Maul. Vader. Palpatine. Tarkin. Pryce. Travus. Kallus.
Ezra kept repeating those names to himself, the ones he had been repeating ever since the disastrous mission to Malachor, out of the watchful ears of his now-blind master, Kanan, overbearing Hera, and, as much as he denied it to himself nowadays, beautiful, fiery Sabine, whom he may or may still have feelings for.
Ezra paused and recollected his thoughts. What was Sabine to him, now? True, he had stopped flirting with her years ago, and over time they had developed a particularly close bond- an outsider would say almost or just as close as the bond between himself and Kanan, but he was so unsure if he should regard the artistic Mandalorian warrior as a friend…or something more. He was equally unsure what Sabine thought of him, the street urchin turned Jedi Padawan.
He stared down at the Sith Holocron in his hands. So far, only he knew that it was on this ship, and it had taught him a great many things about the Force and how to fight.
Some would say that the Holocron was whispering poison in his ear; honeyed words of sweet nothings. Fools, he'd say. Every day, he grew more powerful, stronger, faster, more skilled with a blade than he had while just under Kanan's tutelage. Soon, he'd even be strong enough to take on those he hated.
Those monsters who had taken everything from him and more.
Maul. Vader. Palpatine. Tarkin. Pryce. Travus. Kallus.
"YES. YESSSSS. YOUR HATE GIVES YOU POWER, FOCUS, STRENGTH!" The Holocron hissed at him. "YOU WILL BEND THE GALAXY TO YOUR WILL. IN TIME, YOU MAY EVEN BECOME...EMPEROR." it breathed.
Ezra was caught off guard by that. An emperor, him? The street-rat from Lothal's capital? It sounded almost too good to be true. And yet…
He saw it playing out in his mind's eye; whether it was a wild figment of his imagination or a faux vision planted there by the presence within the Holocron was irrelevant. He imagined himself as a just and honorable monarch- a ruler who was loved by his subjects and respected and feared by his enemies. He saw an empire built not on intolerance and oppression, but one built on justice and trade.
He even saw Sabine ruling by his side- his warrior-queen, who would bring fire and blood to their enemies, and art and music to their friends.
He snapped out of his reverie. No, he thought. One man should not have the power to dictate the fate of an entire galaxy. What if I end up like Vader? Or Palpatine? Power-mad and tyrannical?
He also knew that Sabine would never go along with it. She was the essence of freedom- untamed, unbound, and creative. She was big on letting people figure things out for themselves, and not so big on others controlling every aspect of one's life. To chain her in the fetters of royalty… to Ezra, it would have been akin to putting a wolf in the cage.
Speaking of wolves…
Ezra was entirely unsure of what to make of the newest addition to their crew, the warrior who called himself Robb Stark. So far of what he could make of him, he was distant, aloof, and anti-social, to say the least. The man preferred to keep to himself, eating his meals in private and taken to read or clean his sword whilst others were holding conversations with one another. One day, when Robb was out in the bay, stripping and cleaning his blaster, Ezra decided to probe him with the Force.
It wasn't like the presence he felt around Kanan, or the recently-departed Ahsoka; light and full of warmth. It wasn't like what he felt with Maul; a raging inferno that threatened to consume everything around it. It certainly wasn't like what he felt with Vader; an empty nothingness akin to a black hole.
No, Robb wasn't nothingness, or light, or fire. Robb was cold, ice. He was winter. And like winter, it seemed that he could calmly wait until releasing his full fury upon an opponent.
An example of this would have had to been when Ezra was witnessing a sparring match between Zeb and Robb a few days ago. Unlike himself, who preferred the more aggressive Ataru-style of lightsaber combat, or Kanan, who relied on Soresu almost exclusively, Robb preferred to stand back and analyze his opponent, before utilizing a style of swordplay that exploits an opponent's weakness.
And he wasn't above the unorthodox, either. The Grey Wolf would use anything at his disposal to gain an advantage, whether it would be flash grenades, dust, dirty punches and kicks, anything. He even said as much to Kanan, once.
"An honorable fighter is a dead fighter, Jarrus. I'd much rather be living with a 'dirty' kill than dead with a 'moral victory'."
That had set the two off into a philosophical debate, with the two ending up to just 'agree to disagree'.
Ezra decided to put away the Holocron for now, instead opting to step out of his room and go to the cargo bay. Along the way there, he ran into a fuming Sabine.
