A/N: writing is hard when your brain is comprised of loud screaming
"We'll just head back up. I'm sure this'll be enough to convince Mandalore we can handle ourselves."
Mical shook his head as they walked up the path, the morning sun slanting through a gap in the canopy to illuminate a rusted, broken infantry droid. "You didn't actually fight it, though. The claw fell off."
Trista tucked the claw back into her pocket. "He doesn't know that. And I am a very convincing liar."
"Unless you're playing cards," Mira interrupted, "especially with Atton."
"I will strand you on this moon."
Mira chuckled. "No, you won't. That big bleeding heart of yours won't let you."
"You'd be surprised. I wouldn't—"
A hand clapped over her mouth and onto her arm out of nowhere, and Trista yelped into it as two lightsabers ignited next to her. A Mandalorian in deep red armor materialized, let go of her arm, and raised one finger to his mask. She nodded and motioned for them to lower their weapons.
"You all walk like a herd of basilisk droids." He removed his hand. "Sorry for the rude introduction. Name's Khelborn, one of our Rally Masters and Mandalore's second."
"His second?" She frowned, squinting at him. "I didn't see you around the camp."
"No, I've been out here since the battle. Because someone had to kick a shyrack's nest into my airspace."
"Yeah, I was the victim in that fight?" she hissed defensively.
"Still happened."
"Anyway, what are you doing out here? They said they stopped all the patrols."
He scoffed. "I'm a Mandalorian scout. I don't do patrols."
"You don't answer questions, either."
"Mandalore sent me out here personally to track a ship that landed in the area."
Mira jerked her thumb back toward the jungle. "There's a Duros bounty hunter ship back there."
"Not them. That ship took a few hits and went down screaming its ID signature. This one was trying to get in quietly, and it was keeping its ion emissions minimal. Our sensors almost missed it." He paused. "Almost."
"So, did you find it?"
"Would I be here if I'd found it?"
Force's fucking sake. "I suppose not."
"And no, just this guy here." He motioned behind him where, sticking out of a bush, was a brown boot. "Looks like a scout. Pretty green, too. Idiot just walked into a group of cannoks and got torn apart." Trista took a step forward, and he held up his hand. "It's literally about one quarter of a body. The foot and about half a leg."
"Can you tell who sent them?"
"Onderonian military. It's the brown." He handed her a patch, still wet with cannok slobber but unmistakably depicting the symbol of Onderon. "He can't have been the only one crawling around. If there's more, we take them out. You up for it?"
"Sure. But... taking them out?"
"We can't let them find the camp, if that's their target. We need to track them down and... 'abbreviate' their trip."
"Got it."
"There are too many paths to cover alone. If we split up, we should be able to find them." Khelborn pointed east with his gun. "I'll take up a position to the east. You go west. We can pin them somewhere in the middle."
"Sounds good." Trista jerked her head and started down a path to the west.
"What do you believe they're looking for?" Mical whispered as they carefully picked their way through the jungle.
"Probably us, I'd say." Trista sighed, swatting bugs away from her face. "Given our luck."
"Fair enough."
"Trista." The Handmaiden's voice was full of uncharacteristic concern. "Should we be attacking members of the Onderonian military?"
"If they're not here to kill us, no. They've already showed they're willing to do so, and I believe in fair play. Mira, can you scout ahead?"
"On it." She shimmered for a moment as she activated her stealth gen and disappeared into the jungle. Trista motioned for the others to stay low.
"Keep your eyes and ears open."
They crept up the path, ears pinned for any unfamiliar noise in the jungle. Nothing. Just the gentle whisper of grass on their legs, the rustle of creatures beyond the treeline, and the shrieking croaks of frogs and birds.
Mira appeared and motioned for them to crouch.
"Just up ahead," she whispered, and held up two fingers. Trista nodded and pulled her lightsaber off her belt with a nod.
"Any idea what they're here for?" Mira pointed at her, and Trista sighed. "Figures."
"What happened to Laane?" a scared woman's voice broke ahead out of nowhere, and Trista almost jumped.
"He got swarmed by those little beasts. Cannoks, I think?"
