So I've decided to write this, 1) because one constant in this universe is that there is never enough Obi-Wan and Satine fanfiction out there and 2) after having read pretty much all of it that exists, I've come to the conclusion that some of the writers fundamentally don't understand what pacifism is. I don't mean that nearly as harshly as it sounds, but I think a lot of people kinda don't know what to do with a female character who can't or won't defend herself, since it has the potential to play into negative stereotypes of the damsel in distress. I basically wanted to show that someone can still be strong and kick total ass without using weapons. Satine is a pacifist, but she isn't weak or defenseless. Other random notes: needless to say, I'm not fluent in Mando'a, but I tried my best. Also I may have gotten a little carried away in that regard, and so I apologize if there's too much of it in here; it was a whole lot of fun to research.
Obi-Wan was anxious. He was filled with a pent up nervous energy that refused to be released into the Force. His hand automatically reached for the lightsaber that should've been hanging from his belt, but came up empty.
He tried to content himself with the knowledge that his anxieties were, for the most part, unfounded. More a result of lack of activity than any real threat. For the last month, he, Qui-Gon, and the Duchess Satine had been hiding out in the caves that dotted the deserts of Mandalore, having barely escaped from a troupe of bounty hunters on Kalevala, the Duchess's home world.
Unfortunately, after a month on the run, they were dangerously low on supplies. This meant that someone (or someones) would have to risk going to a nearby town to restock. As dark hair was quite rare on Mandalore—meaning Master Qui-Gon would stick out like a sore thumb—the task fell to Obi-Wan (whose red hair, though unusual, was unlikely to raise eyebrows) and, since he didn't speak Mando'a, Satine herself.
Of course, since nothing would give away his identity as a Jedi like a lightsaber at his side, Obi-Wan had been forced to leave his trusty weapon behind. Though he still had the Force, not to mention a small knife concealed in his boot (a Mandalorian tradition he embraced, much to the Duchess's consternation), Obi-Wan couldn't help but feel like he was walking into enemy territory naked.
"Are you all right, Obi-Wan?" Satine's soft voice pulled him from his brooding. They were walking quickly along a weather-worn path, high dunes to both their left and right.
"Fine, Duchess," he responded, his tone rather harsher than he intended and Satine recoiled slightly at his words.
It's unfair to take your frustration out on her, he chastised himself, though he couldn't quite forgive the quiet, almost triumphant smile that had graced Satine's cheeks when he'd had to relinquish his lightsaber to Qui-Gon.
Any concern for the padawan disappeared from Satine's features and she straightened her shoulders defiantly, looking every bit the Duchess of Mandalore despite her dusty clothes and the old hood covering her head.
For some reason, the action only served to heighten Obi-Wan's annoyance. "You know Duchess, you could act a little less smug."
"Missing your lightsaber, are you, Padawan Kenobi?" though Satine's voice was light and teasing, Obi-Wan had gotten to know her well enough over the past few months to recognize the sharp edge it concealed under the surface.
"That lightsaber has saved your life on numerous occasions."
A stray wind blew Satine's hood down. Her freed hair whipped around her face, blocking Obi-Wan's view of her expression. "I don't deny it."
"Then you could act a little less happy to see it go." Again, Obi-Wan knew he was being unfair, but so was the Duchess. Peace was impossible if one was unwilling to fight for it.
"I am happy it's gone." Satine was rarely one to beat around the bush, and she turned to look him in the eye stray hairs catching along her nose and eyelashes. "I find that when one carries a weapon, one tends to use that weapon in situations where words could suffice." Her eyes shone with a stubborn certainty.
"Negotiation can't solve everything, Duchess."
Her eyes narrowed, and Obi-Wan felt a shiver go down his spine. "Maybe not, but carrying a weapon means that often it isn't attempted."
The padawan bristled at her implication. "The Jedi do not use unnecessary violence."
Satine stopped walking and a singular sadness seemed to sweep over her. Around her, the wind stopped blowing. Her hair hung limp and her shoulders dropped. Suddenly, she seemed very small. Obi-Wan's annoyance faded as he was reminded that Satine had seen her system torn apart by a war that, not three months previously, had claimed the lives of her mother and father.
"All violence is unnecessary." Her words were quiet but firm, and despite himself, Obi-Wan found that on a philosophical level at least, he rather agreed.
He reached out a hand in a silent gesture of peace or comfort—he wasn't quite sure which—but she had already pulled up her hood and continued on the dusty path towards the village, temporary vulnerability forgotten, the Duchess of Mandalore once again.