"Hey, Bean!" he greeted, as she just huffed her way past him. "Okay? What's eating you?"
"Who do you think?" Sabine snapped, motioning to the cargo bay. "Mister 'High, Mighty, and Boorish', that's who!"
"Let me guess." Ezra quipped, rolling his eyes. "Robb's being in one of his usual grumpy, solemn moods, again."
"That's not even the karking half of it," Sabine grumbled. "You remember earlier this morning when I was showing everyone on the ship my new painting?"
"Not easily forgotten, that," Ezra replied. Nearly everyone on the ship had congratulated her on her new canvas painting; a painting of a fiery phoenix rising out of a burning Imperial cog.
"Well, brilliant me was thinking that our new, brooding member of the crew would like it as well. So, I went to his room to show him. Do you know what he said to me? 'A warrior shouldn't waste her time on frivolities.'" She fumed, mocking Robb using her best impression of his voice. "And apparently, you and I are 'green knights of summer, children more interested in playing at war than fighting in it.' I'm sorry, but he's forgetting one crucial detail- we saved his ass on Lothal!" Sabine ranted. "You know what, kriff him! I'm going back to my room." With that, she went into her room and slammed the door shut.
Ezra sighed and turned back to walk to the cargo bay. The truth of the matter was Robb didn't get along well with anyone on the ship save for Zeb, and Rex whenever he was called upon for a mission. Technically, Robb was under his command, as he was a lieutenant and commander of the cell's ground operations until Kanan could get back on his feet, which was doubtful.
On the other hand, Robb seemed to give respect and loyalty to only those he thought deserved it, which was pretty much narrowed down to a few people, and he certainly wasn't on the list, despite him outranking Stark.
He spotted Robb near the loading ramp, doing what he always did when he was bored; cleaning that damned sword of his. He walked up to the older man, still preoccupied with wiping down his blade.
"Stark." He said, trying to be courteous and brief.
"Bridger." The older man replied evenly, never taking his cold blue eyes off his task.
"Heard you argued with Sabine. Or, more accurately, chastised her for things she isn't even doing wrong." Ezra cut to the chase, crossing his arms.
"No." Robb corrected. "I'm simply giving her advice befitting of a warrior." He stood up to his full height and faced Ezra, his ice blue eyes gazing into Ezra's sapphire blue orbs.
For a moment, Robb looked not like a warrior, but a king to Ezra.
"And now I will give you advice, too." Robb droned. "You have the makings of an excellent leader, Bridger. You care about the men under your command, you are loyal to the crew, and you do not second guess yourself. As does young Wren." Robb complimented, to which Ezra felt a slight twinge of pride at.
That twinge was gone with what he said next.
"However, you are also arrogant, reckless, and to put it mildly, petulant. Your demeanor when you don't get your way is often that of a pouty child."
"And you aren't petulant?" Ezra snapped. "You sit in here and brood all day and night, the only time we get to communicate is when we're on a mission, and you actively avoid any sort of relationship with us!"
Robb's eyes narrowed at him. "You don't know a thing about me, Bridger. Where I come from and the errors I've made. And I suggest that if you wish to remain on good terms with me, you will no longer test me."
Ezra scoffed at the older man. "How can your past be any worse than what me or Kanan went through? What Sabine or Hera went through? What Zeb went through? You talk of petulance and fear, yet the only one I see acting like a coward is you, Stark."
Robb closed on him so fast that Ezra barely had time to reach for his lightsaber, their faces now mere inches apart.
"Your parents were ripped from you, yet you had a home to return to. Wren's uncle was killed right in front of her by her superior officer, yet she still has her clan. Hera's people are oppressed, yet she still has her father." He spat, the spittle landing on Ezra's face. "Kanan and Zeb come closest to what I went through, true enough, but they weren't pulled into oblivion as they watched everything they cared for ripped from them one by one. They didn't wake up in a place so far from home, so strange compared to the world you once knew, with no way to get back. They didn't have to spend five years learning everything again from the ground up, with no-one else to teach them or count on them." Robb glanced down to see him clutching his lightsaber, holding it against his gut.
The Grey Wolf laughed, yet it was a laugh without any mirth or warmth.
