Hi, so this is the prequel to my other story, Mercenaries & Missionaries, that no one asked for but I went and wrote anyway because I figured it would make the ending I'm going to give that fic sadder. I don't think you have to read that one before this, though if you don't know Star Wars particularly well, that might explain some stuff you don't understand. Otherwise, you can just read this like it is, and ask questions in the reviews if you don't understand something, and you do not have to have seen SW to understand this fic.
Sorry if the characters in this are a bit OOC - I'm not as used to writing them as I am the SOC cast - and please tell me if they are, so I can try to fix it. Updates will be on Fridays. Not much happens in this chapter in particular, but it's after this that the plot really starts moving forwards.
Another quick note: the way the Jedi are presented in this is a very simplified, slightly demonised version of them. I know that in the SW fandom a lot about the morality of the Jedi Order is highly subjective and grey, and while the Jedi Order was deeply flawed, it's nowhere near as flawed as I present it in this. Here, its flaws are for plot convenience, because I don't have the time to fully debate it. I just want to make it clear that I know this isn't the correct interpretation of them, and that there are a lot of good things that aren't touched on here. Also, I made up everything about Jakku. Nothing about Jakku n this is accurate to the SW universe.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy, or Star Wars. They each belong to their respective owners.
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Part I: Peace
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The Teedos called the sandstorm that plagued the land X'us'R'iia. That is, they called every storm X'us'R'iia, because they believed every storm came back again and again, was just one part of a massive whole; the snippets of the temperamental goddess R'iia's never-ending wrath, which rained down upon them the way water never did on Jakku as punishment for the sins of the Teedo people. It, according to the legend, was at fault for everything that had gone wrong in their history: the famine near and around the area of Niima Outpost, the fact that the rivers had been soaked up and dried to non-existence by the sand dunes, and the fact that the invaders had come.
Teedos weren't human. Few even thought they were from Jakku in the first place but they hated the new settlers like they were, anyway. They fought with them over food, water, resources; they stole, they injured, they killed. If an interloper has something, Teedos would say, then stealing from them or hurting them is not wrong, because they have no right to have property or even lives here in the first place.
There wasn't an ongoing war between the Teedos and the other species, but it was best to be alert anyway. Even better to practice whatever fighting style you took to as much as possible, as often as possible.
Which was what Alina should be doing.
She sighed, and glanced towards the door of the ramshackle tumble of metal she called a home. It was no use: she could still see the sand flying through the cracks at the bottom and sides. R'iia still had some wrath left in her.
Unconsciously, she rubbed her stomach. X'us'R'iia had lasted, if she'd counted correctly, six full rotations already. While Alina was no stranger to pushing the limits of a human's physical endurance, the fact remained that she'd run out of rations yesterday, and she was now going hungry.
And she missed Mal.
At least the storm will shift the sands, she mused. If I'm quick, I might be able to get to whatever new trinket is brought to the surface before the other scavengers do.
If she survived that long. Glancing at the door again, she stretched out her aching joints, frowning at the cracking noise they gave, and reached for her knives, pinned to the tilted wall behind her. As long and thin as her forearms, she'd dug them out of the wreckage of an archaeologist's ship when she was thirteen and used whatever spare parts or tools she had to sand and sharpen them into some sort of usable condition. She didn't like blasters much - they relied too heavily on resources Jakku simply didn't have, like tibanna gas for the power pack - but she liked her knives. They served her well in close-quarters combat, and on the rare occasions someone was shooting a blaster at her, she could use them to deflect the bolt right back at the shooter, even as the metal blackened and curled and needed maintenance whenever she did.
They needed maintenance now. So. . . it was as good a time as any to get out the whetstone she'd scrounged from somewhere or other and begin.
She scraped away at the edges for several hours. If she'd known anything about swordsmanship, she would've been worried about wearing the metal until it was brittle and snapped off easily, leaving a jagged edge behind - after all, the edges were already riddled with nocks and points where exactly that had happened. But Alina didn't know anything about swordsmanship - she fought to survive, not for sport - so she didn't care. All she cared about was that it hurt when she hit someone with it - hurt enough that they ran away and didn't bother her again.
Instead, she was worried about something else.
There was a charity delegation coming. They came from time to time - never more often than once a cycle - and Alina had long since learned how to interpret the signs that meant they were due soon enough. Ana Kuya always had her scavengers scrubbing the Outpost to make it look more presentable in exchange for extra rations, and she even paid more for every scrap of junk scavengers handed in, no doubt so fewer bellies grumbled when the delegation came.