They walked a few minutes in silence and soon reached the outskirts of the small town. Despite its size, it was encircled by a large wall and contained a bustling market that was alive with activity. Satine quickly took the lead, and led Obi-Wan to a small booth that seemed to sell fruit and meats. It was operated by a woman with a lined, wrinkled face and whose shoulders sagged with age.
"What can I interest the two of you in today?" she asked, thankfully in basic, as they approached.
Satine smiled, and subtly adjusted her hood to hide as much of her face as possible. "We're looking for some non-perishable rations for a journey."
"Ahh, going somewhere?" The old woman quirked an eyebrow as she observed the pair of them. "Newlyweds?"
Obi-Wan's face burned bright red. He was too embarrassed to turn and see Satine's expression.
At his reaction, the woman grinned, revealing bare gums studded here and there with a couple remaining teeth. "No, not newlyweds then. Lovers eloping?"
"We're—" Satine started, but was cut off.
"Oh, no need to reveal secrets to me, dear." The old woman chuckled, before her countenance turned more serious. "But if you are traveling, be careful. The fighting can get fierce around here."
"Can it?" Satine asked curiously. "I didn't know the violence had spread this far from Sundari."
"Oh yes." The woman's eyes took on a distant look. "I lost both my boys to the war, you know."
"I'm so sorry." Satine grasped the old woman's hand in her own and squeezed. She didn't ask what side they'd fallen for.
Through the Force, Obi-Wan sensed her genuine concern and sadness. His Force-Sensitivity was superfluous though, as the honesty of her emotions were broadcasted all around her—through the curve of her mouth, the slight wrinkles in her forehead, the tenderness of her eyes. The old woman placed her free hand on top of Satine's and Obi-Wan felt as though he should look away, like he was intruding on an intensely private moment.
Too soon, the brief minute of shared grief had passed, and the two women began to chat about lighter topics. Obi-Wan found his mind wandering. Not far though, as it remained firmly fixed on the woman beside him. No matter which way he looked at it, she was an anomaly. In the course of his padawan training, he had encountered numerous politicians from all over the galaxy, but none of them were like her. In his experience, politicians were loud, brash, and domineering. That, he supposed, was the standard in a democratic system where one had to participate in a certain level of self-promotion in order to get elected. Perhaps her differences—her softness and quiet dignity—could be attributed to her inherited title, then, but that didn't sit right with Obi-Wan either. She was so much more than her birthright, interacting with her subjects as a friend, not a ruler.
There was something infuriating about her. Never had he met someone so stubborn and intransigent, a person who was fundamentally good, yet fiercely critical of the Jedi Order. Qui-Gon handled it better than Obi-Wan, smiling at her critiques and softly correcting misconceptions. No doubt it was due in part to his Master's own issues with the Jedi Council. Obi-Wan on the other hand, would get annoyed and too blustered to properly argue. He'd stand there awkwardly, unable to come up with a good answer. He couldn't stand it—despite everything, some part of him wanted to impress her. With that thought, quiet warning bells went off his in head.
"Well, Ben?" Her words jerked him back into reality. She was smiling up at him, and It took Obi-Wan a minute to respond to the name Satine had taken to calling him when they were in public.
"Huh?"
The old woman chuckled and muttered something to the Duchess in Mando'a, which Obi-Wan took to mean something along the lines of: "men."
"Think this is enough?" Satine gestured to the counter of the booth, and Obi-Wan saw that there was a sizable portion of food stacked up.
For the second time in as a many minutes, Obi-Wan's cheeks burned as he realized that he had effectively tuned out their entire purpose in coming to town. He quickly muttered his assent, and, not meeting the old woman's amused eyes, helped Satine load the food into their packs.
Once they had finished, Satine reached into her pocket and pulled out a number of Mandalorian coins and tried to hand them to the old woman. The woman refused the full amount, instead selecting two of the smaller ones from the Duchess's hand and pocketing those.
Satine tried to argue, but the old woman leaned back on her stool and smiled, holding firmly to her position. "It's the least I can do to help young love," she said, winking at Obi-Wan.
Satine smiled and thanked the woman graciously, but before they turned away, Obi-Wan saw her slip the rest of the money (and quite possibly a little extra) over the counter, placing it artfully behind a large melon-like fruit. Undoubtedly, the woman would find it when packing up her stall for the night. A small smile spread across Obi-Wan's cheeks.
