The past is a tricky, surprisingly elusive, and ironically ever-present thing. Many people spend their whole lives running away from their past. Trying to overcome the trail of mistakes that landed them in jail, or bankrupt, or perhaps earned them a divorce. Or maybe they have a blot on their personal or professional life that dogs them and they must perpetually explain themselves. But either way, the past is something they desire to hide and to forget.
And then there are the people who resolve to transcend the past. These are the people who vow not to repeat their parents' abuse or mistakes with their own family. They will refuse to succumb to the temptations or bad judgements that lured others astray. These people seek to learn from other's—or maybe their own—shortcomings. For them, the past is a trap they intend to elude, full of cautionary tales they refuse to repeat.
But there are also those who slavishly seek to recreate the past. They have come down in the world through some reversal of fortune. These are people who have lost status, or lost possessions, or lost loved ones, and they cannot accept that change. They spend their days plotting a comeback, trying to make the past the present once again. Seeking to find purpose, or redemption, or maybe validation through rejecting their current circumstances.
Rueful Maul knows that he is all of these people. And now, his inescapable but simultaneously unreachable past has risen up to confront him. It could ruin everything.
Perhaps he should run to Darth Plagueis for help. But he wants to see what the Muun will do without prodding. He wants the zombie Sith Master to help him of his own volition. Because Plagueis judges him to be critical to the success of his plot. Plus, begging for help from Darth Plagueis just seems humiliating. He wants to be wanted, not to have to plead to keep himself in the game. And so, he will wait to see if Plagueis steps up without asking. Let's see if that Muun needs him for more than weapons procurement. Let's see if he truly wants him at the forefront of the rebellion.
He does hold the rebels' entire army in his warehouses, paid in full by Plagueis' credits. That alone gives him considerable leverage.
But what if Plagueis declines to intervene? What if the rebels kick him out? What then? He will have blown his big shot. Or maybe he never had a big shot because Plagueis was merely manipulating him as his errand boy all along. If that happens, does he surrender the rebel army and walk away? Does he keep it for himself? Does he betray the rebels to Father and make an enemy of Plagueis? Or does he go back to sitting on the sidelines of galactic politics, watching his Master and his Master's Master circle one another as a spectator?
He doesn't want any of those outcomes. Now that he's had a taste of what it's like to be back in the game of power, he's hooked. Besides, second chances don't come often in life. They should not be squandered. Truthfully, he wants this. He really, really wants this. But he can't bring himself to plead his case to the rebels or to Plagueis. He's too proud. And . . . too scared to be rejected.
That situation naturally leads him here, to what remains of the Nightsisters' lair. This is where he always comes when things are uncertain and he is vulnerable. Not just home to Dathomir, but home to Mother.
Just entering his Mother's overgrown grotto arouses a rush of nostalgia. This place should be neatly kept and not the riotous thick greenery it is now. There should be lamps lit to provide a soft, ambient glow. There should be incense hanging in the air, thick enough to choke you if it were an important ritual day. And old Daka should be sitting on her stool at her prayers. She was a constant, comforting presence in the Force who had a soft spot for little boys.
Daka was Mother's mentor in her youth and Mother always kept her close. It wasn't control, it was affection. The Nightsisters revered their elders and there was no tradition of 'kill and replace.' Old Daka was a very trusted councilor. On the whole, the Sisters were far more collaborative than the Sith. They had a sense of community that tempered their individual ambitions. And so old Daka took pride in Mother Talzin's accomplishments and supported her. Daka was something of a grandmother to him as well, Maul remembers. He recalls her gnarled hands and lined face fondly. She would call him over for quick blessings and sneak him treats as Mother pretended not to notice.
But those days are long gone. No Nightsister has conjured the Force here for a decade. Maybe some might think he should be hellbent on reviving the old ways and founding a new coven, but that has never been a goal. He refuses to be like the zealot Jedi survivors who are unable to move on. They are pitiful in their stubborn self-delusion, unable to face reality. The Jedi Order is lost, like the Witches of Dathomir are lost. Whatever comes next, it should be something that builds on the past, rather than slavishly recreates it. And besides, there are no Nightsisters left. It just seems wrong to have a man lead a coven.
But all that acceptance doesn't make moments like this easier. For never does he feel so wretchedly alone as he does in Mother's ruined lair. He would come here more often but for the persistent gloom these visits elicit. Standing here he appreciates all he has lost.
He's the last of his kind, a dying breed, but he mourns his bygone tradition far less than he mourns his lost people. They're all gone now, from Daka to Mother to his brothers. Wherever it is that they reside currently in the Force, he hopes they are content and that they are together. For unlike the brooding Sith who tend to be insular and solitary, the witches had a vibrant community. The Nightsisters were the social type. They made no apologies for it, either.
He quiets his mind now and begins to hum. The hum becomes a whispered chant as he summons the life force that creates us all. It coaxes forth an ephemeral green mist that is the telltale sign of old magic at work. This is a tradition far older than the Jedi or the Sith. It is something more primal. More eternal. And it ends with him.
