Author's note: I just finished playing KOTOR I for the second time, and this run through I noticed that Canderous had a tattoo. I did my best to see exactly what it looked like, but couldn't get a real clear picture. So I've taken artistic license on its design. If I am being honest, I admit would have done so even if I had a detailed diagram in front of me; it was just too perfect to resist.
Enjoy, and feel free to review!
Always, LJ
Filing into our room, the honor guard sprawled themselves around the living area, punching up a holovid on the enormous viewscreen. Finding some mindless adventure tale, they contented themselves with making derisive comments about the fake fighting and admiring ones about the scantily clad women the 'heroes' were protecting. To a man, they casually ignored us, obviously expecting Jennet and I to disappear into our own bedroom for more private entertainment. I grinned; it was just what I had in mind. Jennet had already slipped away to freshen up. I gave her about ten minutes and followed.
I found her on the balcony, gazing over the lights of the city. She had changed from her usual pants, tunic, and boots to a soft green filmy thing that hinted at being see-through but in truth only showed her silhouette with the lights behind her. She had her back to me, elbows on the rail, staring dreamily into the distance. I admired the lines of her body in the moonlight, strong and slim and very female. I knew I'd never stop wanting her, and wondered again what it was she saw in me.
"You see me," she said, not turning around, but answering my thoughts. "I had to hide for so long that I was starting to feel I was invisible. But you saw what and who I was, and love me for it."
She turned, and smiled. "And I see you too, even when you don't."
She held out a hand, and I swiftly moved to take it. Gathering her close, I kissed her with everything I was, and felt her melt into me. This, I realized, was truly what Mates were; not being whole without the other, yet being ourselves, no, better than we were before, when we're apart. I could die tomorrow, and I knew Jennet would survive. She might be bitter for a while, and lost, and certainly grieve for me for the rest of her life. But she'd survive, and go on, because she'd never really lose me. I was a part of her, beyond space, time or even death. And she was all that and more to me. Three weeks ago, I would have scoffed to be told such a thing was possible. Romantic twaddle, I'd have called it. But I held the proof of it in my hands, and I was never going to let it go.
I remembered what I had said to Revan five years ago, near the end of that mission. I had changed inside, and knew it, and I had told her I was her man, no matter how this thing played out. I meant it, too; if she had gone to the dark side again, I would have followed. More than that - I would have reveled in it, secure that I had found a place, and a master that accepted what I was. But she hadn't, and I was forced to travel the harder path. Trying to live in the light, to give something back, rather than just take. I was now grateful beyond words that Revan had not fallen, or I would have never really understood. I would never have found Jennet. And she would never have looked at me like this.
For the first time in my life, I prayed for someone that wasn't me or a part of my clan. I sent a feverent silent hope that Revan will survive, and come home to Carth. She deserved happiness, for all she had given me, and what she had sacrificed to see that others could live.
Jennet heard my thoughts, and approved. She kissed me back, meeting her soul with mine, and I wanted to drown in her warmth. Before that warmth became the raging fire we both wanted it to become, she pulled back a little and reached up, tracing the line of my jaw with one finger.
"I have something for you," she said, her voice husky.
"That you do," I agreed, pulling her closer and letting her feel my arousal more fully. "If you behave, I'll have a thing or two for you."
"That, too," she laughed, rubbing against me teasingly. "But it's something else. Stay here, I'll be just a minute."
She slipped out of my arms, and I reluctantly let her go for the moment. Disappearing into the bedroom, she soon came back with a small box in her hand, and…a light saber? I looked at her, confused, as she handed it to me.
"I know you can't be Jedi; I couldn't care less. I'm still not entirely certain I want to be," she added softly.
"I don't think you have a choice there, Wildcat," I said seriously. "The way I see it, you already are."
"Maybe," she said dismissively. "But that's not the issue right now. This 'saber was my mother's. I've got my father's two as well; you saw me use them at Falken Rikes' estate. I may start using them regularly, I don't know. They certainly were handy in that battle, and swords just don't compare…although my spinning blades come close," she said with a smile.
I examined the 'saber curiously, testing its grip and trying to see how it worked. To my utter shock, it ignited with a bright yellow glow that illuminated the balcony. I almost dropped it in startlement. Jennet smiled wider.
"I thought so," she said, delighted.
"Thought what?" I asked with a rumble.
"You have to be somewhat Force sensitive to ignite a light saber," she explained carefully. "You're not sensitive enough to be trained, but you can light a 'saber."
"I'd bet it's because of you," I said dismissively. I was more shaken than I wanted to admit that it had come alive for me.