Satine caught his expression in the corner of her eye, and she pressed a finger to her lips. For a moment, Obi-Wan fancied that she was struggling to keep a smile off her own face.
His widened into a grin, and he found all hard feelings from before quite dissolved. Satine's tongue could be deadly in the midst of an argument, but she forgave quickly, a fact for which he was eternally grateful.
With a newfound amicability, he offered the Duchess his arm, and the two proceeded back the way they'd come, towards the desert road. As they approached the edge of the market though, a strong blast of wind again blew Satine's hood off her head. In a moment, she had returned it to it's place, but the damage was done.
Obi-Wan quickly scanned the area. Satine's face was well-known throughout the system, both through her role as duchess as well as through the ever-increasing bounty on her head. He hoped that her royal heritage would be obscured by her travel-strained clothes and the general unkempt appearance that goes along with a month of hiding out in caves. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to be the case. A few feet in front of them, a man who had been leaning casually against the gate that led out of town, perked up, staring at Satine with an ominous interest.
"Hey, don't I know you from somewhere?" He asked, moving a couple of steps to block their way.
"I don't think so," Satine mumbled, looking down at the ground.
"I'm sure I've seen your face somewhere," he continued.
"I'm sorry, sir, you must be mistaken," Obi-Wan said, inching closer to Satine, ready to step in front of her if need be.
"She's the Duchess!" A second man chimed in, joining the first in front of the exit.
"I don't know what you're talking about. We're just travelers," Obi-Wan insisted.
The two men ignored his protests. "I think you're right!" The first man said, and reached out a hand to yank down her hood once again.
In a flash, Obi-Wan grabbed his wrist. "I must ask you to step aside."
A small crowd had gathered around them and Obi-Wan heard shapeless murmurs of Mando'a, undoubtedly discussing whether or not Satine was the notorious Duchess of Mandalore. More men came to stand beside the first two, neatly blocking any chance for a quick escape. Obi-Wan's heart sank. Nothing on Mandalore was to be easy, it seemed.
"If she's the Duchess, that makes you an aruetii, a Jetii." The man wrenched his arm free from Obi-Wan's grasp.
Jetii was clear enough, and although Obi-Wan had no idea what aruetii might mean, from the man's derisive tone he assumed it was far from complimentary. He thought about denying it, but really they were beyond the point where denial could be helpful. Instead, he turned suddenly, pushing Satine behind him, so her back pressed against the wall that surrounded the town. He stood between her and the ever-growing throng people that surrounded them.
Now would be a good time to have a lightsaber, he thought wryly. Although for the most part, the townspeople appeared to be nothing more than simple villagers, he had learned long ago that you could never count out a Mandalorian regardless of their station. Almost all had been trained in combat since birth, meaning a farmer could be just as deadly as an assassin or bounty hunter, and more than a match for an unarmed jedi padawan and a pacifist duchess.
The crowd was pressing in on them, led by the man who had first recognized Satine. "We live in hell, mhi cuye o'r dar'yaim, while this hut'uunla Duchess, this dar'manda, runs away and conspires with the Jetiise!"
"Stay back," Obi-Wan warned. The crowd didn't listen, just pressed forward. He took a step backwards.
"I say we give her over to the bounty hunters—split the reward," the second man added. "Gra'tua par Mandalore!"
Soon the cry carried through the crowd. "Gra'tua par Mandalore! Gra'tua par Mandalore!"
"I'm guessing they're not surrendering," Obi-Wan whispered drily to Satine, taking another step back, so he was practically on top of her. With no more room for him to retreat, the crowd finally halted. They were completely surrounded—if he reached out a hand, he could practically brush the chest of the leader.
Satine didn't respond; she was too busy staring into the mob. Obi-Wan followed her gaze, and saw that the old woman from the booth had joined the crowd. Though he wasn't exactly surprised, he could practically feel the sadness and weariness rolling off the Duchess.
"Don't come any closer," Obi-Wan said, addressing the man in front in particular. "I don't want to hurt you."
The man laughed derisively. "Arrogant little Jetii." He took a step forward, so he and Obi-Wan were mere inches apart. "I will crush you." The man raised his fists and Obi-Wan raised his own hands, ready to force-push him back.
"STOP!"
Ridiculously, Satine's cry was so unexpected it actually worked—both Obi-Wan and the man turned to her in surprise. Before he was completely cognizant of what was happening, she had slipped under Obi-Wan's raised arms and pushed him back, so he was pressed against the wall and she stood unprotected before the mob of angry Mandalorians.