"Mother?" he calls to the netherworld of the dead. This is the realm of those who are gone and not yet gone. Folklore calls them specters and ghosts. They are haunting spirits and undead zombies in popular culture. Something to frighten you. But he knows better. Death is the way of things. It is the way of the Force. A transfer of energy from the self back into the universe from which you came.
All power is borrowed. The witches knew this to be true, even if the Sith deny it. The Dark Lords think power is personal. That great prowess is the triumph of the individual. Mother would be contemptuous of that hubris. Great power is a blessing, she taught, and it comes with a purpose. The Force does not pick and choose its favorites on a whim. If the Force is with you, it is acting through you. You only think you control the Force, she taught. Decades later, after years of Father's rigorous training, those first lessons learned from Mother and Daka still stick with him. Maybe Rhea is right, and despite it all, he is more Nightbrother than Sith.
"Mother?" he tries again. There are some beings who thanks to their great power can transfer back and forth from the wellspring of the universe into the present. The Force is still with them, even if now they are the Force. Mother is one of those preeminent beings. For certain, Mother Talzin is a favorite of fate.
"My sssssson . . ." Mother's voice is a sultry hiss in his mind.
She's here! Oh, it's wonderful. He closes his eyes to bask in the mental feel of her visitation. He misses her. . . how he misses her.
"My sssssson . . . talk to me . . . " she encourages.
That jogs him back to his purpose. "Mother, I need your help. Cast a spell for me. Cloak me to the rebels. I have been revealed as Sith to them. They do not trust me."
Mother's throaty boast is like a purr between his ears. "He stole you, but you were never really his . . . you were never one of them . . . "
"Yes! Help me to convince the rebels of that! This is my best chance to confront Father. I'm beginning to believe that it's my best chance to locate Kenobi as well. The rebels hide Jedi. I think they know more than they say." Certainly, that Alderaan Senator does.
"Do not underestimate the Emperor . . . or suffer your brother's fate . . . and my fate . . . you will . . ." Again, Mother warns him away from confronting Father. It's because she loves him and fears for him, Maul knows.
But he will not be dissuaded. He is committed to rejoining the fray. For too long he has languished in irrelevant semi-obscurity. "I will do this, Mother! I am not going to concede this chance! But I need them to trust me if I am to lead them against Father."
"You cannot win. Heed me, my sssssson . . . Beware Vader . . . Skywalker was begotten . . . not made . . ."
Again, she warns him of Vader with her cryptic words. But both the path back to the Apprentice role and the path to toppling Father as Master lead through Vader. Maul knows he must confront Vader.
"I will do this, Mother!"
"Find Kenobi and get your revenge. Go to Malachor to the temple ruins . . . steal the holochron to help you. A boy will meet you there . . . Wait for him. Meet his Light with your Darkness . . . and the truth will be revealed . . . "
"I will do this, Mother! We will revolt against Father!"
"That is not your destiny. Leave it for another. The Chosen One destroys the Sith."
"You doubt me?" That hurts.
Mother's voice softens. "I have only ever wished to help you."
And now, as so often in these visitations, he devolves into a stream of consciousness confession. "Mother, I met a girl. She's just a girl. Too young for me. Too weak. No Force, no skills. She's no Nightsister." He's babbling now, suddenly nervous and sheepish to be this open about his feelings. But the words rush out anyway. Because if there's anyone he can be truly honest with, it's Mother. "She has no place in my story. She comes from nothing. She's nothing. But I love her."
There. He said it.
"SSSSSee? He stole you, but you were never really his . . . No one who truly loves is a SSSSSith . . ."
She approves. That's a relief. "Mother, I need her. She makes me want to be more than I am. To be a better man than this. This rebellion is the key! Intercede for me, please. I was born for more than crime."
"You were born for greatness . . . It's why I let him keep you . . . I wanted more for you than to merely lead the Brothers . . . "
"I will have it all! I will get my revenge on Kenobi and our revenge on Father! Mother, I will make you proud."
"Forget pride, my ssssson . . . You are my son and that is enough for me to love you. I will always love you. Ever shall I stand for my Maul . . . the first of my boys and now the last of my boys . . . "
"You will help?"
"Always, I watch over you. But heed me . . . beware Vader . . . beware the Emperor. Do not be his willing victim again."
"Wait—don't leave! Mother, don't leave!" But she's gone. Her fey, elusive presence slips from his mental grasp. He is alone again.
"I miss you," he says aloud into the empty aftermath of her visitation. She probably can't hear him, but he says it anyway. "I love you. Please help me."
He's knows she will, if she can. She never lets him down, even if she disagrees. Mother always let him make his own decisions, trusting that the Force is working through him. Her approach was very different from overbearing, controlling Father who kept him on a short leash.