"Probably," Jennet agreed. "But I'm not giving it to you because I expect you to wield it. Of course, if you want to, go for it. Mom would approve, I think."
"You sure about that?" I asked sardonically. I knew little of her mother beyond the few stories Jennet had told me and the flashes I got off her from time to time. It seemed to me even a Jedi that left the Order wouldn't approve of a Mandalorian using their sacred weapon.
"Well…pretty sure," Jennet amended. "She might have protested at first, but after seeing us together, I know she would have liked you. And so would Dad."
Since this is pretty much the attitude I expected my own parents would have had, I couldn't argue the assessment. I smiled and shrugged.
"Good to know," I said gruffly.
"I want you to have this for another reason, though," Jennet continued. "I expect we'll have children some day, and it's a better than even chance at least one if not more will have the makings of a Jedi."
"More?" I said with a leer. "We'll never have them if we don't practice. A lot."
She answered this tease by standing on tiptoe and kissing me quite thoroughly. Stepping a little away, she grinned.
"Oh, we'll get in some practice. Soon," she promised. "This 'saber," she gestured at the weapon in my hand, "is all I have left of the Jedi part of my mother, besides her teachings. I want you to keep it, and give it to whatever child we have that proves Force sensitive. They don't have to become Jedi if they don't want to. But I want them to have it, and that option. Coming from you, they'll know that whatever path they choose has both of our approval."
As I looked at the woman that had changed my world, I understood what she meant. I thought of the generations of Mandoa that had never felt the Force, and realized that through her, my children, if we had any, had a chance of being a part of that connection. Having felt it myself, I suddenly wanted very badly for them to experience that sense of serenity and being a part of something bigger than themselves. I nodded slowly.
"Thank you," I said gravely. "I'll keep it safe."
"I know you will," Jennet said serenely. Then she handed me what was in her other hand. "I also want you to have this."
Without thinking, I hooked the 'saber to my belt so both hands would be free to open the tiny box. I found myself looking at a ring, bright steel with a dark blue stone, polished but unfaceted. I recognized it as a crystal that was commonly used in 'sabers to give the blade color. I may not have known I could use one until now, but I'd seen enough Jedi tinkering with their weapons to realize what it was. I thought the ring must have been her father's, and I carefully removed it from its velvet nest.
"It was Dad's wedding ring," Jennet said, confirming my guess. "I know Mandalorians don't wear rings. You don't have to wear it. I just wanted you to have it."
I tilted it to catch as much light as the dim balcony offered and saw inscribed inside the letters M and D intertwined on one side in a slightly faded script. On the opposite side, J and C were inscribed with the same design in sharp new engraving. Between the two sets of initials, the word 'Always' was carved into the band, also obviously recently done. I swallowed, not used to feeling sentimental. Slipping it on to my left ring finger, it fit perfectly, and felt like it had always been there.
"Of course I'll wear it," I said, reaching for her and holding her close. She snuggled with a sigh, and my heart turned over. Only with her could I feel that and not want to walk away. I kissed the top of her head.
"Tell me about your father," I said abruptly.
I was wearing his ring, and suddenly wanted to know more about the man that had raised her. I felt her startlement at the change of mood, but she relaxed as she felt my sincere curiosity. She tilted her head to look at me, as if searching for a trace of him in my face.
"He wasn't tall," she said with a smile. "Only about average height, really, but built like Atton; muscled but not bulky. When I was a child, though, I thought he was the tallest man in the galaxy. He was fast, and moved a lot like you, like a cat after prey. He laughed a lot, and loved to tease people. I got my hair and eyes from him, and he liked to tug on my curls. He'd apologize for my woolly-head, as he'd call it. He grew his long, to hide the curls, and tied it back with a leather thong. Mine was long then too. I cut it after Mom died; it was so hard to keep up and too easy for an opponent to grab."
"I'd like to see it long," I said, touching the tumbled spirals.
"I was thinking about growing it out," she said, and I nodded with approval.
"I saw your father in your dreams once," I said, smiling. "He was showing you how to throw a dagger, and laughing."
"I remember that day," Jennet said wistfully. "We spent hours throwing at targets. It took me a week to throw properly, and he was so proud."
"What about your mother? I saw her too. You look like her, except the hair and eyes. You definitely have her nose." I touched the tip of it lightly.
"I'm not nearly as pretty," she laughed.
"I'd have to disagree with that, Wildcat," I said easily, and she chuckled again.
