Star Wars, Grievous, Ronderu, and Unknown Soldier: The Story of General Grievous are not my creations. This book is simply me building on the work of those I respect. Star Wars, Grievous, Ronderu, and Unknown Soldier: The Story of General Grievous are trademarks of Abel Peña and LucasFilm. Any original characters and material are the intellectual property of Joye Everett, © 2019.
This chapter was originally published on June 19, 2019, and was edited as of August 2022.
There are so many people I must thank.
Thank you, Lord God, for giving this gift of writing to me;
LucasFilm, for creating this world I build off of;
S.A. McCaffrey, for inspiring me to publish this work;
Helena, for helping me with the research;
Jenny, Ahsoka, and Mariya, for listening to me ramble;
Ayanna, for editing this novel;
The WSCW, for the writing advice;
All readers of this book, whether you liked it or not.
You all have blessed me beyond measure, and I am very grateful.
Dreamer dreamt,
Inseparable pair,
Entwined within one fate.
Dreamer dreamt,
Invincible,
But once he was too late.
Jenuwaa and its icy waves
Forsook their slothful ease
And had an impact on the boy
That nothing could appease.
As a child, Qymaen jai Sheelal thought jewelry was for girls. The image of his mother, beautiful though distant, had loved jewelry. With her wedding ring hooked through her pointed ear, she was one of the earliest memories he held. He remembered jewelry as feminine and unfitting for a soldier such as himself.
But as an adult—to the day, for he had just come of age—he had learned that sometimes jewelry was imposing. The necklace of mumuu teeth hung about his slender collarbones, with a small square of bone inscribed with the words minee moroodogch—My Dreamer—as a reminder of his status as the khagan of Kalee. He was a robust and militaristic leader whose goal was to protect the people he governed.
He brought a red-brown knuckle to the glass, touching the rounded features of his reflection in the mirror. The gentle voice of the woman he loved permeated his ears even from here, two hours away, where she would be preparing for his arrival. You always were one for fashion. That's part of your charm.
He rehearsed his words as he walked to his ship to go to his home tribe, the Kharankhui. I am now of age. I commit my life to modesty, wisdom, and the protection of my family. I refuse to give in to the primal desires lurking beneath my heart: the desire for revenge, lust, and senseless violence.
So help me, gods.
And she would say those exact words. Ronderu might wear flowers in her hair. The contrast of her storm-black hair and the white of the blooms would make her already lovely head look like the night sky.
The wait of three years since they had been betrothed had been nearly unbearable, but at last, they would begin to plan for their wedding. Though it would have to be in secret, and they couldn't live together till after the war was over, just one day of her as his wife would make the hiding and deception and pining away for her worth it.
He gripped the ship controls as he soared over the sea that separated the golden city of Kaleela from the rest of the area. There were old legends that he had sung about sailors dying in this body of water on their voyages or the sea punishing someone by swallowing their loved one whole.
They didn't call Jenuwaa the sea of sorrow without reason.
"My lady, for the last time, hold still."
Ronderu lij Kummar rolled her eyes, taking tiny breaths as her page pulled the strings of her red-pink dress tighter. "Why are you doing this again?"
Ariun yanked at the strings tighter. "It is for your form, my lady. I told you that when you asked me the last time."
Her face scrunched into a scowl as she stood. "Leave me," she sighed. "I can do it myself."
Ariun hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"The world's seen me looking worse."
A sigh. "My lady—"
"My orders are clear, Ariun."
The younger girl backed up. "Do you at least have other requests of me?"
Ronderu pressed her knuckles to her teeth, pausing. He'll be coming today for the ceremony. "Yes," she said, keeping her voice hard with great effort. "Bar the spaceport except for the khagan's ship. I don't want him to get overrun when he arrives. Take the militia with you."
Ariun gave a doubtful look. "As you wish, my lady."
As soon as she was gone, Ronderu sighed and undid the strings on her dress, letting the garment fall to the floor. She scrutinized her small, muscular frame in the mirror, covered by linens from her armpits to her ankles and wrists.
I am damn well not wearing that today.
She rummaged in the trunk of her bedroom for a suitable dress. While Qymaen would appear in formal clothing for the ceremony, she simply could not wrap her mind around the idea of fancy clothes. For three years, she'd been a tribal leader and still a mercenary at heart—rough and hating anything even remotely dressy.