Trista held her finger to her lips.
"Gods, I hope this mission is worth it to the Colonel. If not—"
Mical shifted his weight, and something snapped underfoot. The three of them looked back, and he sighed and mouthed sorry.
"Wait!" The woman again. "Did you hear that?"
"Think we can talk it out?" Trista whispered.
"Up to you." Mical didn't sound particularly enthused, while both the Handmaiden and Mira shook their heads. She frowned and carefully eased out, still mostly behind a tree.
"Hello," she called quietly, barely leaning out. "Are you—"
"Is that her?"
Trista pulled back behind the tree. "Told you so," Mira hissed.
"Yeah, I think so. Get her!"
The first blaster bolt pinged off the tree, and Trista sighed. "Just once. Just once."
The Handmaiden peered through the bushes and brought the long staff together with a quiet snap. "I have this."
"You sure?"
"Just hold their attention."
Trista nodded as a pause in the blaster-fire rendered the clearing silent, anything else living having fled by now. "Can't we talk about this?" she called, still quiet, using the lull to her advantage. "Your friend — Laane, was it?" There wasn't an answer, so she continued. "He's gone, but I don't want to hurt you. I don't know what this Tobin has against me. I'm here on business."
"We're just following orders," the woman replied. "It's nothing personal."
"You're shooting to kill. It's very personal!"
Her reply was severed by a yelp of shock and the hiss of a lightsaber, the slisch as it cut through the air, and the final whir as it closed. Trista stuck her head out from behind the tree again.
"All clear?"
The Handmaiden straightened, twisting the hilt of her staff and closing off the emitters with a hiss. "Yes."
"You okay?"
"They were shooting to kill. I am fine."
Trista nodded back and stepped fully out, heading over to where she was standing with Visas, Mical, and Mira on her heels. With a frown, she began rifling through the soldiers' pockets.
"Why do you think the Onderonian military is trying to kill you?" Mical asked, and Trista shrugged.
"Who isn't these days?" Nothing. She shifted her attention to the next body. "Doesn't even phase me anymore."
"That is not a healthy reaction."
"Probably not."
"There is something dark here," Visas said. "On this moon, and perhaps on the planet it orbits. And I fear our presence here threatens it."
"Most likely." Trista stood. Nothing useful. Go figure. "This system has always known the Dark Side, going back to the Great Hyperspace War. It isn't surprising that the Mandalorian Wars woke something up. No datapads with orders or anything, but I think we can assume they're after us. Probably on that colonel's orders. What was his name? Torrin?"
"Tobin?" Mira supplies.
"Yeah, him. Regardless, we should take care of them before they can find the Hawk." She dusted grass and dirt off her knees. "Let's go."
By the time they returned to the Mandalorian camp, it was sundown again. The camp was back into its evening activity, with dinner having started near the mess tent and last-minute training running in the dirt ring. The crimson-armored Mandalorian was at the gate again, and Trista knew they were being appraised as they arrived.
"Interesting. You lost me some credits, Jedi."
"How so?"
"I had about ten on you dying out there."
What a surprise.
"Yeah, we're hardier than we look." She breezed by him and slapped the Zakkeg claw against his chest. "For you, with love."
As she continued onward, she ignored his quiet but audible chuckle, followed by "damn," as he turned it over in his hands.
She made her rounds, getting the converter to Zuka and checking in with Xarga and Kumas, before returning to the command post. Inside, the tech informed her that Mandalore was already making his rounds.
"Great. I'll wait outside."
And so she did.
The jungle calmed around twilight as diurnal creatures retreated to safety before nocturnal predators emerged to hunt. Bugs and birds chirped their last in the gathering low light, audible over the indistinct murmur of the camp.
"Another night here, I guess," Mira grumbled, breaking the silence.
"It could be worse," Mical said. "We could be in the jungle."
"You're just asking for something to happen now."
"Trista." The Handmaiden interrupted them and nodded to a Mandalorian standing nearby, helm pointed toward the entrance — but shoulders bristled. Toward them.
Or, likely toward them. They could always be appraising their chances of a peaceful, late-night jog through Dxun's jungles, but Trista had her doubts. She straightened with a sigh.
