Blood of Mandalore

by Kurenaino

Engaged in a bloody civil war, the Mandalorian government requests the aid of the Jedi to help protect their Duchess, the last hope for peace in their war-torn world.

11. Itera

Chapter 11: Itera

Qui-Gon hid up high in one of the massive trees of the Krownest wilderness, a tight bundle tucked under his arm as his sharp eyes scanned the snowy ground below. The early morning sky was filled with fog and shards of sharp, crystalized snow that caught the light of the early morning sun and made the world seem as though it was made of crystal, like the caves of Ilum, where the younglings were brought to search for their first kyber crystals. It was eerily beautiful, despite the faint, acrid smell of smoke and burning plasma in the air and the distant sounds of angry shouting and screeching engines and booming explosions.

It wasn't the peaceful morning he had been hoping for. The city when he left it had sustained substantial damage in the fight between himself and the bounty hunters, and after Satine and Obi-Wan had successfully fled, Qui-Gon had taken the fight into the woods where he could properly engage the foes to the fullest of his abilities without fear of collateral damage or civilian casualties. It was before dawn when he returned to the town to see people already walking the icy streets, the town waking long before dawn to get business underway as the populace began repairing the broken town. Qui-Gon had only managed to purchase extra clothing for himself and his charges before the bounty hunters found him again and he was once again forced to take off for the woods.

The dark of the pre-dawn world made escaping his hunters an easy thing, the Jedi rushing between trees and through deep, untrodden snow until their voices grew distant, only to then ignite his lightsaber, the green glowing light cutting through the dark and drawing his hunters toward him, the Jedi luring them deeper and deeper into the frigid woods. It was easy to get lost out here, and it was bitterly cold, and soon enough, they began falling to the wayside when a chilling wind bit through clothing and armor and cut bone deep. Qui-Gon cloaked himself in the Force, drawing from its warmth to banish the chill from him, but even now, high up in the trees, he could feel the creeping cold in his fingers and the tips of his ears. He clenched his fists, grimacing when he felt how tight and stiff his fingers felt and rolled his eyes in distaste. Just over fifty, and already his joints were rebelling against the weather. He was getting old.

Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon sunk into the Force, reaching through to feel the lives in the forest below him, the hunters racing on foot, on speeders, on jetpacks in search of their prey, could feel them in the skies above him in their ships as they flew low in search of the renegade Jedi. But most importantly, he could feel his student, the young Padawan's presence alert and vigilant, the bond between them filled with Obi-Wan's persistent anxiety and worry, and with a small smile, Qui-Gon gently tugged at the connection between them, as he had several times that night. The teenager responded with almost desperate relief as the Force flushed warm with Kenobi's presence, with the rush of affection for his Master, assurances that both he and the Duchess were fine.

It was exactly the reprieve that Qui-Gon needed, exactly the thing to chase away the cold and recenter himself in the Force, to refocus on the mission and not the biting cold or the wrath of the creatures chasing him. Sending the silent promise to his student to find them in all due haste, Qui-Gon looked away from his Padawan and felt...something. Something new. Something focused and dangerous, violent, but not bloodthirsty, so different from the wild, reckless greed of the bounty hunters. And it was close, passing through the woods like a wave, like flowing water, not like the thudding stones of the bounty hunters. This new element was familiar with the woods, at home within them, an apex predator on the scent of something lesser.

His head whipped around when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, squinted against the rising of the morning sun, the white snow bathed in golden light washing out the source of the movement. He looked below him to the speeders zipping between the trees, the bounty hunters shouting and raising their weapons, and with the sharp screech of blaster fire, the hunters began to fall, their bodies riddled with holes that smoked in the cold morning air. Qui-Gon shut his eyes, leaned against the tree and calmed his breathing, lowering his pulse as he listened to the screams of people dying, the whine of blasters, the sound of pulse grenades detonating and speeders with dead drivers crashing against the thick trunks of trees. When the Force tugged at him, gentle but insistent, Qui-Gon called his lightsaber to his hand and stepped off the branch he stood perched upon.

The Jedi Master landed with a soft thud in the snow below, his lightsaber swinging a green shield around him as he deflected plasma bolts away to sizzle in the snow or strike trees with blackened furrows, the redirected shots deliberately directed away from those that shot them. With a swift, sharp command in harsh Mando'a, the high pitched whine of blaster fire ceased, the sound of the weapons aimed and primed filling the misty air. Qui-Gon quickly looked up and found himself surrounded by Mandalorian warriors in green and blue armor, their weapons trained on him, but none of them firing. His eyes roved over the soldiers surrounding him and beyond them to the bodies of the hunters they had killed.

His gaze settled on a warrior with a black swath of cloth fastened under one of his shoulder pauldrons and hanging across his back, a thing he knew to be a sign of command, and very slowly, Qui-Gon sunk to his knees and raised his hands in the air, his lightsaber switching off and held in a loose grip. He sensed wariness from these warriors, unease and tension, but no violence or hostility.

"Jetiise cuyir draar solus," the commander said harshly, his modulated voice seeming to echo in the misty, eerie morning. "Gayiylir dayn'bal echoy par'te ashi." A group of the warriors quickly turned and ran into the woods, some taking to the air on jetpacks and others rushing effortlessly through the snow. He raised his weapon, the high-pitched whine of the plasma priming sounding in the air, and he pointed the barrel directly at Qui-Gon. "Meg cuyir gar aka olar, Jetiise? Vaii cuyir gar burc'ya?" Qui-Gon remained blank and expressionless in his silence, his dark blue eyes following the commander's every move. When the Jedi did not respond, the commander growled deeply, a savage, feral sound when filtered through the modulator, and he strode forward, his weapon held mere inches from Qui-Gon's head.

"Vaabir gar soeak Mando'a?" the man growled, and Qui-Gon's eyes lit with understanding. He hadn't the time to study Mando'a like his Padawan, and only understood some words and phrases. Jetiise, Jedi, he knew that, but had yet to determine if a confirmation of such would turn these soldiers hostile. But this phrase, he recognized, despite the heavy accent.

"Nayc," Qui-Gon said slowly, a frown on his face when he heard how flat the word sounded, devoid of the natural, melodious rise and fall the language possessed when Satine and Obi-Wan spoke. "Ni vaabir not jorhaa'ir Mando'a. Shi Ika'dyc." Qui-Gon winced. What he knew was passable, but it was wholly insufficent for this mission, and the local dialects made understanding nearly impossible. He'd have to get in on these Mando'a lessons. Perhaps he'd be able to put a stop to the teenagers' flirtation. Two problems solved at once.

With a growl of irritation, the Mandalorian pulled off his helmet, the man underneath no more than forty years of age with short brown hair streaked with graying lines, his pale blue eyes sharp and intense, the color similar to Satine's were her gaze edged with the willingness to kill. "Jedi," the man snarled, his accent heavy, but his words easy to understand. "What are you doing so far away from your Republic?"

"I'm on a mission," the Master said calmly, and the Mandalorian frowned, clearly unimpressed with the answer.

"The Jedi are no friends of the Mandalorians," the man snapped. "And what's more, your kind are never alone. Where's your partner?" Qui-Gon was silent, his eyes narrowing in defiance. "My men are already searching for the other. These are our woods, and nobody knows them like we do. Mark my word, we will find him, and you will wish you told us."

"If these are your woods, you are Clan Itera or Clan Wren," Qui-Gon said, his eyes on the commander's face and watching with interest as the pale eyes narrowed. "I'm willing to put credits on you being from Clan Itera."

"How do you figure?" the man growled, and a slow smirk spread across Qui-Gon's face.

"Because you haven't killed me yet, and the Wrens and their allies have taken out a bounty on me and my fellow Jedi." The Mandalorian looked at the Jedi for a long while, his frown growing increasingly deeper as the seconds ticked by.

"I am not from Clan Itera," the man said, drawing up to his full height and lowering his weapon, an armored hand reaching out to the kneeling Jedi. "I am Clan Itera. Count Artus Itera, and this clan is mine."

"Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn," the Jedi said, taking the man's hand and rising to his feet. "I've heard your clan opposes the Wrens."

"Because the Wrens and their allies are traitors to Mandalore," he said softly, dangerously, and Qui-Gon could feel the man suddenly become aggressive. "I hear you are in possession of something the Wrens very badly want."

"Not just the Wrens, it would seem," Qui-Gon said, pointing back to the bounty hunters, and the Mandalorian inclined his head, conceding the point to the Jedi, and he edged closer to the wary Qui-Gon.

"My clan has been allied with Clan Kryze since the Mandalorian Wars thousands of years ago, I was good friends with Adonai and Shae Kryze, I mentored their son Kandosii," Artus whispered, his tone low and earnest and hopeful. "Is it true? Is Satine alive? Do you have her?"

"She's alive, yes..." Qui-Gon said quietly, watching carefully as the man sighed softly, a greatly understated gesture given the intense relief the Jedi felt from the Mandalorian. "My Padawan has her in his care."

"Where?" Artus asked quickly, making to grab hold of the Jedi and stopping himself, his hands clenching in the air. "Take me to her, please!"

"I'd rather not." Artus stared at Qui-Gon in disbelief for a moment before his eyes narrowed in anger, his entire being becoming tense and hostile, and the Jedi raised a placating hand in the air. "I mean no offense, Count Itera," the Jedi said quietly. "But last we heard, Clan Ordo was an ally of the Duchess. Do I need to tell you how that ended?" A brief surge of anger flashed across Artus' face, his jaw clenching tightly in his fury.

"I know of Clan Ordo's betrayal," the Count quietly growled. "I do not need to be told that Edric and Veela Ordo are vile, treacherous snakes and disgraces to the long, proud history of their clan, though I should like to hear the tale anyway when Satine has been brought to the safety of my stronghold." The Jedi remained cold, impassive, cautious, saying not a word as his eyes searched the Mandalorian lord, and Artus sighed. "I understand the need for discretion, Master Jedi, and I thank you for your diligence in defending our Duchess, but she does not belong out here in the cold. The wilds of Krownest are dangerous, and if we can find you, the Wrens can as well."

"Allies of the Vizslas," Qui-Gon said, and the Mandalorian nodded.

"Please, Master Jedi," Artus whispered, drawing closer to Qui-Gon again, his eyes on his men. "I don't know yet what happened with the Ordos, but I can guess. Satine may be reluctant to trust me, and that's fine, let her keep her distance. But let her keep it where she is at least safe and sheltered from this cold."