And yet, one would expect Qymaen—by far the more innocent of the two—to wear the simpler clothes. He never cared about her rough edges but was focused on his physical shortcomings, almost to the point of vanity. It was something she had become resigned to; he was kind but very inwardly focused.
She found a simple white tunic with a small tear between the sleeve and the torso but put it on anyway. The red-pink dress was what she would torture herself with for her wedding, whenever that was—those brief moments in which she said her vows while gasping amidst clothing so tight it was a wonder she hadn't been lashed for immodesty by the traditionalists of the tribe.
The tunic, however, let her take deep breaths while she pulled a swath of her unruly black hair up, wrapping stray linens around it to keep it out of her eyes. She touched a bit of floral balm to her lips, wrists, and neck and pulled a quill from her desk.
Despite Qymaen's shortcomings, she loved him. Sincerely, desperately, with a strange love people would never expect her to have. She wanted to rush to protect him at the thought of him coming to harm. Without each other, they were very vulnerable.
She scribbled the words she was supposed to know on her wrist, the vows she would take when she came of age. Just as she was fastening her necklace, Ariun burst into the room. "My lady, I greatly apologize, but—" Her eyes widened in horror. "What are you wearing?"
"What is it?" Ronderu snapped, pulling on her mask over her golden scales and taking her swords from the wall.
"Your dress," she cried. "It's so—"
"Ariun. What is the threat?"
She swallowed. "We have a roggwart at the spaceport. It's a massive one, but it's not gotten riled up quite yet. Still, it might be a good idea to detain it before the khagan arrives."
Ronderu's lips stretched into a grin, and they walked out, heading toward the spaceport. "You're glad I'm not in that corset now, right?"
Ariun rolled her eyes. "Khaaltai."
"Now you're getting rough," Ronderu said, playfully shoving the page with her elbow. "'Shut up? You've practically sworn!"
"I'm not the unladylike one here, miss—that would be you."
Fair enough. "You know it's all part of my charm," she replied with a wink. "Let's go."
The bipedal roggwart species were infamous on Kalee. With a thick hide, enormous teeth each the size of a male Kaleesh tusk, and a spiked tail, they were known to tear up whole marketplaces and houses just foraging for scraps. While they wouldn't get angry at sentients unless provoked, the sight of an enormous ship would fit under that category, so it was best for Ronderu and her team to subdue it before it ruined the ceremony.
She spotted it a long way off, sniffing around for nuts and fruit in the wooded area near the landing. Its ugly head poked up at the sight of her, and it moved toward her with curious, glowing eyes.
Ronderu closed her eyes, moved her swords downward slowly, and reached out with a hand. If it familiarized itself with her scent, perhaps it would see that she only wanted to cage it, not to kill it. The images of looking after the roggwarts of the khans she'd served as a mercenary were still fresh.
The creature came near and licked her hand with a soft tongue that bore foul breath. Ronderu smiled, wrinkling her nose to avoid coughing. I'm here. I won't hurt you. Come along softly.
A war cry sounded behind her, and one of her pages threw a shoni spear at it. "Khuren, no!"
The roggwart let out an ear-splitting screech as its claws roared at her. Her back exploded in pain; she was knocked to the ground, the upper part of her tunic torn. Gasping, she staggered back to rest a hand against one of the trees. "Subdue it!" she yelled at the soldiers. "This idiot," she snapped, pointing a clawed finger at the aggressing page, "brought us to it."
The soldiers in the low tree branches jumped with thick ropes, ten men to a single thread, each forcing the roggwart downward by tugging on the strings. Another screech sounded as Ronderu regained her focus and scowled. "Bring it to rest. Get the aggressor out of their sight. I will deal with him later."
Ariun and the medics pulled the page away. He was a young boy about fifteen, looking scared and horrified to see his khan wounded. It was true that she was rarely maimed when fighting alongside Qymaen, but now was not one of those times.
She scowled as the roggwart was forced to its stomach, with its four legs splayed flat against the foliage. "Chain it to a set of strong trees."
The soldiers obeyed, and she dropped to her knees, taking labored breaths amidst the sharp pain. She limped toward the medic's shack, not ready to face the woman who operated there.