"Can I help you?"
"Shi [sizing] far laam, jetii."
She sighed. Just sizing you up - like anyone wasn't on this rock. "Bal me'ven? Vaabir gar mirdir?"
The Force around him trembled with a strange, malodorous mixture of anger, disgust, and no small desire to bludgeon her with her own spine. It took him a moment to answer her simple "like what you see?" with something stronger than a glare that somehow translated through the helm.
"Gar cuyir sa ray'ture sa te udes be te jetiise. Cuyir ibac tion'jor gar cuyir kyor."
You are as weak as the rest of the Jedi. A valid critique. Maybe that's why you're all rotting.
On most days, after what she did to the Mandalorians (and the Jedi, and the Republic), she would have let it go. But she suspected what he was doing (goading her) and, more than that, she was inclined to oblige. There was something therapeutic about having the ever-loving shit beat out of you, or doing so to someone else. And she hadn't indulged in idle fisticuffs since sometime long before the Harbinger, back when she was desperate to feel any emotion except empty.
Even pain was a welcome respite from empty.
"Gar copad at redalur?" Trista motioned toward the battle circle, standing empty as most Mandos had proceeded to the evening meal or their tents. This was about the time the other three realized why Mira was standing with her forehead in her hand, shaking her head.
"Exile—" the Handmaiden started, and Trista held up her hand.
"Meh gar cuyir [not] a hut'uun."
She didn't even answer, starting toward the pit. "Gotal'ur bic banar."
He turned with a cocky spring in his step just as the others found their voices.
"We are not letting this happen," Mical said, his voice firm for the first time. "Trista, I cannot believe you're even considering this."
"This is insane," the Handmaiden said. "You cannot believe that—"
"The Handmaiden can go."
"Yes, I'll do it."
"Oh come on, it isn't to the death," Mira interjected. "It's just gonna hurt."
"But if we are to remain alert, would it not be prudent to avoid these entanglements?" Visas asked. "We do not know when my master, or his allies, may strike."
"I appreciate all the concern," Trista said, cutting off the Handmaiden's sharp retort. "But I fought in a war. Against Mandalorians. I've held my own in hand-to-hand with them before."
"When you were not handicapped by the rules of an honorable fight," the Handmaiden said, motioning to the circular pit ahead of them. "As you will be now."
"Maybe so. But if it gets some of their hostility out, then whatever." Trista started to hand her comm link to Mical with a sigh, before thinking better of it and handing it to Mira. "When Atton calls, ask him to move the ship here. Don't tell him what I'm doing, he'll assume the worst."
"You got it, your Jediness."
The Mandalorian — young, judging by his walk and hot-headedness — returned, having fetched a sergeant from their dinner. A few others trailed behind them, no doubt curious about whether this was actually happening. Seeing them standing at the ring, the sergeant quickened his pace and somehow reached them first.
"Davrel here says you want in the pit?" There was a credulousness to his tone, as if amazed — and perhaps concerned — that a twig of a Jedi like her intended to get slapped around by a Mandalorian likely half her age. She responded with a sharp nod.
"If Davrel here's the one that said it, yes."
Trista couldn't see their brows raise behind their helm, but could hear it. "You're sure."
"Do I sound sure?"
"Well, yes. All right. Who issued the challenge?"
"Well..." She frowned. "Technically, I guess I did."
"Ah. In that case, he chooses the weapons."
Trista pursed her lips. "Sounds fair."
Thanks to the helms, she didn't know if the sarcasm had landed or not.
"Davrel? What're you choosing?"
"Hand-to-hand." She could still read the seething in his shoulders, and shouldn't have been surprised he'd opted for the more personal touch of beating her senseless. "No weapons, no Jedi tricks, and no items. Just fist and foot. A true test of strength."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Not a problem."
After all, they only knew as much about the Force as the next person. Mandalore seemed like he might know more, but he had been tight lipped so far. This kid though — holovids and stories, that would be all. Stories of people who didn't exist anymore for many reasons, her included.
