Summary: Sequel to Our Unspoken Vows. The Guard is left shaken after one of their own turns to the Dark Side.
A/N: Rakesh Brem is the name I have given the Grand Inquisitor, the main character of this series. Further notes on him and the appearing Guard and/or Inquisitorius members will be listed at the end of this fic's AO3 version.
Here's a layout I created for the way I perceive the Guard Halls: blog/view/oh-three/690464525287358464?source=share
This particular entry takes some inspiration from nobody_expects_the_inquisitorius's work on AO3. Because, quite frankly, how couldn't Silver And Gold inspire me? That thing's a masterpiece!
Swaying Forces
The pressure of the war, the increasing handle of doom settling over the galaxy- it's anyone's guess why the dead Guardsman turned to the Dark.
The consensus going around was that he had been driven to his breaking point, the Light choked right out of him. He had lost faith, and so had risen in one final act of sheer desperation. And now he's dead, and half of the Temple Guard is at the funeral of a man who had just tried to slaughter his own.
Nameless. Faceless. A breathing statue clothed in chiseled ivory and sharp golds. This is what the ideal Jedi Temple Guard is supposed to be to the rest of the Order. It is the only way that they can truly hold themselves to their duty- to their solemn vows to protect the Temple's inhabitants from any harm that may befall them.
For one to break this vow, it spells nothing but tragedy. It shakes their protectees' trust in them, makes the rest of the Order doubt their purpose, their abilities, their devotion to the cause. But, worse yet, it shakes their faith in themselves. It cracks their masks open and reaches out to invite the Dark in.
And the Dark Side, oh, it is the most infectious of diseases. Once the rot has found its way in, it is impossible to be rid of.
To deny that the Guard has been affected by the Clone Wars would be to speak a lie. Because even the most stoic of them has felt the effects of it- and now they've each been touched by the tragedy. What's happened at the Temple today, it doesn't sit right with any of them. The whispers are swirling around, throughout those assembled for the funeral. Not even the most sure of them is capable of quieting their minds. This Guardsman, he betrayed them all.
"I don't understand." Trohr murmurs, pulling his hood further down over his horns. During funeral attendance of one of their own, Guard members are encouraged to put aside their masks so that the spirit joining their dead can recognize the faces that send him off. "Guards aren't supposed to hurt people."
"No. They're not." Loktof grunts from further down the line, curt as ever despite the boy's clear uncertainty. Even now, the burly warrior is of few words.
How could one have been so desperate so as to invoke the wrath of his own people upon him? Surely, the man knew he would be killed? That he couldn't lash out like he had and escape? Fleeing alone would have been a surer bet to freeing himself of that horrible feeling built up in his chest. After he'd struck, his fate had been sealed.
Or, perhaps, that had been the goal- to rattle the rest of the Guard, their faith in one another.
If so, it certainly worked, Rakesh thinks with the rueful shake of his head.
Jurr picks up where Loktof left off. "The Dark Side can penetrate the Light within anyone, young one. Even of those within our own ranks. Master Nyras felt too trapped to resist its call, and gave in to the temptation." His shadowed frown peeks from beneath his hood. "It is our responsibility to hold ourselves in the Light."
"Isn't it wrong, then, to hold a funeral for him?"
"His fall is as much our fault as it was his own. His unit should have looked after him better, as should have the rest of us." Wisened eyes travel to the covered body in the open casket at the room's center, the handful of Guardsmen crowded around it. "All we can do now is grieve."
After that, Unit Arrel fades into silence with the rest of the room.
It's still quiet a few minutes later, and the metallic click that sounds is audible to those even farthest back. Then comes the grinding of stone, and the body slowly sinks into the ground where it lays. Panels slide over it, and a soft orange beam shoots up from a circular clasp in the center, sealing the fates of both the dead man and those around him.
It will not be outside forces that drag the Jedi Order to its knees.