Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is owned by George Lucas. Anything you don't is owned by me, though what I will do with it, I don't know. I'm not writing this to make a profit, and I'm not pretending to be a prophet, so no flaming is allowed! Feedback and constructive criticism, however, is mandatory.

The purpose of this fiction? Mostly just to satisfy a writing urge that grips me once in a while. I intend to write a bit about Jagged Fel during the period between The Joiner King and Betrayal. I also intend to drag in a few Jedi and a certain Sith Lady, so watch out! Comment, please!

Chapter One: Repercussions

The dark figure stood quietly, considering his actions. If he was discovered, it could well mean the end of his life. If what he had just done ever came to the light – what an ironic turn of phrase – he could well lose more than just his life. But he had done what he must. If he had not, she might never have known the truth. He intended for her to learn it; at least, the one that he chose. For if she ever learned the real truth, he would be lucky if the only thing she did to him was to kill him. That is, if her mother or father did not get to him, first.

"Never trust a Jedi."

The bartender glanced up quizzically. A human male sat at a table three or four meters away, in the same place as he had been all night. He was of unremarkable height, with naturally black hair – though the single white forelock could have been artificial, despite it's alignment with the large scar that slashed through his otherwise handsome features, lending him a dangerous air – and unsettlingly piercing blue eyes. His demeanor spoke of a disciplined lifestyle, and even while in the grips of whatever he wished to forget, he had not touched the second glass in front of him. Physically fit, he had an air of readiness about him, that could have sprung from a life of military readiness – not uncommon, only a few short years after the Vong War and even less time after the Killik Crisis – or from a life of crime. He had been an unremarkable customer, indistinguishable in character from the hundreds of sapient beings who came here to forget their troubles and woes. The bartender, an experienced profiler, had dismissed him as the type to cause trouble.

That had just changed.

The Jedi had been feared and hated even when they were thousands strong in the Old Republic. After the Emperor and Darth Vader, conditions had only worsened. Accusation and prejudices had haunted them ever since, even after they proved themselves in the Yuuzhan Vong debacle, which had left the galaxy reeling. While the public had needed them, when they had saved them, there had been a brief time of public love and approval, which had gradually faded away. After the Killik Crisis, of course, rumors had arisen about Jedi who lacked human feelings, Jedi who did not care about people, only abstract concepts of higher purpose. But that was ridiculous. Borleias had left an indelible impression on the bartender, and he would never doubt the Jedi. And he would never allow a challenge to his heroes to go unanswered.

"Trust a Jedi? That's the worst mistake you could ever make."

He appeared to be speaking to the holocaster, whose unnaturally perfect features dominated the screen behind the counter. She was reporting yet another unbelievable Jedi action that had struck a blow for the cause of peace. Apparently, a pirate had run up against the wrong people, and now lived to regret it.

The man's hair was shaggy, and looked as if it had not been cut for weeks. His face was sad, and unshaven. His eyes were bleary, bloodshot, and held a surreal combination of sorrow and danger. The clothes he wore, though relatively clean, were old and worn. He would have been exceptionally handsome were it not for his battle scars, his apparent neglect, and his depression. He seemed alert, and now seemed poised on the edge of violence, ready for action. His ID had said that he was not past his thirtieth lifeday, but he acted like a man who had seen two lifetimes of sorrow, and had been through unspeakable tragedies.

"No honor. But I was blind."

He had definitely had enough. Like it or not, Ikondres decided, this guy was definitely on his way out.

He was staring at a holocube that he held cupped in his palm.

"Did you ever love me? Or was I just a crutch for you to lean on?"

The bartender had been about to move towards him. But the last words froze him right where he stood. Jedi? Love? He had never considered a Jedi in love, though he knew that they had married; often to other Jedi. This man could not have been speaking of a Jedi loving him. Jedi did not love normal people. They were their own universe.

--------------------------------

His eyes detected motion. From the edge of his field of vision, the bartender was approaching.

Apparently, he had been speaking his thoughts aloud. He must indeed have fallen far to allow such a grievous breach of self-control. For a bleak moment, he remembered his life, his family; but then the black abyss at the back of his mind reached up and swallowed the memories, tinting them gray, then washing them out in a black tide. "You will live out the final days of your life in despair, helpless, knowing only that your honor has failed and your life has come to nothing; and that the woman you loved has betrayed you."