"You got your flask, Mira?" Mira, concerned for a moment, nodded and handed it to her. Trista uncapped it and downed a shot of a heady, almost thick-tasting alcohol of unknown provenance, then handed it back. "Just getting into the mood."
"Once you're ready." The sergeant motioned to the ring, and Trista drew a deep breath. She unclipped her lightsaber and handed it and her holdout blaster to Mical.
"So what are the rules?"
"There are two. Once in the circle, you leave only if your opponent is defeated, or you are. And no fight is to the death. This circle is how we train. Normally, I may have denied you the opportunity, as you are an outsider. However, Davrel is a trainee. He could use the experience — and, even though he'll no doubt win, he will leave you in one piece."
The only thing that did was make the stubborn, hot-headed side of her rise to the surface, overwhelming her common sense. The "Revan genes," she'd once called them, given her sister was more prone to idiocy like this than she was. Always within her plans and control, of course, something Trista was not as good at maintaining. But rash impulsiveness was rare enough that it always tempted her to give in.
And today, it wanted her to beat the Mandalorians at their own damn game.
"All right," she said, taking a step into the ring. "Let's get this over with."
Eventually the audience, challengers, and Mical's blood pressure rose enough to make things entertaining.
The sergeant in charge kept challengers to a minimum, and it occurred to her that most of them held a grudge. There had been two primary exceptions: Khelborn, Mandalore's second, who had a damn good time despite his loss, and Bralor, whose hand she was now shaking after breaking his arm, much to the chagrin of several onlookers.
"You're still champion," she said, rubbing her aching side where she was pretty sure he'd broken a few ribs. "I can't be expected to hold onto the title."
Bralor chuckled. "It's a friendly match, outsider. You've taken nothing from me."
"Well, good."
"And you have given me more to learn. I would not be opposed to a rematch someday."
Trista grinned ruefully. "Not sure my ribs will let me, to be honest."
Bralor clapped her shoulder, hard enough that she knew it'd bruise, and started off. Trista turned back to her crew, frowning at Atton's disapproving frown.
"What?"
"For someone who's not a fan of these guys, you're getting chummy." He didn't scream it across the camp, but it earned a few askance glances from the closest Mandalorians.
"And if it gets us to Onderon, I'll take it," she said, wincing again. "Mical, can you look at my ribs? I think he broke one of them. Possibly most of them."
Mical responded with a disapproving head shake as he stepped forward and poked and prodded at her.
"You're lucky he didn't do more damage," he scolded, placing his hands over the offending bones. She winced.
"Look, that wasn't the first time I squared off against some angry Mandalorians, and it won't be the last. Call it therapeutic."
"Crazy, more like," Mira interjected.
"Also impressive."
Trista had spotted Mandalore, standing at the back of the spectators silently, while she'd been beating the armor off his quartermaster. The others hadn't, given how Atton nearly jumped out of his skin.
"I'm impressed you bothered," he continued. "Not sure most Jedi would jump in a ring with a few Mandalorians."
"Surprised I won?"
To her surprise, he shook his head. "Far as I know, it's us old-timers that've gone up against your kind. I am disappointed in Bralor, though. Might have to put him back on latrine duty for a few days."
"Sucks to be him." Trista brushed off the hands on her robe. "You satisfied yet?"
Mandalore scoffed. "Certainly you don't think some fetch quests and a couple of wild animals are enough to impress me. But, a deal is a deal. I'll have my people look over my shuttle tonight, and we'll head to Onderon tomorrow."
"Great." Trista crossed her arms. "Anything else?"
"Yeah, actually." he mirrored her posture. "It's been a while since l squared off against a Jedi. Mind indulging me?"
Force, she minded. "In front of your people?"
"Most of them are gone." Not untrue - most had cleared out now that the excitement was over. "Besides, it's not like you'll win."
"If you're trying to goad me, it won't work."
"Course it won't. You're supposed to be above all that."
Trista ground her teeth."If I say no?"
"Then you say no. Like I said, friendly style."
"On what terms?"
"You get everything and I get everything." He'd still not told her about Canderous Ordo, she mused. She knew he knew something. Just what, she couldn't figure out. She sighed and was immediately interrupted by her crew.
