Jennet
Canderous' reluctant admission was completely unexpected. But was the most endearing thing he'd ever said, with the possible exception of telling me he loved me. That I had known before he said it; this said even more about how he saw me. I didn't totally agree with his assessment; while I wasn't scarred anywhere, I've always thought I was too pale by half. My healing doesn't allow me to retain a burn as I ought to from the sun, so I've never known if I would tan after a sun burn faded.
His feelings were so seemingly out of character for him I was nearly speechless. Perversely though, I found myself wanting that tattoo; the idea of being marked because of him appealed greatly to me. And I worried a little that he had an idealized vision of who I was; perfect and unmarked, like my skin.
No, cyar'ika, I know very well you're not perfect. Just perfect for me.
That did it; I started sniffling. He looked startled and a little annoyed, but he held me until it passed.
"Sorry," I said when I'd gotten a hold of myself. "I know you hate it when I cry for no good reason."
"No, I don't," he said quietly. "It's one of the contrasts I love most about you. You're a warrior and a healer. Your body is battle-toned, yet you haven't a single scar. You can kill with cool precision, but cry for the fallen. I can't, anymore. I let you cry for me."
Which, of course, made me cry all over again. "Damn it," I wailed. "Stop saying things like that, I'm blubbering all over the sheets!"
This made no sense at all, and he laughed. "Go ahead and cry, Wildcat," he chuckled, and held me close as I did.
You're the only one I've ever been able to do this to, you know, his voice in my head was warm. Mandalorian women don't cry much. Only with you I've ever said any of these things. Or wanted to.
Don't stop on my account, I answered, and eventually managed to quit sniveling.
"So," he said briskly after I'd stopped soaking his shoulder. "Do you want to be tattooed?"
I looked at him, trying to gauge what was more important. "Well," I said slowly, "yes, and no. Your badge is the phoenix, and that symbol is very apt, especially now. We're the beginning and you're the end of a great family, and you're leading your people out of the ruins. And I love the idea of being marked by you. But what you said…" I stopped before I could get all weepy again.
"What I said was true, yes…I don't like the idea of being the one to mar one of your most beautiful features. You have a beautiful body, cyar'ika. It would be a shame to mark it with a symbol of something as ugly as war."
"Who the fuck are you and what did you do with my Canderous?" I demanded, completely taken aback. "Since when have you thought of war as ugly?"
"I've never thought otherwise," he said simply. "We're not quite the savages people believe. War is ugly; people die in lots of horrible bloody ways. Your list of friends and relatives get shorter over the years. It's destructive and brutal and filthy. Cities burn, and whole civilizations get ground into ash. We know what war is." He paused a moment, a slight frown on his face. "To us, the beauty is surviving it. Pitting all of ourselves, everything we are, against the horror, and becoming stronger because of it. At least, it was."
"Do all Mandalorians feel this way?" I asked curiously. I thought I had understood the Mandalorian mind pretty well after traveling with Dax and Jareth, listening to their stories. But talking to Canderous now, I was starting to realize I hadn't understood at all.
"Pretty much," Canderous shrugged. "Some don't; they really do just get off on the blood and chaos of battle. Those sort were useful to have on our side; they would do the things the rest of us weren't crazy enough to try. But yeah, we love war, not because of the death and destruction we caused, but because it's elemental – one force against another. The strongest wins. It didn't matter who you knew, or how rich you were. When you're in battle, you know who you really are. We provoked the Republic because they were the biggest kath hound of the pack, and we wanted to fight the best. When we lost, there was very little bitterness on our side against the Republic. We knew very well we'd brought it on ourselves. The bitterness came from knowing we failed, not that we were defeated. That it would be generations, if ever, when we would have a chance to prove ourselves again."
"But that's not what your goal is now, by reuniting what's left of your people, is it?" I asked.
"No, Wildcat, it isn't. A few hundred years from now, maybe some descendent of the Clans will get it in his head to bring back the glory of our past, and rile us all up for another try at conquering the galaxy. Who knows? All I want now is for my people to have a place and an identity, and maybe over time, help them to see that war doesn't have to be all there is. But for now, it's all we know, so I can keep them occupied by helping against the Sith. We're a practical people, cyar'ika; we'll adapt enough to survive."
"I have no doubt of that," I smiled. "You said once that Revan started the change in you, but what you've said, it seems you felt this way all along."
"Nope," Canderous said with a grim smile. "When I was growing up, I was taught to revere war as the true test of a man, and I believed every word. Still do, in fact."
"Or woman," I said pointedly, and he laughed. "And what do you mean, you still do?"
"I do believe that war brings out the true nature of a man. I just don't believe anymore that you have to provoke one to find out. Losing a war, now…well, that will show a man what demons he really does have chasing him."
"I can see that," I said, nodding. "So you're basically saying that you haven't really changed your views on what you learn when you go to war, or how it should be waged. You're saying you don't believe that starting a war just to learn who you are is a good enough reason anymore."