He could sense no malice, no ill-intent, no ulterior motive in Count Itera, only desperation and loss and a protective instinct so fierce it nearly defied explanation. He had said he was close to Satine's family, and looking at him, Qui-Gon believed it, though the longing the man felt went far beyond simply that. Whatever it was, Qui-Gon didn't feel there was anything to fear from it. After months on the run, it seemed as though he had finally found one of Satine's allies.

"I don't know exactly where he has hidden her," Qui-Gon said softly, raising his hand and calling the tightly rolled bundle to him from where he left it in the tree. "But he and I share a connection through the Force. It won't take me long to find him."

"Let me come with you," Artus said quickly, not waiting for the Jedi to respond before he turned to his men. "Yaimpar at'te allit bal tsikador bic par cuun Mand'alor," he said, his voice firm and commanding, and the warriors drew closer, turning to whisper to each other, their tones hushed and excited. "Satine cuyir oyayc. Ni slanar at mar'eyir kaysh bal yaimpar kaysh yaim at mhi."

Qui-Gon didn't understand everything, but it was enough. Mand'alor. Satine. Home. Enough to ease any apprehension that the Jedi had. The warriors quickly rushed away, save for two, a large, towering male that was almost certainly not human under his armor and a small, lithe female, the two quickly flanking the Count as he walked off into the woods toward a line of idling speeder bikes, gesturing for the Jedi to follow.

"Can you guide me to their location?" the Mandalorian asked as he mounted the bike, gesturing for the Jedi to sit in the seat behind him, his two bodyguards quickly mounting the second speeder.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Qui-Gon said, sliding into the seat, his eyes closed as he plunged into the Force, his hand on the Count's shoulder for balance. "We have a ship in town," he said quietly. "We had to leave it when the bounty hunters attacked. I wouldn't be bothered, but my Padawan has put a lot of work into it, and-"

"When we have the Duchess, I'll send my bodyguards to retrieve it." His hands tightened on the controls, the speeder's engines revving and rising to a high pitched thrum. "Which way, Master Jedi?" Feeling the pull of the Force through the strength of their connection, Qui-Gon pointed the way, and without another word, the speeder jolted forward, bearing them swiftly across the snow as they wove through the trees toward the Duchess and the Padawan.

Qui-Gon hadn't realized how far he had led the bounty hunters into the wood until the fog burned away with the rising of the morning sun. The frigid air as they cut through the woods tore at his face and cut through his robes and chilled him right to the bone, the cold he had so successfully kept at bay the previous day and all through the night finally having an effect as his focus drifted to his student, the Padawan also cold and shivering as he reached out toward him. Perhaps, Qui-Gon mused, it wasn't just him that had ventured deep into the woods. Satine and Obi-Wan had fled as well, and the journey was long enough that Qui-Gon couldn't help but be impressed with how deep the two managed to press.

It wasn't until they had reached the river that ran from high up the frozen mountains and down to the city by the ocean that Qui-Gon told the Count to slow, the speeder's high hum lowering as he broke, their swift pace exchanged for a more careful one so Qui-Gon could pinpoint the location of his Padawan. They were close. He could feel it. They cut along the top of a snowy ravine, looking down at the icy river below, the Jedi shivering when he imagined his student and the Duchess running here in the dark, pursued by hunters. It was not anything that children should have been exposed to, and a swift flash of guilt pulsed strong in Qui-Gon's chest. Sweet Satine and Gentle Obi-Wan deserved better than being fugitives on a cold, unforgiving world.

He could feel Obi-Wan before him, beneath him, then behind him, and Qui-Gon quickly directed Artus to circle back around, the bodyguards following closely behind them as they dove down the sides of the ravine, pulling up at the shore of the river and speeding along the winding route. Without warning, Qui-Gon jumped off the speeder when he felt the Force pull him like a tether, landing with a soft thud in the snow before a thin pathway branching off the ravine, the speeder screeching as the Mandalorians quickly stopped and joined him. They said nothing as they followed the Jedi into the small, winding cut through the rock, the largest of the guards waiting behind, too large to fit in the narrow path.

As they slowly made their way through the claustrophobic path, it began to narrow, slowly and hardly noticeable until neither man could squeeze past, opting not to send the much smaller woman behind them for fear of frightening the Duchess and the Padawan into doing something rash. Peering down the small space, Qui-Gon could just make out the faint flicker of light in the darkness, could feel the tight apprehension of his student. He was in there, Qui-Gon was certain.

"Obi-Wan!" Qui-Gon hissed, his voice sounding louder as the sound bounced off the close walls of the ravine. There was no answer, but they could hear scuffling in the passage beyond, and before long, Qui-Gon caught sight of his student, peeking his head out from where he had hidden, a look of intense relief upon his face.

"Master..." Obi-Wan sighed wearily, the tense and distraught boy finally surrendering to the feel of relief and safety at the presence of the Jedi.

"Don't relax quite yet, Padawan," Qui-Gon gently admonished. "Gather Satine and come out. I'll wait for you by the river. Tell her I have located Clan Itera, we are heading for their fortress." Obi-Wan's eyes narrowed, a suspicious frown on his face as he peered beyond Qui-Gon, only just catching the faintest glimpse of the others behind his towering Master in the thin corridor.

"Master, I don't-"

"Do as I say, Padawan," Qui-Gon commanded, and the teen lowered his head, his braid tightly winding around his fingers as he ducked back into the safety of his hiding place. They retreated from the pathway, coming out into the open ravine beside the freezing river and silently waited, the entire group tense and apprehensive, the bodyguards keeping their watchful gazes on the sky above. The threat of attack and discovery hung heavy above them, both from the bounty hunters and from their fellow Mandalorians belonging to the more hostile clans. They all jumped at the sound of scuffling from the narrow path, all of them on their feet and watching intently as a thin, disheveled boy slid out of the space, his hair throughly ruffled and rough scratches on his face, the blue and white Mandalorian armor he wore bearing evidence of the struggles he faced the night before.

Obi-Wan only gave the others a cursory glance before turning back to the crevice and reaching in, grasping hold of Satine's arm and gently helping the girl out, the thin teen nearly drowning in the heavy cloak she wore and still shivering despite it. She froze the moment she saw the Mandalorian, her body tense and rigid, and Artus dropped to his knee, a soft gasp on his lips as he looked at her. Satine took a few quick steps toward him before her froze, her legs shaking and her hands reaching out to him hesitantly, and she quickly turned back to Obi-Wan and grasped his arm tightly, looking over her shoulder desperately at the man she clearly recognized.

Obi-Wan finally turned his attention on the warriors, his eyes narrowed as he seemed to gaze right through them, his focus clear and intense with the feel of his charge against him. None of the Mandalorians moved, hardly daring to breathe in the presence of the Duchess and under the scrutiny of the young Jedi. It felt like an eternity before Kenobi's hard glare softened somewhat, the cold frown on his face replaced with a tired, impassive expression as he lightly brushed his fingers across Satine's shoulder and leaned over to whisper in her ear as he gently nudged her forward. It was all she needed. With a strangled whimper in her throat, Satine rushed forward and threw herself into Artus' arms, the Count clutching the girl close to his chest as she grasped hold of him and cried, the culmination of grief, fear, stress, and the sudden relief of the safety of a warm, familiar embrace.

---

It took almost three hours on the speeders to reach the Itera stronghold high in the mountains of Krownest. Satine had sat on the speeder behind Obi-Wan, her arms wrapped around his waist and her head resting on his back as she allowed weariness to finally overcome her. The wind whipping around them had been bitterly cold, but Qui-Gon had brought them more appropriate clothing from the town, and Obi-Wan had carefully wrapped her in his cloak before he got on the speeder, and clinging tightly to her Jedi protector on the way to safety, Satine felt warm.

As soon as they had arrived at the stronghold, Satine was guided inside the halls of the fortress, the entire compound crawling with Mandalorian warriors that stopped what they were doing and knelt when she passed, the low buzz of excited whispers following her everywhere she went. She was quickly overwhelmed, a simple matter of courtly behavior and attention that was the result of her social status suddenly unbearable. She was once used to such things, but nearly three months of running and close contact with only two other people had made all the attention seem overwhelming.

When people rushed forward to attend to her, Satine, grabbed hold of Qui-Gon's arm and meekly huddled next to him, almost disappearing in the thick folds of his cloak. She looked back, trying to get a glimpse of Obi-Wan, a sudden and fierce panic gripping her when she didn't immediately see him. He was her protector, her lifeline, and despite the fact that Qui-Gon was more than capable of defending her, far more capable than his student, she found she didn't feel safe without Obi-Wan by her side.

After being shown to her quarters, Satine fell asleep immediately, only to wake two hours later with crippling hunger pangs, a thing shared by the Jedi silently meditating nearby, though when asked, Obi-Wan confessed to being unable to meditate because he couldn't stop thinking about food. The Jedi and the Duchess went together to attend to their hunger, the kitchens providing them with ample helpings of hot stew and freshly baked breads, but neither teen ended up eating much, despite their overwhelming hunger, their bodies having grown accustomed to very little food, and the memory of their vomited breakfast the day before suppressing their initial desire to gorge themselves.

She sat now in the courtyard, bundled up in warm cloaks and clothing, a mug of tea in her hands as she watched her Jedi protectors train, their lightsabers glowing and thrumming in the air as they moved in perfect tandem through the steps of a kata. It was...beautiful, a stunning thing to behold that attracted a fair bit of attention from the passing Mandalorian warriors, many of who stayed to watch the fabled Jedi Knights at their work. While the Jedi seemed unaware of the crowed they were attraction, Obi-Wan seemed to slip back into his old habits, donning the mantle of anxiety and unease as he focused beside Qui-Gon, his attention disrupted by his uncertainty in his ability and his desire for perfection, his fragile confidence shattered when he fell short of his goal time and time again.

"I hear you're not eating." Satine yelped in surprise and swiftly turned around to face the voice behind her, and a swift curse and a sharp hiss from the lightsaber drew her attention back to the Jedi to find Obi-Wan grimacing as he clutched his hand, the Master fretting over him and lightly scolding him for losing his focus, and then again for fumbling his lightsaber, the weapon laying deactivated upon the ground where Kenobi had dropped it. She smiled brightly at Obi-Wan when his eyes met his, worried and concerned, and she recognized immediately that she had been the cause of his error. She flushed a light pink as she smiled shyly at him, quietly mouthing an apology to her defender, a thing he acknowledged with his own charming smile and a nod of his head, his cheeks also stained red, though Satine thought it could have been from the cold and his exertion.

