"Go ahead, have seconds," Mandalore said, sitting down across from the Disciple. "You're looking scrawny."
"Thank you," the Disciple said, smiling across the table at his warrior friend. They had eaten dinner with plenty of good-natured chitchat, Mandalore having significantly more to say considering the Disciple had been asleep for much of their time apart.
The Disciple had to hand it to the Mandalorians, they trained hard and they rewarded themselves with incredibly rich food. It was good, he decided, to eat a meal privately with someone he respected, someone who did not look at him as if he were a broken, untrustworthy thing. They sat across from one another at a small, hand-carved table in Mandalore's private chambers. The walls were littered with an astounding variety of war memorabilia, from fragments of grenades to blood-stained shawls and blaster triggers. The Disciple had never pegged the man for a sentimentalist, but in a way it made sense; the only things Mandalore had left were his war wounds and his past battles. Mandalore seemed to pick up on the uneasiness of the Disciple's sudden silence and set down his mug of water.
"Those two friends of yours giving you a hard time?" he asked.
"I cannot blame them," the Disciple said. "This is all very… Awkward. By trying to protect me they only made my life more difficult, but I do believe their hearts were in the right place. Still, it's hard not to feel like I'm the butt of some cosmic joke."
"How do you figure that?" Mandalore asked, raising one eyebrow.
"I sense some larger truth is constantly slipping through my fingers, just as I'm certain I've remembered something important, it disappears. It's unbelievably frustrating. Maybe I'm not really remembering anything, maybe I'm just hoping," he said, skewering another chili dumpling onto his fork.
"Trust yourself," Mandalore said, lowering his voice despite their privacy. "We went through a lot of crazy bloah on the Hawk, there were a few times I didn't think we were going to make it out alive… I never thought I would see that frak storm on Onderon resolved peacefully but, damn it, the unexpected can happen."
"You know why I came, I suppose," the Disciple murmured.
"You're going after her," Mandalore said, nodding. "I knew it was just a matter of time before you showed up asking questions. I'm prepared to tell you what I know, but I want you to swear something to me first."
"What is it?" the Disciple asked.
"Don't go looking for her. But if you insist on dying and you do go after her, don't tell her I squealed. I'm pretty sure she wouldn't like it," Mandalore said, deadly serious.
"I can agree to that," the Disciple said. "I know the chances of survival are low, but what alternative is there? Consider how much she sacrificed for us all, it doesn't sit right with me to let her fight an entire empire on her own. I must go, even if it means death."
Canderous was staring at him, his eyes slightly wild and unhinged. Suddenly, the old warrior cracked a smile and slammed his hand down on the table, sending his cutlery flying.
"I like you, kid, I always have. You and that Rand character had some issues, but you never balked from a fight and I like that. And hey, you should keep the beard, it's a good look, you can always trust a man with a good beard."
"Thank you," the Disciple said.
"All right, here goes. After the Hawk took a header on Jaroon she took off pretty quick. She came with me, here, to Dxun. Apparently she wanted some weapons, which was fine with me, but I didn't know she meant half of the damn armory," Canderous said with a fond chuckle.
"How long did she stay?" the Disciple asked, forgetting all about his half-full plate.
"About a month, she trained pretty hard with the boys, they put her through the works but nothing seemed to faze her. She was a maniac, with focus like I've never seen before. I wanted to ask her to stick around, fight some battles with us for old time's sake, but she couldn't be persuaded. Right at the end she hesitated, like she knew she shouldn't go and that she wouldn't be back," Mandalore explained.
"What was her… State of mind?"
"Focused, like I said, but she was sad, too, like she didn't really want to do any of it but she had no say in the matter. I've seen that look before; seasoned warriors get that look when they know they've fought their last battle. It wasn't good to see, especially knowing where she was headed," Canderous looked away as he finished, picking up his knife from the floor.
"And you didn't try to stop her?"
"Stop her? I always knew you had a sense of humor hiding in there somewhere. Look, kid, you knew her, she was stubborner than a drakka boar when she wanted to be. I wasn't keen to see her go but there really wasn't anything I could do about it," Canderous said. The Disciple studied the Mandalorian and fought the instinct to continue arguing. It was clear that Canderous was disturbed by the whole despicable situation – true, he was the Exile's friend but it was not his place to stop her. Obviously, the Mandalorian had cared for her, it was evident in the way he lowered his tone respectfully whenever he mentioned her name, it was clear in the way he defended her actions tirelessly.