"You're biased," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Mom was quieter, even when Dad was alive. But he could always get her to laugh, and talk, and she was full of fun when he was around. Dad trained me in combat more than she did, but she drove me even harder, in a lot of ways. She was an amazing healer, and had a touch of Seer ability. I remember she hadn't wanted to leave on the trip that took us off planet when Dad died, and they'd had a rare argument about it. She hadn't known exactly what would happen, but she knew the instant Dad was dead. She tried to hide it from me, but I knew something was wrong." Jennet frowned, her eyes focused inward, and I regretted having brought up the memory.
"It's okay," she said, looking up and catching the thought. "It was a long time ago. I miss them both, but they taught me well, and they're with me still. Mom quit laughing much after Dad died, but she loved me. We managed. She told me once that I was the best gift Dad ever gave her, and I know she meant it. I knew at the end, she regretted leaving me, but wanted to be with Dad more. I understand that now," she said softly, touching my face. Unconsciously, she ran a finger down the bridge of my nose, the same gesture she had used the first time we were together.
I took the hand away from my face and kissed the palm, watching her eyes as I did. Her eyes had that same look, wide and soft and anticipating. The spark that was always there ignited, and I pulled her roughly against me, devouring her mouth. The fire burned higher, and she met my desire with her own, sweet and demanding. Not wanting to give our neighbors a show, I scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom.
We fell on the bed, fumbling at clothing and trying to get as close as possible. Her nails raked my back and I rumbled with pleasure. She pulled away just long enough to gracefully slide her garment over her head and toss it aside.
I just got this; don't you dare tear it, was her breathless comment in my head.
I don't care how you get naked, Wildcat, I answered, amused. Just as long as it's soon.
I could say the same to you, she purred back.
I stood to remove my pants, my shirt being somewhere between the balcony door and the bed. I remembered the lightsaber I'd clipped to my belt. Carefully detaching it, I stowed in the nightstand drawer, placing the almost forgotten ring box next to it. Then I rapidly disrobed and joined her in the bed.
She was warm, and musky, and smelled like the sweet tang of spice cake. My hands and mouth explored every inch of her skin, and I felt her quiver as the desire built. When she couldn't stand another second, I reached up with one hand and captured both of hers, holding them above her head. The other was lightly resting in the hollow between her shoulder and throat, and I thought of that first fight, when I held her down almost exactly like this. She saw it in my eyes, heard it in my head, and her eyes darkened. My hand moved that small distance and gently circled her neck.
I wanted you then too and it was both of our thoughts, mingling together.
My eyes never leaving hers, careful not to squeeze her throat but not removing my hand, I moved slowly, wanting to see every nuance of her desire. She wiggled, and moaned, but I would give no quarter. Having the dim presence of mind to remove my hand from her neck, I started to move, and let go of her hands.
Hands freed but still pinned, she could still cause a great deal of damage and suddenly, I had the wildcat I called her beneath me. Rather than trying to contain her, I welcomed the savagery, and pulled back so she could reach more. She was a burning brand, mindless in its destruction and pleasure, and I let her rage around us. Pleasure and sweet pain mingled, and we battled our way to heaven.
Some time later, she was curled up next to me, head on my chest, idly tracing a scar that angled from a centimeter under the left collarbone to the breastbone.
"Vibroblade," I said in answer to her unspoken question. "The fellow who gave it to me was trying for the throat. We were out of kolto packs, so it had to be stitched."
"Ouch," she winced in sympathy.
She herself had no scars that I'd discovered, but that didn't surprise me. Her ability to heal herself made the probability of collecting one virtually nil. I loved the contrasts of her; warrior born but skin unmarked by combat, skillful and ferocious in battle but able to weep for those she killed. I couldn't remember the last time I'd cried. There had been times I wasn't sure I ever had.
She propped herself on her elbow and kissed me briefly, then turned her attention to the clan tattoo on my upper right arm. Traditionally, a Mandalorian warrior will have it reinked every ten years or so, to keep the colors sharp. The Ordo clan's was simpler than most, being primarily so dark a blue as to be nearly black, with traces of green and red. It was an ancient stylized version of a phoenix, wings outspread, a hint of fire sparking from its beak, talons and wingtips.
"What is that?" she asked curiously, letting a finger follow the lines of the tattoo.
"The badge of my clan," I answered, grinning.
She responded with a playful shove that nearly knocked me out of the bed. "I know that," she said tartly. "I meant, what sort of bird is it supposed to be?"
"A phoenix," I said, laughing at her mock scowl. "An ordo is a type of phoenix," I explained.