After all, the delegations had been a pretty annual fixture for years, and Ana didn't want to threaten that. They always brought money, and food, and spare parts; it was a good way to get something for nothing, an action that almost never worked on Jakku. Stealing was swiftly punished, and it's not like you got much in the first place. It was less like getting something for nothing, and more like giving everything and getting the bare minimum you could possibly get.
So if Ana was suddenly worried about her image as a harsh, unanimously hated junk boss scaring off the charities, then that meant they were coming. Soon. And recently, she had (slightly) lifted her stranglehold on all trade that went on in Niima Outpost, employing fewer thugs to intimidate the scavengers.
Which was why Alina had made enough profit in the past week that her rations had lasted her four days of X'us'R'iia before she went hungry. But it could all be for nothing if R'iia wasn't appeased within a few days; no delegation, no matter how charitable, would risk wading through such a fierce storm to deliver supplies. Not when there were plenty of other outposts around the planet not besieged by storms which needed the aid just as badly.
Alina put down the whetstone; the continual scraping was setting her nerves on edge. That, and the continual, unrelenting howl of the wind. . .
What would happen if the delegation didn't come this year? She couldn't imagine she would survive it. Simply put, she was at her thinnest she ever was, and usually she managed to put on some muscle when the charities brought good food, not just rations, that didn't taste like shit.
If she didn't get that, she knew she'd get weaker and weaker, until she couldn't move at all. Mal would try to help, of course, but he struggled to provide for himself, let alone the both of them; eventually he'd just leave her behind to be smothered by the desert, nothing but skin and bones. Maybe the sand would leech the water from her flesh and stop her from rotting, preserve her body for an unfortunate scavenger to stumble upon in the distant future. A morbid reminder of where, ultimately, every scavenger was headed.
The worst thing about it all, she felt, was the sheer loneliness in the thought of being forgotten to the shifting dunes of the desert.
She shook her head. Where would the delegation come from this time? she wondered, forcing her thoughts away from the topic. The most common was Alderaan, though Chandrila also sent quite a lot of aid. Nothing from Coruscant, nor the stuck up sleemos who lived there, but other Core or Inner Rim planets, maybe. . .?
It didn't matter.
She shook her head again suddenly inexplicably tired. She let her knives drop from her hand and skitter across the floor. The sand kept pummelling at the door, boom, boom, boom, with the occasional clang of metal on metal to liven it up a bit. It was the music that lulled her thoughts as she drifted off to sleep.
"I'm afraid, Mayor, that a violent sandstorm has been ravaging the local area for several days," Zoya said in a deadpan voice. "There's simply no way we can fly through it to deliver the supplies you insist on - especially when guaranteeing your safety, which, if you'll remember," she sent him a pointed glare, "is what I was actually assigned to do."
"It's 'Prince', actually, Master Jedi," Lantsov sniped right back at her. "I was elected Prince of Theed two years ago."
"I thought princes were part of a monarchy."
"They are. The monarchy on Naboo is democratic."
The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk, like he was making fun of her, but Zoya could sense he was being truthful: Naboo genuinely did have a democratic monarchy.
Perhaps she should've known that. She had meant to do some research on Naboo, and Nikolai Lantsov in particular, before departing for her mission, but she just hadn't had the time. Baghra had been sniping at her, insulting her. . . Zoya had patience for very few things, but the lectures of the Grandmaster of the Order were something she'd been forced to make patience for, as little as she enjoyed them. Afterwards, she'd just wanted a break.
"Well then, Your Highness," she sneered. She didn't know if that was actually the correct address, but by this point, she didn't care. "Surely we can go to another part of the planet that's not being ravaged by the storm? Or even," she added, glancing around her, taking in the elegant Nubian architecture, the rolling emerald fields, the sunlight bathing everything in a warm glow, "remain here, in Theed?"
She would love to stay in Theed. Naboo was the fashion capital of the galaxy - there was no such thing as 'overdressed' here - and it was known as being one of the most beautiful planets as well. She could see that already: the pale blue stone of the buildings, the constant background trickle of the waterfall the city sat on, the curves and gentle domes of the architecture. . . It was wonderful, and Zoya never wanted to leave.
Unfortunately, as long as she stayed here, she was bound to protect the Prince. That was her mandate as a Jedi, and it would be the height of impropriety were she to break it.
"I'm aware that all the teenagers and young people in the world want to experience the delights of our beautiful city," Lantsov said, gesturing around at the place, from the carved bench they were sitting on to the bright cobblestones, "but surely Jedi, no matter their age, know how to prioritise people's lives over simple fashion?"
Zoya ground her teeth together. At twenty, she'd been considered abnormally young to transition to full Jedi Knight, and she was tired about being taunted about her age. "You're only a year older than me."