"Are you still having trouble… Remembering things, I mean?" Canderous asked softly.
"Sometimes," the Disciple began, "At night I have long dreams, sometimes I'm not certain if they're memories or just my imagination. I described a few of them to Bao-Dur and he confirmed that they actually happened."
"Do you want my honest opinion?" Canderous asked, resting his elbows on the table.
"Please, I welcome it."
"That woman, she's the kind of woman that doesn't need a man, not for anything. But if she wanted one, she could do much worse than you," Canderous said. The Disciple wasn't certain how to interpret the odd confession but it struck him that the Mandalorian had given him a rare compliment, cloaked in apathy as it may have appeared. The Disciple nodded, a wan smile spreading across his face.
"Thank you, I think."
They clinked mugs together. The Disciple was about to drop the subject of the past altogether when he had a sudden idea. An image of a journal, ripped apart and blank came to mind.
"Do you remember me giving her anything? Letters? Papers? Anything?"
Canderous sat back in his chair mulling the question over his water. After a moment he sat forward quickly, his sharp eyes afire.
"We were celebrating with all the wine the queen gave us after Iziz was restored. You all had gone to bed but she was determined to drink me under the table, personal goal I guess. She was doing a pretty good job, but by the end of it we were both a little… I mean, the truth was flowing just as free as the wine, if you know what I mean, and with everyone turned in for bed... Anyway, she said something about poems."
"Poems?" the Disciple cried, perhaps a little too quickly.
"Yeah, poems," Canderous said with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest, "I think they baffled her a little, to be honest. She didn't know what to make of them."
"Oh," the Disciple groaned, wincing.
"Not like that, kid, I don't remember much of it, I wasn't exactly in top form," Canderous said, trailing off. He seemed ready to end the subject and then added, "But I do remember one thing. She said something about being called a muse, I think she liked that or something, she kept repeating it."
The Disciple stared at the Mandalorian, who suddenly blushed deeply and looked away.
"Hey, don't ask me why I remember garbage like that," Canderous grunted, hugging himself defensively. He looked away, smiling to himself about some private memory; he scratched idly at his thatch of gray hair. It was nice to see the old warrior smiling; it would be easy, the Disciple thought, for him to simply retire and let the Mandalorians disappear quietly into history. He could easily be an obscure and decrepit drunk somewhere, recalling how things were, how mighty he once was, but Mandalore did not give up and for that, the Disciple had to respect him.
As he looked at the other man, the Disciple felt an electric urge rising, felt it pressing against his throat until he sighed, let go, and let the Force out. There was a memory of the Exile in this man's brain, and it was impossible to say whether or not he was telling the whole truth about the exchange. Judging from his guarded, scrambled thoughts, there was more too tell. It was done delicately, his surgical invasion of Mandalore's mind, but the memory was fresh on the man's brain and came easily, nearly jumping into the Disciple's lap.
"Muse," she was saying, biting down on her lip, her yellow hair disheveled and tumbling over one shoulder. Her speech was gently slurred and she blinked rather more than usual, "It's sort of nice, I always considered myself a bit on the tyrannical side. Muse is a clever euphemism, don't you think? Of course I'm not sure it's about me…"
"Right, obviously it's not about you, it's a meditation on the many charms of Mr. Atton Rand," Canderous said. They both erupted into a prolonged fit of laughter. Four empty bottles of good Iziz wine littered the card table and there was little semblance of a pazaak game actually going on. Her cheeks were flushed when they finally stopped laughing. She pushed a hand into her tangle of blonde waves.
"Well, that's embarrassing," the Disciple murmured, looking down at his lap.
"Forget it, like I said, I think it made her happy. There wasn't a lot to smile about then."
"There still isn't," the Disciple finished.
"Look," Canderous said, standing. "Get some sleep, we'll talk over coordinates in the morning. I might be able to track the ship, at least to the first destination. It was mine, after all."
The Disciple nodded and stood, thanking Canderous for dinner. The Mandalorian escorted him to the door.
"Please, don't say anything about the… poetry, to Bao-Dur, I don't want him to think this mission is just about me. I want to keep things in perspective, even if I have my own agenda; I want to put a legitimate face on all of this. She was our leader, she deserves our loyalty even in the darkest of times," the Disciple said, looking Canderous in the eyes. The Mandalorian nodded and put a heavy hand on the Jedi's shoulder.
"It's our secret, kid."