CHAPTER TEN

Grievous

Mordred is perfectly aware that he is walking, willingly, into a trap.

The Council called him the very next morning after his conversation with Stiles, and later Morgana, to tell him the troopers had found Grievous's whereabouts, and it is clear to anyone that it's a trap.

He is, of course, honored that the Council entrusted him with such a delicate mission, but at the same time, he would give almost anything not to go — or, at the very least, to be able to take Merlin with him. His mind is heavy with Stiles's pleas and Morgana's words — while she hadn't outright told him he must save Grievous, or that the cyborg is, indeed, the man he knew as General Hale, she said enough to make him wonder whether he knows what he's doing at all in this mission. To make matters worse, when he had gone looking for Stiles after talking to the Council, he was informed that the man had already been dispatched to a mission on Felucia earlier that day with his padawan, to rescue Jedi Knight Da'n'yy and his padawan Ma-Som.

He wouldn't have a chance to tell him he had talked to Morgana, he wouldn't be able to ease his mind, even if just a little, that he would end this war, and that, according to the Seer, its end didn't necessarily meant Grievous's death — even if that alone could be interpreted in many ways, most of which Mordred isn't keen on contemplating, for they imply that even if Grievous dies, the war will continue on, just as Stiles fears.

Just as he fears too.

After his meeting with the Council, he goes back to his quarters to get ready, heart heavy when he says his goodbyes to Merlin, who looks as if he might try and stowaway in his ship, despite his orders. These are difficult times, with every decision getting harder than the last — it's as if they're all threads connecting a design none of them can understand yet, and Mordred fears that when they do, it'll be too late.

He is ready for boarding when he notices Master Deaton steadily watching him, in a pose that, years ago, even in his last visit to Coruscant, would seem calm, but now just looks contained, his rage just a breath away from escaping. He sends Commander Cody in, and waits as the Jedi walks towards him, his gaze going to the vanishing form of Merlin in the corridors above, before approaching Mordred, arms tucked in the sleeves of his robes, posture stiff.

"You are aware that this could be a trap," the other Master tells him with no preamble, and Mordred can only nod, as he had been thinking about that himself, "You are also aware that, despite the fact that some Council members have cleared him for duty, there is still doubt on the matter of Master Stiles's encounter with General Grievous."

Mordred stares at the Korun Master for a long moment before speaking, conflicted over how he should respond.

"I thought the Council had talked to Stiles directly about this," he ends up saying, and Deaton inclines his head in assertion, but doesn't look less suspicious in his agreement.

"We did. And as I said, the Council has cleared him. Some of us, however, would still like to understand what really happened. If Stiles told you anything…" he trails off, expecting Mordred to pick up his cue, but he doesn't, because he cannot see if this is Master Deaton talking, or just the darkness around them making the man distrust his own former padawan.

Of course, given his history, Mordred understands his doubts. So far, all of Deaton's padawans have strayed from the Light, and yet, Mordred can't bring himself to even consider that as a possibility — not for Stiles. As unreasonable as he had been the night before, he is certain the man — and he can't quite get his head around the fact that Stiles is a full Master Jedi, with a padawan of his own, a General in the battlefield — would never have ill will towards the Light.

As Stiles himself had said, he is a servant of the Force, and Mordred has an inkling he has much more contact with its will at this moment than Deaton seems to possess, in his never ending doubts and conflicts.

"Stiles doesn't seem to have told me anything he didn't tell the Council. He was upset over the deaths of his two closest friends, he was in pain and hurting, but I am certain he has managed to overcome this obstacle on his path, if he has already been sent on a rescue mission."

Deaton scoffs quietly at that.

"You and I both know that Stiles wouldn't have been dispatched so soon if we didn't have our own plans in motion here in Coruscant, and if we weren't already stretched as thin as possible — no one else could carry out the rescue mission but him."

"Then I don't know what else to tell you, Master Deaton."

The man eyes him silently for a moment, before tilting his head to the side, his voice quiet.

"It has been mentioned you went to see Master Morgana after your visit to Stiles last night."

Mordred nods once — it is no secret he visited her, and their conversation is no secret either, but he is sure Deaton would read more into it than necessary, and for that alone he decides to keep its contents to himself.

"Are the two visits at all connected?" the man pushes, and Mordred nods again.