"Exactly. There's always wars, and battles to be fought. What I want now is when I do fight, it's for a reason beyond self-awareness. It hit me not long ago that the Mandoa could have survived, almost exactly as they were, if they had only one small mind shift: that they could have done the same thing fighting other people's wars, instead of provoking their own."
"Sort of universal mercenaries?" I said, diverted by the idea.
"Other races do; if we'd been wiser, we wouldn't be decimated now. But we had grander ideas than that; we thought to take the galaxy and didn't care overmuch that other people had the right to live in it too." He sat back with a wry smile. "It was a hard lesson, Wildcat, and to be fair, I'm pretty sure not many would have agreed with it anyway. Maybe being nearly wiped out was the only way for us to learn, and remove us as a threat."
"So what got you to start thinking differently?"
"Like I said before, Revan, I think. I was pretty bitter that it seemed like there was no honor left among the stray Mandalorians I'd come across, and was really starting to hate working for the Exchange. I threw in with Revan at first simply because I wanted out of there, and setting Davik up was my chance to break free without putting a price on my head. Survival, you see? I was still thinking in terms of my own ass," He made a derisive snort, and looked at me with a rueful twist of his mouth.
"I thought I'd been part of the biggest bunch of bad asses of the galaxy, until the Jedi whipped our collective tails," he continued. "Watching Revan, discovering who she was and how far over to the dark side she'd gone was…incredible, I guess. When she found out, the rest of the crew was afraid she'd turn back. Me, I didn't care one way or another. She was the main reason the Mandoa had been stopped, and I knew I'd found a leader I could follow with honor. Then we got to the Star Forge. Dealing with Sith first hand showed me how wrong I was. We were brutal, Wildcat, but we never literally sucked the soul out of our enemy. The Sith did. It scared me more than anything else I'd ever seen." He shuddered at the memory.
"But I still meant what I had pledged; I'd be her man no matter what. Carth and I were with her when she confronted Bastila, and convinced her to come back, and use her Battle Meditation to help the Republic. Weird thing about being held by a Jedi stasis field; you can hear, see and feel everything, you just can't move," I nodded at that, I'd been there myself. He quirked his eyebrow at the acknowledgement.
"Revan killed Malak. But she tried to turn him back first, and that floored me. Bastila, I could understand, but I'd have just blown Malak away if I could. I didn't see that first hand, Carth and I had been left behind with Bastila, protecting her while she was meditating. I lost count of how many Sith we killed keeping her safe. My blaster was so hot it blistered my palms, even through my gauntlets. I had to chuck it, and scavenged another weapon off a dead Sith," he clenched his fist reflexively, as if feeling that long ago pain.
"When we got out of there, I was at first just glad to be alive. That was actually sort of a shock right there; it had been a long time since I really cared if I lived or died. What I hadn't counted on, and took me some time after that to figure out, was that I was also glad Revan had chosen the light. Because it meant I wouldn't become like the Sith" His eyes were focused on some distant point, but his hand reached out and clasped mine unconsciously. I squeezed it, leaning against his shoulder and letting him feel me. He glanced down, and smiled.
"I stayed with Revan a while after that; we all did. You have no idea, cyar'ika, how strange it was for me to be hailed as a Hero of the Republic. I'd much rather be facing down a Sith army unarmed than attend one more celebration party or diplomatic council. I was so far out of my element it was unreal." He frowned, and shook his head.
"Then one day she came by my apartment with a box," he continued, "and in it was the Helm of the Mandalore. She never told me where she found it. I expect it was in some forgotten storeroom in the Republic, taken as a prize of war. She just said that when she realized what it was, she knew who it belonged to. A week later, I started my search. I never saw her again. I about fell over when I saw the Ebon Hawk again six months ago. For the first few days, I kept expecting Revan to wander into the garage and ask for war stories. But I knew who Ladria was, and thought that this might be another chance to help make up for what my people had done, and to stop the Sith. So I tagged along. Then I met you, cyar'ika." He reached over and tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
"If Revan started me thinking differently, you've made me want to be different. When I saw you take on six mercs, I was stunned; you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. When you woke up and demanded to know just who the fuck I was, I knew I had to keep you around. When I found out you were Jedi, or near enough, after I quit being pissed about it, I figured I would never be good enough for you. I was thrown completely when I realized you were my Mate. But I was selfish enough that I was glad; it meant I could keep you. Unlike Revan, you've never turned to the dark side, and your compassion is so great you can cry for the people you have to kill. You showed me, more than anyone, that a true warrior isn't measured by how well he kills, but by how much he cares, and what he's willing to risk to protect others."
He took a breath, and let it out slowly. "That's the real reason, I think, that I don't want you to get that tattoo. Because it will make you more like me."
I was almost dizzy with the amount of talking he had done. I was willing to bet that was the most he'd said in a year. I was touched by how he saw me, and what he'd been through. But me being me, I said the first thought that popped into my head.
"Ti kar'ta, you are so full of shit."
His head snapped around and he glared at me.
"What did you say?"