She looked up when the owner of the deep voice that had so startled her sat beside her, a plate of warm food in his hands. "It wouldn't do for our Duchess to waste away now that she's safe," Artus said kindly, placing the plate between them. "You are so much thinner than when I last saw you, Satine. You need to eat."

"I did eat," the girl said, a bright smile on her face as she looked at the man. "And before you ask, I slept a bit as well." She bit her lip, her gaze falling to her wringing hands. "I...t-thank you for taking us in..."

"You are our Mand'alor," Artus said swiftly, hushing her by pressing a finger to her lips. "It's my pleasure to aid you in returning you to where you belong." He held up a piece of bread from the plate, and with a small smile, Satine took it from his hand, her gaze returning to the Jedi as they moved from katas to the swift, elegant movements of combat practice, the blades hissing and thrumming as they struck. "The Jedi are something else, aren't they?" Satine absently nodded.

"You have no idea..." the Duchess said, her voice distant and wistful as she watched the pair. "They're wise and kind and strong and brave. I haven't seen their like ever before."

"They are certainly warriors with no equal to have kept you safe for so long in such hostile situations." Satine slowly shook her head, absently nibbling on the bread in her hand, watching as Obi-Wan fell into a rhythm of ducking and dodging and striking, his movements fast and relaxed, graceful and elegant, much more the man Satine had come to know, rather than the boy she once believed him to be.

"They're so much more than that..." Satine whispered. "Being warriors isn't the point, they...t-they..." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. "I can't explain it..." She smiled at the older man. "We're going to end the war, Count Itera. I promise."

"I believe you," he said, a sad, small smile on his lips. "We have lost so much already. This war is destroying everything it means to be Mandalorian." He scoffed softly, his eyes on the Jedi as they sparred. "In the absence of a Mand'alor, family is supposed to come first. The good of the clan above all else." His jaw clenched, teeth grinding together in his agitation, and Satine laid a delicate hand upon his, the burning rage leaving him and replaced with sadness. "My youngest son has taken up with that Wren bitch, Ursa."

"The Wrens again..." Satine muttered. "The Ordos were struggling against them as well. Have they truly become so powerful?"

"Only because Clan Vizsla is, and Ursa is a rising officer in the Death Watch." Artus closed his eyes, his teeth grinding together for a moment. "She leads Clan Wren now, and she's even worse than her father was..."

"Count Wren is dead?" Satine asked softly, and Artus nodded.

"Killed in the assault that chased you from Sundari," he whispered. "And since, Countess Ursa has won countless battles on Tor Vizsla's behalf, killed three of my sons, both my daughters and my wife." He stopped, his voice hitching in his throat for a moment before he cleared it, the muscles of his neck knotting with tension. Satine gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth her eyes wide and beginning to fill with tears.

"T-they're dead?" she squeaked, her voice a barely audible, thin whisper. "Y-your family is all dead?" She shook her head, jarring loose the tears in her eyes, and she rubbed her face against her arm. She grew up with those children, though she never knew any of them terribly well. The boys were more often than not with her brother, and the girls were a bit too rough and tumble for the gentle Satine, though they were often around. Clans Itera, Kelborn, Ordo and Cadera, the staunchest supporters of Clan Kryze, hopelessly fractured, torn apart by this bloody war.

"I'm sorry for telling you like this..." the man muttered, averting his eyes and squeezing her hand tightly. "There is no good way to break news like this, and I have never known how to do it."

"Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la," Satine whispered, and the man nodded.

"Ni partayli, gar darasuum." Artus ran a hand over his face. "And then my traitor youngest runs away with the bitch that slaughtered his family. His brothers, his sisters, his mother." The Count's shoulders shook with tension and rage, his fury so palpable in the air that Obi-Wan slowly drew closer to the pair, his lightsaber held tightly in his hand, and Satine had to wave him off, holding his gaze until the boy turned away from her to return to his training, but his watchful eye didn't leave her. "He is Death Watch," he growled bitterly. "He is lost to me. And it is Ursa Wren's doing."

"It's awful..." Satine whispered, her voice catching in her throat as she tried to hold back her own grief. This was far too close to what had happened to her own family. "M-my father..."

"Your father..." Artus said, wrapping his arm around the girl and pulling her close, the Duchess sniffling and laying her head against his strong, broad chest. "Your father, your mother, your brother...they would have all been so proud of you." He breathed deeply when he felt the girl trenble in his grasp. "Your father was an honorable man. Brave and strong and wise. Your mother, beautiful and fierce, and your brother..." He chuckled sadly and shook his head. "Their loss was a great loss to Mandalore."

"Y-yes..." Satine choked, her hand tightly gripping his. "Artus..." she whispered, so quiet he had to lean in to hear her. "My sister...Bo-Katan, she-"

"Hush, Satine, I know..." Artus said, gripping the young Duchess closer to her.

"Tor Vizsla slaughtered my family like animals a-and she...s-she..."

"Like my son," he whispered, tightly embracing the girl as she silently cried against his armor. Her body was far too thin, a wispy teen that his strong, warrior daughters had never been, but Satine held within her the fire of her father and the passion of her mother, just as her brother possessed, but instead of the wild and reckless abandon of her brother and his own children, Satine was focused and tempered, by no means patient, but determined and strong in her convictions. Her weapons weren't blasters and staves and blades like other Mandalorians. The eldest Kryze daughter was made of something different.

"She wants me dead..." Satine whimpered, sniffling when the man quietly shushed her.

"I know..."

"-have you heard news of her, Artus?" Satine asked in a hushed, nervous voice, drawing away from the man and rubbing her eyes before she looked up at him.

"I have..." he said slowly. "Nothing you would like. Nothing you would want to hear."

"I do want to hear," the Duchess insisted, her voice strong and devoid of the emotional timbre it had before, and Artus knew that tone, the exact same one her mother had always used right before she got whatever she wanted.

"She fights for Death Watch, as you know," the Count said quietly. "And she's dangerously effective. Vizsla keeps her close to his side, for the obvious reasons, but she's gotten out and spilled her fair share of blood in Sundari against Death Watch's enemies."

"My allies..." Satine whispered, her eyes drifting away from the Mandalorian and looking back toward her Jedi. They had moved from sparring each other, and Obi-Wan, wooden staff in hand, was squaring off against one of the young Mandalorian warriors, a teenage boy that seemed a mighty tree next to the sprouting twig that was Obi-Wan Kenobi.

"There isn't a family on Mandalore that hasn't been torn apart by this conflict," Artus said quietly. "If not by death, by taking arms against each other. My losses have...broken me, Satine. I am so weary of this war..." He ran a hand through his graying brown hair. "But Ursa Wren isn't, and right now, she's the biggest threat to Clan Itera and to you."

"Can she be reasoned with?" Satine asked, and she was met with bitter, harsh laughter.

"I am the last of Clan Itera. My sons, my daughters, my wife, all dead at the hands of Ursa Wren, and last I heard, she is returning home to Krownest." He sighed as he watched the Jedi spar with his young warriors, the Jedi starting off timid at first and slowly becoming more relaxed, more fluid, the fights lasting longer as the boy moved like water around his opponent.

"Are we in danger here?" Satine asked, her voice tight with fear, and Artus looked down at her sadly and saw the same pain within her that rested in him.

"Nowhere is safe anymore, Satine," he said quietly. "But I promise you this. So long as you are in my care, no harm will come to you." Her delicate hand lightly squeezed his, a grateful smile on her lips as she looked at the older man. "Nobody knows you're here, so you should be safe for a little while. Long enough to contact Clan Cadera. They're powerful enough to protect you." He rested a hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed. "I know it doesn't seem like it, Satine, but you have allies, and not just in the old clans that support you. I'm not the only one who has grown sick of the fighting. It's leading us nowhere but to our own destruction, and the longer this war goes on, the more obvious it becomes."

"So many of our people are still so, so blind to that," Satine said. "I'll make them see. I swear to you, I will." Artus smiled sadly at the girl, his hand squeezing her shoulder.

"You are so much like your father..." Artus said almost wistfully. "He spoke of Mandalorian unity under a banner of peace as well, and he always spoke of you when he did..." Satine turned her gaze away from him, her eyes focused on the winter flowers in the garden, her throat tight as she tried to press back the sudden tide of emotions. If being with the Jedi had taught her one thing, it was that emotion had its time and place, and now, in the courtyard full of Mandalorians who had gathered to test themselves against the Jedi or to gaze upon the girl that would rule them all, was most certainly not the time. Mandalore valued strength, and she would be strong.

"Will Clan Wren come here?" she asked after a long silence, and Artus nodded.

"When they learn of your whereabouts, they most certainly will. You're too tempting to pass up, even with the minimal force they have here. They will abandon their stronghold to launch an attack on us the moment they know, and at the front of the charge will be Ursa Wren." He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, only barely aware of the soldiers who had gathered near. "And when she comes here, I will kill the bitch, I will end her clan. The Wrens will be no more, and Krownest will belong to Itera, as it did so long ago."

"...but isn't that the problem?" Satine asked, her eyebrow raised skeptically. "Destroying the Wrens will solve nothing. All it will do is end another clan, all it will do is call their Vizsla allies down upon you. You'd be swarmed with the Death Watch before you knew it." Satine laughed bitterly when his eyes narrowed slightly. "And will it stop there? Or will Cadera rise to avenge you? How far does this go before it ends."

"You would deny me revenge for my family?" he asked, his tone disbelieving. "What about your family, will Tor Vizsla just get away with what he's done?"

"Who here hasn't been complicit in contributing to the fall of Mandalore?!" Satine snapped. She had tried to remain cool and removed, but it was for naught. She was a daughter of Mandalore, passion and fire, and she was too tired, too haggard to keep it contained. "I don't seek revenge, I seek justice, and when I am back in my place in Sundari, I will see justice done! But our cultural thirst for revenge and demand for satisfaction for the wrongs we have endured are destroying us!"

There was silence in the courtyard, the attention of every Mandalorian warrior upon her, the eyes of her Jedi alert and watchful, even the sound of the wind blowing across the peaks of the mountains seemed to stop, and Satine wished she could disappear into the walls and never come out. Artus' face fell, his gaze drifting to the ground as a deep, sad chuckle reverberated in his chest.