"In a manner of speaking, they are. Morgana was once as invested in Stiles's future in the Order as I was, and we all worry about what happens to him. I went by to inform her of his recovery, which, of course, she already knew about. We talked on the matter of his survival of Grievous's attack, but she had no light to shed on the matter, no more than I or Stiles himself have to offer."

His half answer seems to be enough for the man — he still looks suspicious, but almost as if he's ready to let it go.

"There seems to be too many coincidences in this war in the past few days, too many connecting links with no apparent reason — be careful, Mordred. This trap you're walking into may run deeper than you might think."

It irks Mordred that Deaton is so determined not to trust his former padawan that even to the end he is trying to warn Mordred against him, but he says nothing more on it — he doubts anything would convince Deaton of Stiles's complete honesty on this matter, probably sensing that something is not being told, but never even being able to consider that whatever is being hidden is there by the design of the Force, and not because of his supposed betrayal.

"I'll keep that in mind, Master Deaton. May the Force be with you," he tells the man.

"And with you."

He turns around, and boards his ship, more ready to get away from Coruscant now than he had thought possible just a few minutes before. He hopes the trip to Utapau will be enough for him to find his center again, after his time in Coruscant.

X

As soon as he arrives in Utapau, he's met by the Pau'ans' leader, who tells him Grievous is, indeed, on the planet. The male looks frightened, but determined to do the right thing — a rarity these days, when half the Galaxy mistrusts the Jedi, and the other half wishes they could understand what is actually going on.

A part of him is relieved, knowing the end might as well be at his fingertips, but another part, the more reasonable part, the part that thinks this is too easy, has a bad feeling about the whole thing.

A trap, a good Jedi trap, indeed.

He turns his ship around, pretends to leave, and lands it on a remote landing pad, getting out, and seeking the command center where Grievous is sure to be at — as dangerous as the territory in Utapau is, it also makes for an easy enough hunt, seeing as there aren't many places where the General could be biding his time.

He hides, high up on a beam near the ceiling, when he finds him.

General Grievous has four MagnaGuards with him, plus scores and scores of battle droids and super battle droids hanging not far from him, ready to attack at any time he orders them to — it would be daunting, had Mordred not been more focused on watching the cyborg down in the middle of the commanding unit, his dark cloak trailing behind him.

He watches, cataloging all details which could have made Stiles think the monster underneath is Stiles's childhood savior, the man Mordred had so admired for such a long time as the one good soldier they'd always have. It's not the first time he's seen the cyborg, of course, but it is the first one in which he truly tries to seek in him anything that could allow for compassion, for pity, for redemption. Anything that would make it acceptable for Mordred to save him.

The General's eyes are the deep red he's infamous for, seeming to be stuck on a permanent glare at all times, unlike the electric blue they had once been. He is taller than Mordred remembers Derek Hale being, but then again, he is covered head to toe in armor — take that away, and it might well be that the man is hidden underneath. The way he walks, however, even though with heavier steps, is the same — that raw determination to get his duty done, to do what he has to, no questions asked. There is something about the man that is incredibly familiar, and yet he can't bring himself to think of a way to let him live on as he is now.

For a moment, he doesn't know how to act, is at a loss of what he should accomplish here, in agony over what Stiles asked him to do and what the Council expects of him — of him, of Merlin, of Stiles himself, and as loath as he is to admit it, all those expectations feel wrong to him. The Council isn't right in what they are doing, but who can he serve, what is his purpose if he doesn't trust them? He has lost count of how many times he's asked himself that very question, and his eyes keep tracing Grievous's impatient movements below as he considers the best course of action.

How disappointed in him would Stiles be if he didn't even try? How many problems would he have to face within the Council should he allow Grievous to live? Should he trust them? Follow their orders blindly as a good Jedi should?

'My path is to obey the will of the Force. Maybe being a Jedi is part of it, but so is saving him.'

Stiles's words come back to him, and he closes his eyes, allowing himself to find his center in the Force, to let it flow through him beyond being a Jedi, or a human. He is an instrument of the Force, and he will act like it to his very last breath, no matter the consequences, because that is what he should be. That is what he was taught to do by his own Master — to follow the Force and obey its will.

Opening his eyes and watching Grievous take another round of the space he's in, he knows what to do.

He's meant to save Derek Hale.

That doesn't mean General Grievous should be allowed to live.

He jumps off the beam, falling gracefully just a few feet away from the MagnaGuards, who turn around in unison to face him, but do not attack. Grievous turns, then, his armored face giving nothing away as he stalks towards Mordred fearlessly, passing through his bodyguards as if they aren't there for his protection.