Unsettled, he goes back to his compound and he waits. And waits.
There are no attempts to contact him. Not from the rebels or from Plagueis. It's nerve wracking. He tries to distract himself with work, but running Crimson Dawn just doesn't satisfy. In fact, it might make things worse. Because the thought of being relegated to his gangster life fulltime again depresses him.
He checks his comlink. He checks his datapad. Still no messages. Should he reach out to the rebels? No, he decides. He will stick with his strategy and let them come to him.
When he first saw Skywalker's Padawan light her swords, he knew he had to play against type. She wanted violence, everyone expected it, and so he refused to engage. To light his own sword would immediately confirm all she asserted as true. So as she claimed the moral high ground, he positioned himself as the underdog and the victim.
Tempting as it was, killing Ahsoka Tano wouldn't accomplish much. She's best cast as an ally, not a conquered foe. And besides, she did free him from that Mandalorian prison sarcophagus years ago. If she hadn't, he would almost certainly have perished along with the rest of the ship's crew.
His current strategy for Ahsoka Tano goes back to Father's early training, back to the days when the Sith lurked in secret. When they had to think their way around a conflict or settle it outside of public view. Back then, he couldn't call in an air strike to dispense with his enemies or casually butcher those who stood in his way. Father was well acquainted with violence, of course. But he used it sparingly. And if at all possible, Darth Sidious preferred to have others do the killing for him. Rather than execute you outright, he might bait some other enemy of yours to kill you instead. It kept the lofty Senator Palpatine above the fray. His hands always remained clean.
Not so with that poseur Darth Vader. For a former Jedi, the guy is surprisingly violent. If the rumors are true, that brutish wannabe is short tempered and easily frustrated. He would never have lasted as the Apprentice in a time when rampant bloodlust was not an option. And judging by what little Maul knows of Ahsoka Tano, she seems to be very much like her old Master.
But having Vader's old Padawan as an ally could prove very advantageous down the line. She could be excellent at manipulating Vader into a showdown. So following Darth Sidious' example, Maul plans to get Lady Tano to like him. Or, at the very least, to respect him.
But for that, he has to be deeply ensconced in the rebel cause. And so, he sits and waits for the conflict to play out. All the downtime is hard. He's a man of action, and so ceding control feels awkward. But he trusts in the web of deception he has woven and sits back to watch it do its job for him. Mother will help too. He's certain of it.
Finally, a full six days later he receives word of a ship requesting permission to land at Dathomir. It's a smallish, nondescript cargo transport from Alderaan carrying Bail Organa and the Togruta Jedi. Are they here to ask questions to continue their deliberations? Or have they decided what to do with the former Darth Maul? He's dying to find out. But he doesn't show it. A Sith always plays his cards close to his chest.
He keeps the guards out on the landing pad as usual, mostly to make sure his guests know this is Crimson Dawn and not some random rich dude's villa. The subtext of danger matters for this discussion. Even before the rebels see him wearing his sword like always, he wants them to perceive that he means business. This isn't a resort, it's a crime lord's headquarters.
His Master might be a thug who masquerades as a gentleman, but he's a gentleman who lives the thug life. But make no mistake—you cross him at your peril. However this conversation goes, he will not be disrespected.
Mrs. Nettles formally receives the Senator and the Jedi with all the gravitas of a head of state. His housekeeper can be terrifyingly formal when she wants. She conducts them to him waiting in his showy office. He stands hands clasped behind his back on the far side of his large and conspicuously empty desk, facing away out a window. He doesn't turn when his housekeeper announces his guests.
"Senator Bail Organa and Ahsoka Tano to see you, Sir."
"Thank you, Mrs. Nettles. Send Ms. Cardulla in, please."
"Very good, Sir." The stately older woman withdraws and closes the door behind her. And still, he does not turn. He can feel the Force crackling and popping around him. Is the cosmos pleased or apprehensive? He cannot tell. For the invisible energy field that surrounds and penetrates all life is elusive. Only one thing is clear: change is nigh. Danger, too.
He can feel eyes on him as he speaks first. "I knew you'd be back," he offers mildly. Shade is always best underplayed, Father taught him.
He turns just in time to see his old Jedi foe cross her arms. "I see you're being your usual gloating self about it," Lady Tano observes. Did Skywalker teach her that sarcasm? Kenobi sure didn't.
Organa shoots his colleague a not-so-subtle 'shut up' look. Alderaan's senior Senator is a smooth politician as always. He might be standing in a notorious gangster's study, but you'd never know it from his gentlemanly aplomb. This guy always takes the high road.
"Maul, we're here to discuss the future. We want to move forward . . . with your involvement."
Good. That much is out of the way, even if the terms are yet to be discussed. Maul suppresses a satisfied and relieved smile. Taking his cue from the Senator, he too is cordial. "I'm very glad to hear that. Please," he gestures to the pair of chairs opposite his desk, "have a seat."