"You're right, of course..." he said, his tones hushed and quiet, but in the silence of the courtyard, the lone sound carried. "Of course you're right. I want the Wren girl dead, and if she comes here, mark my word, I will kill her. But..." he took a deep breath and held it, suddenly keenly aware of the presence of his warriors around him. "If giving up my personal revenge meant peace and justice for my family, I would gladly give it up."

"I will see justice done, Artus," Satine said, her hand resting on his shoulder. "For your children and your wife, for my mother and father and brother, for anyone who has lost in this war, I will have justice for them."

"And for that you have my loyalty, Mand'alor," Artus said as he rose to his feet, offering his hand to the girl, and she gratefully took it, the older man pulling her to her feet. "Change will not be easy, but we'll do it." His hands brushing her thin shoulders, he looked the girl over, a slight smile on his face for a moment before his attention was diverted to the people around him. "Well, what are you all waiting for?" he snapped at the warriors. "Fortify our defenses, get the scouts in the field. We share a planet with Clan Wren, and when they come for our Mand'alor, we will be ready." They didn't need to be told twice, and within seconds, the soldiers disbursed, rushing to do the bidding of their commander while others resumed their training against the Jedi, the Duchess and the Count standing apart and watching as Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon prepared themselves.

"What will we do if the Wrens come?" Satine asked after a long silence, after the Jedi and the Mandalorians began their match, and Artus pulled the teenager beside him.

"We will see to it you find your way safely to your allies. The Cadera's on Vorpa'ya are your best bet, but..." He drew her closer and bent down to whisper in her ear, the girl hardly daring to breathe as she felt the tension running through the man beside her. "Satine, we have it on good authority that a very close ally of Clan Vizsla has turned against them." The Duchess looked up at him, her eyebrow raised skeptically.

"Who?" she asked carefully. "Why. This sounds like a trap."

"We never thought it was. Anyone that knew your brother knew it wasn't." He shook his head. "I'm getting ahead of myself. Clan Rodarch has declared for the New Mandalorians, and they have taken your homeworld as their base of operations in order to keep Vizsla and the Death Watch off."

"Clan Rodarch," Satine said, completely deadpan. "As in, the Asharl Panthers? That Clan Rodarch." Artus slowly nodded, and Satine laughed under her breath. "Impossible. They have had close connections to Clan Vizsla since...I don't know, since forever."

"Until your brother came along," the man said, his voice kept low to ensure their conversation was not overheard. "You had left for your diplomatic training on Coruscant, so I don't know if you heard, but your brother took up with the eldest daughter of the clan leader. They weren't together terribly long, but it was enough for them to make their intentions known, and then Tor Vizsla executed your family, Clan Rodarch turned their backs on him."

"But why," she whispered. "Clan Rodarch are fierce warriors, they wouldn't abandon the old ways when they suit them so well." She shook her head. "No, more than that. With my brother dead, they have no ties to Clan Kryze, I certainly never met this girl."

"No," Artus quietly agreed. "But this isn't about you. They turned on Tor Vizsla because he murdered your brother. And they continue to fight for your clan because he didn't just leave behind a girl that desperately loved him, he left behind a child within her."

"...w-what?" Satine slowly lowered herself to the ground, her legs turning to jelly, her hand out and grasping the man's arm for support. She felt stupid for how slowly her thoughts seemed to move through her mind, sluggish and nonsensical, the words repeated over and over in her ears, and she could scarcely believe a word of it. "I-is that true?" she croaked, her voice aching and raw with emotion, and she touched her cheek to find them wet with tears she didn't know were falling.

"It's true," he said softly, kneeling beside the girl so she could use him for support. "Everyone who was close to your brother knew about it. My children, Edric and Veela Ordo, the Kelborn twins, the Cadera Clan leaders."

"H-how could I not know?" she whimpered, her thin frame trembling.

"You were on Coruscant, Satine, and war had just broken out. It wasn't exactly a priority."

"And they never told me?!" Satine snapped, her temper flaring. "I was with the Ordos for two days and they never told me that I have family?!" She gasped softly, the strength leaving her body as she sagged against the older man. "I-I have family...Ka'ra be Manda'yaim gaa'tayl ni, I have family." She quickly grasped Artus' arms, her long fingers digging into his muscle through the flight suit beneath his armor. "Is she alive? Has the child been born? Is it safe?!"

"Peace, Satine," he said, his voice deep and soothing, but the girl remained frantically excited. "I don't have answers to your questions. However, if she is still alive, the child will not yet be born. A few more months, perhaps, but I only met the girl once. My children would have known better..."

"But the Kelborn twins and the leaders of Clan Cadera know, right?" she said quickly, and the Count nodded. "I have family..." she whispered, a smile on her face that she failed to suppress. "I'm going to be an aunt."

"You have allies, Satine," Artus said quietly, his gaze returning to the Jedi, their sparring bouts ended and now congenially talking with the warriors they had fought. "Never forget that." The Duchess smiled brightly at the man, the burden of her responsibility seeming just a bit lighter.

"Whatever happens, Artus Itera, I am glad we found you."

"As am I, Duchess," he said quietly as the Jedi slowly approached. "As am I."

---

It was the first good, restful sleep that Obi-Wan had in what felt like forever, certainly the best since he had come to Mandalore. He had almost forgotten what peace felt like, what it was like to feel the Force in a relative state of calm. True, there was still the agitated buzzing in the back of his mind, the deep, unsettling churning just beneath the waters if the Force that filled him with a sense of foreboding every time he looked too deep. But it was distant, like some faded, forgotten memory, the shadow of a bad dream that fled upon waking, allowing a languid peace to settle around him.

It was almost like being back in the Temple, almost like being home on Coruscant, surrounded by the busy bustling of billions of lives and somehow still managing to find a slice of calm among them. It was that which he missed most about life in the Jedi Temple. The mornings of waking up and knowing that the days would be filled with peaceful contemplation and study of the Force, or sequestered away to practice the graceful art of the lightsaber. There were the moments he spent in quiet discussion of the Force's mysteries with Luminara, or listening with infinite amusement as Quinlan spun one of the elaborate tales of his many missions. It was hard work, but it was rewarding, even when he was plagued with his persistent anxiety and self-doubt, in the peace of the Jedi, all his troubles seemed transient, like all things, and he knew that one day, they would pass as well.

It was that same sense of peace that he awoke to early that morning, safe in the cold and frigid mountains within the Itera stronghold. The weight of war and the fear of running and fighting for the life of his Duchess had been purged from him, leaving his soul light and easy within him, unburdened by the anxiety that usually plagued him. The soreness and heaviness that sat in his body the day before had been washed away, and even the dark, residual bruising covering his pale skin, the physical reminders of pain's touch, had seemed to fade. It was truly remarkable what a good night's rest could do, not just for the body, but for the spirit.

After bathing, a usually quick routine that he extended far past the time he normally allotted for such things, the warm, clean water he usually took for granted suddenly a luxury, Obi-Wan dressed in the new, clean tunic and robes that Qui-Gon had procured for him, the soft, heavy fabric nearly a perfect match for the robes provided by the Jedi Temple. He left the small room that had been provided to him, stopping briefly just outside the much larger rooms that Satine occupied to feel for her presence, and when he found her peaceful and content in sleep, her security guarded by the ever-watchful Qui-Gon in deep meditation in the room with her, the Padawan took off, his step light as he made his way down the halls of the Itera stronghold.

He stopped by the kitchen on his way out, the cooks and other staff only having just got there themselves to begin preparations for the day's meals, all of them tense and anxious for the task of having to serve and please royalty. He had quietly spoken to one of the particularly nervous bakers as he waited for her to pull the bread out of the oven, gently smiling at the girl that exhibited the same anxiety he could empathize with so very well, and by the time she placed a roll in his hand, still hot from the oven, her fears had been soothed over by the young Jedi and she playfully sent him on his way, armed with the promise that he would come see her again, if for nothing else, to make sure that some fool mistake didn't cause the Duchess to call for her execution. It was an easy thing to promise, and Obi-Wan left the kitchen sighing in contentment as he savored the sweet, buttery taste of his freshly baked breakfast.

A quick patrol along the outer walls led to an inspection of the stronghold's defenses, the Jedi asking the guards posted to walk him through their plans and strategy, teaching him about the large cannons built into the dense, heavy walls. If they were offended by this child, this outsider inquiring about the level of their safety, they showed no sign of it, most of them older, seasoned warriors that showed no qualms about briefing the Duchess' bodyguard. When he was satisfied, the Padawan ran out of the large, barred door of the fortress, opened for a moment to allow his exit, and he disappeared into the snowy mountain forest and the brisk air of the morning, his breathing deep and even as he absorbed his surroundings, so much more beautiful now that he was not running for his life.

Unlike his unconventional Master, who was always running from one mess to another, Obi-Wan enjoyed his long hours of quiet and peace and reflection. The solitude suited him, though Obi-Wan knew that nobody was ever truly alone. All around him, he could hear the call of large forest birds as they hunted for food to feed their young, could feel the skittish unease of the large, native quadrupeds as they nosed through the snow to pick up the scent of others of their kind, be it to mark their territory or to find a mate. He could sense the quiet prowling of predatory felines and canines, in packs or in solitude as they hunted. All of them, the avians and the earthbound, the hunters and the hunted, the large and the small, the old and the young, all of them as one with Obi-Wan in the Force, bound and united with the pulse of life that tied them all together.

It was symbiosis, and it was beautiful, and the Jedi knelt at the base of a mighty tree, wet dirt and thin light blue grass clinging to its roots in a wide circle, a single spot of spring in the vastness of the winter around him, and with a deep, calming breath, Obi-Wan sunk into the Force, deep in meditation and allowed his mind to wander. As they always did, his thoughts turned to his mission and the turns it had taken. Things were different now that they had allies, many allies, if Count Itera's accounts could be believed, though it didn't change the fact that they were still hunted, and even with allies, the conflict still raged, a thing Satine was growing more and more sick of with each passing day.

For Satine, today would be spent sequestered away with Qui-Gon, Artus Itera, and the holographic images of her allies among the clans that supported her, discussing strategy and plans for ending the war and Satine's place in it, if the peaceful girl even had a place. Last night, Qui-Gon had suspected that their role would not change, that the Jedi would continue to be required to keep Satine out of harm's way, as being among the clans fighting the war would invariably endanger her, as well as make her a much easier target. Times like this, times of relief and peace, would be few and far between, as the Jedi Master didn't foresee any near end to the conflict.