Shia bail Audrana was a tall half-human with soft skin and round pupils, strangely beautiful in her foreign nature. When she spotted Ronderu at the door, she gasped and hurried over. "My lady! Why did no one escort you?"
"There weren't enough people to spare," she replied coolly. "It's fine, Shia." She leaned on the medic's shoulder as they returned to a private room where Shia could fix her roggwart wound before it was infected.
"What happened?" the medic asked.
"Roggwart. It'll be fine. I just ruined my dress along with it." As Ronderu endured the sting from the oils, she sighed. "Were you nervous at your coming-of-age?"
Shia giggled gently as a stiff brown curl fell over her shoulder. "Nervous? Absolutely. Do you need reassurance?"
"I'm not scared of anything but making a fool of myself," Ronderu said. "I already have to deal with that page who wounded me, to begin with."
"You won't make a fool of yourself," she said stoutly, taking linens that had been soaked in herbs and wrapping them around Ronderu's bare torso. "And neither will Qymaen."
She pressed her lips together as his name brought sweet feelings to her bones. Her mind slipped into a daydream—they'd run somewhere safe where the traditionalists wouldn't harm her after the war, where they could live together and be safe. To be impure was bad enough; to be tainted and married to a man they considered of the gods….she could list off ten ways they would kill her for it, and none of them were quick or painless.
But their love, always a secret in the moments when she cherished the forbidden warmth of his mouth against hers, was priceless. It was worth every instant of every moment they were together. When the war was over, they would explore the galaxy, leaving the dogma of the traditionalists behind.
She jumped out of her thoughts when Shia chuckled. "Your face when you're thinking is so cute, my lady."
"I'm not cute," she muttered.
She took a roll of dry linens and wrapped them around the wet cloth. "I'm going to tend to the other patients. Stay here a few hours, and I'll replace the bandages."
"Very well."
She turned to the wall. A few more hours, and her waiting would be over.
Qymaen dropped his small ship, nicknamed the Martyr for his late father, at the Advar spaceport. Smoothing his robes, he exited the airship, immediately looking for Ronderu—but only soldiers flanked the area. At least she had thought to station the site so he wouldn't get crowded by the locals.
His face dropped. Isn't she waiting for me?
Perhaps she's waiting for me to find her.
He stopped where soldiers guarded an enormous roggwart, its great legs and arms chained to the tree trunks. It had calmed down by now, regarding its captors, with sleepy eyes and low rumbles of protest. Qymaen reached out to touch its flat nose. "I presume she captured you," he said. "You will be her keep."
The roggwart glared at him but made no reply, and Qymaen smiled. "What's she calling you?"
"We've been calling it Gor," one of the young pages said. "And I was the one who provoked it to injure her, so—"
He tilted his head. "I apologize?"
"Your Grace," the page stammered, "forgive me. But I was scared, so I acted rashly and provoked it. She was clawed in the back, and she's been in the medical bay for a couple of hours now."
"Come."
When the page was close enough, Qymaen gestured for him to remove his mask. The boy was around fifteen, the same age he'd been when he'd done similar foolish things. Still, young children needed to learn a lesson about folly before dedicating their lives to pursuing wisdom.
He struck the boy on the cheek, hard enough that his claws cut into the softer scales on his face but gentle enough that the boy understood he would be forgiven. "Kummar will not punish you."
His eyes widened, and he pressed his headscarf to his cheek. "Truly?"
"Truly. Leave and learn from your errors."
He smiled, nodded, and pulled his mask back on. "Thank you, Your Grace."
"A small matter."
"Emee Audrana?" he addressed the medic softly as she gently spooned an herbal cream into the mouth of a sick child.
She jumped. "Kai—Your Grace! I was not aware you were coming today."
"Today's my coming-of-age. Why would I not?"
"Well…." she said in a small voice, "I feared the roggwart would delay you."
"It was captured when I arrived." He smiled from beneath his mask. "May I speak to the khaneme?"
"She's in the back room," Shia said without looking up from her work.
His heart sped up, and his mouth grew dry. The heat of the bay seeped through his layers of clothing as he stood at the entrance to her room. "Ru?"
"Crowds finally get to you, pretty boy?" she chuckled. "Get in here."
He forced himself to saunter, but when her eyes brightened at his entrance, and she held out her arms for a hug, it was impossible for him to resist her. He wrapped his arms around her with gentleness to avoid touching her injuries, drinking in the flow of emotion from their bond as her excitement sparked in his system.