"Oh, this is rich; you're threatened by me." His expression turned dark, and for a moment Ezra was reminded of Vader. "So, you think you'd be the first to try to kill me or the hundredth? The thousandth? Well, let me tell you something, Ezra of House Bridger." He began to poke his chest, making him back up several paces. "I've been wanting to die ever since I got to this galaxy! I've been wanting to rejoin my wife and family in oblivion for nigh on twelve years now! But the Force will not allow my death, be it in old age or sleep or war, though I do not know why! So, you want to be the man to kill me?" Robb grabbed Ezra's saber and pressed the cold metal handle further onto the skin. "Well, do it! Take your saber and gut me right now! I'm a threat to you and your entire family, right? DO IT! KILL ME! KILL ME! NOW! KILL ME!"
Robb beat his chest screaming for Ezra to kill him, and in that moment, Ezra didn't see a warrior, or a king, or a wolf, or even a threat.
All Ezra saw was a broken man, consumed by years of immeasurable rage, grief, and pain.
All he saw was the man whom he could become.
And in that instant, all the whisperings of the Sith Holocron, the illusions of power and grandeur, the anger and loathing he felt for himself, his master, for Robb, and for all his enemies, vanished away like morning dew, and he dropped his lightsaber to the floor. What had happened to Robb, that he had become this broken, brooding mess?
As if reading Ezra's thoughts, Robb looked down at him, his features now looking tired and worn with age, and spoke with a defeated voice.
"Do you want to know why you can't kill me, Lieutenant?" He asked rhetorically. "It's because I died a long time ago when I was young." With that, Robb brushed passed him, back into the main corridor to presumably go to his room, grabbing his sword along the way.
Ezra collapsed to his knees, trying to get a hold of his emotions and center himself. Was this his destiny? Was he to become like Stark, trying to hold on to everything only to lose it? To become something that cold, distant, and utterly broken?'
Was it the Holocron leading him to that fate?
All the sudden, Ezra had the urge to throw the ancient Sith artifact out the airlock and forget about it for the rest of his days. He did not think of it at the time, but he knew the looks of concern and dread he got from the rest of his team, particularly from Sabine and Zeb, had always been warranted.
In that moment, Ezra thought of the wounded, pleading men he coldly killed, the ship of Imperial scientists he callously blew up on the pretense of them fighting on the wrong side, the sick thrill of causing one Imperial captain, who was stationed on his homeworld at the time, pain by cutting his arm off with his saber before putting the man out of his misery- because it began to bore him.
He thought of the arguments he was getting into with Hera and Sabine more and more about his behavior, on and off missions.
He thought of the glares he both gave and received from Zeb, a man whom he thought of as an elder brother.
In that moment, in that one clarifying, horrific moment, he realized something.
He was no better or more righteous than the men he hated.
The Force nudged him in the direction of the balcony, and he looked up to see Sabine staring down at him, her brown eyes full of shock and worry. He took a deep, shaky breath before speaking to her. "How much of that did you see?" he asked.
"More than enough." She answered, her voice soft and lined with concern. "We should tell Hera about this. She needs to hear about what kind of man Stark is."
"Already have," Hera said as she walked into the cargo bay. Even Kanan, as blind as he was, could not have missed the fury on her face. "Ezra. Sabine. Details. Now."
Ezra knew better than to question Hera in this state, so he recounted all that had happened that morning, leaving no detail, great or small, out. Then Sabine recounted her argument with Robb to Hera, who kept a contemplative, if angry, face the whole time. When she spoke, her voice was full of iron resolve.
"We are going to talk with him. All of us." She commanded. "There is absolutely no excuse for his behavior, especially for a veteran soldier like him."
Ezra rubbed the back of his head. "Honestly, I think Zeb should be the one who brooches this topic to him. He's closer to Robb than anyone else on the ship."
"But not close enough to curb his behavior." Hera shook her head. "I'll talk to the others about this. In the meantime, Sato has a mission for us. Be prepared to receive the op order within 2 hours."
With that, Hera turned and walked into the cockpit. Sabine eventually followed her, giving Ezra one last, lingering gaze full of sorrow before leaving. And after a moment, Ezra, too, left the cargo hold, his mind burning with questions, but one stood out among the rest; something Robb had said to him.
"It's because I died a long time ago when I was young."
He dreamed the night before the mission, which was a rescue operation to, having fallen in a fitful sleep due partially to Zeb's snoring, partially due to the malevolent whispering of the Holocron, and partially due to Robb's words.