He didn't know where the stray thought had come from, but it sounded fairly accurate. So far, the predictions inside were well on their way to fruition.

"Hey. Buddy."

His fingers flashed, and the holocube disappeared as if it had never existed. He looked up to find the bartender, who had somehow crossed the intervening space without him noticing. Pudge looked grim, menacing. He sighed, defeated. He was about to be kicked out of another bar.

"I don't know who you are or what you're trying to forget, but you're going to have to do it somewhere else. I've always supported the Jedi, and I won't have your kind in here, do you understand me? So you can get your shebs up off that chair and get moving, before I do it for you."

The words rolled away from the seated man like water away from a shore, leaving no discernible trace behind. If they affected him at all, he wasn't about to show it.

"The Jedi are greater than you can possibly comprehend, pal, and I doubt that you could ever be half as honorable. If you-"

The dark tide of ruin brought on by the man's words elicited no expression; but he looked up at the bartender, words coming with considered slowness out of his mouth.

"If the Jedi were so honorable, I wouldn't be there. If Jedi were so great, they would never have fallen so far."

"You can't blame those di'kutla Vong on the Jedi, you blind idiot!" Pudgeman was squeaking in outrage. "The Jedi are the ones who-"

His mind pulled back from the dark journey it had been taken. That time had been an aberration, a moment when she was emotionally vulnerable. He had just been something to lean on. Regardless, he couldn't stand it anymore.

"You look like a fat version of Booster Terrik."

The chances that the barkeep would know the name were nearly astronomical. Any Corellian would have been disappointed when the fat man showed no other reaction than a brief splutter at the word 'fat.'

"You're drunk!"

"You brought me my drink. Singular. Which is still sitting in front of me, half-full. You know I'm not. So leave me alone, or face the consequences."

He shouldn't have said that. If the man thought he was drunk, it would be an advantage. He could see no reason in whatever planet this was that he would need one, but it would have been nice anyways. Most aces were shot down by rookie pilots.

"You can walk out the door or you can be thrown out. Choose, kar'laka!"

Another fight. Bacta treatment. Police hassle. A night in jail.

Who cared?

A hand clamped on his shoulder and hauled him out of his chair, dumping him unceremoniously on the floor, interrupting his rebel dreams. He was hauled, none too gently, towards the door. Towards a world which did not care, a universe which kept on moving, unaffected by the grief and care of those inhabiting it.

His uncle, decades ago, had faced a situation where he could do something about that uncaring galaxy, affect the course of history. He hadn't known it at the time, but he would become a rebel, standing firm for peace, justice, and security.

He had no such option. His life and heart were shattered, and no proton torpedo or blaster, no thermal detonator, no combat skill, could fix it; unless he used them on himself. And that was something he would never do.

That didn't mean, though, that he couldn't 'enjoy' himself once in a while. A cold, predatory smile crept across his face and he moved.

Ikondres looked down at the unresisting, helpless man that he held firmly. He was limp, being dragged along by the collar of his well-worn clothes; but there had been a slight shift just now. He started to look back to the door, but his eye was caught by motion at the corner of his view. He looked down just in time to see his captive reach up with both arms and grip his forearm, as strong as a cargo droid. As the man twisted it in a peculiar manner, a jagged lightning bolt twisted its way up his arm into his shoulder, and his knees buckled under a white wave of agony that rushed to his brain, sweeping away thought and reason.

Jae Juun was not happy. He had been sitting in the bar, out of the way at a table in the back, facing outwards so he could scan the room, for three and a half minutes. The procedure for this meeting clearly stipulated that the exposure time be as short as possible. If he found out that Saba Sebatyne was late because she was hunting some weird little furry thing, he was going to let Tarfang loose on her. And if she didn't show up in the next minute and a half, he was going to –

A short, excited chitter broke his chain of thought. Distracted and frowning, he looked up to remind Tarfang that in The Bounty Hunter on Ord Mantell, Han Solo clearly demonstrated the need for unobtrusiveness and quietness on covert missions. Jae's destiny was to become a successful Intelligence operative, famous, following in the footsteps of his hero, Han Solo. But things like this idiot partner of his kept happening, kept getting in his destiny's way. Tarfang, furry though he might be, was definitely no Chewbacca.