"True," he admitted. "But on Naboo those of us in politics start early. Our current queen was elected when she was. . . twelve, I think? Though that is the youngest in recent history. I myself joined the Apprentice Legislators when I was eleven."
Zoya shook her head. "That's. . ." Absurd. Strange. A supremely bad idea.
Lantsov grinned. "I know. But we believe young people - especially young women - have a childlike wisdom that's more pure than an adult's. So our monarchs are often teenage girls."
"That will lead the planet to ruin." Zoya didn't bother to regulate her voice, and several passersby shot her a scandalised look at the insult to their democracy, before their eyes fell on the lightsaber at her hip and they looked away.
Lantsov bristled slightly, but he gestured around them. "It's been like this for three hundred years. We don't seem to be any worse for wear." He smiled slyly. "And, bringing us back to our original conversation, if things are going as well as they are here, shouldn't we spread that wealth to those in need? Jakku needs those supplies."
"I was under the impression that only Alderaan, Chandrila, and a handful of other worlds have ever sent supplies," Zoya said stiffly. "Naboo has never sent any."
"Nor have the Jedi," Lantsov said, and for a moment there was a hardness to his voice - almost an accusation. But then it was gone, and he was his amiable self again. "But there's a first for everything."
"That doesn't change the fact that it's not safe for you," Zoya insisted. "Not only is it a lawless place, with Force knows what lethal wildlife, but you have been the target of three assassination attempts already, yes? They could easily target you there - it's not exactly a secret that that's where you're planning to go.
"And there's still the matter of the storm." She pulled out a holo and brandished it, calling up an image of Jakku's surface, of the swirling vortex that consumed half of it. "It's been going for nearly a week now; who knows how much longer it will run?"
Lantsov shook his head. "Master Jedi, you disappoint me," he chided. "You didn't do any research about the planet beyond the fact that there was a storm going on?"
Zoya didn't respond. She hadn't, but she wasn't about to admit that, was she?
Lantsov sighed, and pulled out his on holo, several of them, pointing at the rapid increase then decrease in size of the vortex. "This type of storm is common on Jakku - they call it X'us'R'iia. It never lasts for more than eight days. It's already lasted six, as you said, and how long is the hyperspace journey from Naboo to Jakku?"
"Forty-eight hours," Zoya said sullenly.
"Exactly. So by the time we get there, it will have long settled down, and the locals will be even more in need of our supplies." Lantsov cocked his head. "Unless you'd rather let them starve, Master Jedi?"
She really hated the way he said that. "My mandate is to protect you."
"Then come along," he challenged. His eyes glinted as she glared at him. "Protect me."
She sighed. "Fine, then," she said through gritted teeth. "I guess we're going to Jakku."
"So glad you could see reason," he said cheerfully, jumping to his feet and offering her his hand. She declined it, standing up herself. He remained unfazed. "We'll be setting off at sunrise tomorrow."
It was a moment before he added, smiling, "Oh - and make sure you do some research on what Jakku is really like." He looked her up and down. "Jakku is not for the faint of heart."
An angry splutter forced its way out of her mouth - her, a Jedi, faint of heart? - but he was already turning away.
X'us'R'iia lasted longer than Alina had ever seen it, and she was already pushed to the very limit. Her legs shook as she forced herself onto her feet after waking - she had to brace herself against the wall of the shelter to prevent herself toppling over. It didn't matter: she fell to the ground anyway, and just lay there for a moment.
She was so hungry.
Her limbs were still trembling like cloth in high winds; if she stood up, she doubted she'd stay that way for long. So she just lay there, sandy floor rough against her bruised cheek, and was only half-aware of her eyes sliding closed.
She was only away that she'd drifted off when she came too, a loud banging noise coming from her door. Weakly, she groaned and tried to roll herself onto her back, where she leaned against the wall in order to maintain a sitting position. She'd barely done so before the person knocking being impatient and just barged in. It wasn't like she had the gear to build herself a sturdy lock.
Unsurprisingly, it was Mal.
She looked up at him, at the thick locks of scraggly, uneven hair that flopped in his eyes, the gentle smile his face took on when he saw her there, his broad frame which blocked out the sun and allowed for a brief reprieve while she lay in his shadow.
Then he crouched down, and his shadow shrank, but it was okay because he was reaching for her, one hand settling on her shoulder and the other on her waist. She rolled into his touch.
"Blast it, Alina," he said, though she didn't know why he was surprised. This wasn't a rare occurrence. "How long did your rations last? Six rotations? Five?"
"Four."
He swore under his breath, and reached for his pocket, where he popped the seal on one of the rations packets. They both watched the grey powder inside oxidise and expand into an unappetising grey lump before he handed it to her. "Here."