The Senator settles himself down, but the Jedi lingers on her feet. "My lady?" Maul prods her.
She might be in attendance, but she's not happy about it. The Togruta flashes a cool, tight smile. "Thank you, but I'll stand."
"Very well." As he sinks into his own chair, he can't resist teasing her. "Should I count it as progress that you haven't pulled your swords?"
"Yes. Where's your sidekick?"
As if on cue, the door opens to admit Rhea. "Ah, here she is. We have guests."
Rhea is only late because he sent her to go change for the occasion. She's wearing the dress with the attached cape that makes her look like Ryloth's princess in exile. She has all the graciousness to match that title today. He watches as she inclines her head and greets their guests.
"Senator. My lady. Welcome to Dathomir. Welcome to Crimson Dawn."
There's no trace of the aggressive, street talking gang bitch who surfaced in the heat of the moment on the Tantive IV. Right now, Rhea is the young lady she was raised to be before the war by her upper-middle class professional parents and a coterie of private schools, cultural enrichments, and doting nannies. When combined with her dual faces—she's both beauty and the beast—little Rhea is strikingly memorable. She repulses even as she attracts. In her own way, Maul thinks, she is every bit as distinctive as he is. And just as darkly glamorous.
"Call me Ahsoka," the Jedi's response is snippy. "I'm no longer a Jedi and I'm not your lady."
"As you wish." Rhea's rejoinder is more frosty than polite.
Like Ahsoka, Rhea doesn't take a chair. Instead, she moves to hover over his left shoulder. It's very intentionally the side opposite his sword arm in case this devolves into a fight. His girl stands in her place obeying instructions to let him do the talking.
The Senator begins. "As you can imagine, we have had a number of conversations over the past few days."
Maul nods. "My ears were burning."
"We've considered what Ahsoka has told us, as well as all that you have done for our cause. There was considerable debate, I must tell you. It was a spirited discussion with all options on the table."
"And yet, you're here."
"Yes. We are here." The Senator shifts in his seat before he speaks plainly. "Maul, you're an unusual fit for us in some ways, but in other ways you're very much like the rest of us. Many in our cause have a sad story behind their recruitment and not all of us have spotless reputations. But none has quite so colorful and complex a history as you." Bail Organa gives him a surprisingly steely look before he concludes, "You present a very great risk. Some would call it an existential risk."
He takes that statement like compliment. Maul nods slowly and silently.
"You also present much needed expertise and a very focused mindset. Your er . . . day job provides much needed strategic benefits as well. Venamis was correct that you represent a unique opportunity."
"Did he speak for me?"
"No. We did not involve him in our deliberations. He knew of them, but he deferred to our judgement. The Prince said he could not be impartial given he had recommended you to us in the first place."
Maul digests this news and says nothing.
"Raddus and Draven argued hard for you. As did I. Maul, we are very different men, but I think we understand each other. I'm choosing to see the best of you and not the worst of your resume." Bail Organa summarizes the rebel leadership's reasoning now: "You are a valued and proven member of our team, and we hate to lose you. You have done more to organize us for the coming war in the last few months than even Raddus has accomplished building our fleet. You have earned our respect."
The Jedi speaks up now. Her words are a hissed warning. "Don't let us down or you'll answer to me."
"Is that a promise?" he drawls back.
"You can count on it."
That exchange earns Lady Tano another quelling glance from Organa.
The Senator continues, "Like you, I envision this rebellion to be a big tent. All who agree with our goals and ideals should be welcome. That's the only way we will prevail in a general uprising to restore a democratic republic. I'm not looking to scrutinize your past or to pass judgement on your current profession. If we are to make this a galaxy-wide movement of diverse peoples, then we can't exclude supporters. Plus, I personally believe that you have demonstrated your trustworthiness. Frankly, I care less about who you were than who you are now."
"What he means is that you're getting the benefit of the doubt," the Togruta snarls.
Is Vader equally as obnoxious? Maul wonders. Because it's a marvel his Padawan wasn't kicked out of the Jedi Order sooner if she was always this diplomatic. For a so-called peacekeeper, Ahsoka Tano sure likes to escalate things.
Maul addresses his Jedi troll directly now. "Am I getting the benefit of the doubt just from him or from you as well? Because I meant what I said. Together we could be formidable."
He's testing the waters for the classic 'Join me' Sith recruitment speech. But he's preempted, for again she turns him down. "I will tolerate you, Maul, but that's all. We're not a team for your revenge."
He frowns. "How you disappoint me." He eyes the Togruta woman a moment. "Does this mean you're not going to be our Fulcrum? Because that would disappoint me as well. You have the perfect skillset for the role."
"Ahsoka is to be one of several Fulcrums," the Senator answers. "We are persuaded to have multiple operatives in that function. I believe you have already met one of our other choices, Cassian Andor."
"Draven's young spy?"
"Yes. But there will be others. Your point is well taken that we want to avoid a bottleneck and having several in the position will help us confuse the Empire."