The war was only made more complicated by the multitude of factions, a war where there were not two combatants, but dozens, any unity among the groups transient at best as Mandalorian ambition rose and fell with the opportunity to seize power. An ally today could be an enemy tomorrow, and removing one leader from a position of power only served to bring further chaos instead of the unity that should have occurred when the leader of an opposing army was killed or detained. Tor Vizsla, Veela Ordo, Ursa Wren, and hundreds more just like them were only one part of a very large problem. Killing any of them would bring the war no closer to its conclusion unless the Mandalorians somehow managed to unite behind a strong leader that opposed them. Someone like Satine.

Obi-Wan knew that this war would get worse before it got better. The fact of the matter was that the Mandalorians were prideful and stubborn, a group of people that took orders as vague suggestions, which only served to further fracture clans when they disagreed with each other, and being the warriors they were, those disagreements led to bloodshed more often than not. The war would see these people killed before it was over, allies and enemies alike, and Obi-Wan wondered if, by the end of it all, Satine would even have a people to rule over.

Satine...

Obi-Wan sighed heavily, his eyes opening to gaze at the stark, harsh beauty around him. With the disquieting buzz of warning far back in the depths of his mind and surrounded by the peace and calm of the morning, it was easier for him to sift through the restless sea of emotions within him, far easier to be honest with himself when he wasn't so frightfully on edge with the threat of death around every corner. Always, always, his thoughts, when allowed to drift, would fall upon Satine.

Sweet, beautiful, passionate Satine. She was like the forest lit by the soft golden glow of a crisp dawn, like the afternoon sun high over a brisk, gently rolling sea, like the reds of twilight over vast fields of swaying grass, like the night in a desert under a blanket of starlight. She was like the natural seasons of an untouched, undiscovered world, blazing summer, vibrant autumn, pristine winter, and gentle spring. She was like the wind and the rain, the day and the night, like all things, and yet like nothing else in the entire galaxy. Obi-Wan saw something of the girl in everything around him, a problem, he knew, but he couldn't help it. The way the snow caught the golden light of morning nearly exactly matched the exact shade of her silky hair, the ice blue winter flowers at the base of the tree nearly the exact color of her eyes.

It wasn't always good, of course. After all, a being could never be purely positive. No creature was. In the war they fought, he saw the same fierce stubbornness in the Duchess. Her argumentative nature was mirrored perfectly in the Mandalorian warriors she was committed to changing. She was like fire, warm, yes, but also destructive and consuming. And she was like war, constantly at battle not just with the ways of her people, but with herself as well. She was gentle in a world where gentleness was seen as weakness and destroyed, and so she turned her nature into a weapon, militant pacifism coupled with the burning desire to shape the world around her into one where she determined the rules. Because she knew what was best. She was rigid and uncompromising, single-minded and stubborn, she had to be, lest she be seen as weak, and Satine Kryze was not weak. She was, after all, Mandalorian, just like the rest of them.

Out here, away from the war and the fear, away from his frayed nerves and his hormonal confusion, away from his quietly grieving Master and the Duchess that inspired his wayward feelings, it was easy for Obi-Wan to examine himself, to sit in meditation and contemplate his emotions. Out here, he was not influenced by the fraught, charged situation that being Satine's protector carried with it, or by the involuntary rush of hormones that being in the presence of an attractive woman caused within him. Here, it was just him and the Force, and it lent itself to true honesty, if only he was willing to look for it and accept what he found, and Obi–Wan was never one to turn away from the truth, no matter how difficult, no matter how painful.

It was painfully clear that what he felt for Satine went beyond simple physical attraction, and well beyond the bonds of a normal friendship, certainly crossed the line between protector and protected. But exactly the nature of his feelings was a bit of a mystery to him. Obi-Wan had never felt this way before. The absolute closest he had come to this was when he was just beginning to become a man, just when the hormone-fueled dreams began, just when his voice began to crack and deepen from his light childhood tones to the smooth, easy drawl of his clipped accent. Just when he began noticing that women were mysterious, alluring creatures, frightening and beautiful, a thing that made him both want to run away and be very close to.

Obi-Wan had felt the gentle fluttering in his stomach once when he and Luminara were sparring, both he and his Mirialan friend sweating and out of breath, and young Kenobi had noticed for the first time that she wasn't just a friend, but she was a girl, something he always knew, but now held different, new meaning to his pubescent mind. It was a thing the empathetic Mirialan picked up on immediately, something she had felt herself, and like good Jedi, they sat, they acknowledged the feeling for what it was, the rush of teenage hormones, and they let it go. And that had been the end of it. The feeling had passed, at least in regards to his friend, though he still experienced the pull within when his dreams awoke him.

What Obi-Wan felt for Satine was nothing like that.

His heart skipped a beat every time he looked at her, his stomach twisted in fluttering knots every time they touched. He could feel her presence even when she wasn't there, could smell the faint, sweet smell of flowers that was just her every time the breeze blew, could hear her melodic, captivating Mando'a when he lay awake at night. They were friends, yes, admitted they were attracted to each other, and passed it off as simply that, teenage desire latching on to literally the only female he had access to, and they left it at that. Neither of them could have anything more anyway, not with a war going on, not with his future as a Jedi Knight, not with her path as the ruler of Mandalore.

But that wasn't it. Unlike the matter with Luminara, it didn't go away once they had faced and accepted the emotions they felt. He couldn't speak for Satine, of course, but for him, it got worse, each new thing he learned about her only making him fall deeper, each moment spent with her precious and etched into his mind to be remembered later while he sat on lonely watch while the Duchess slept. He was...changed. So different from when he had left Coruscant to begin this mission. At first, he feared the feelings within him, tried to banish them as a good Jedi would, but now, he relished them, looked forward to each interaction with his charge, delighted in the way his heart skipped, in the fluttering of his stomach, in the way he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.

It was far more than hormonal. This wasn't just the physical pull of lust that pulsed within him and kept him awake and needy long into the night, though he did feel that as well. It was more than feeling her beside him, more than allowing himself to get lost looking at her as they sat beside a fire, more than imagining her flushed with passion in the rare times he was completely alone and allowed himself to close his eyes and bring himself to blissful satisfaction with her name upon his lips. Obi-Wan delighted most in listening to Satine speak in her beautiful, melodic native tongue, not just for the easy flow of her voice, but for what she had to say. She was fire and opinionated, perhaps not wise like the Jedi, but passionate like they could never be, and it made her infectious. He didn't agree with her on most things, would often find himself arguing with her, her sharp tongue a fair match for his quick wit, and through their heated debates, they honed each other, shaped each other's opinions, grew together, and with each moment that passed, he could feel his attachment to her deepen.

He was a Jedi, unwise in the ways of emotion, partially because of the restrains that he had imposed upon himself, but when he thought of love, an emotion that was forbidden to him, he imagined it was very much like the feelings he had for Satine.

Obi-Wan didn't know, of course. He had never been in love, had never known what it felt like and therefore could not identify it. There wasn't anyone he could ask about it either. Master Qui-Gon had been in love, but the man had been worried enough as it was about his young student, and Obi-Wan was reluctant to discuss it with him, not just to keep Qui-Gon from worrying, but so that his interactions with the Duchess could continue unimpeded by the older man. She was his mission, after all. He couldn't compromise that.

There was, of course, the constant underlying panic within Obi-Wan when he though of Satine, reveled in the warmth of the emotions that she stirred within him, and then remembered how horribly it clashed against the Code of the Jedi, the guide by which he lived his life, the rules which he so tightly clung to. So strict were the Jedi on the matter that of the five tenants that comprised the Jedi Code, two of them were dedicated to this exact manner. A full twenty percent of the Code designed, at least in part, to warn a Jedi away from deep, powerful emotions like love, and additional rules had been added to make the matter even more clear, to make the Council's stance even stronger. Even his unconventional Master was staunchly against the emotion, had warned him away from it on many occasions, had constantly told him to be mindful of his emotions.

A Jedi shall not know anger, nor hatred, nor love. The quickest path to the Dark Side, the fastest, most deceptive way a Jedi could fall. Love embodied the seduction of the Dark Side, the emotion that drew the unsuspecting in with the allure of the feeling, with the emotion and passion that the Jedi were told to avoid. Obi-Wan had seen that first hand in his Master. He had seen how Qui-Gon had struggled when Master Tahl had died, saw how he suffered, watched as thoughts of revenge consumed him, and the young Padawan stood by in horror as his beloved Master nearly murdered a man. And all because of love, because the gentle emotion let the gate open for darker things, because when it was taken away, what was left was an open space that so easily filled with depression and anger. And yet...

And yet Qui-Gon had always told him to trust his feelings, to follow the Living Force, not to envelop himself so much in the future and to walk in the present at the whims of the Force. Be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the present, a philosophy that his Master adopted that put him in direct conflict with the Council on more times than he could count. He never forgot the missions he was assigned, never forgot their greater purpose, but in setting out to accomplish his tasks, Qui-Gon Jinn always found things along the way to divert his attention, always claimed they would come to serve the greater picture, always claimed them to have a purpose, no matter how unlikely it seemed. It made him short-sighted, according to the Council, and perhaps it did, ruled by his feelings, but it was in this that Qui-Gon was at his strongest.

Trust in your feelings, his Master had always said. For so long, Obi-Wan rejected it, knew his feelings to be wrong because he was wrong. He was broken, a struggling, pitiful excuse for a Jedi, one that lacked talent, one the Jedi nearly tossed aside as hopeless. In reality, he was simply another of Qui-Gon's causes, another lost soul with a place and a purpose in the greater plans of the Force that only Qui-Gon could see. How was Obi-Wan supposed to trust his feelings when he was filled with self-doubt and anxiety, when he questioned everything he did, when he struggled simply to keep up to his peers? His Master called it modesty, but Obi-Wan knew better. He was nothing special, a simple boy surrounded by the extraordinary.

But here on Mandalore, here where he was tested every single day with his life and the life of his charge as wager, he felt stronger. He saw his abilities, he saw his failings, his circumstances pushing him to the outer edge of his abilities and beyond, and he felt himself becoming...confident. Sure and certain of his powers and abilities, yet mindful of his limitations. He was still learning, yes, but being here had opened him, had changed him, had helped him grow into a body that had previously felt too big for him, and sweet Satine and the feelings she inspired in him had a great deal to do with it.