"Absolutely not," Atton said.
"Trista, I really must protest-"
The Handmaiden looked unusually horrified. "You have done enough fighting for now, Exile—"
She held up her hand. "Noted. Mandalore, I agree on one condition." He nodded. "Win or lose, you give me a straight answer about Canderous Ordo."
"Sure, I can speed that up." he took a step into the ring, and Atton grabbed her arm as she went to follow.
"Tris-"
She shook him off. "I'll be fine."
"Why can't you have normal vices, like gambling, or drinking?"
"When you already do those so well?"
Perhaps against his better judgment, he grinned. "Alright, fair is fair."
She stepped into the ring, rolling her shoulders. "Is that beskar?"
"I'm Mandalore. Of course it is."
Trista readjusted her lightsaber. "You say that like you're reminding yourself."
"You say that like we thought we'd ever have another one."
"Fair point." She brought her weapon into guard.
Mandalore held his weapons in guard just long enough to give her a warning before he lunged forward. She blocked it, the vibrosteel humming off the plasma. With a quick side-step, she avoided a long bind — one he mirrored.
"Quick for the diplomatic type." It almost sounded like a compliment.
"Thanks, I think."
After waiting long enough, he brought the sword out again, this time at her side. She dodged and he pushed again, forcing her into an awkward block. This time, instead of letting him respond first, she brought her lightsaber up under his arm. Neocrusader armor was always weaker there. She was proud that he'd only jerked back fast enough to avoid more than a contact wound. it bought her enough time to step out of melee, at least.
Not a lot, as Mandalore's reach was greater than her own. He stepped back into range with an offensive swing that nearly broke through the shield she drew up in the Force. She hissed as it bit into her arm, not as deep as it could have but almost. Trista grit her teeth as she rolled out of the force of the blow and back to her feet.
"I feel like you're holding back," Mandalore said. Trista nervously - more than she'd admit - circled the weapon in her hand. "If you're worried about endangering your Iziz trip, don't. This is full beskar."
"I think you just like saying that."
"Maybe."
Trista dodged forward, this time catching him off and forcing him into an awkward low block. She pushed ahead, breaking it in a second to cut back across his chest that skittered across his armor in a flash of sparks.
Well, if he wasn't worried about getting hurt...
He recovered fast, meeting her next swing with a hard parry that pushed her back a step or two. She winced as it carried up her arm, but shook the feeling out as she blocked and dodged around him. As he turned she struck again, hitting the weak spot where the helm connected to the backplate. That seemed to have an effect, as she thought she caught a hiss from behind his helm.
"That's better," he said, slashing upward and she stepped back. This time he followed through, and she dodged the hilt of his vibrosword as it swung for her head.
"Now I feel like you're holding back," she goaded.
"Well, it'd be bad for our relationship if I took your head off."
Force, she hated him.
Trista channeled that into a swing up his chest, and he easily brought his sword up to block. She swung across and back down, sidestepping and forcing him to turn back. For a while she held him off, scoring a few more marks across his armor while avoiding any more than a glancing blow. But she was tired, and very clearly flagging.
She wasn't sure when it happened, but at some point she ended up on the ground, blinking up at the Dxun night sky above and half of Mandalore's mask as he tapped the ground beside her neck.
"You done?"
Not in the slightest, but she didn't want to continue either. "Are you still going to tell me about Canderous Ordo?"
"Sure. Once we get back from Iziz."
"Force's sake," she grumbled. "Fine. After Iziz."
He stuck one gauntleted hand down, and after a moment of irritation she let him pull her to her feet.
"We'll be leaving at 600 sharp. Unless you want to make it an overnight trip, you'll be there."
She rubbed her shoulder, jarred by one or another parries. "Just make sure the shuttle is ready."
"She'll be ready." Without another word, he sheathed his sword and walked away, back toward the command center.
"You gave up at the end," the Handmaiden said, almost chiding.
"What?"
"You did not fight as I know you can."
"Yeah, I wanted it to be over." She glanced after Mandalore. "Come on. Let's get to the Hawk."