"Good," he approves. Not only has he been accepted despite his Sith background, but his tweaks to Draven's organizational structure are accepted as well. This is excellent progress.
"You have a strategic mind, Maul. You're very crafty," the Senator commends.
"He comes by it honestly," the Jedi interjects. "He learned from the best."
Maul makes a point of frowning again at her sarcasm. He looks to the Senator to complain, "What assurances do I have that she's not going to be a problem going forward? I want to fight the Empire, not her."
"Ahsoka will work with you," Bail Organa assures him.
"Is that so?" Maul addresses the hostile woman. He sits back in his chair and considers his old foe.
"Scared, Maul?"
He ignores the taunt. "I'm used to watching my back and I can handle you. But I don't want the distraction. There is plenty to do and we have enough infighting without you adding to it."
"Ahsoka will work with you," Bail Organa assures him again as he shoots his colleague yet another 'stand down' look. "She will report to Draven. He will run the day-to-day for the Fulcrum program while you and Raddus keep your main focus on building our army and fleet. Together, you three will continue to comprise the leadership for our armed forces. So . . . everything stays the same and we move forward," he concludes.
"Are we agreed?" the Senator looks to his companion.
"We are agreed," the Jedi sighs.
Maul nods as graciously as possible as he takes the win. "We are agreed."
But is this just a pretext to mislead him so he will cooperate? Will the rebels be moving fast to collect their weapons from his warehouses before they dump him? No. It seems that Bail Organa is sincere and the rebels want matters to proceed as before.
Organa starts talking about rescheduling the meeting with Draven and Raddus to discuss the practical aspects of the new Fulcrum program. Things are heating up politically in the Rim systems and Organa and Mothma want to better organize the nascent sleeper cells there and get them equipped. As the conversation proceeds, Maul becomes increasingly confident that he truly has been accepted back into the rebels' good graces.
This is good. This is very good. It's not quite happily-ever-after, but it's a step towards it.
He's encouraged enough to argue with Organa to make Mimban an equal priority with the Rim. He wants to get the locals there a consistent source of supplies and weapons, as well as to recruit fighters to join them from other systems. He continues to think Mimban is an excellent forum to test weapons and tactics. It will also be a training ground for combat volunteers to give them some seasoning before they are farmed out to advise local system cells. Best of all, the rebel dealings on Mimban will be under-the-radar since the original resistance fighters there are homegrown. If all goes well, the Imperials won't suspect that they are dealing with something new and more far reaching. As far as Maul's concerned, Mimban should be the first spoke in the wheel of the Fulcrum conspiracy.
He largely convinces both the Senator and the Jedi of his ideas. They agree on a next meeting date to talk further. Maul insists that all the new Fulcrum operatives be present. "I want to share some techniques," he tells Lady Tano.
"I don't need pointers, thank you."
But he persists. "You do. All of the Fulcrum operatives will need experienced guidance. Back when you were a child, I was organizing the precursors to the Confederacy for Darth Sidious," he reminds her. For now that there is no need to hide the past, he leans into it. "I know a few things about laying the groundwork for an insurrection."
"How ironic that a Separatist is bringing back the Republic," she observes as she folds her arms across her chest.
"Look outside, my lady," he retorts. "Look at what Dooku did to Dathomir before you call me a Separatist again."
With that comment, he proceeds, "You should learn from my past endeavors. We can use the Emperor's own techniques against him while we avoid the pratfalls that bedeviled him. Palpatine was excellent at stirring up trouble behind the scenes while he kept a veneer of status quo. You were there, Senator," he addresses Organa. "You saw him operate. He fooled everyone. Take him for an example for your own dealings, and you and Mothma could end up running a rebellion from the Emperor's own Senate."
Organa nods his agreement but, predictably, the Jedi is unconvinced. "We need to be careful who we emulate," she says with pretentious Jedi foreboding.
"It's time to outfox the fox," he maintains. "There is too much at risk for us to lose because we have strict scruples. I assure you," he condescends to the doubting woman, "my old Master will have no such inhibitions." He waves a gloved finger at the righteous Jedi as he indulges in a bit of fearmongering himself. "Do not underestimate the Emperor. You don't know the power of the Dark Side," he intones. And wait, that may have come across a little too proudly.
But he has the last word because that ends the meeting. Organa needs to leave and there's no point in proceeding further without his allies Draven and Raddus in the room to temper the pushback he gets from Ahsoka Tano. Besides, today is a win. Time to declare victory and move on to the next battle.
Still, he gets more Togruta side-eye as he and Rhea walk his guests to their ship. "I never thought I'd see the day when you and I would be on the same side," Lady Tano sniffs.
Now, it's his turn to troll. And troll he does. "Admit it, you're loving this."
She huffs, "Am not!"