Han Solo and destiny vanished from his mind when he saw the short, furry little Ewok standing on the table – On the TABLE! What was he thinking? Didn't he know that Juun was going to eat off of that? – and cheering on a human male who seemed to be happily engaged in fighting the entire room at once. The Ewok seemed as happy as a Ylesian Pilgrim about to receive the Exultation. Frowning, Jae considered the likelihood that Saba had arranged the fight just to annoy him – Barabels had weird senses of humor, and Barabel Jedi were no exception – and then desperately leaped after the Ewok, who, still chittering madly, had just jumped off the table onto the back of a middle-aged man. The fellow, gripping a bottle by the neck, had been about to strike at the dark-haired human. Diverted from his intended course by the yammering Ewok, the man spun around and accidentally whacked the lurching Sullustan with the bottle.

It was going to be a bad day. Juun could see it as clearly as if it was written in front of his eyeballs, where the night sky of Sullust was currently whirling around in circles.

-------------------------------------------------------

Zair Phenir had arrived nearly a full three minutes after his partner, due to a deaf, blind, and extremely dumb driver who had ignored his flashing lights, happily blocking the exit ramp, engrossed in a map console. The street outside the bar was packed full of panicked patrons and security officials. A team of reporters had already arrived, and were wheeling like krayt dragons, hungrily searching for anyone who might be able to give them their sustenance; information, and the stupider, the better. Ikondres, the owner and operator of the bar, was gesticulating wildly with one hand as he animatedly told his story to one voracious flock. The other was held at an odd angle to his body, and was heavily bandaged, swathed in bacta patches. An exasperated paramedic was attempting to reposition him, but Ikondres was enjoying his moment in the spotlight. Apparently, he couldn't see the reporters who were laughing at him.

Raal Ternos was nowhere in sight, so Zair walked past the security cordon, dodging a reporter on the way, and into the bar, where a highly entertaining sight greeted his eyes.

The large, long room had originally held seating accommodations and tables sufficient for many sentients; several of the sentients were still there, but the seats and tables were not. In their place, rows of kindling had arisen, irregularly spread about the room. In and amongst the kindling lay two dozen of the citizens that Zair Phenir had sworn to protect and defend, representing seven different species. They lay scattered around the room in various poses of peaceful-looking slumber – well, peaceful-looking if you ignored the bloody noses and smashed furniture. Zair was well enough accustomed to that to find the entire scene bursting with comic potential.

He suppressed a laugh when he saw the dazed Sullustan staggering towards him from the back of the room. The pink, hairless Sullustan – he believed it was male, though at times it was difficult to tell the difference – was swatting angrily at a black Ewok, who was using the Sullustan's left ear as a facecloth to wipe blood off of his small black nose. Both appeared to have been in the thick of things, though their reactions were markedly different; the Sullustan bore a look of disgust, while the Ewok was grinning from ear to tattered ear.

To his left, the barkeep was sprawled, out cold, on the floor. Beside him lay a Bothan, who appeared to have been stepped on by the Weequay sprawled over the low table behind the bar amongst the dispensers.

Stepping over the Bothan, he looked closer; yes, the Weequay had hit the bar so hard that it had cracked in half. That explained why it looked like the top half of an X-Wing, seen from the rear.

Several humans were lying about, scattered through the remains of the furniture, evidencing none of the discomfort they would feel upon awakening. The most serious injury appeared to have been Ikondres', though the Weequay might need medical attention.

Glancing about, he spotted his partner, Raal Ternos. Breathtakingly beautiful, she had remained oblivious to his interest in her for the entire time they partnered together. A tall, slim blonde whose features possessed an indefinably pleasing symmetry, she was patting down a human male, who stood quietly in stun cuffs, and appeared on the verge of a smile. His raised eyebrow – bisected by a jagged scar that slashed across his forehead – expressed a cool amusement at the condition of the shattered barroom. Raal seemed to be enjoying herself a little too much, carefully checking the man for hidden weapons, so Zair started towards her, trying not to look like a lovestruck nerf. He had made only three strides when the Sullustan intercepted him, still attached to the Ewok. Distracted, Zair tried to point him outside the door, and kept moving. The round little fellow had a good grip on Zair's nerfhide jacket, though, and he wasn't letting go. Forced to pay attention, Phenir became aware of a dispute between the unlikely pair; the Sullustan was discussing heatedly 'the correct procedures to be followed when civilian distractions interrupt our mission,' until the Ewok whacked him on the side of the head and growled fiercely, pointing to Zair and, presumably, the security ID attached to the outside of his otherwise civilian clothing. Drawing himself up officiously, the Sullustan began to self-importantly explain the situation.