She lifted her hand to take it, but it was shaking so badly that she dropped it, and it rolled a few metres away. Mal cursed again and fetched it, this time pressing it into her hand but not letting go of her wrist, guiding it to her mouth instead.
She ate ravenously, feeling her stomach churn at the first food she'd had in days. She hadn't run out of water, thankfully - her containers were still half-full - but food was another matter.
She finished the first ration soon enough, eating slowly to stop herself being sick, then Mal let his hand fall away from her face and popped open a second one, feeding that to her too. She felt her stomach roil after it was done, and sagged against the wall, letting her head loll to the side; she wouldn't be able to keep anymore of it down.
She'd lost count of the amount of times Mal had saved her life like this. Had found her, near dead on the floor after a particularly long sandstorm, and fed his from his own rations, his own lifeline. He kept her alive off his own back, and for the life of her she didn't know why.
It wasn't like she was any use to him. Alina needed Mal far more than he needed her.
He scrunched up the packet the rations had been in and tossed it aside. "You really need start fighting for a better exchange every time you deal with Ana," he told her.
She sighed. She'd lost count of the amount of times he'd told her that already, but she just wasn't the sort of person who wanted to start a confrontation. If she was given half a portion for a part that someone else had received a whole ration for, she would object, but back down at the first challenge. She didn't have the temerity to survive on a planet like this; the only reason she could was because of Mal.
Because Mal, for some reason, would be bothered if she died.
At her lack of response, he just sighed again and offered her a hand. When she struggled to pull herself up, still too weak, he looped an arm under her arms and pulled her up himself, letting her lean against him. He was always so much stronger than her, even after long days without food, mainly for two reasons.
One was that he was physically bigger and stronger. It was natural, and it also meant he could fight better, and fewer people were willing to steal food from or double cross him, so he often got more portions than she did for doing the same amount of work.
And the second was that he was handsome. People often just felt sympathy for him, seeing what such a pretty, talented boy had been reduced to doing just because of where he was born. Even his shaggy, dirty countenance worked in his favour: people saw these traits as endearing on him, while Alina, on the other hand, wasn't pretty or pitiful enough to pull them off. With nothing but skin and bones, a frame her clothes barely hung onto, and a permanently haggard expression, respectable folk, even from the charity delegations, tended to keep their distance from her.
Both of these meant that Mal got more food than her, on average, so his stocks always lasted longer than hers did, and he could always hold out for however long the storms raged.
They took a few steps to help Alina regain her balance, then she said, "I think I can walk myself from here." And she could: she staggered away from him, grabbed her goggles off the wall and her sled off the floor, then outside, into the harsh sunlight.
Just in time to see foreign ships fly over.
Her glum mood instantly evaporated. "Mal!" she shouted, but he was already behind her - he'd heard the hum of the ships' sublight engines - and he was laughing too.
"I know." He grinned at her, something painfully close to hope shining on his features. "We're saved."
Because those ships were as familiar to scavengers as X'us'R'iia, or the rations they ate. They came every year, like the reprieve of a winter that was marginally cooler than summer.
The charity delegations were here.
"Dropping out of lightspeed now," the pilot said as they approached Jakku. Nikolai nodded in acknowledgement, then left the cockpit to prepare for the landing.
This was Naboo's first charity mission to this planet, after all. It would be best to leave a good impression.
He found Zoya in the main sitting room of the ship. As usual, she was scowling at him.
"Since you're clearly invested in going through with this mercy mission," she said, nose wrinkled in faint distaste, "you're going to have to tell me more about the people trying to assassinate you."
"I thought you already knew everything you needed," Nikolai replied, tone forcible light and airy. He knew he was only irritating her more, but he couldn't say that wasn't the point of the endeavour, either. "Someone's trying to kill me. You need to stop them."
"Do you ever think?" Zoya asked him, getting even angrier than he'd anticipated. "If I don't know anything about the threat, how am I to protect you? Why do they want to kill you?"
He smiled sweetly. "I think you've worked that out for yourself, Master Jedi."
She ignored him. "What resources do they have at their disposal? How have they tried to kill you in the past, and how likely is it that they'll use those methods again?"
He thought for a moment. "Well, there was the poison in the food," he said, "but my dear friend Tamar can smell a single gram of any poison from a mile away and saved my life. Then someone tried to seduce me and stab me while I was naked, but she'd had a little too much to drink and her aim was wildly off. And finally, there were the revolting kouhuns which were shoved through a hole in my window to poison me."
"You're making it all up," Zoya scoffed. "This is serious. I don't want to hear any stories about kouhuns, of all things."