"The more you protest, the more I know you like it," he smirks. "You get to be smugly superior even as you harness my forbidden Sith knowledge. All for a good cause, of course. Types like you will only sully themselves for a good cause." Rhea is a few paces ahead chatting with the Senator, so he continues, "I know every good Jedi yearns for martyrdom."
His newest nemesis rolls her eyes. "I'm no Jedi. Maul, don't make me regret my decision to work with you."
"Do you regret Mandalore? Do you regret turning me down all those years ago?"
"No."
"If I were a petty man, now is when I'd say 'I told you so.'"
She shoots him a look. "I knew you would get around to that line eventually."
He chuckles. "See? You can't get rid of me. All these years later, here we are again, ready to save the galaxy together. Some might say this is destiny at work . . . that the Force is with us."
"Are you always going to be like this?"
"You'd be disappointed if I wasn't," he points out as they catch up to Rhea and the Senator.
"You're not going to make this easy, are you?" the Togruta sighs.
"If you tell me about Darth Vader, I'll let you hold my lightsaber," he leers. "You know you want to."
"Bail, let's go," Lady Tano announces as she strides purposely for Organa's ship.
Rhea says goodbye to the Senator and the transport takes off. It's just him and Rhea reentering his villa.
"That went well," he congratulates himself.
Rhea says nothing.
"Plagueis sat out the debate. Do you think that means he was confident I didn't need his help? Or was he prepared to let me twist in the wind?"
Rhea answers, "Will that be all? If so, I'll go change and head to the kitchen."
"I'll walk you there."
"There's no need. I know you're busy."
"Getting rid of me?"
He's teasing, but she doesn't answer. Rhea starts striding away fast just like the Jedi. And that's when it dawns on him: she's angry. He had been too preoccupied with the meeting post mortem to notice. "You're angry."
She walks even faster now as he catches up. "I'm fine."
She's definitely not fine. Women are never fine when they say they're fine. "You're angry," he accuses.
Rhea drops the pretense. "Yes."
"At me?"
"Yes!" She speeds up some more. Rhea's practically running through the hallway.
"Why?" What did he do wrong? He thought she would be happy about this. Rhea's an enthusiastic rebel. What did he miss? He's perplexed. "Why?"
"You know why!"
Actually, he doesn't. And that's saying something because he can read people's minds.
"Tell me." Truly, he's confused. Things went about as well as they could have gone in that meeting.
"Really? You really need me to tell you?" She shoots him a glare. But he can't decide if Rhea is more angry or hurt.
Puzzled, he observes, "I've never seen you this riled up." He secretly kind of likes it. Passion is his thing. Anger is his comfort zone. Well, that and self-doubt. "Come on, tell me," he cajoles.
"I didn't think I would ever see you flirting with that Jedi—"
"Flirting?" He grunts. "That's ridiculous."
"Yeah?" Rhea pulls to an abrupt halt. She puts fists on her hips and lifts her chin. "Then what was all that 'the Force is with us' talk? Huh?"
"It's just talk. You've heard me talk to the Hutts and to Plagueis."
"That's different."
"Not really."
"It is! The male-female dynamic makes it different."
"You're imagining things."
"Am I? What part of 'I'll let you hold my lightsaber' isn't innuendo?" she huffs.
"Trash talk is part of the game." Rhea doesn't know that because she's a layman in the Jedi-Sith turf battles of the Force. But talking smack as you prepare to cross swords is how it's done. It's lightsaber foreplay and it leads to violence, not sex.
"You were enjoying it!" Rhea accuses. She looks away. "So was she . . ."
He snorts. "That one would rather impale me than kiss me."
"Oh, so you've thought about kissing her—"
"No!" Not at all. Ahsoka Tano is the last woman he would attempt to seduce. For starters, she probably knows exactly how badly Kenobi injured him. No doubt she would ridicule him for it. And that would really put a damper on his ardor.
"She's Jedi and she's got the Force and two swords. I guess that's hot to you . . . You're right that she hates you," Rhea agrees. But then she slants pretty eyes his way as she purses her lips. "But maybe that's hot to you too . . . "
"I kill my enemies," he brags, "I don't seduce them."
"You had better not!" She wages an irate index finger under his nose, heedless of the fact that they are standing in a semi-public space.
"I like that you're jealous."
"Who's jealous? I'm not jealous. Not at all," Rhea insists. She's very unconvincing. "Her crest is a little crooked, did you notice? And three head tails are one head tail too many."
"I agree. Look, she's a Jedi nun," he reminds her. "They don't romance."
"She used to be Jedi. So, she probably could now."
"Good point." And now, just to egg Rhea on in this ridiculousness, he wonders aloud, "Do you think she likes me? Does she find me attractive?"
"Of course, she does!"
"How can you tell?" He is coy.
"She's fast with the witty comebacks. She's got that sassy, mouthy thing going on. Maybe you don't see it, but I know the game. I know a ho—stop laughing! This is not funny!" Rhea looks like steam is about to come out of her ears. She scowls. "I hate that Jedi bitch. Fucking Force ho!"