She pulled off his mask, touching his cheek softly. "You're so grown-up now," she murmured.
No longer were either of them children romping in the field, teaching their respective skills to each other. The war had molded them into strong adults. And while he had always been wholly enveloped in adoration for her, he hadn't thought he could find her any more gorgeous.
"The roggwart—Gor—it didn't hurt you much, did it?" he asked, his brows knitting.
She chuckled, replying in a whisper so soft it was almost inaudible. "Just kiss me."
"I'm serious—"
She pulled his lips to hers, and he immediately returned it. The balm on her lips was sweet and made her mouth soft against his own. As she slipped her hands beneath his shirt to touch his linens—the closest she could get to his skin right now—a sigh escaped his lips. How long since they had last been able to do this?
Their bond rocketed to life, and he felt he could spend an eternity sifting through her soul and heart and still discover something new about her to love. He couldn't imagine life without her. It was a reality that never existed except in his mind's darkest, most terrifying parts. But she was a light to those shadows, dispelling his residual anxieties about the future.
No other woman could even come close to her in his heart. She would always be more than enough for him.
He kept their foreheads touching as the kiss turned to a gentle brush of their lips. "I punished the page who confessed to injuring you."
She raised a brow. "What happened?"
"Sliced his face. Nothing fancy."
She gave a breathy laugh. "You do everything fancy, Qymaen." She pressed her lips to his cheeks, then to his nose.
"Tonight," he whispered. "Let's marry tonight."
And she nodded, pulling him tighter into her arms and taking handfuls of his cloak, rocking him gently back and forth. Their long wait would soon be over, and they would be husband and wife. Forever.
Shia, who had said Ronderu's injuries weren't significant enough to warrant an overnight stay, let them go. She bade him come into her house, putting on the dress he would marry her in. "How does it look?" she asked.
He frowned. "It doesn't look like something you'd wear unless you were chained and forced to."
"Can I go in my linens?"
"The traditionalists would chain you then." He took her trunk. "Do you have any other dresses?"
She pulled on a thick mumuu-skin frock. "Will this work?"
He chuckled. "You look beautiful in any of these."
She nodded. "Very well. This it is."
A page rapped on the door, and Qymaen dashed behind the curtain to the refresher. The voice of Ariun spoke. "My lady, where is the khagan?"
A plume of nervousness reached him through their bond, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Ronderu scoffed. "How the hell would I know? I'm not his ama."
"Well, you might want to find him. The Yam'rii have invaded the Jenuwaa temple. What are your orders?"
Qymaen forced himself to stay quiet. The oldest known structure on Kalee? What in the galaxy are these fools thinking, going after it? Especially with the khagan in the same territory?
"My gods…." Ronderu muttered. "Go out and rally our militia," she said. "I'll find him."
After the page had left and she'd double-bolted the door, she yanked him off the floor. "Come on," she growled. "Let's get rid of the threat before sundown."
He frowned. "I don't think that's possible—"
"We can do this," she said, hissing through her teeth. "I will not allow the night to be ruined!"
Once she had her mind set on something, there was no going back. He sighed. "Fine. I'm coming."
In the homey warmth of a Kaleesh morning at the equatorial port of Jenuwaa-Khot, the sunrise played with the threads of the clouds as brilliant shades of kindled red and gold splashed across the horizon. Echoes of Kowakian monkey lizards, the silent prance of mumuui, and rustles of the thousand species of insects echoed throughout a small war camp.
Qymaen spoke quietly. "This move isn't wise, Ronderu." Lowering himself to sit on the light wood of the dock, he dipped his scaly toes into the calm waves of the sea as they sat together by the shore.
"The Yam'rii chose to invade the temple," she pointed out, taking her place next to him. The wind picked up the breeze on her dark, unruly hair, causing it to move like a flag of black ocean veins in the morning air. "They can't be allowed to flourish."
He leaned his head back, letting the morning sun blaze against his mask. "But to take only a few men to combat them is foolish. We can take more; why don't we?"
"The situation is under control."
He sighed a cool, soft breath as she touched their bone masks together, entwining their hands. The gold scales of her hands traced the dark roughness of his. As if seeing straight through him, she turned her eyes to his. That gaze contained a thousand emotions, feelings, and experiences—all that made up the mystery of Ronderu lij Kummar.