"General Grievous, you're under arrest," he tells the bio-droid, whose shoulders shake a bit, as if he's laughing — Mordred isn't sure he can laugh, though.

"Are you giving me a chance to surrender, Jedi? Because I assure you, I will not extent you the same courtesy."

Mordred takes his lightsaber from his belt and lights it up, calm as he can be as Grievous approaches him.

"I'm not here to kill you, General — I'm here to take you in. Surrender, and this will all be easier for you."

"I don't think I will," the cyborg says, voice flat as he shrugs the cape falling on his left arm to his back, leaving both of his armor covered arms free, "See, you may not be here to kill me, but you will die here, Jedi, just as those other two died back in Coruscant."

"It could have been three, Grievous, and yet it wasn't. Surrender now, and you may yet understand why you let Stiles live."

That finally seems to make the cyborg's calm disappear. His eyes flash in bright red once, before he turns his back on Mordred entirely and stalks back behind his guards.

"Kill him," he says, almost fastidiously, and Mordred starts worrying about the four MagnaGuards turning to face him as one — and the scores and scores of droids hanging from the ceiling, all seeming to have woken up at once, beady dead eyes focused on him.

Commander Cody, however, true to his word, comes in to his rescue just in time, with scores of troopers honing in on his position and coming to face the battalions of droids, leaving him and Grievous — and the four MagnaGuards — to their own battle.

He could swear the cyborg snorts when he sees the clone troopers, and seems to change his mind, turning back and shrugging his cape again, arms crossing in front of his chest as he draws out two lightsabers. Mordred feels his blood boiling for a second, before he can find his peace again — lightsabers taken from fallen Jedi, from the beings Derek Hale had no business in destroying, even if this is not really Derek Hale.

"You have no right to use those weapons," he tells the man, his voice calm as they circle around each other, troopers and battle droids falling all around them, but they aren't worried — there are only the two of them now.

"Your fellow Jedi protecting the Chancellor in Coruscant made no complaint when I took them," the cyborg replies and runs towards him, both lightsabers circling in front of him like death propellers, yellow and orange lights mixing in his direction, but Mordred veers to his right, weapon hitting the closest lightsaber in Grievous's hand, making him lose his steady pace, and back up a little.

After that, Mordred attacks in earnest.

He doesn't aim for a kill, and not only because Stiles asked him not to, or because Morgana implied he would save the man this cyborg had once been, but because he wouldn't be able to, not yet — Grievous has been well trained, most likely by Count Peter himself, on top of having been a warrior in his former life as well. The General attacks him again, using his heavier form to his advantage, but Mordred parries the attack and forces him behind with the help of the Force, making the cyborg stagger. He stops, just a few steps away, both lightsabers twirling at his sides as he seems to try and decide what to do, red eyes narrowed in concentration and malice and rage — these are the only things he seems to know how to feel, and Mordred finally understands he will save Derek Hale, after all, even if he kills this being in front of him, because no one deserves to live like this — a shell of what he had been, encased in durasteel and armoplast, not really a Kaleesh anymore, not really a person.

Anyone, anyone, would rather be dead than continue on living like this husk of a person, with no feelings, no happiness, drowning in a pit of hatred and anger.

"How disappointed do you think Stiles would be if he saw you now?" Mordred asks him, voice low and curious, because he knows, he just knows, Hale will remember. He already had, in the battle that caused Alis-Sen's and Eri-Ka's death. He will remember the child he saved, the promises he made to him too, "He grew up to be one of the kindest, most loyal people I have ever met, and he remembers you — he will always remember you — and yet this is what you've become, a killer, a droid, no better than the army you command. How sad, how broken do you think he will be when he finds out you couldn't be brave enough to break through this programming on your own, that you continued to kill mindlessly?"

The General runs to him again, two weapons raining strikes against Mordred in a fit of rage greater than Mordred ever remembers seeing — he contains with it, though, veers to his sides, turns and leaps like his former padawan is so fond of doing, letting the cyborg rain his rage against him, only ever defending himself, because he knows this is what he has to do.

He is one with the Force, and the Force is in him. Grievous's armor is more than his protection, his impermeability against his enemies: it is the source of his malice, of his hatred — it is what it's stopping Derek Hale from healing fully, from being the man he had once been, good and fair and just and brave.