He walked through an unknown camp, in an unknown land on an unknown planet. Banners flapped gently in the summer night's breeze. Some banners showed a fist gloved in plate armor. Some showed mermaids and bears and giants. Some standards showed a white son blazing on a black field, while others were inscribed with a bloody red flayed man on a white cross. The most prominent banners, however, were that of a snarling grey wolf's head on a snow-white field.
It was the same wolf emblazoned on the armor of Robb Stark, Ezra realized.
The soldiers themselves were strange to Ezra. They did not carry any of the familiar weapons known to any denizen of the galaxy, nor were there any signs of modern technology to be found. Instead of blasters, they carried maces, swords, spears, crossbows, and polearms. Instead of plastiod, they armored themselves in plate armor, mail, or padded jackets. But all knew hardship, it seemed.
He walked closer to the center of the camp; a ruined stone fortress by the look of it. He stepped inside and saw what looked to be the commanders of the army- for they dressed in far better armor and wielded better weapons that most in the camp- surrounding a tall, brash, grim-looking young man, sitting on a stone bench with an older woman that must have been his mother. There was something familiar about the young man, though he couldn't quite place what it was, yet.
"The proper course is clear," One of the commanders, who was wearing the sigil of a trout on his armor, declared to the rest of the camp. "Pledge fealty to King Renly and move south to join our forces with his."
"Renly is not the King." The young lord spoke with a raised voice.
The commander with a fish sigil frowned at him. "You can't mean to hold to Joffrey, my lord!" he scoffed. "He put your father to death!"
"That doesn't make Renly king." The young man corrected his subordinate. "He's Robert's youngest brother. If Bran can't be Lord of Winterfell before me, Renly can't be king before Stannis!"
"Do you mean to declare us for Stannis?" The commander asked him. Before the young lord could respond, his commanders broke out into an argument. Some favored declaring for the elder brother, Stannis, while others touted Renly as the right choice. After a moment of this bickering, a giant man rose and bellowed, reminding Ezra of Zeb, somewhat.
"My lords. MY LORDS!" He shouted, getting the others to quiet down. "Here is what I say to these two kings." For his answer, the giant man spat on the ground, to the cheers and laughter of the men around him. "Renly Baratheon is nothing to me, nor Stannis, neither. Why should they rule over me and mine from some flowery seat in the south? What do they know of the Wall or the Wolfswood? Even their gods are wrong! And piss on the Lannisters; I've my belly full of them." He got more chuckles out of that one. "Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we bowed to, but now the dragons are dead." He drew a massive greatsword and pointed it at the young, familiar looking man. "There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to; the King in the North!" At that, the giant man knelt before the young lord, who looked uncertain for a moment, then rose to his full height.
"I'll have peace on those terms. They can keep their red castle, and their iron chair, too! The King in the North!" Another lord declared the young man as his king, bending the knee.
"Am I your brother, Robb, now and always?" Another lord, just as young, asked him.
ROBB?
"Now and always." The now apparent younger Robb answered his friend, or perhaps it was his brother.
The other youth took his sword out and bent the knee. "My sword is yours, in victory and defeat, from this day, until my last day."
An older woman from the back raised her mace and shouted for all to hear. "The King in the North!"
Soon, the entire camp took up the cheer, bending their knees and raising their swords before this one boy, Robb Stark.
As the vision faded into another, Ezra could still hear Robb's lords shouting for him, praising him.
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
The dream started to twist and distort. He saw many images, incomprehensible to him.
He saw a man who looked much like Robb getting his head cut off, on the orders of a boy-king.
He saw Robb, wounded and bleeding, getting stabbed by one of the generals from the previous vision.
He saw a man who looked to be Robb's brother fighting off a massive horde of…creatures…with a sword made of fire.
He saw a beautiful woman with silver hair, riding a great, fearsome black dragon, leading an army of many nations and peoples.
He saw a young boy being pushed off a tower by an older, blonde man.
He saw a mad old king on a throne of iron, shouting at everything and everyone.
"BURN THEM ALL!"
He saw Coruscant, Kashyyk, Dantooine, Lothal, and other worlds, once bright and vibrant, turn lifeless, cold, and icy.
"BURN THEM ALL!"
He saw two Jedi fighting on a planet made of fire and smoke.
He saw a beautiful woman giving birth to twins before dying.
He saw a burned and maimed man being put into a suit of black armor. Vader.
"BURN THEM ALL!"
He landed finally in a snow-covered valley, with ice-topped mountains on every side of him. He looked around to find any sign of life.
