sands were now joyless shores stained grey and red to Obi-Wan—a place marred by the memory of death and battle. Though it was not the Jedi way to dwell on grief and loss—such was the life of a warrior who upheld duty over person—the need to rise from their knees and resume their march was driven further by the weight of enemy threat. Like a heavy cloud blocking the sun, the mind was overshadowed by paranoia at the return of Dooku's armies. Over plains and through desert they traveled, wasting away the stores of salt pork and wine until they reached the country of Sundari—a place of salvation and rest from the beating sun lay on the horizon, yet no bigger than a pin head though it was still.
Book III: Satine and Merrik discuss the Jedi
The Queen of Sundari was a pious sort, heart hardened against violence. For many years of her reign she did dispatch with the warrior's mindset that so beheld her people and her people's past, such that the army was stood down, armor traded for governor's stolae and swords for clay tablets. It was on a summer's eve that Satine did gaze over the land that her heart belonged to. Nestled in windswept deserts, her kingdom was the lush green and fertile soil that none would expect in such a place—a wonder only caused by a great aquifer that kept her lands from dying and her people from thirst. The dawn was already steady on the horizon, the morning chill burned away and those living there roused by the bright rays of light. It was there that she spoke with her trusted advisor gazing out an open colonnade and said: 'Governor Merrik, how conflicted I am! The Jedi are peacekeepers, yet they could bring war to our doorstep. The one who leads them has many tales preceding him, of kindness and bloodshed! You must understand, I cannot see how a man could be described as kind, when he is known for felling men with his sword and leading battles over scarred lands? And yet, I saw him in the distance just the other morning and I cannot help but know his character would do well here. I believe he could set aside his forceful, battle-lusting ways and be at my side. If only my mind were not so set on peace, were I not so wearied by civil war and strife, I would take this man as he is! He is the only man who makes my heart burn alight as it does so now: I have never felt this way for any other. Still, do I challenge the will of fate by welcoming in outsiders? I confess, Governor, that I have been weary ever since Pre Vizsla called to arms and carved lines in the maps of the oceans that separate good Sundari and its Mandalorian colonies, claiming that he were the rightful ruler and rebelling against our enlightened ways. Would this kind, battle-hardened stranger be the same?' From behind the sovereign ruler, Merrik bowed a head in sympathy. To console his queen, he spoke: O majesty, who are more beloved to her people than the waters of life beneath our feet, I have not known you to be hesitant in what you desire. Shall you spend the day sighing away and gazing over your lands, or shall you do as you have before and enjoy the opportunity before you? You should not sorrow, my lady, for I believe you can bring peace to this man. Have you forgotten whose lands you collect from? Whose people were once bloodied warriors engaged in war and strife in the wastes of Concordia, near the mines of Concord Dawn, the deserts of Mandalore of which you have deemed your capital and rightful home while away from your throne in Sundari? If I should tempt the powers of the Force and say: you have tamed these soldiers, brought verdant life to your lands, settled borders and allowed for prosperity! This stranger, if you so desire him, will see your ways and will consider you strongly—for what a husband he would make! He is a leader in his own right, accomplished and strong in morals. With the strength of his people, famed peace-keepers of the realm, you shall spread your will through these battle-wearied missionaries, these Jedi. If you wish it, it shall be done!'