Regardless, his emotions were irrelevant. Satine would go on to rule Mandalore, which made her completely untouchable. And...that was fine. He could quietly have these feelings, secretly harbor them deep within him to draw upon when things seemed hopeless, when he was in need of strength, when the weight of the war and death that surrounded them became too much to bear. Whatever it was that Obi-Wan felt, it was a font of strength, the power of will that made the Force run pure and clear within him. It didn't matter that the emotion was just for him, a thing to never be shared. Satine was wild and free, a force that could not be contained, and certainly not by him. Satine was not for him. She was not for anyone, a beautiful life free to do as she chose, a woman of pure and perfect ideals that belonged to no one person. And that was fine.

Obi-Wan didn't need Satine to return his affections. He didn't expect her to love him in return. He would never ask that of her. It was...selfish, and Obi-Wan was not so important to demand her attention when her people needed her. What he felt for her...he respected her enough, loved her enough to be content in watching her walk her own path, and would gladly aid her in achieving what she desired.

Love...

Obi-Wan shook his head as he stood, grabbing three of the flowers from the base of the tree and holding them gently in his grasp. This would require more thought, more meditation, but for now, he needed to return to the stronghold. Satine was going to be in strategy meetings the rest of the day, and their ship had been recovered from the village and needed to be put through the paces just in case they needed to quickly flee. He wanted to see her at least once before they attended their duties for the day, once while they were surrounded by peace and serenity, the environment he wished he could have gotten to know her in. The environment she deserved to live in. They would make it happen. The three of them together would bring peace to Mandalore.

The run back to the Itera stronghold was faster than the run out into the woods, and it had only taken ten minutes to find his way back to the fortress, the warm, dimly lit halls a stark contrast to the chill of the bright morning. He started across the courtyard to get to the main complex where Satine had her room and quickly stopped when he felt the Force gently tug at him, drawing his attention away from his goal and out to one of the peaceful winter gardens tucked away at the edge of the courtyard. His breath caught in his throat, his feet seeming to move toward it on their own accord when he spotted the Duchess herself standing among the thin, willowy trees and the delicate winter flowers beside Qui-Gon, the ever-vigilant Jedi protector.

"You're up early, Padawan," Qui-Gon said as Obi–Wan approached, the boy bowing deeply to both his Master and the Duchess, the two returning the gesture with a nod of their heads. "Restless?"

"Not at all, Master," Obi-Wan said softly, a faint smile on his lips. "I thought to take advantage of the respite and go for a run in the forest. We don't have snow on Coruscant. It's quite beautiful when you're not being shot at or freezing to death."

Qui-Gon chuckled deeply as he shook his head. "Well said, Padawan."

"Are you doing likewise, Master?" Obi-Wan asked, peering at Satine out of the corner of his eye. "I thought you and the Duchess were to be in meetings today."

"There is little I can contribute to the discourse that I have not already said," Satine said firmly, her head raised high for a moment before her shoulders relaxed, the bold, imperious look on her face melting before a warm, shy smile. "And as you said, Obi-Wan...it is beautiful."

"I will be attending the meetings in her place," Qui-Gon said quietly. "She trusts me to represent her best interests, and..." He sighed and absently stroked his beard, the fine hairs damp from the gently falling snow that melted as it touched his face. "She is young. The field of war is no place for a teenager. This entire situation..." Qui-Gon growled softly in irritation. "It is a great disservice to both of you. As her guardian and as your Master, it is my responsibility to shield you two from what I can. Any chance for a peaceful moment should be taken."

The Duchess smiled softly as she stepped toward Obi-Wan. "We just needed you. Qui-Gon isn't comfortable with the idea of not having you around to watch me."

"Y-yes..." Obi-Wan stammered, his hands tightly behind his back, his shoulders tight as his heart began jumping. "I...apologize for keeping you waiting, Duchess..."

"Don't worry about it," she said slowly, a coy look on her face, though she couldn't meet Obi-Wan's eye. "I'll think of a way for you to make it up to me."

"Y-yes, of course..." Obi-Wan stammered, his Master chuckling softly as he approached him and lay a large hand on his student's thin shoulder.

"Can I trust her to your care?" Qui-Gon asked, and the Padawan drew up tall, a small, confident smile on his lips.

"Always, Master." Qui-Gon nodded.

"Very well. I leave her in your hands, Obi-Wan." With a quick squeeze to his shoulder, Qui-Gon turned away from the teenagers, his long, slow stride carrying him away from the garden and across the courtyard to disappear into the main building, leaving Satine and Obi-Wan to stand awkwardly and look at anything but each other. Their night huddled closely together in the cave had...changed something. Obi-Wan wasn't sure what it was, but had only realized it now, the first chance the two had to be together since that night, and even now, the memory of her slight frame pressed close against him burned deep within him. He knew Satine was feeling the same. Perhaps, for himself, at least, it was the recognition of the feelings he secretly harbored for her.

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, the Duchess startling and gasping at the sudden noise, her light blue eyes wide and focused upon him, and with a shuddering breath, Obi-Wan steeled himself, his chest tightening as he held out the icy blue winter flowers in his grasp to her, his face flushed not just from the cold.

"F-for me?" Satine asked, her voice trembling and thin as she looked at them, and the Jedi nodded ever so slightly.

"I found them on my run." Obi-Wan quietly explained. "They...reminded me of you, so..."

"What..." Satine asked, soft, nervous laughter in her voice as she took a small step back. "Pale and fragile? I know, Count Itera has told me so multiple times already." Flushing deeper, Obi-Wan simply shook his head.

"N-no..." he stammered, taking a step forward, bringing them closer than they had been before, and once again, he held the delicate flowers out to her in his open palm. "O'r a aru'ela taap, mesh'la kebise liser motir," he whispered, breathless and sincere, and Satine ceased to breathe. "Because...even in the harshest environment, something beautiful may grow."

For a long moment, Satine's chest ached as it tried to pull air into her lungs through a throat closed with emotion, her face burning under the gentle intensity of the Jedi's gaze. She managed a shuddering gasp, her lungs filling with the cold air and jolting her heart to a rapid beat, a shy, almost nervous smile on her lips as she reached out and took Obi-Wan's hand in hers, the touch lingering just a moment too long as she reveled in the pulsing warmth within her as their bare skin touched.

"Thank you..." Satine managed to say in a thin whisper, the small smile on her face growing when the Jedi's eyes lit up, and she took the fragile stems of the flowers in her delicate grasp, holding them close to her chest as she watched her shy protector fidget nervously and wind his braid around his fingers, a nervous habit she once found infuriating, one that now seemed nothing but endearing to her.

"Y-you must think me terribly foolish," Obi-Wan stammered, laughing softly as he shook his head, his entire being relaxed and at ease, but the iron grip he had on his braid betrayed how tense and uncomfortable he was, and Satine couldn't help but allow a bright, easy smile to spread across her face. Not long ago, she would have seen his expressionless face simply for the mask as it was intended to be, but now, she easily saw beyond it, saw the emotion contained in the empathetic soul he tried so desperately to hide and protect.

"Perhaps a little," she said, stepping toward the flushing boy. "I don't mind. I think it's sweet." Swallowing hard, Obi-Wan plucked one of the flowers out of her hand and tucked it behind the blushing girl's ear, his fingers lightly dragging down her cheek and her long, slender neck, his hand resting on her shoulder as the Duchess slid her hand up his chest. The two teens remained completely still for a moment, neither daring to move until Obi-Wan's hand rested gently on her hip, and Satine laid her head upon his chest as she held him in a gentle embrace.

They had been close before, but it was nothing like this. Before it had been out of need, to protect her, to survive in dangerous situations. They had been flirtatious with each other before, lightly touching and gentle brushes when they sat close, but nothing they had done had been quite so sincere and honest as this, and despite they could feel each other's hearts beating wildly in their chests, neither were willing to let go. A line had been crossed, a silent, physical admission that the attraction they felt for each other was something more, something deep that they were both afraid to give voice to and too unsure, too uncertain to take further.

It took a while for them to draw themselves out of the moment, to become aware that they were not alone, that the busy courtyard was so very near, and they reluctantly pulled away, the Duchess' fingers still brushing the Jedi's chest, his hand still resting lightly on her hip, and neither teen able to look at the other, though they could do nothing to keep the deep flush and the bright smiles from their faces.

"Satine..." Obi-Wan said softly, and the Duchess glanced up at him to find the Jedi looking at her, a cunning, devious glint in his eyes. "You may also be pale and far, far too thin."

"Oh, am I?" the Duchess scoffed as she quickly grabbed Obi-Wan's sides, her long fingers pressing hard against him as the gasping Jedi squirmed under her grasp. "You are a fine one to talk about that, I can feel your ribs through your robes, Obi!" She turned her nose in the air, her expression imperious and haughty as it always got when they argued, but the delighted smile never left the corners of her lips, despite her best efforts. "Do you not have the wits to know how to eat?"

"I would, Duchess..." Kenobi drawled. "Were I not giving my rations to you so I can have a moment's peace." He rolled his eyes. "Force, but do you complain when you are hungry."

"I complain, Jedi, because my company is atrocious." She scoffed. "Thin, gaunt, uncivilized brute that you are."

"Be that as it may, Duchess, but I am your uncivilized brute." Satine scoffed as she looked at the boy out of the corner of her eye, her appraising gaze raking over him, her breathing shuddering softly as she took note of the way her protector's muscles tensed and tightened underneath the loose robes he wore, the garments hanging off him like they were built for a bigger boy, like his Master had selected them specifically to give the boy room to grow into manhood.

"Well..." Satine sniffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest, her hand delicately holding her remaining two flowers despite her rigid posture. "I suppose I will have to make due with that." Obi-Wan laughed softly as he shook his head, a bright smile on his lips as he stepped beside the girl and offered her his arm.

"Our ship is in the hangar, I need to run maintenance on it. Would you care to come with me?" Obi-Wan's grin widened when she quickly took his arm and pressed herself as close to him as she was able.

"You can teach me more about how the ship works."

"I will if you teach me Mando'a. I feel like I'm getting rusty."

Satine snorted as she stifled an arrogant laugh. "Obi, you can't be rusty if you were never good to begin with. You have always been garbage at speaking my native tongue."