"In either case, I will always protect you."
"And I, you." Her eyes flashed. "You're not wearing your armor, are you?"
He made a face before answering slowly. "No...why do you ask?"
She jammed her hands beneath his arms and tickled him. Yelping, he fell downward, writhing to escape her grip. When she finally stopped, both of them were breathless with giggles.
"Think of it," she said, laying on top of him, trapping his chest between her knees. She waved her hands in grandiose gestures. "You'll get to endure this every karking day once we're married! Doesn't it sound exciting?"
"It'll be less exciting when I throw you out the window," he grunted.
She gave a soft laugh and touched where his nose would be under his mask. "Don't try it."
"Oh, I will." His hands crept toward her armpits. "And once I do, you won't be able to stop me."
And he turned the tables on her, wrenching laughter out of her as she rolled off him, gasping for air. He moved his assault down to her stomach, and while she was even more ticklish there, he regretted it as soon as her fist nearly punched one of his tusks off.
He pulled her up. "Let's go to the place we did when we were young," he said. "Follow me."
He ran hand-in-hand with her down to an area of the camp obscured by the jungle willows that grew like a dome over the waist-deep water. In the distance, a non-sentient reptilian species crowed in the morning dawn.
They intended to stay in the water together, leaving their outer clothes on the bank of the sea and keeping themselves wrapped in soft linen clothes explicitly made for modesty. She stepped gracefully into the sea to meet him, letting the ends of her hair dip into the tangy current.
Her arms found his shoulders, and they held each other silently, waist-deep in water and letting moisture from the trees drip down their faces. She smelled like trees, flowers, and soil—the mother of nature, so familiar with the wild and willing to teach him about it.
A vision flashed before his eyes: the ocean swallowing him whole, leaving only his mask, and he squeezed his eyes shut. The image of the dream he'd had the night before he'd met her—of him embodying her as she hunted a mumuu in the Kunbal—had been so honest and turned out to be prophetic. The more frequently this vision came to his head, the more it distressed him because he often embodied her in his dreams.
She fit her arms around his neck and pulled him to meet her gaze. "You're so quiet today. Worried about me again?"
"I don't know."
"We're marrying after this battle. Do you plan to hide your troubles from me then?"
He flinched, almost losing his grip on her. Ouch. "I….I had a vision."
"That's why you're called Sheelal."
"But it was different," he said, holding her at arms' length. "It was about you."
"How do you know?"
"The ocean…." he shuddered beneath her grip. "It reached up and swallowed me but left a karabbac mask."
Her expression remained placid, cool as a smooth sea stone. "I won't die," she whispered. "I promise I won't."
"And which of us is the dreamer?" he asked, trembling. "Ronderu, I can't lose you. And I will if we go into battle today."
"Get out of your heart and use your head, Qymaen. I'm a skilled warrior. We've done this a thousand times together. It'll be fine."
A spiral of pain rushed through his body. Couldn't she see the danger? Did she care about the threat?
Maybe we should go now.
It was the first time desertion had ever occurred to him. To control himself before he did other rash things, he pulled away. She must have picked up on some of his emotions through their bond, for she gave a soft smile. "I'm a bit harder to snare than that. You'll need to wait a little longer, sir."
His face burned even more fervently now, and through the sudden dryness of his mouth, he spoke. What was I thinking? "Maybe I'll manage it after the courthouse," he stuttered.
"You're a terrible flirt."
"I learned from the best, Master."
"Oh, you little—"
She lunged at him, but he dodged. Her hair and face soaked, the fearsome Kummar lay on her knees in the water. Scurrying to escape her reach, split with laughter, Qymaen raced onto the bank to get his outer clothes before she recovered. By the time she'd wrung out her hair and changed back into her war gear, he was already racing back to the camp to rally the soldiers.
Screeching echoed from inside the temple, and Ronderu bit her lip. Glistening metal shone from the abandoned temple. Modern temples were meant to be places of peace and spiritual connection; this place seemed like a dungeon.
"I'll go first," she said to Qymaen.
He adjusted his headscarf and gazed casually through the darkness. Their eyes did not obey the night the way humans' did. "There's something ahead, but I can't determine what it is."
He shot an electrified slug forward, and it illuminated a great tunnel…
And a swarm of many hissing animals along the way. Animals Ronderu had never seen before.
