Interest
The clone troopers never failed to arouse his interest. Whether during battle or the times in-between, Garett found himself simply watching the men under his command, studying them as if they were an alien species.
The thought made him a little ashamed, for it excluded the fact that these were men, flesh-and-blood like himself and endowed with many admirable qualities, as well as common Human fallibilities.
They were brave, to be sure.
Garett had seen enough of battle, had witnessed many a sentient abandoning his post in the face of overwhelming odds, to appreciate the troopers' unwavering courage. And in quiet moments, when he had the time to reflect, he could even marvel over how they conducted themselves in this war, with nothing but their armor, their blasters and their comrades to fend off the droids.
He had the Force. Where the clones needed to club, knife and blast their enemies, Garett could draw on the endless ocean of strength that coursed through his veins and made his blood sing. As a Jedi, he was faster and stronger, with keener senses and better reflexes than any of his men could hope for, no matter how they trained. The advantages were all his and yet the Jedi were few and the war was a game of numbers.
In the end, they needed the clones to secure the Republic's victory in this conflict and this knowledge only enhanced Garett's conflicting feelings towards his men.
This was another one of those times where the Jedi simply did not understand the clones. Feeling more like an anthropologist than a general, Garett paused on the gantry overlooking one of Stalwart's many hangar bays, drawn by the bubbling sense of excitement that coursed through the Force.
Perhaps a hundred troopers were arrayed below him in a loose circle, listening intently as N-7, Lieutenant Mereel, explained something to them.
Garett was too far away to hear the ARC's words, but whatever it was, it seemed to involve hitting yourself, or your neighbor, with a fist.
His pale blond brows drew together as he watched. What was the man up to?
Garett wasn't sure how to feel about the ARC lieutenant. It wasn't that he disliked him, but Lieutenant Mereel's attitude also made it difficult to like him. There were shadows on the man, whenever Garett looked at him with the Force and though he was respectful whenever he addressed the Jedi, Garett was not so inexperienced as to miss the undercurrents of disapproval, insolence and even contempt in the trooper's voice.
He blew out a sigh, brushing away the strands of hair that had escaped his topknot. Ro would no doubt be able to pinpoint the man's problem - Garett couldn't. All he could say for sure was that he would be happy to see the last of Lieutenant Mereel. He didn't doubt in the least that the feeling was mutual.
The group below him stirred and the circle seemed to draw in on itself, before the men took a collective step back and began to….beat their gauntleted fists against their chest plates.
Not surprisingly, it was Lieutenant Mereel who started the chant, beating out the rhythm alone for a few seconds before the others joined in, tentatively at first, then with growing enthusiasm.
Taung - sa - rang - bro-ka!
Je - tii - se-ka - 'rta!
Dha - Werd-da - Ver-da - a'den - tratu!
The skin on his neck began to prickle as the company turned right and the troopers continued the rhythm on their neighbor's backplate, the pace increasing with every verse.
Cor - u - scan - ta - kan - dosii - adu!
Duum - mo - tir - ca - 'tra - nau - tracinya!
Of course, this was the Dha Werda. Garett had heard of the strange Mandalorian ritual, knew even of a few ships and companies where the - Chant? Song? Dance? None seemed to really apply - was regularly performed, but he'd never witnessed it himself.
The troopers turned left, repeating the process, but a few missed their cue and instead of taking the balled fists on their back plates as intended, they got a mouth full of armored gauntlet.
Garett winced as blood began to flow from split lips and mashed noses and considered stepping in before they had more serious injuries to deal with. His eyes caught on a familiar face amongst all those familiar faces. Commander Gaff was right in the middle of things, standing to Lieutenant Mereel's right, arms raised at shoulder height to do his part in keeping the Dha Werda going. The man's face was a mask of concentration, determination and...joy.
Garett's hands clenched over the gantry's railing, but he resisted the urge to interfere. This….this ritual….He had no part in it; it was not his place to dictate the culture of these men.
Gra - 'tua - cuun - hett - su - dralshya!
The young Jedi turned, walking back along the gantry and towards his quarters. A chill began to race up and down his spine. There was something powerful and primal in that pounding, sharp rhythm of fists against armor; of voices - sounding like one, raised as one - ringing out.