"You heard me. This is what, the third time we're having this argument?"
"I wasn't aware until now that this was an argument," he growled.
"It doesn't have to be if you'd admit for once that you are a good man, and I had nothing to do with it," I said fiercely. "You went through a lot, and chose it long before I came along. You said it yourself: Revan's redemption made you believe you could change too. That's where it started, not with me."
He started at me a minute, scowling. "I'd like to think that, Wildcat. But I can't admit what I don't think is true. Even for you."
"What don't you think is true, exactly?" I asked. "That you are a good person, or that you can be redeemed?"
"That I am. I saw evil, real evil, face to face, and I knew what Revan was, once. I knew whatever petty evil I had been, it was nothing compared to that. In that moment, I saw what I could become, if she chose the dark side, and I followed. And in the moment, I didn't care which way it went. It wasn't until afterwards that I realized I was glad I hadn't. But I let her choose for me, don't you see? I didn't make the choice by myself."
"I don't see it that way, and neither should you. You did follow the light, you did choose to go with Ladria, and you did help save the galaxy – twice. Revan didn't go along with you and direct you in gathering your people; she handed you the Helm and let you decide what to do with it. She didn't say 'here you go, now make a nice Sith army for me, will you?' or 'I'll only give this to you if you promise not to be evil'. She gave it to you, and you chose what to do. You. No one else." I was having a hard time keeping my voice below a shout, and wasn't bothering to mask any sarcasm, either.
"I'll give you a point there," he sounded like he was grinding his teeth. "But the fact is I still don't care a whole lot if everyone lives in peace and harmony and all that shit; I'd be bored stupid in a week. I like to fight, I'm good at it, and I don't much care how Joe Farmer lives his life. When it comes down to it, Wildcat, I still like killing people. And worse, I don't want to change that."
I stared at him for a moment, then very carefully said, "You think I don't know this?"
"I actually hoped you didn't," he answered, just as carefully. "But I should have known better."
"And you honestly think that I've never felt this way? That I have never taken satisfaction when I've killed? I am a warrior, Canderous, and I like it. And there are plenty of people I've killed that I haven't shed a single tear for. I cried for Cressa, sure, but not because I was particularly sad she was dead. Personally, I don't think she would have changed at all. I cried for the lost opportunity for her, and because I had killed her in a blind rage I couldn't control. I threw up when I killed the Hutt because it was disgusting, and I was wounded and weakened, and the smell of the blood was making me sick. But I was glad he was dead, and that I killed him. Did you see me cry for that platoon of mercs trying to kill me in the cantina? Or any of the Sith I slaughtered on Telos, or the Leviathan? I often regret death I've caused, but I don't flinch from its necessity. And I sleep fine at night, even though I quit tallying my body count years ago. How are you any different?"
He looked at me with a mutinous glare, and I stared it down.
"I'm not some perfect idol, Canderous. I enjoy the thrill of battle, and sometimes take satisfaction in the kill, too. The only real difference between us that I see is I was raised to be a warrior, but was taught to use that to help others, those that can't help themselves. You were raised to revere war for its own sake, to become stronger. I never considered any other way to live; you saw that your way of life was destructive both to yourself and others, and chose to change." I saw his glare softening some, and pressed on.
"I haven't always done the best job of sticking to the ideals I was taught either; bounty hunting isn't exactly a clean business," I said ruefully. "I did the best I could there, but I wasn't always sure the target I was hunting deserved to be my prey. Mercenary work is the same way. I tried to only take jobs I thought were for a good cause, but often it's only a point of view. The one place I was sure that my fighting skills were simply that, skill, was in the battle ring. And that because most of the time, no one ended up dead."
We stared at each other for a while, neither of us speaking. I could feel his thoughts churning in his head, but so confused that I couldn't pick through easily. I felt him in mine as well, and slowly his tension eased.
"You may be right, cyar'ika," he said slowly. "Maybe I have been selling myself short."
"I know you have," I said quietly. "I just want you to see it, that's all."
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"What did you see, the first time you looked at my aura?" his face was very still.
"When I came to in the ally, the first thing I saw was your face," I said, thinking back. "I immediately scanned your aura, and I saw that you were struggling with your past, but you were on the side of light. There was definite indication that you had done some very bad things, but I remember that the blue-white was very bright."
He thought about that, and was silent for a time. Then he said softly, "That doesn't sound the same as it looked when you showed me my aura just before we got to Dxun."
"No," I admitted, "it isn't."
He mulled that over. "Well, Wildcat, it might be true you didn't make me a good man," he said finally. "But maybe you've made me believe it."
He reached out and I snuggled into his arms, kissing his shoulder, neck, cheek, and finally his mouth. His lips were warm, and exquisitely tender. I scooted closer until I was in his lap, the sheets tangled around us. After a sweet eternity, we broke apart, and I rested my head on his shoulder. He held me like that for a long time, just listening to each other's heartbeat.
"So," I said brightly, looking up into his intense blue gaze. "Does this mean you're okay with me getting that tattoo?"