"Mm, I shall endeavor to watch you more closely while you speak, in that case," Kenobi drawled lazily, and Satine giggled softly, her arms wrapping tightly around Kenobi's offered arm.

"There may be hope for you yet, Obi-Wan," she said as she looked up at the Jedi, the boy smiling softly as he guided her across the courtyard.

"As you say, my Duchess. As you say."

---

Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan and Satine were half way to the dining hall for dinner when the peace that had been enjoying was brought to a swift and sudden end. As usual, Obi-Wan had sensed it first, a swift and sudden pull in the Force that alerted him to the fact that something was very, very wrong, the Padawan stopping in the middle of the hallway and refusing to budge as he sharpened his focus and delved deeper within the Force. Qui-Gon followed soon after, and grabbing both teenagers by the shoulders, he steered them toward a nearby stairwell and guided them up and up until the exited out upon the fortress walls. Qui-Gon was still for a moment, his sharp eyes darting along the mountain pass and his senses reaching beyond that which he could see. His noble face hardening into an expression of serious focus as he always did when danger approached, he strode to one of the warriors patrolling the ramparts and laid his large hand upon his shoulder.

"Sound the alarm," the Jedi said, his voice low and commanding, and when the Mandalorian started to stammer in argument, Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed with the gravity of the situation. "You're about to find yourselves under attack. Do as I say." That was enough. Nodding swiftly, the soldier ran off, and just as the alarm began to wail, the trio on the walls looked out over the mountains in the snowy valley below and saw Mandalorians. Soldiers and tanks and ships, as far as the eye could see, the armor painted in gold and pale gray, making them simultaneously easy and difficult to see, like mirages in extreme heat, their shapes seen against the pale snow, but their position wavering and hazy.

"Gold and gray," Satine whispered, sinking down behind the wall, her head peeking up just enough to see the army drawing closer. "Clan Wren."

"Clan Wren?" Obi-Wan repeated, looking over to his master from where he crouched beside the Duchess. "I thought they just kept a skeleton force here, I thought they only had enough to guard their fortress, not launch an attack!"

"Apparently," Qui-Gon muttered, "they were wrong." His eyes narrowed as he looked over the snowy field quickly filling with soldiers and machines of war approaching far faster than it had initially seemed. "We need to get out of here. Is the ship ready, Obi-Wan?"

"Yes, Master."

"Go prepare for our departure." The Padawan quickly rose to do as he was told, but Satine quickly shot her arm out and grabbed hold of Obi-Wan's sleeve.

"We can't leave..." she gently pleaded. "These people are my allies, they-"

"They are not my mission, Duchess, you are," Qui-Gon quickly interrupted. "We cannot stay here."

"Qui-Gon, that's an army!" Satine snapped, pointing out over the wall. "If we can stay and help, we must do so!"

"For what end, Duchess?" Qui-Gon hissed, just as harshly as she had, his tone shocking the girl into stunned silence. "What would you have us do here? Obi-Wan and I are two, what difference could we make in this conflict? Perhaps we could help Clan Itera kill more of Clan Wren before we all die. How many more deaths will make ours more worth it? Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred?" Qui-Gon interlocked his hands and stretched his arms outward, his fingers cracking under the strain. "I could probably make that happen, if that is your wish."

"I-it isn't!" Satine cried, absolutely horrified. "I don't want more death, I-"

"Death is all that awaits us here if we stay," Qui-Gon said firmly, laying his hand upon the girl's shoulder. "For us and for them. I'm under no illusions that we can hold them back, your people have a history of being some of the most skilled Jedi killers in the galaxy, and Clan Wren holds to the old ways. I will not risk my student in a pointless assault against professional Jedi slayers, and I will not risk you when I fall trying to defend you against an army."

Satine looked up at Obi-Wan, her eyes wide and wet and her throat tight as her hand tightened around the boy's arm. Obi-Wan wouldn't meet her gaze, and part of her was glad that he didn't. She wasn't sure she could take it. "W-what if we reason with them?" Satine squeaked. "What if-"

"That is not a risk I am willing to take." He laid a hand on the Duchess' shoulder. "If the Iteras are smart, they will follow us out, alright?" Biting her lip, Satine nodded, and before Qui-Gon could issue his next command, Artus Itera came storming across the ramparts, dressed in his armor and followed by a long line of his warriors.

"The bastards have jammed our communications," Artus growled, snapping his eyepiece down and looking out over the field, a seep snarl in his chest as he sized up his enemy.

"Master, if they're jamming communications to the entire stronghold, it's very possible they have ships in the air that we aren't seeing," Obi-Wan whispered, and the Master nodded.

"I find that likely, yes. It will make our escape a great deal more complicated." He looked down at his student, the boy's eyes averted as he sharply tugged on his braid. Through the Force, he could feel his Padawan's nerves, his anxiety, his...resolve. Obi-Wan was focused, intense, more confident then Qui-Gon had ever seen him. Something had...changed within the Padawan, something...something...

He shook his head. There would be time later to delve into this change.

"Can you fly us out, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked. "We don't know how many ships they have. There could be hundreds of fighters, command ships, dreadnaughts-"

"I can do it, Master," Obi-Wan said, his voice strong and firm and confident, enough for the frightened Duchess to turn her attention on the boy and look up at him in near adoration.

"Artus Itera!" The voice echoed over the mountains, the attention of all those on the wall drawn out to the lone figure standing before the army, just out of range of the fortress' cannons, and Artus snarled savagely ans stood up on the wall.

"Ursa Wren, I'm going to kill that bitch..." he hissed, barking a swift command to his soldiers to bring him the loud hailer.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon said, leaning over toward his student. "Go, ready the ship. Come get us when you have calculated an escape route." With a swift nod, Obi-Wan quickly turned and ran toward the edge of the wall and leapt off the side to fall down into the courtyard below, Satine softly whimpering when her protector let go of her hand and left her side. "You wanted a chance to talk, Satine," Qui-Gon said, drawing her up and holding her against him, the girl disappearing in the heavy folds of his cloak as it fell around her, his lightsaber clutched in his hand. "We may have a chance now while Obi-Wan works."

"Artus Itera!" the woman called again, and the warriors on the wall activated their loud hailer.

"Ursa Wren!" Artus shouted. "Is this your plan? You would attack my fortress? Are you absolutely mad? You may be victorious, but your forces will be annihilated!"

"Don't be foolish, old man," the woman said, her voice light and sinister, even over the distance. "I'm not interested in mutual destruction. I'm here to make a deal."

"I will have no dealings with the scum that murdered my family!" They could hear the woman scoff over the loud hailer.

"I hear you have something I want!" Ursa called, a slight sing-song lit to her voice that set Qui-Gon on edge. "Is the Duchess there with you, or is she hiding like the coward she is?"

"Your business is with me, Wren, do not bring Satine into this!" Artus snarled, and he was answered with a cruel laugh.

"So she is there," she drawled. "My deal, Artus. Hand Satine over to me, and I will withdraw my army and you can continue your existence in this squalor," she said disdainfully.

"My force is bigger than yours, Wren, you cannot beat me at my own fortress!" Artus shouted.

"Then let me change the deal," the woman snapped. "Deliver the Duchess to me and I will send your son home." From the folds of Qui-Gon's robe, Satine looked up at Artus, the helmet hiding his face, but she could see the tension in his body.

"My sons," the man growled, "are dead. All my sons are dead! The creature in your possession is dar'manda, as is any who follow the Death Watch!"

"By what right do you have to call us dar'manda?!" the woman called, her voice harsh and angry. "You, who have abandoned our ways to accept the weakness of the New Mandalorians!" Even from the distance, they could see the dismissive sweep of her hand. "Your clan is done Itera. Today, I finish my work when I destroy you."

"Come show your worth, bitch."

"Ursa Wren!" Satine shouted, squirming out of Qui-Gon's grasp and rushing to place her hands on the wall and hoist herself up, her toes just touching the ground. "You will stop this madness now! We do not need to resort to violence to come to an arrangement!"

"Duchess Satine..." Ursa said softly, bitter and resentful. "Of all the dead of Clan Kryze, how typical is it that their black sheep is the one that lives. Your warlord father, your fierce mother, your remarkable brother..." She choked slightly, a sound that conveyed the disgust and sickness she felt. "And it is the pacifist that survives. Thank the ancestors for your sister, your family's memory deserves better than being disgraced." Qui-Gon glanced down at the girl beside him and looked her over carefully. He didn't know she had a sister. Perhaps there was a reason that Satine was keeping that so close to her chest. There was great pain in the young Duchess, pain he had assumed was the result of the death of her family, but if Ursa's implication was true, then perhaps there was something worse than death.

"You would understand if you would just listen!" Satine shouted. "Drop your weapons and we can make peace! Nobody has to die today!"

"Oh, I would gladly come in and discuss terms with you, Duchess," Ursa said sweetly. "Come, open your fortress, let me inside."

"She's bluffing, Duchess," Qui-Gon whispered. "She has no intention for peace." The girl glared at her Jedi protector.

"I know that," she hissed, bitter, stinging tears gathering at the corner of her eyes.

"I have to know, Satine," Ursa called again when there had been ample silence between them with no movement from either side. "Did you offer the Death Watch the chance for peace before you made a mess of Zanbar?" She laughed harshly. "Poor, pacifist Satine..." she mockingly cooed. "There are so many we find dead in your wake. Have you finally grown up? Has this war shown you that you're one of us after all?" Ursa laughed in the silence that followed. "Your sister would be proud. I'll have to tell her that we spoke, we have become so close in the past few months. I think your head would make a fine gift for Bo-Katan, and she'd thank me for it. There's nothing like sealing a friendship with the death of an insult on the family name."

"That is enough!" Artus snarled. "This ends today, Wren."

"How right you are..." was the cool, dangerous hiss, and with a crackle, the loud hailer switched off, the tanks and weapons of the invading army filling the air with low rumbles and high whines as they prepared for the attack. Artus swiftly barked commands to his men, the warriors rushing along the walls to man the defenses. In the sky above them, a low rumble became a high whine, drowning out every other sound as starfighters burst out from the clouds like a swarm, swiftly met by ships deployed by the Itera stronghold. The sky filled with streaks of green and red as ion cannons and plasma grenades and blaster fire struck soldiers, vehicles, ships, sending them flying across the landscape dead, crashed, mangled, exploded, the fortress' shields absorbing stray shots like a transparisteel window as plasma splashed against it like streams of water.