She looked startled, and I wondered why. But whatever had caused that look was buried now and I knew I wouldn't be able to retrieve it without digging deeper into her mind. We both were careful not to intrude that far without invitation, or great need, so I let it go.
"There are different types of phoenixes?" she asked with interest.
"According to traditional myth of my people," I said. "There are different breeds of hawks and falcons, after all. Why not phoenixes? Actually, I've heard somewhere that there is some evidence that the phoenix actually did exist millennia ago, and were probably the forefathers of modern falcons. Minus the mystical powers, of course."
"Really?" she said thoughtfully. I caught again that sense of something under the surface of her mind, but at the moment she was firmly blocking me.
"What's on your mind, cyar'ika?" I asked curiously.
"Just that the Force is more mysterious than even I thought," she answered cryptically. "I'll tell you about it sometime. Say," she said suspiciously, "am I expected to get a tattoo once we're married?"
"I don't expect it, no," I answered. "You automatically become a part of Clan Ordo when you marry me, of course. Gerda didn't have a tattoo from her clan; she wasn't a warrior. That being so, she didn't qualify for one in mine either."
"But you said she could fight; all of your people can. What's the difference between a warrior and a fighter to you?" Jennet's eyebrows drew together in confusion.
"Warriors are part of the army; it's as the word implies – someone who makes war. Fighters can use weapons and defend themselves or others, but aren't involved in formal battle."
"That's an odd way of putting it," she said.
"Not really. Serving time in the army was mandatory for men, optional for women. If you serve, you are considered a warrior. Those who followed the army, supporting their spouse or clan in general, often ended up having to fight, and would then be considered warriors." I cocked an eyebrow at her, but she continued to look confused.
"So if you served in the army, but never saw combat, you were just a fighter?" she asked slowly, trying to follow.
"If you served, you saw combat," I said with conviction. "That was a certainty. But the followers, mostly made up of women and children, were kept away from the front lines as much as possible. Now, mind, sometimes many of the women would come forward voluntarily and participate in a battle, or sometimes the camp would be overrun, and the followers defended. But unless you saw combat, you were just a fighter. You got your tattoo as soon as possible after your first battle."
"How old were you when you got yours?" Jennet asked.
"Thirteen," I answered, smiling as I remembered sitting still for hours as the Ordo clan historian had drawn the badge on my battle-weary arm after that first taste of war. It was one of the rare times I saw my father smile directly at me, and my ten year old brother Calder had been practically spitting with envy. Cartha had insisted on sitting at my feet the whole time, finally falling asleep against my boots. Mother actually had tears in her eyes from pride. I let Jennet see that day, and she smiled.
"You were so young," she said softly.
"Yeah," I said gruffly. "I've grown a bit since." That got an appreciative snort from Jennet. "They don't put the complete badge on when the warrior isn't fully grown; wouldn't do to have a sparrow on your arm when you're supposed to be sporting a phoenix later. The original was inked over when I turned twenty as part of my coming of age ceremony."
"Coming of age?"
"You can officially go to war at thirteen, and become a full adult member of the clan at eighteen, after you've proven yourself in battle. At twenty, you can marry and start your own branch of the clan. Both men and women have this ceremony whether they're a warrior or a fighter. It is extremely rare for a male not to become a warrior; only great physical or mental disability will prevent you from serving in the army. Women, it's about fifty-fifty if they'll choose to enlist."
"So," she said thoughtfully, "As your wife, and since I'm a warrior…well, do I qualify as one by your rules?" she raised an eyebrow at me inquiringly.
"I sincerely doubt anyone would have the balls to tell you you're not," I chuckled. "If you want to be letter of the law about it, though…have you served in an army, and seen combat during that time?"
"I never enlisted in an army, no. But I've been hired as a mercenary by one, and was part of their battles. I don't know if war was actually declared at the time, though." She shrugged. "It was the Republic army, and part of the Jedi Civil War, I guess. I wasn't asking too many questions at the time."
"Then by any Mandalorian definition, you qualify as a warrior. By my personal standards, I knew you were the minute I saw you fight in that cantina," I brushed a curl out of her eyes. "And I'm the Mandalore; I get to decide who's what, don't I?"
"I wouldn't ask for an exception anyway and you know it. But as tradition stands, I could have the tattoo after we're married, if I wanted it, yes?" She leaned over and kissed me, and for a moment I forgot her question.
"Yeah," I answered after we came up for air. "No one would question it in the slightest. You're not thinking about actually doing it, are you?" I shot a look at her, startled. When the conversation had started, she hadn't seemed keen on the idea.
"You would have a problem with it?" She asked with some surprise. "I thought you'd be proud I was even considering it."