His shock was matched by the man he had been about to fight, who, somewhat ironically, looked unsure of how to proceed, now that the exact thing he wanted was standing before him.
The Duchess however exhibited none of his hesitation. Looking to the crowd, she calmly removed her hood. "I am Satine Kryze of Clan Kryze, Duchess of Mandalore." She paused a moment before continuing. "I beg you to let us go without violence."
"What are you doing?" Obi-Wan whispered fiercely, trying to maneuver around her.
She pushed him back with surprising force. "Let me handle this, Obi," she whispered back.
"Not all of us have forgotten our heritage." The man had finally recovered from his shock and he eyed the Duchess with contempt. "Violence is the Mandalorian way!"
"It doesn't doesn't have to be," Satine answered, her voice full of compassion and quiet understanding.
"Hut'uun! Coward!" The man punctuated the insult by spitting at Satine.
Coolly, the Duchess wiped her face with her sleeve, never breaking eye contact with the man. "All right." With a movement almost too quick to process, she turned around, reached down, and cleanly whipped out the knife sheathed in Obi-Wan's boot.
For a moment, time froze as Satine weighed the blade in her hand. Once again, both Obi-Wan and the man were too surprised to react. Before either had recovered, Satine reached out, grasped the man's hand in her own, and curled his fingers around the hilt of the dagger.
Whatever he had been expecting, this certainly wasn't it, and the man's eyes went wide with shock.
Satine however, wasn't finished. She jerked his hand forward, so the tip of the knife was positioned between her clavicles, resting lightly at the base of her throat.
Obi-Wan's heart stopped.
She released his hand. The tip of the blade dipped slightly and a thin line of blood appeared where the metal bit her skin. In a moment though, the man had steadied his hand and the knife nestled back in its original position, the point tickling the skin of her neck.
"If you want to kill me, do it—the reward's the same dead or alive." Though her gaze remained fixed on the man in front of her, she raised her voice so the entire crowd could hear her. "There has been killing, there has been death, and if you think spilling my blood will restore the fields of Mandalore—do it. I won't stop you." She raised her hands to show they were empty.
As she moved, the man took a small step backward, his eyes flashing wildly. Clearly, he expected some kind of trap. After a moment where nothing happened though, he shuffled forward, so the tip of the knife again kissed Satine's throat.
"If you believe it will bring salvation, the end of the war, kill me." She paused. "But my death won't bring back the dead. Those who have fallen will remain lost. All you will be left with is another corpse."
"You ally yourself with the Jetiise, you betray the traditions of Mandalore!" The man leaned forward, nodding towards Obi-Wan, and the padawan saw a drop of blood appear as the point of the dagger just barely broke Satine's skin.
"The Jestiise are no longer our enemy!" she cried, ignoring the trickle of blood making its way down her throat. Her words were met with scandalized murmurs from the crowd, but she forged ahead. "Mandalorians are too busy slaughtering one another to concern ourselves with outside grudges!"
"Dar'manda!" Someone in the crowd cried.
To Obi-Wan's surprise, a small smile appeared on the Duchess's lips. Her next words were soft. "You accuse me of forgetting our heritage, but I am still Mandalorian enough to not fear death on the end of a blade." And she certainly looked fearless, facing the crowd, the man, the knife, with her back straight and chin held high. "I am the Duchess of Mandalore and I serve my people. If you wish my death, so be it; I'm yours." For the first time, her gaze dropped from the man's face, and her head bowed slightly, as much as the knife would allow. "But death only brings more death. Mandalore will never be allowed to heal as long as we meet each other with violence." She looked up at the man once more. "Make your choice."
Frantically, Obi-Wan, reached out to feel the man's emotions, to get some sense of what he would do, but all the padawan found was a fierce storm of inner turmoil.
No one moved—the entire crowd seemed to hold its breath.
The man's hand began to shake.
Still nothing. Seconds dragged into minutes.
Satine refused to blink—her eyes never left the man's.
"Oh, for Force's sake, Dreig'r, drop the knife!" The tension was shattered by a voice in the crowd. A familiar voice. Obi-Wan looked up and saw the old woman who had sold them supplies pushing her way through the throng of people. In a moment, she had reached the man (Dreig'r, Obi-wan supposed), and jerked the short blade out of his hand. "If there is more death, it won't be at our hands. Here you go, dear."
She handed the knife back to Satine, who gripped it loosely, staring at the old woman in confusion.