Between discourses on procedure, bits and pieces of fact came out. The Sullustan was the one who had initially called in the report about the fight, after he was viciously attacked by a three meter tall human male whose muscular structure had been apparently been genetically enhanced, whose brutality matched that of a Yuuzhan Vong Warmaster.

The Ewok gargled something incomprehensible, to which the Sullustan disdainfully replied that he had had a better view. From the Sullustan's end of the conversation, (To Zair Phenir, Ewokese sounded like five drunker Bith singers inhaling Tibanna gas) he gained the unlikely conclusion that the Ewok had been riding piggyback on the 'monster' at the time of the assault. Though he couldn't understand a word that the fuzzball was squeaking, Phenir liked him…he was a lot funnier than the gentle Ewoks of holotoon fame. If Ewoks were all like this guy, it was a wonder that they hadn't invaded and conquered their neighboring star systems millennia ago, building wooden bridges between planets while wearing vac suits made of leaves.

Phenir listened patiently to the Sullustan's report and promised to prosecute the bar owners to the limit of the law – there was no listing of emergency numbers posted on the wall next to the comm, which was painted the wrong color, required an entire decicred more than standard paycomms, and was placed too high up for easy use by nonhuman species. His patience was nearing it's too-short breaking point when the Ewok bared his teeth and chattered something savage sounding, which the Sullustan replied to with a disdainful snort.

"He was too big."
"Hrrr, chibba hyootah!"
"No, I couldn't have."
"Chokka!"
"You're insane. Even if you'd managed to do that, you couldn't have dragged him."
"Thibbbbbcooo!"
"Shut up."

Phenir resolved to check out a flash-learning program for Ewokese as soon as he got off of work today, and to invite Raal to visit Endor next time he got a week off. If she'll go with me. Asking her out would cost me every last remnant of my pride, since she obviously is not interested in me...The Ewok muttered something under his breath, which the Sullustan heard and Phenir did not. The Sullustan – who had given his name as Jae Juun - turned an alarming shade of yellow, and launched into a furious tirade aimed at the Ewok, this time in Sullustan, which was yet another language Zair did not know. Able to restrain his curiosity no longer, Phenir interrupted the tirade and asked,

"What did the little fuzzball say?"

Juun gave him a disdainful look and spat a nasty-sounding reply, which made Phenir frown. "Hey, show some respect to an officer of the law. You're addressing a Lieutenant in the Security Force, not some refugee. What did the little fuzzball say?"

Grudgingly, Juun switched back to Basic, and with an outraged expression on his comically cherubic face, said, "Yub Yub, Lieutenant."
The Ewok – Tarfang – doubled over laughing and collapsed into a fit of chuckles.

Before the dratted little nuisance started in again, Phenir turned the pair over to a newly -arrived cop, and gave her instructions to bring them back to headquarters, pending investigation of the bar fight and charges against the genetically modified monster. Before they could leave, however, he asked the Sullustan to point out the man – oddly enough, Zair was not having much luck locating a three-meter tall savage amongst the wreckage. Grudgingly, Jae pointed at a middle-aged balding man with a rounded belly and a red nose, who was lying on the floor with a pained expression on his florid face. Unable to restrain the snort of amusement, Zair waved his fellow officer off, and turned his attention back toward Raal.

Beautiful though she was, and despite his very strong desire to stand there and stare at her, he found the willpower to shift his gaze to her prisoner, who had watched the whole comical proceeding without showing any visible emotion. It seemed that a faint flicker of surprise crossed his face when the retreating officer asked them for their names again – Jae Juun and Tarfang – but on the whole, he looked as unconcerned as if he was at an old pilot's reunion party that had gotten a little rowdy.