"Are you?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I've never wanted a tattoo before, but this is very different than 'gee, it would be really cool to have a kath hound permanently stamped on my ass'. It has meaning, and tradition. But I'm not Mandalorian, and I don't know if it would offend your people. On the other hand, you don't seem thrilled about it, so if you don't want me to, I won't." She seemed almost miffed at that.
"Will a tattoo even take on you?" I asked, honestly curious. I wasn't sure just exactly how her healing worked. I've felt it in action, sure, but how? Got me. I sure as hell couldn't do it. But I'd seen her heal Kex's hands, and neutralize poison; for all I knew her body would simply heal over any scarring and absorb the ink.
"Sure. Technically, tattooing is damage and scarring, true; but it forces the ink deep enough into your skin that no amount of healing can eradicate it. At least, I think so. Mom had a tattoo and her healing was better than mine," she added.
"I can't imagine that," I said sincerely. "Could she raise the dead?"
She glared at me. "Of course not."
"Joke, Wildcat. But your healing is pretty amazing. It's mind boggling that someone was even better," I tried to pull her down again, but she shrugged me off. She wasn't angry; she just wasn't done talking.
"You're getting me off track, and you didn't answer my question." She looked at me accusingly.
"What question didn't I answer? There were quite a few there," I observed.
"Would you have a problem with me wearing the Ordo clan tattoo?" She said patiently.
"Absolutely not," I said honestly.
Since she wouldn't come down so I could hold her, I started slowly rubbing her leg, tracing the line of her thigh under the thin sheet. She was doing a fine job of pretending she didn't notice, but I knew better.
"But….?"
"No but." My finger followed the path of her knee bone, pausing at a spot I knew made her twitch. She impatiently batted my hand away, and I grinned.
"There is, you just don't want to tell me," she persisted. "You're blocking."
I gave up; she'd nibble me to death if I didn't say it. Taking a deep breath I mumbled as quick as I could, "It would mark your skin."
She just looked at me, nonplussed. "Well, that's how a tattoo works, isn't it?" she said, bewildered.
"It's stupid," I said low, not looking at her.
"What's stupid?"
"How I feel. It's stupid." I sat up, shoving a couple of pillows behind me to lean against the headboard. I wished like hell I had something to occupy my hands besides her random body parts. I was starting to feel like an idiot.
She looked at me for a moment, completely at sea but struggling to understand. Finally, she said simply, "Why don't you tell me about it."
"Well…" I hedged.
"Okay, let me ask you something, and then you can decide if you want to tell me." Her voice was quiet.
"Go ahead," I shrugged.
"Is there something wrong with the idea of me wearing the Ordo clan tattoo, something that would offend the rest of the population?"
"No. In fact, they'd almost expect you to," I said, looking her in the eye.
"Then it's something about how you feel that's the problem," It wasn't a question. "Is it because you don't think I'm worthy?"
"Gods, no, cyar'ika, never that," I said in surprise, and was relieved to see her smile again. "Look, Wildcat…if you want to, I'd be proud to have you wear my badge. But I'm the last of my clan. As far as I can tell, not a single relative of mine survived Malachor V. We were an important family, but small. My sister died years ago, my parents died just before the war, my brother during it. My own family and my brother's were wiped out with the destruction of our home world. I had four uncles and an aunt and their families; none survived that I could find. Clan Ordo dies with me, if I have no more children. And it's the same everywhere; most everyone I've found are the last of their family, or close to. Bearing my badge would make me proud and you would bring great honor to my family. But you and I are my clan, right now. So how much meaning would that tattoo have, anyway?"
"I see," Jennet said thoughtfully. "But I can tell it does have meaning for you, even so. And this doesn't explain what you said about it marking my skin."
I should have known she wouldn't be diverted. If I had been standing, I would have been dangerously close to shuffling my feet, and I looked away. I hate feeling embarrassed.
"I said it was stupid," I spoke in a low voice. "It's just…I've never seen anyone with as perfect skin as yours, and the tattoo would…mar it." I stared fixedly ahead. "Go ahead and laugh now."
Her silence was deafening, and I finally looked up. But she wasn't laughing; far from it. There was suspicious moisture in the corners of her eyes, and she was looking at me like I'd just fought off an entire army.
"Canderous Ordo, are you telling me that the only reason you balk at the thought of me having my arm tattooed with your clan badge is because you think my skin is beautiful?" she demanded.
I nodded.
"That," she said with quiet but fierce intensity, "is possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. Don't you dare be embarrassed for it; I'll kick your ass."