The woman patted the Duchess's cheek lightly. "No need to look so surprised, dear." She leaned in and whispered in Satine's ear, "Ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya," and gave her a conspiratorial wink.
Satine snorted, her free hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Gar serim," she responded quietly.
"Take your Jetii and go in peace. We will not reveal your location to those who hunt you." She paused. "Isn't that right, Dreig'r?" she added, elbowing the man playfully in the ribs.
Dreig'r bowed his head and mumbled something incomprehensible.
"What was that?" the old woman asked.
Grudgingly, the man looked up. "You need not fear us, Duchess." He ground out the words.
Satine grabbed his hand. "Vor entye. Thank you."
He looked surprised, but nodded his acknowledgement.
The crowd parted, and Obi-Wan and Satine quickly made their way to the gate. Right before they exited, Satine turned back to the crowd. "Ret'urcye mhi."
The old woman nodded her head. "Ret'urcye mhi, Duchess. Be safe."
With that, she Obi-Wan ducked out of the town and headed back into the deserts of Mandalore.
"This is yours, I believe," Satine said, coming to sit beside Obi-Wan on a large boulder. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon. The first few rays of dawn colored the night sky.
After they had returned to camp and related the what had happened to Qui Gon, the Jedi master had decided it best for them to leave immediately, regardless of the villagers' promise. They had traveled most of the night, finally stopping on a rocky hillock a number of miles to the east of the town in order to get some rest.
Obi-Wan looked down and saw his knife proffered in the Duchess's hand. "You should still be sleeping," he said. They had stopped barely three hours previously.
"So should you," she pointed out, smiling.
Obi-Wan took the knife and absently turned it over in his hands. "I'm keeping watch."
"Oh, I see," she laughed and turned her head to face the sunrise.
As she moved, the ethereal light caught the delicate scratches on her neck, one a little above the other.
Without realizing what he was doing, Obi-Wan reached out and traced them gently with his thumb, the rest of his hand resting lightly against her collarbone.
Satine stiffened, before relaxing into his touch.
"What would you have done if he had struck?" Obi-Wan's voice was thick and he had to look away, unable to meet her caring blue eyes.
Satine laid her own hand on top of his. "You would've stopped him."
They both knew it was lie; the man had been too close. With a flick of his wrist, the Duchess's throat would've been opened. Even with the Force, it would've been too quick. Obi-Wan couldn't have stopped it.
"I'm not crazy, Obi-Wan," the Duchess said after a moment. "The people of Mandalore want change."
I never said you were. "I know." He slipped his hand out of her grasp and wiped at the corner of his eye.
The two sat in silence for a moment, the stars melting quietly into dawn above them.
"So," he said, turning back to her with effort, a somewhat forced smile plastered against his cheeks. "What did that old woman whisper to you?"
Satine laughed. "It's an old Mandalorian saying, 'train your sons to be strong but your daughters to be stronger.'"
A true smile replaced the false one, and Obi-Wan took a moment to reflect on the truth of the old woman's words.
"You know, Satine," he said, chuckling softly. "You might be the strongest person I know and you might be right most of the time, but I have you beat on one thing."
"And what's that?"
Obi-Wan held up the knife. "It sure is a good thing that I was carrying a weapon."
She laughed, and pushed at his shoulder jokingly. "Maybe. So long as you carry it."
"Always, Duchess."
They fell into a companionable silence and watched dawn break in front of them and wilds of Mandalore come alive with the light of a new day.
Oh Jeeze, it got a little sappy at the end there, but what can you do? Also, I'd like to point out that I completely intended this to be about 1,500 words and 4,000 words later, here we are. Whatever. Hope you guys liked it!
Mando'a translations:
Aruetii—An outsider, a non-Mandalorian
Jetii—Jedi
Jetiise—Jedi(plural) but it can also be used to mean the Republic
Mhi cuye o'r dar'yaim—literally translates to "we exist in hell," though I got a little creative with the "in"
Hut'uunla—Cowardly
Dar'manda— A state of being "not Mandalorian"; not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and soul
Gra'tua par Mandalore—Revenge/Vengeance for Mandalore
Hut'uun—Coward
Gar serim—You're right
Vor entye—Thank you; literally: "I accept a debt"
Ret'urcye mhi—Goodbye; literally: "Maybe we'll meet again"
Hmmmm... instead of studying for finals or writing term papers did I just spend about six hours researching Mando'a vocabulary and grammar? Why yes, yes I did.