"That was what gave it away?" Nikolai feigned surprise. "That was the only part of it that was true."
Zoya was silent for a heartbeat - two. Then, "You pissed someone off enough that they set kouhuns on you?" She threw up her hands. "Are we even talking about the same animal?"
"Small, bug-like, hard black carapace, too many legs? Deadly poisonous? Found on jungle planets?"
"We're talking about the same animal." Zoya sighed. "So your assassin has connections and resources at their disposal - and are willing to exploit those resources to their full extent to see you dead. What did you do to get into the bad books of someone so powerful?"
"I have influence with Naboo's senator," he suggested. "And Naboo is very respected in the Galactic Senate. They might be worried that I'll sway Keramsov's vote, and he'll sway the rest."
"When did the assassinations start? What bill was put before the Senate just before they did?"
Nikolai thought for a moment, throwing his mind back. It had been the one proposed by one of the senators from the Outer Rim, he remembered. Lah'mu. They'd wanted to-
He swallowed. Glanced at Zoya.
"The assassinations began," he said slowly, not meeting Zoya's eyes, "shortly after the bill to curb the authority of the Jedi was put forward."
Her scowl immediately dropped, to be replaced by a very guarded expression. "I see," she said, voice equally neutral. "And which way were you hoping to sway Senator Keramsov?"
He was sure his answer was evident by the hesitation he had to answer. "We were planning on voting in favour of it."
Zoya pursed her lips. "I see," she repeated. "Do you know of anyone who would severely disagree with you on that?"
He didn't answer - just looked at her for a long moment.
As expected, she took offence right away. "I am not trying to kill you!" she spluttered. "Nor are any of the Jedi! We are keepers of the peace, not warriors, and certainly not assassins. Why in the galaxy-"
"As much as I've heard that's true, Master Jedi," Nikolai said quietly. "You can't deny that it seems odd that an order whose influence I am actively trying to reduce would decide to use that influence to keep me alive - even send in one of their own to 'protect me'. It's the perfect opportunity."
"I am a Jedi," Zoya spat, as if it would mean any more this time round that it did the first. "I will not murder a person under my charge! Do you trust anyone?"
Nikolai did. He trusted Tamar; he trusted Tolya. He knew they weren't infallible, but he trusted their loyalty to the people they loved above all else.
He just didn't trust ideals. He didn't trust ideals, or governments, or large orders. And seeing as Zoya was the representative of one of those, he didn't trust her.
"I trust people," he said. "And I trust the senator from Lah'mu when she says that there is something fundamentally flawed within the Jedi Order. Until that flaw is fixed, I believe the Jedi shouldn't be allowed such an influential role in our government. That our government itself is flawed just for having it that way."
Zoya didn't seem to have listened to his impassioned speech. Instead, her brows were furrowed, eyes narrow. "Lah'mu. . ." She cursed. "I should've known Aditi was behind this mess."
"The senator from Lah'mu's name is-"
"Aditi Hilli is not a senator," Zoya snapped. "She was a Jedi. She left the Order six months ago."
"And?" Nikolai asked, the gears in his head turning. "Why?"
Zoya shrugged, her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Who knows? Before she left she kept harping on about how the Jedi were unhealthy, taught some toxic form of masculinity, and would ultimately lead to years of emotional scarring. The healers wrote her off as being shell-shocked." Nikolai almost flinched at the casual - dismissive - way she said that. "After all, she was only nineteen, newly apprenticed to a master, and on her first mission she had to quell a riot. People died. She was never the same after that."
"Did you know her?" Nikolai found himself asking.
"Yes."
Silence hung in the air for a moment, then, but he had too many questions to let it hang there for long. "What do she have to do with Lah'mu?"
"It's where she moved after she left," Zoya said sourly. "She'd always been close friends with the senator, and she was looking for a peaceful life so she moved to that world and started working on a farm." She scoffed. "Farming! A woman of her talents?"
It was only years of diplomacy that allowed Nikolai to bite back his scathing remark.
"Anyway, clearly she kept spouting her nonsense while she was there, and now the senator is trying to do something about it." Zoya's tone only grew more disgusted, and Nikolai realised with a jolt why that was. Zoya had known Aditi Hilli - been close to her. She missed her. "She always was ridiculous."
One could even say, she'd been attached to her.
"Isn't attachment forbidden, Master Jedi?"
All the earlier glares combined could not have rivalled the one Zoya shot him then. "It's a good thing I'm not attached then, isn't it?" she bit back, before rather aggressively getting to her feet. "Come on. We've probably have landed by now." She shot him a sweet smile. "And I would hate for you to miss a single moment of your mercy mission."