"Jedi," Artus snarled as he drew his weapons, watching as soldiers from the Wren army took to the air on jetpacks. "Can you get the Duchess out of here?"

"I can," Qui-Gon said calmly, drawing Satine back to him. "I will. My student is on the way."

"Your student is late."

"He will not fail in this," the Jedi said firmly. "He has yet to fail the Duchess and he will not fail now. Obi-Wan will be here exactly when he needs to be."

"This is why Mandalore doesn't trust the Jedi," Artus growled, his blasters aimed at the soldiers quickly flying toward the walls, his sights set on one in particular that seemed to skillfully evade all the fire that his own forces rained upon the warriors. Clutching Satine close to him, Qui-Gon drew his lightsaber, the glowing green blade acting like a beacon for the enemy warriors, diverting the attention of those who saw it just long enough for the Itera soldiers to shoot them out of the sky.

An explosion from down below caused flames to erupt into the air up the high walls of the fortress, and from the smoke flew a warrior, distinctive golden patterns on her chest plate and her helmet designed after the wolves that prowled the forests of Krownest, the symbol of Clan Wren. The twin weapons in her hands fired rapidly at Artus Itera, the man diving for cover and returning fire when he could. The relentless woman was on him in a moment, much smaller, much faster warrior that made her a much more difficult target to hit, and she swiftly closed in, holstering one of her pistols to favor a close range, wicked blade she produced from her belt, the folded, tempered steel whistling as it was swung through the air with deadly precision.

Any attempt Qui-Gon made to draw closer to aid Artus was disrupted by the storm of blaster fire around them as the enemy soldiers passed through the shields, the fortress safe from fire form the ships above, but now made vulnerable by the soldiers that had breeched the outer lines of their defenses. He swung his lightsaber effortlessly, cutting down the soldiers he could when they got too close, deflecting back shots at all other times as he was slowly pressed back under the suppressing fire, retreating with the Duchess in his protective shield so that he may assume a more defensive position. All the while, he could hear Satine whimper as she sobbed for the man that had taken them in, given them safety and peace, if just for a little while, and hope that it was not the end.

Her eyes never left Artus as he battled with the savage warrior, the fight quickly devolving into a close quarters brawl, the man doing all in his power to avoid the blade and attempt to disarm the wielder, but the woman was far too fast and too practiced to fall prey to such a tactic. For a fraction of a second, Artus managed to put some space between them, enough for him to lock his gaze on her as she charged to close the gap, and planting his hands upon the ground, he kicked up into the air, his armored boot catching the woman in the head, her forward momentum increasing the force with which she was kicked. With a howl of pain and outrage, she was sent flying backwards, the helmet knocked off her head in the impact, revealing the tightly braided black hair and furious brown eyes of Ursa Wren.

She rolled when she struck the ground, quickly righting herself and skidding to a halt in a crouch, her blade held tightly in her hands and watching with concentrated fury as Artus bore down upon her, and in the moment before he was within reach, she pressed off the ground to spin out of the way, lashing out with her blade as the man ran past, failing to stop before the woman got behind him. Tempered steel cut through the soft knee joint of Artus' armor, a strangled gasp torn from the man as blood soaked the back of his legs, scrambling for purchase as he fell before he realized that he could no longer move his feet. As he slammed to the ground, the involuntary twitching of his legs as they bled long smears across the steel ramparts conveyed the hopelessness of the situation. The blade had severed the tendons of his legs, leaving his muscles uselessly slack and unable to move at all.

Satine could barely hear herself screaming over the sounds of war around her, the girl violently struggling against the Jedi that held her as she tried to rush to Artus, Ursa quickly advancing upon the helpless man. She slammed her heel on his leg when she reached him and violently tore the helmet from his head, her armored hand roughily grabbing his dark hair and pulling him up on to his knees. Artus' pale throat exposed, he managed to get one look at Ursa's furious, triumphant face, her weapon raised high above her head for a moment before she brought the blade down, cold steel cutting soft flesh effortlessly as she severed his head from his shoulders.

Satine wasn't certain how she managed to tear herself away from Qui-Gon's grasp, or from which body upon the ground she took the weapon that now rested in her hands, but she knew that when she took aim at Ursa Wren, she was going to kill her. Just as she pulled the trigger, her excellent aim was disrupted by the swift hand grasping her arm as it yanked her off balance, the shot from the weapon flying high above the intended target as she fell against Qui-Gon Jinn. The Jedi quickly scooped her up into her arms and leapt high into the air right over the wall, the snow and the tanks and the soldiers on the ground below rushing toward them as they fell.

Not a moment later, the ship swooped underneath them, the Jedi falling perfectly into the entry hatch, and Qui-Gon slammed on the airlock controls almost before his feet even hit the ground. The ship swiftly changed directions, Qui-Gon gripping Satine close to him as he held on tightly to one of the doorways as they rocketed upwards, and through the closing entry hatch, Satine could see the fortress below, the bodies falling quickly as the invading army overtook them, and Satine caught one look at Ursa Wren in the midsts of it, watching from the walls of the fortress as Clan Itera died.

"I need you to buckle up!" came the shout from the cockpit, And Qui-Gon didn't waste a moment in picking up the despondant Duchess and carrying her into the cockpit, dropping her into her seat behind Obi-Wan and doing her restraints, finishing just as the ship suddenly dove, the forest below them quickly rushing to meet them, a view Qui-Gon was forced to take in as the sudden dive knocked him off his feet and sent him crashing against the viewport. Just as suddenly, Obi-Wan pulled up on the yoke, evening the ship out and flying low over the forest, the scraping sound of trees hitting the hull sending eerie reverberations through the ship. As they righted, Qui-Gon fell unceremoniously on the control console.

"I will remind you, Padawan," Qui-Gon growled as he scrambled into the copilot's seat and quickly fastened his restraints, "that reckless flying is a chargeable offense in the courts on Coruscant!"

"Hey, it's a good thing we aren't on Coruscant then," Obi-Wan mumbled, his concentration on the view before him. "I doubt Mandalore has such rules." The ship lurched forward when Obi-Wan pulled all the way back on the accelerator, the passengers pressed back in their seats with the force of the swift jolt to top speed, green and white blurs filling the viewport before Obi-Wan pulled back on the yoke, the ship making a sudden change of direction as it rocketed upwards toward a sky gray with clouds then dark with approaching space as they crossed the cloud cover, and then red with flames, the result of their rapid exit from the atmosphere.

"Is this even a little bit safe?!" Qui-Gon asked when the cockpit filled with the high pitched whine of the engines, and the slight twitch of Obi-Wan's eyee gave the Master all the answer he needed. "Obi-Wan..."

"Of course it's safe, Master!" he said swiftly, angling the nose of the ship slightly to reduce the strain and slamming on the console to silence the warnings about the weapons lock on their ship from the starfighters that now followed them. "Please, like I would risk the mission! It's a little safe! A little safe!" The Padawan frowned. "Like...two percent safe!"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi..." Qui-Gon growled. "I liked you better when you were insecure!"

"If it helps at all, Master, I'm very insecure about our chances of survival."

"Oh, at least we have that."

"There were three dreadnaughts up here when I came and checked, Master," Obi-Wan said tightly, his hands flying over the console before him. "Three. We had to make our way around the planet to put them behind us if we wanted a chance at getting away, and now..." He flipped on the scanner, revealing three massive dots behind their position with hundreds of specks in the space between. Obi-Wan smiled, a rare, cocky thing he reserved for the times he was excessively pleased with himself, and he pulled back the hyperdrive lever. "Our jump has been calculated, and we're clear."

The ship shuddered as it jumped to hyperspace, the viewport filling with blue and white, and in the silence of their collective relief, Satine silently began to weep.

---

Entry sixty five.

Clan Itera is dead. All of them. I feel it in the very heart of me, and I see it in Qui-Gon's face. He feels it, but he won't say it. He can't. How does one even begin to discuss the massacre of hundreds? Of thousands. Of all my people. What happened on Krownest is happening all over the Mandalore sector every single day. My people are fighting and they are dying and there is nothing I can do. Why would there be. I'm just like them.

I nearly killed her. Everything I have ever held dear, every value I have always believed in the very heart of me, betrayed in an instant. I missed, but that doesn't keep the blood from my hands because the intent was there. I am...Mandalorian. As bad as the rest of them. I have never been so disgusted with myself. I will never raise a weapon again. All violence is inexcusable, all of it. Savage and barbaric, and I am exactly like them.

All war is intolerable, and we are already lost since we are committed to fighting. We have already lost, as is evident by the mountain of bodies left behind on Krownest. Clan Itera...all of them...and poor Artus, the last of his family, my first ally in this pointless conflict. He gave me peace when there was none. He gave me hope when I had lost it. I have allies. I have family. Not just Bo-Katan, who is lost to me, but in my brother's child. I can scarcely believe it...and I owe it all to Artus Itera. Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la. Ni cuy' bid Ni ceta, ner burc'ya. Your sacrifice will never be forgotten.

We are headed to Vorpa'ya, the home world of Clan Cadera. Obi-Wan has plotted a route that consists of no less than thirty jump points so that we may lose those that are chasing us. I wanted to demand to be brought back home to Kalevala so I can meet my brother's child and the clan that has dedicated themselves to me, in theory. But I know how that ends up. I do not want to endanger the child. To keep it safe, I need to stay far away. It's the only way. My presence is a death mark that I wish on nobody. Perhaps I can convince the Jedi to leave Clan Cadera well enough alone. The war cannot be won if I inadvertently kill all the allies I have fighting for me.

I should be dead. What's the point of me if I can't stop a slaughter that is happening right before me? What's the point of my survival if my presence brings death to all those around me?

Obi-Wan has been knocking every few minutes for the past three hours. I suppose I should let him in. He is worried about me, and...well, he has this way of easing my burdens, no matter what they may be. I don't want to be weak in front of him, but...

I can't do this now. Writing doesn't help at all. I miss my father and the guidance he would give me through all my troubles. I miss my mother and her strong convictions, her clear sense of what was right and wrong. I miss my brother and how he'd always take my mind off my troubles, only to return to them hours later when they never seemed so big. I miss my family. They would know what to do. The would help show me the way.

Ka'ra jaon'kov, what do I do...