"Little one, such language—I'm shocked!" he smirks. "Who taught you those words?"
"Well, I hate her!" Rhea stamps her foot for emphasis. "She's a bully and I hate her!"
Hate amps things up. If anger is hot, hate is even better. "You're adorable like this."
It's the wrong thing to say. "You think this is funny? Because this is not funny!" Rhea shrieks. She is all twisted mouth, fuming eyes, and agitated lekku.
And now, he simply cannot resist. "Do you think a former Jedi Knight and a disowned Sith Lord—"
"No! It would never work!" She cuts him off and resumes walking away now.
He pretends to consider as he leaps to catch up. "Maybe she just wants to use me for sex," he suggests under his breath.
"She might!" Rhea warns. She's completely serious, Force bless her. "I mean, what girl wouldn't? You're so handsome . . . and your power is awesome . . ."
"Awesome and handsome?" he leers. "Tell me more."
"You run the gang and you're rich . . . you're a prince and every girl wants a prince . . . probably even Jedi nuns," Rhea mutters miserably.
"No Sith has ever been confused with Prince Charming," he remarks dryly. But he appreciates the comparison nonetheless.
"Some girls are into the bad boy thing," she assures him.
"Uhhmmm, yes. Perhaps Lady Tano, you think?"
"Dark and Light, Jedi and Sith," she sighs. "You might—"
"Don't say balance. Please, don't say balance," he groans. That enemies-to-lovers trope is so cliché. Only Plagueis would be into something as cheesy as that.
"Well, you have to admit that you are the best catch of the available Sith. So if she's going to go Dark, she had better choose you."
He chokes back a grin. "What an extraordinary endorsement."
"There's no competition," Rhea informs him. "Hands down, you win."
"How so?"
"Well, your dad looks like a prune."
"He also rules the galaxy. Some women might like that."
"Whatever. He looks like a prune." Absolute power is apparently not Rhea's big turn on. "I mean, he makes the Dark Side look old and ugly, not exotically handsome and dangerous like you."
"There's always Plagueis," he suggests just to see how he compares. That Muun might not be handsome, but he is ridiculously dangerous. And immensely rich. Plagueis makes him look like a pauper.
"Plagueis is nine feet tall."
More like seven, but the point is the same. He concedes, "He is rather big for you."
"And Vader . . . well, Vader has a plastic face and that's not hot. I should know, I mean, look at my face. Faces matter. And he needs horns. I like your horns. They look like a crown."
"So, I win by process of elimination? Or is it just by the horns?"
"You're also the youngest."
"Actually, Vader is younger."
"I guess the mask adds ten years," she decides. "I don't like that mask. I mean, if I can walk through life looking like this, he can too. You don't see me wearing a mask, do you? Neither does Plagueis, for that matter-"
"So . . . what you're saying is that you won't share me? Is that it?" he asks hopefully, trying to spin this increasingly bizarre conversation to his advantage.
She looks away. "We don't have a commitment, I know . . . no strings . . . no expectations."
Hell, no. That's all wrong. "I'll kill you if even look at another man!" Did he not make this clear before on Lothal? Do they have to replay that fight again?
Wretched Rhea is not even listening. "So if you want to cheat with her, I guess I can't be upset . . . it will be fine . . . I guess . . . "
Wait—she wants him to cheat?
"I won't like it though," she warns.
That sounds better. But it's still not good enough. "Tell me you'll kill her if I kiss her," he goads suggestively as he steps closer.
That gets her attention. "Why hurt her?" Rhea responds tartly. "I'm going to hurt you!"
Even better. "Tell me what you'll do to me," he presses as he strokes a light hand down her nearest lekku. His voice lowers to an intimate whisper. "Tell me exactly what you'll do to me." He's the one who likes to talk dirty, but maybe they should reverse those roles for a change.
"I'll—I'll—I'll shoot you! I know how to shoot!"
Hardly. "I can deflect blaster bolts."
"Yeah . . . yeah, I know." Rhea sort of deflates as she stops to think. "Maybe I'll steal your sword and run you through," she threatens. She sort of resembles an irked kitten as she gets up in his face. More cute than menacing.
"Would you know how to turn it on? Be careful when you turn it on," he warns mostly to keep her talking.
"P-Perhaps-perhaps I should just poison you!" she improvises.
"Now that plot might work, but Mrs. Nettles would never stand for it. And Cook would be offended," he guesses.
Frustrated Rhea lashes out. "Maybe I should just kill myself instead!" she huffs, sounding extremely childish.
"Oh, don't do that," he counters as he watches a tear leak down her good cheek. He wipes it away. "Mother used to say that suicide is a sin against the Force. That we must accept the life we are given, with all its challenges and suffering."
"You really do like that Jedi, don't you? Well, I won't stand in your way. You can have her!" Fuming Rhea starts marching away now. He gives chase, nabbing her hand and yanking her to a halt.