Qymaen frowned. "Stalker lizards."
"Aren't those native to Dantooine?"
"Maybe the Republic brought them here from Bitthævria," he murmured. "I don't know…."
"Should we proceed?" one of the pages asked.
"Yes," Qymaen said. "But silently. Who knows how they hunt?"
"If it's through heat, we're toast," Ronderu pointed out.
"Khaneme Kummar," a page from beside her muttered. "Always the optimist."
Qymaen shot him a warning look. "So we must sneak. Perhaps they see in the dark as well. Crawl behind me."
The tunnel wove for hours. Hissing resounded as they tried to stifle every sound: breathing, scraping of talons and scales against the ground. Each violation of this rule was like a scream as they continued, but nobody was killed.
At last, their vision's blue-purple blobs of heat ended, and they stood. Ronderu made a silent gesture to Qymaen: now what?
He swallowed and signaled back; her thoughts continued. Check for traps.
A rumbling. Cracks sliced the floor; light poured out. Blinded temporarily, the soldiers shouted in pain.
When Ronderu had recovered from nausea, she barely caught sight of another cliff. She rushed toward it just as it divided her and Qymaen, flipping backward to land on it along with two of the three pages she had brought with her. The rest of Qymaen's soldiers either joined him on the opposite side as the floor crumbled into a sea of fire—or were swallowed whole by its consuming fingers.
His terror shocked her almost to the ground—from here, his trembling and short breath reached her. "Ronderu!"
"Qymaen, I'm fine! We'll meet you on the beach. Where is my third page?"
"Right here, my lady," a man's voice called from the other side of the room.
"When you get to the beach, find my ship. Bring it so we can make a quick retreat if needed."
"Timee, erkhemee!" he replied.
His fear pulverized her strength. "Qymaen….calm yourself. We'll see each other soon."
Our worst fears were realized. Her terror-filled side screamed. I will die. He was right.
Even from here, his trembling was apparent. She forced herself to turn her back on him and continue down the corridor. I won't lose you; we'll marry; everything will be fine.
She swung around. Stabbing the first Yam, she signaled to her pages. "Jump!"
The three soldiers exited the temple and tumbled through the thickets of trees. Ronderu grabbed hold of a branch, swinging gracefully down to the sandy beach and letting the crystals break her fall.
Her voice came out strangled in her throat. "Where's Khagan Sheelal?"
"I don't know," one said. "I don't see your other page either."
Click-click-click.
Ronderu backed up toward the water. Please, love. Get here soon. Her lungs closed. "Battle positions."
The mantis-like Yam'rii bolted from the tunnels like a swarm of angry wasps rushing toward the soldiers. Ronderu's breathing sped up as she flipped onto one, cutting its throat, and dive-bombed another.
But she was too slow. She was not strong, and she didn't have any snipers. And the Yam'rii were pushing her closer and closer to the sea.
"Fall back!" she shouted.
But before her pages obeyed her command, Qymaen and his troops bolted out of the northern exit. He fired at his swarm, the violet bursts of slugs cracking past the hard outer shells of the Yam'rii to land on their soft insides. She tried to call his name, but a carapace whipped and crashed against her forehead. Blood stung her eyes. Blinded by the pain, she sliced off the appendage.
The water rose to her ankles, then her knees. Another carapace knocked her sword out of her hand. Hisss. The snipers shot at the Yam'rii, but Qymaen was too far away to reach her.
And they got brave. One reached forward. Green swarmed in her vision. Tearing agony filled her hand, more on her leg. The Yam'rii stepped forward. Another carapace slashed across her lower stomach. A scream wrenched itself from her mouth.
From the trees, a woman dived into the ocean. Ronderu glimpsed Qymaen, fighting his group, and he gazed toward her with immense torment. His sobbing punctured the air as he raced toward her to save her….
And she plunged underwater.
"Retreat!" Qymaen bellowed at his troops, but his eyes were on the ocean as he rushed to the trees to escape the Yam'rii. He'd watched her fall beneath the water. He had been right. He had been right. Every drop of blood in his veins froze into pure stone.
Her fall played before him repeatedly, accompanied by an incessant hum. The Yam'rii hungrily followed suit to eat their prey.
"You can't go out there," another page said. "She's long gone. I'm so sorry, Your Grace."