Of anything that grew in this desolate landscape, where the winds of winter howled relentlessly.
So far, his search was relentless, but upon closer inspection, he could spot something in the center of the valley, about a good kilometer away.
Trudging through the ankle-deep snow, while the cold winds bit through him despite his best attempts to keep warm using the Force, he made the slow trek to the object in the center, which was quickly becoming apparent to be a tree as he got closer.
A very large, white tree, at that, with blood-red leaves.
When he got close enough, he could see a face carved into the side of the tree facing him, smiling, yet weeping 'blood' from its eyes. Around the tree, he saw round stones circling it in some sort of pattern. From the tree, itself, Ezra could feel some sort of residual Force-energy. It was as if the tree was timeless, able to see past, present, and future without blinking one of its unmoving eyes.
As soon as he got close enough to the tree, Ezra felt compelled to touch it He laid a hand upon the ancient tree, on the bottom of its laughing mouth.
That soon proved to be a mistake.
For as soon as he withdrew his hand, he saw a vast horde of what he could only describe as zombies surround him, all in various states of decay. Some of the undead were relatively fresh corpses, barely showing any signs of decay. Others were almost nothing but bones and scraps of skin and armor.
Some of the corpses were stormtroopers, some of them were rebel fighters. Some of them were clones. Most were human, many were alien, but all of them had one defining, chilling feature.
They all had bright, lifeless blue eyes.
To his deepest horror and utter revulsion, he saw his friends amongst the undead. There Hera stood, with one lekku cut off and half her face missing. There Zeb stood, with his guts removed and one of his eyes stabbed out. There Kanan stood, his right arm dangling uselessly, hanging there by a tendon.
There Sabine stood, bald and rotting, her mouth lipless and decaying.
The dead soon parted, and out of the new opening, four riders strode forth on decaying black horses. These newcomers were not undead, that much Ezra could tell, but from what he saw, they were still just as dangerous, if not even more so.
Three of them were much the same; skin so pale it looked blue, fine white hair flowing from their head, and white beards adorning their gaunt faces, with each of them carrying some sort of sword staff, wearing black armor.
The fourth was different.
Instead of white hair, he had a ring of horns adoring his bald skull, reminding Ezra of Maul, initially. Instead of pale-blue skin, his was white as the snow itself. Instead of a sword staff, he carried a wicked looking battle-ax. Ezra had a gut feeling that this was the leader of all the undead.
The leader of the undead looked at him, and now Ezra truly got a good look at him.
At first, he thought him to be Maul or at least a doppelganger, but when he got a closer look, he could not even give voice to his horror.
The thing up on that horse was himself, his facial features twisted and gaunt, his normally lively blue eyes cold and bright.
The evil version of Ezra looked upon him in derision and made a motion with his hand.
After that, all hell broke loose, as the horde of zombies swarmed upon him.
Ezra drew and ignited his saber, it's brilliant green hue lighting up the darkness before him. He utilized all his skill fighting the endless waves undead, all his power, all his strength. But it seemed like each wight he cut down was replaced with five more, and soon he was dragged to the ground.
He could feel their teeth chew upon his flesh, their hands ripping him apart limb from limb, their swords eviscerating his guts.
The last thing he saw before waking up, was the undead Sabine ripping out his throat with her teeth.
He never screamed as loud as he did now.
A/N: Another chapter done!
Yeah, if you can't tell already, Robb is kind of a hypocritical, dysfunctional prick after his death. A major part of his story arc is going to be having to realize that despite everything being ripped apart from him, he isn't the only one on the Ghost who's lost everything they held dear. He's going to have to realize that he isn't the only broken man on this ship
The scene between Robb and Ezra with the former shouting his desire to die is based on the 2007 Beowulf film.
I was initially torn between Ezra discussing Robb's meltdown with Kanan, and the scene I eventually put in. I ultimately decided to put the dream sequence in. No, don't worry, there won't be a galactic-scale White Walker invasion (unless you want it.)
One thing that's changing is that Ezra is realizing the Holocron's malicious effect on him a good while before it happens in canon. Robb provides the example for him of a man who had everything yet lost it all due to pride and arrogance, which is what the Sith are all about.
I hope I'm developing the pairing between Ezra and Sabine adequately. I confess romance was never really my strong suit.
This chapter is dedicated to Ron Glass. May your soul wander freely through the 'Verse, now, Shepard.