"Little one, look at me."
"I have work to do—"
"You work for me, remember?"
"Mrs. Nettles might think otherwise," she grumbles as she looks down. "Just don't tell me about it, alright?" she chokes. "And don't do it here at the compound. I don't want to know, okay? It's better that way."
"Rhea, look at me."
"Promise me you won't tell me. Maul," she looks up and pleads, "Promise me?" When he hesitates, she stammers, "N-Never trust a Sith, I know . . . but you know I trust you. We all do here."
He knows. This has gone on long enough. There really isn't a disagreement here. "How about I keep my hands off other women and you keep away from other men? It will be you and me. Only you and me."
"Just us?" she blinks up at him.
"You'll be mine and I'll be yours exclusively."
She nods. "Okay." Then, she nods again. "Okay. That would . . . that would be nice." She flashes a tremulous smile. "That would be p-perfect."
"If you want, we can get married," he offers on a whim.
"But your people aren't the marrying kind."
"But your people are," he shrugs. He meets her eyes. "I want to make you happy." And he wants her to feel secure. He'll make whatever promises she needs to feel confident that he will stand by her, regardless of what the future brings. Because he keeps his commitments to those who love him and trust him. He's no Darth Sidious.
"Never trust a Sith . . ." Rhea breathes out again. They are wise words of warning that he himself knows all too well.
So, he nods even as he counters, "Yes, but you can trust a Nightbrother," as he lays hands on her upper arms and steps close.
He ceased to be Darth Maul decades ago. Father has made his status very clear. Even the rebels now concede the truth. So maybe he himself should acknowledge that reality as well. He's no Sith. He's not sure exactly what he is in the pantheon of religions of the Force. Moreover, he has no clue where he fits into history. His destiny has turned out to be far more elusive and obscure than he hoped. And that's just further testament to the truth that he's Maul now, not Darth Maul. A free agent of the Dark Side, whether he likes it or not.
Someone's coming. As he's leaning in for Rhea's lips, he pulls back slightly. Rhea reacts, "What is it?" She visibly startles when seconds later a voice sounds.
"Where is that girl? Oh, there you are." It's his housekeeper Mrs. Nettles emerging into the hallway. In her typical crotchety style, she barks, "Don't mind me, Sir. Rhea, you hurry up and kiss him. Then get to the kitchen. Cook needs your help with the potatoes for dinner."
"Oh . . ." Rhea flushes beneath her green skin. She steps back from his arms looking guilty and caught. She stammers, "It's not what you think—"
"Of course, it is," the older woman cuts her off. "I know. We all know. So finish with Maul and head for the kitchen. Your pardon, Sir, for the interruption."
"You know?" Rhea gasps. She turns to him and groans, "She knows."
Gruff Mrs. Nettles actually smiles and chuckles. "Thought you were fooling everyone, did you? Rhea, you haven't slept in the room next to mine for months. At first, I thought you were flirting with one of the men in the barracks but that didn't pan out. I was ready to give you a lecture until I realized where you were every night. So, get on with it. Don't mind me," his gruff, matter-of-fact housekeeper makes to leave. She's smiling.
"Everyone knows?" Rhea says weakly, looking to him. She's mortified.
He's unconcerned. "You heard her." Actually, he's not surprised. Moreover, he fully suspects that there are plenty in his gang who have guessed where his weapons shipments are going. The impromptu visit today by a well-known liberal Senator will be the confirmation they seek. His treasonous exploits just became the latest Crimson Dawn open secret.
"I didn't see a thing," Mrs. Nettles winks conspiratorially as she hurries away.
"That means the coast is clear." He steps close again and lifts Rhea's chin. "Kiss me. Kiss me and tell me again how awesome and handsome I am."
"Oh, fine." Flustered, blushing Rhea goes through the motions of a kiss. Then, she hurries off to change and see about those potatoes.
Later that evening, she's at his door with his helping of potatoes and the rest of his dinner. And that's when he renews their earlier conversation. It turns out that Rhea is ambivalent on marriage. At this point, she's simply strayed too far from the traditional social path she was raised to expect. Why bother, she reasons. They won't have children, there are no loved ones to attend a ceremony, and since they are basically outlaws, there are no appearances to keep up. Rhea only wants his love and their mutual commitment. That's enough, she tells him. But to memorialize those promises, she requests something that charms him. She wants a tattoo like one of his markings.
Traditionally, the warrior Nightbrothers wore the tribal kinship markings. Any tattoos the Nightsisters chose were purely decorative. But there are no surviving Nightsisters that he knows of and he himself is the last of his kind. Who is left to chide him for honoring an off-world Twi'lek as one of the coven? This way, they will belong to one another, he decides. He won't be alone anymore and neither will Rhea. They will be each other's family going forward. He himself was born to one parent and stolen by the other. But this kinship affiliation is by choice. That's empowering in a way. Plus, Mother would approve, he thinks.