Mordred finally leaps out of the cyborg's path, jumping over battle droid pieces and on a cargo unit, Grievous following him not a second later, seeming intent on advancing on him again to continue his attack.

"Who do you think the Council will send after you next, if you manage to defeat me? Stiles is next in line — brave and fearless and duty-bound to the Jedi Order. Will you spare him again, then? Run from him forever? What will you do, General, when the child you saved is the one hunting you down?"

Grievous launches himself at Mordred, then, a scream of rage in his lips, and Mordred finally attacks him back, his lightsaber being guided by the Force itself, moving faster than it ever had — and he is not the only one to realize that finally, for the first time in this fight, he seems to have the upper hand.

He manages to cut one of the lightsabers in half while still in the General's hand, sparks flying as his weapon grazes the man's armor, and he readies himself for another attack, aiming at the bio-droid's chest, where his central wiring is.

Grievous jumps off the container at the last second, and runs — cape trailing behind him, as he shouts a command at the MagnaGuards still awaiting orders underneath them.

Grievous runs.

This is quite possibly the one thing that makes Mordred's heart break into a million pieces — he has to save him — even if it kills the General, even if he does die in the end of the battle he'll make sure is coming, because he just cannot allow this travesty to continue for any longer than it has.

Grievous runs.

The Kaleesh who went alone into a Yam'rii ship to rescue children, not caring how many enemies he had to face, the one who's suffered for his planet, who fought every battle, who kept them safe before being turned into the monster he is today — he runs, and that makes Mordred pity him more than anything.

They did something to him. General Hale wouldn't run and hide behind scores of droids and droidekas, behind his MagnaGuards and their electrostaffs — he would have faced Mordred head on till the very end, fought him like the leader he once was not caring about survival, only about doing his duty, about keeping his honor as a warrior intact.

He owes it to this man to bring him back, even if he dies at the attempt — even if both of them do. Worst things than death can happen to anyone, as they have clearly happened onto Hale, and he is going to bring him back.

He closes his eyes, letting the Force run through him — he is no longer Mordred, Jedi Master, or Merlin's friend, or an oath breaker to General Hale: he is the Force, and he lets it use him as it will. He concentrates for a second, and the cables holding the container above him start to shake and tremble over him — he jumps off the container just as it lands on all four MagnaGuards who were quickly advancing onto him, and he grabs the electrostaff of one of them as it falls down, running after Grievous, his black cape trailing behind him.

The cyborg leaps up on the railings on the ceiling and runs over it, Mordred following as fast as he can, but he has an idea where the bio-droid wants to go — to the nearest landing pad, where, Mordred is sure, there's an escape module waiting for him.

The cyborg makes it to a few feet from his ship when Mordred finally gains on him, and the Jedi takes an impulse, leaping over the cyborg and landing in front of him just as Grievous is trying to get into the ship — certainly the General would try and escape in it if Mordred hadn't been faster and caught up to him.

The cyborg finally stops and stares at Mordred, from the tip of the electrostaff cackling in his hand to his calm countenance, and he seems to come to a decision, spreading his cape wide and pulling two lightsabers from it again as he speaks.

"It seems there's no other way, then, Jedi — you will die here," he tells Mordred, voice distorted and breathing mechanical as he speaks, but deep down, in the resonance of his voice, in the softness of his speech, now that he knows what he's looking for, he can hear Derek Hale's surprisingly soft voice from beneath all the armoplast and durasteel.

"I admired you," Mordred starts, circling the General, who shows no emotion when hearing Mordred speak, "I thought you were a hero. How could you fall so low, General Hale?"

The cyborg's red eyes straighten at that, and he lights up his two weapons, orange and green, his mechanical joints allowing him to twirl them in a much faster speed than a human or a Kaleesh should be able to.

"Not as low as you will fall, Jedi."

Mordred snorts at that answer, head to the side as he considers the being in front of him, leaping out of the way of the weapons coming towards him as Grievous attacks — he now understands the cyborg's technique and that makes it easier for him to stay away from his strikes, makes it easier for him to defend himself against it — and makes it easier for the Force to guide him into what he has to do to save him.

He uses the electrostaff to fend off the brunt force of the first lightsaber hitting him, but has to leap out of the way when the second one comes almost at once at his torso — jumping behind him, he gets away again, his back to the precipice at the edge of the landing pad, and he can almost see Grievous's smirk behind his face armor, certain that all he'll have to do is push him off it — but this is not just a battle against Mordred, he's battling the Force itself and he doesn't know it.