No more kisses, no more dances.
No children.
No more battles together, no exploring the stars, no sweet smiles.
No more Ronderu.
His dreams lit ablaze like old parchment as the rhythm of his heartbeat, once a melody of love, turned to the pounding of agony. "No," he said firmly. "She's not gone yet. I'm going out there to save her."
"Your Grace—"
But it was Qymaen pulling off his headscarf, stripping down to his linens, and leaving his mask behind. The thick braids trailing down his back mimicked the black braid he would caress once he retrieved her battered body from the sea.
Even if he found her, she would be dead. But he couldn't allow that thought to infiltrate his mind. Not yet. Not now.
He gazed at the ebony waves of Jenuwaa and jumped as far as he could outward, diving in.
The sea shocked icily into his body, and the salt dug into his injuries as he swam deeper, trying to catch a glimpse of her blood or body in the ocean. Desperate for it, willing to drown for it, craving it as if it were a drug. Ronderu, please. Speak to me.
Her swords flashed beneath him. His hands caught hold of them. The breath in his lungs burst, and he began inhaling water. Red spasmed into his vision. His body grew icy.
And he was coughing on the beach. The page that had gone out to retrieve him squeezed his stomach and forced the water out of his lungs. He collapsed on the sand, letting the starry grain flake his hand as he vomited acid into the water.
He gazed toward the sea. "Where is she?"
"Your Grace," she said coldly, "she's gone. They ate her—she's a skeleton on the bottom of the ocean."
"You lie," he snarled. "Leave me."
She flinched but obeyed his command. Qymaen prostrated himself from the billowing wound in his chest, letting the water lap over him. A horrid ripping sensation tore from his body: the severing of their bond: no more feelings, no more spirituality, and no more Ronderu. A bond like that could only be genuinely severed through death.
A part of him still refused to believe it.
After a long while, he found the words—frigid and painful, like icy knives plunging into his throat. "I will not give up on you. I will travel to Abesmi and hold you one last time."
If he had been looking out on the horizon, he would have seen a ship diving close to the water to rescue the dying khaneme, but he was melting in on himself, his heart in his stomach, and he was small. So small, just eyes, a mind, and a spirit reject the truth.
Grief fit him like old, wet linens, squelching against his scales as he docked off at Abesmi. He hugged his cloak tight to his body, unaccustomed to the bone-freezing cold of the sacred ground.
Passing through the new Yamikhi tribe and finding a boy there who swore to return to the Kharankhui with him to serve at his side, sailing frosty seas alone for a standard week….it was no matter to him. She was worth every pain, every moment of suffering amidst the waves. Nothing would be in vain if he could hold her just for a few minutes to give her a proper goodbye.
But can I say goodbye to her?
The images of kissing her—of living with her, loving her, and protecting her forever—of someday helping her birth their children and raising them with her—of growing old with her and exploring the galaxy….maybe even visiting Coruscant with her….
Every dream went up in smoke, and he hugged his chest as a sharp pain stabbed through his torso, congregating in one area around his chest. Her kiss was like poison now.
Snow crunched beneath his feet as he bowed in the center of the ancient circle on the tiny island, the closest the Kaleesh could get to the dead. A single tear found its way down his face. Every moment with her—the battles against the Yam'rii invaders where they defended one another, the sweet kisses against her moon-pale scales, the joyous glint in her eyes each time she sank a sword into the wicked Huk—fell into his scales like frozen rain.
He squeezed his eyes shut. "Please…." The air chilled his lungs, and he sputtered a cough onto the snowy ground. "At least let me see her one last time."
The wind laughed as he slammed his fists down. "I submit myself to whatever you ask. I submit."
The wind whistled around him like her voice when she imitated birds, and the distant sea curled into ebony waves. The summer skies looked like her perfect scales, gold and traced with veins and speckles of light brown.
But he was denied.
Should he burrow himself in the snow and freeze to death? It would be less painful than what hers had been—a shameful end under a contemptible enemy race.
The wizened gaze in her eyes, the lovely echo of her voice, her hands stroking his neck and arms—just a few more hours, and he would have had all of that and much more. He could almost feel the warmth of a campfire, the cool of rainfall with her, the nights on long missions in which they would rest in the comfort of one another's embrace.