He wore the cuffs without seeming to notice them, and he held his back straight with pride. Not the slightest twinge of remorse or regret touched his features as he surveyed the damage in the room. Indeed, he seemed vaguely amused at all this, especially the bartender, lying on the floor as if he had been permanently attached to it by the unifying force of the blows he had suffered. When the man's gaze swept over Phenir, Zair held it, feeling a touch uncertain. The scarred, dark-haired man before him was not holding his back so straight out of defiance, but from sheer force of habit. Military-trained, probably career. Why is he in a bar causing fights? Certainly, it was nothing abnormal for a soldier to cause a ruckus on leave; but this man was different. There was an indefinable aura surrounding him, something indescribable and powerful. Phenir knew that this man had borne pain so great that even the not-quite normal life of military service was not an option.

The prisoner's gaze was a little too disconcerting, so Zair shifted his view to something –all right, someone – infinitely more pleasing.

Unfortunately, the pleasing object of his attention was behaving in a displeasing manner.

Raal Ternos had worked with Zair long enough that he could read her mind at times. It didn't hurt matters that he had spent every possible minute studying and dreaming about her. At times like this, though, that ability could be somewhat of a curse. Because right now, he really didn't want to see that look in her eyes, especially since it was not aimed at him. She was the one looking like a lovestruck nerf, now. She may have held the keys to her prisoner's cuffs, but he was holding some portion of her captive. Granted, if the guy ever took a bath, shaved, and maybe got a haircut, he would be pretty good-looking. But she looked as self-conscious as a teenager meeting a movie star. Which was entirely unreasonable, in Zair's estimation. Maybe he should go berserk and get in a bar fight sometime. It would be worth it, to have that look aimed at him.

"Raal."
Silence.
"Raal."
Silence. This was getting annoying.

"Raal!"

The prisoner had been looking at Zair while he called his partner, but now he turned to see why she had not responded. As his eyes met hers, she flushed bright red and looked away hurriedly. Catching sight of Zair, she stuttered out a comment that would have been normal and innocuous except for the darting glances she gave Silverlock.

"This must have been quite the fight."

Three things were obvious to Zair in that moment. The first was that she still had no idea that he had called her, and only spoke to him because she was avoiding Silverlock's eyes. The second was that Silverlock had no idea of the effect he was having on her.

The third thing was that he had forgotten breakfast, again. He had gotten up early to work on that blaster pistol, and had gotten somewhat absorbed in his work. It was the reason for his lateness getting out, and the reason for the growl in his stomach.

"Yeah, I guess it was." He turned to the as-yet-unidentified man. "You start this?"

He met his gaze squarely. "I did."

As the man gave no indication that he wished to elaborate, Zair took his arm and started leading him towards the police speeder parked outside. Apparently, Raal had forgotten that she was in possession of a pair of feet. "I'm Zair Phenir. This is my partner, Raal Ternos." Who hasn't been able to take her eyes off of you for the past five standard minutes, and would release you from your cuffs if you asked nicely. "We would like to bring you into the station for questioning."

"I thought you might." Most people, when they realized that they were in police custody and were likely to get in trouble, exhibited distinct signs of nervousness. This man could have been out on a stroll with two old friends; if he had not been constantly scanning and evaluating his surroundings for threats. Zair got the feeling that he did this more out of habit than of any sense of impending doom. And the fact that he was under arrest hadn't even been worth worrying about.

This was going to be quite the case. Zair had determined long ago to enjoy life, garnering amusement where he could, and he sensed that an abundance of it was coming straight at him – as long as Raal shaped up sometime in the near future. He hadn't seen anything as funny as the Ewok since the visage of the famed 'Joiner King' was broadcast during that blasted swarm war. The melted lump of flesh had been a sharp contrast when compared to the image-conscious politicians that normally dominated the holonews. And the way he had thrown the reporter across the room was absolutely hilarious.

As he was putting the perp into the back of the speeder, Raal spoke up. Apparently, her tongue had returned from its vacation to Ossus.

"What's your name?"

Zair groaned inwardly and hurriedly added, "You have no obligation to answer that until and unless you have consulted with legal counsel."

The prisoner paused at the door of the speeder and looked at her. Somehow never breaking his solemn expression, he blew his hair – just the pure white lock, since the rest was slightly shorter – out of his eyes. "Jag," he said, looking at her with naked, raw pain evident in his eyes. "My name is Jagged Fel."

Then he sat in the back of the police speeder, awaiting transportation to the jail.