With every attack the cyborg delivers, Mordred is forced to change tactics, letting the Force flow through him, guide him in whatever way it will — he can't stop to consider if his strike will hit him with too much force and kill him, he can't let himself think about the fact that he may send him careening out of the landing pad. What has to happen will happen, and he has no control over it — he lets go of control, and just acts as he must, because that is his purpose.

Grievous's attacks become more violent, and even more reckless — he is clearly not used to losing, or to taking this much time to win a battle, but he is no Jedi, too far gone into his rage and whatever madness the Sith had put into him to be able to sense his way into battle as he had once done.

The General finally manages to strike him, making him stumble once, but that gives Mordred an opening, and he faints a dive towards Grievous, who leans out of the way at the same time Mordred pulls him in, snagging the tip of his cape with his electrostaff, bringing him closer than before.

"What would Stiles say if he saw you now?" he asks again, and sees Grievous's eyes widen for just the fraction of a second, but it's all the opening he needs — he pulls the weapon form the cape, and aims for the armor over the cyborg's chest, because he knows this is what he has to do. The force of his strike makes it crack once, and Grievous tries to stumble away and out of Mordred's grip, but he can't, because the Jedi doesn't allow him time enough to recover before he's stabbing at the armor again, seeing a crack.

He pushes Grievous away from him with the help of the Force, and the cyborg falls on his back just a few steps away, a deafening noise on the ground with the weight of his armor. Leaping again, Mordred falls by his side, kicking the two lightsabers away from him, and then kneeling down — on his red eyes, Mordred can see confusion, and the cyborg looks at his own chest in awe and fear, as if he's not quite sure what he's seeing.

[arte da luna]

The Jedi doesn't think on it, however, he cannot, for this is not his place. Simply knowing he has to, Mordred opens the armor with his bare hands, just the smallest fraction, and reaches in, pulling out wiring and circuitry, using all his strength and the help from the Force to do so — he ignores the screams, the swearing, the sounds of pain, because he has to do this — to free the cyborg's chest of whatever it is it's inside. He pulls with all his strength, the Force in his every struggle, and can sense the electricity running through him too as Grievous screams out in rage and suffering.

With one last pull, he sees all the wiring in the cyborg's chest piece has been destroyed, disconnected, and he breathes in relief. He stands up, hands now full of wires, blood and pieces of skin, and stares at the being on the ground by his feet — blood pouring out of him, armor cracked hopefully beyond repair, and he isn't sure if General Grievous will make it, if he'll survive — the screams of pain becoming too loud before he seems to collapse on himself, the red in his eyes seeming to fade before he closes them completely and doesn't move anymore.

Mordred doesn't go near him to check, to be sure — it's not his place. His mission here is done and over with.

He leaves, leaving the pieces of Grievous on the floor, knowing the pain he's caused but also that he did the right thing.

He kept his promise to Stiles, he kept to the Code, and he did what the Force willed him to.

As a Jedi, as a person, he cannot hope for any more than this.

X

Pain.

Oh, he knows pain — pain has been his constant companion for as long as he can remember, but that, that very thing, is his problem right now, because he doesn't.

He doesn't remember why he's on the floor, bleeding out, encased in metal and frying wires all over him — he doesn't remember what took him to this place, or who hurt him.

And at the same time, he does.

He did it, he brought this onto himself, but that cannot be right, because he wouldn't, he would never.

He doesn't know what is happening, and this feeling he has right now, this exhausting feeling of so much pain he can't bear to be alive, this desperation for release of any kind, this is his last clear memory — he remembers Kalee, he remembers his accident, he remembers wishing to die.

He turns, chest hitting the floor of a landing pad, and grunts in pain as his skin is torn apart a little more by the scraps of metal and dirt on the floor, smearing blood everywhere he reaches.

He needs to go somewhere safe so he can understand what is happening to him — he needs to go home.

Dragging himself across the floor with excruciatingly slow speed, he reaches the ship — a Z-95 Headhunter.

He knows this ship. This, he knows. He knows this ship, and he knows home.

Activating the escape module, he can barely keep his eyes open for long enough to type in his destination, before collapsing on the chair, his eyes shut and aching and burning.

Maybe this time it will end.

It's all he can ask for if any of these memories he keeps trying to not remember are true.

For it to end.