He willed his eyes to look ahead. In the distance, her unmistakable form lingered, her twin swords glistening at her side. He dizzily stood. His boots made wet, squelching sounds as he raced toward her. Oh, my gods. Oh….my….gods….
She looked his way just as he engulfed her, squeezing her tightly to his chest, crushing his body to hers. He removed his mask, fitting his mouth over hers immediately. Her breath was hot as she kissed him back. Whispered his name, again and again, as she interlaced their fingers. Her callous hands stroked his own as if he was a priceless gem, a good man—not a wretch struggling with every wicked act he'd ever done.
Her form flickered, and he pressed their foreheads together. "What's wrong?" She asked, her voice dreamy but still the same—the voice of his sweet Ronderu.
"Oh, Ru," he mumbled as he lifted her and buried his face in her black hair.
Sorrow met Ronderu and Qymaen as they returned to the shore of Jenuwaa that was away from Yam'rii-controlled space: the city of Kaleela had been taken by the Huk. They withdrew to a secluded place. He touched her cheek. Are you happy, nee ru?
The happiest I've ever been.
How do you think we can overcome the Yam'rii?
They are beginning to tremble. We must reunite the Kaleesh forces. The tribes must stand together—
His general from back at Kaleela, Bentilais san Sk'ar, placed a hand on his shoulder from behind. "Where had you gone?"
"Abesmi, to recover Ronderu."
Bent's expression—from his eyes, at least—was perplexed. "She is watching us from above, my friend. You did her proud."
Qymaen looked beside him, but Ronderu was gone. The Jenuwaa shore was unbroken, unperturbed. And that was when he finally came to his senses.
She had been the sea to him, and the sea had called her back home.
Her hair billows, an excellent black curtain in the ocean as she struggles to breathe. The ocean roars and chokes him with the aroma of her blood.
"Aren't you my friend? Don't you love me?"
Her body is limp and cold as it slogs onto the surface. He gently wipes the dripping blood from her mouth, from the soft lips he'd kissed now hard as rock and red as the evening sky.
He wants to scream and lash out at the Yam'rii for killing her. They deserve to die. Every Yam must pay for their infinite crime.
Bent came in later in the day. "Sir, what would you have me do? I know you're not well—"
"Defense. Take the soldiers, keep them in the trees for ambush attacks." His friend's face blurred in his vision, and he turned to the wall on his sleeping mat.
Everything in his body shut down. Numbness took over as his friend left the room, barking orders at the soldiers that lingered outside.
As she entered the room, he studied Shia's face to tend to him. She gazed downward. "I have to be able to smell the medicine. Forgive me for immodesty, Your Grace."
She set her medicine down and wept silently, but he didn't leave where he was. How dare she cry when she had barely known Ronderu. How dare she.
He walked out at night to gather the ashes of the cremation into a terra pot. Gripping his stomach, he braced himself for the physical pain like shoni spears jutting his heart.
Bent sat down next to him, and he sighed. "I'm going to the temple alone."
"The Huk are still down there. Want me to at least accompany you to the entrance?"
He nodded silently. They carried her Lig swords, the identical ones she had trained him to use when she'd taught him how to fight with melee weapons; her mask, the one she'd taken off when they'd been in the lagoon, clasped in each other's arms.
When they'd reached the top room of the local temple, he motioned for his friend to wait outside. He set the urn on the crumbling bench of the room, resting the mask against it, the Lig swords on either side.
Walking through the woods yielded a large boulder that both had to climb up the room stairs. Qymaen rolled the stone over the doorway, and darkness descended over the room. And when he closed that door, he shut everything beautiful behind it.
Did you know…
● This work is an AU of the Legends article Unknown Soldier: The Story of General Grievous, which was retconned by the 2008 TV show The Clone Wars, which gave Grievous a different backstory. I hope you appreciate the parts where I deviated from canon.
● The reason they kept their relationship a secret - that the traditionalists would disapprove - is my creation because the follow-up article to Unknown Soldier states that there was a stigma against Ronderu. (The Story of General Grievous: Lord of War)
● Related to the above: the Kaleesh believed that the khagan at the time of Sk'ar's betrayal was a reincarnation of Ronderu. I agree with it.
Tell me what you think…
● Would you have chosen to fall in love with someone if you had been in Ronderu's situation? Why or why not?
● What would you do in Qymaen's situation?