Kom - 'rk - tsad - drot-en - t-roch - nyn - ures - adenn!
His hand sought the comforting weight of his lightsaber at his side as the cargo bay echoed with the troopers' battle cry, drowning out his own soft footsteps.
The Jedi never ceased to perplex Gaff.
Even before he'd been decanted, flash-training had instilled him with an automatic respect for their abilities. The Jedi were powerful far beyond a clone's ability, which was why they were in charge of the Grand Army.
But respect and admiration did not equal understanding and Gaff never failed to be interested in his general's activities, if only to better comprehend the man. If, that was, the term could be properly applied to the Jedi.
Gaff readjusted his grip on the weight machine, flushing at his own musings. Ro was certainly Human enough; kind, caring and full of laughter. And the general was kind, in his own way. He certainly never failed to lend a respectful ear to the concerns and suggestions of his officers. And though he did not laugh as freely as his sister, the general's smiles were just as warm and wry, once they broke through his natural reserve. So the general was Human….A man.
The rest of the Jedi, though?
With a grunt, Gaff released his hold and let the weights slide back into their brackets. Puffing a little from his exercisions, he grabbed a towel and water bottle, wiping the sweat from his forehead before taking a long drink. He tugged at the grey shirt that was plastered to his chest; even with the cooling units, his skin was streaked with sweat from a hard round of exercises. A cool shower would just be the ticket right now, then his rack.
Surreptitiously, he glanced towards the far corner of the gym, where General Arhen and General Koth were leisurely stretching their limbs, talking quietly as they did so.
Both Jedi had divested themselves of most of their robes, leaving them barechested and dressed in nothing but beige leggings. This was clearly the prep to a match of some kind and Gaff couldn't help but study the two Jedi, comparing former Master and Padawan.
The Zabrak Jedi definitely had the advantage of mass. He was broad in the shoulders and chest, broader even than a trooper, but he bent his body easily into shapes that made Gaff a little queasy.
The general was far more lithe. Nowhere near as delicate as his sister, General Arhen was nonetheless wiry in built, almost slender in comparison to General Koth. The muscles rippled beneath his pale skin like coiled snakes as he twisted first from side to side, then suddenly bent over backwards, his feet following in a perfect headstand before landing lightly back on the mat.
General Koth chuckled, his voice carrying easily through the spacious gym. "Well done, my former Padawan. Perhaps I should have sold you to the circus after all and made my fortunes."
The general's answering grin was broad and showed off his perfect, white teeth. "I believe, Master Koth, that when you uttered that threat the first time, Master Yoda offered to send you along to man the trapeze with me. Do you believe he still would, or grant you lenience in deference to your advanced years?"
"Insolence!" General Koth scoffed, before crooking a finger at General Arhen. "Let me show you how age trumps youth."
"With a good helping of treachery to overcome my enthusiasm?" the general shot back.
The two Jedi closed in on one another.
Gaff was not the only one to abandon his plans and circle around the mats to watch the two Jedi in action.
Quiet murmurs filled the gym as troopers placed discreet bets.
Gaff licked his lips, feeling the tension within the gym rise as the Jedi locked eyes and engaged in some quiet battle of the wills, their bodies almost gliding across the mats - not touching, but still battling in some manner. He shivered as he felt the air thicken and press against his lungs like a solid weight. There it was again. Gaff couldn't quantify what he was feeling, exactly, and it was precisely this floundering for definition that made him realize that the two generals were using the Force.
But unlike out in the battlefield, there were no droids being hurled through the air with a flick of the hand. No plasma bolt that suddenly careened off its intended trajectory, as if frightened off by an intense gaze leveled its way. Just two shirtless men aboard a Star Destroyer, each a stark contrast to the other.
Where General Koth was dark - black hair, black facial markings, dark brown skin, brown eyes - General Arhen was light. In the harsh illumination of the gym, his platinum blond hair was bleached almost white; his eyebrows and lashes so fair, they almost disappeared against the backdrop of his lightly tanned skin. His coloring underscored the potency of his strange, teal eyes.
But each man was intense, focused.
And as the minutes ticked by, neither had yet to throw a single punch.
The troopers grew restless as even the Jedi's endless circling abruptly stopped. Now they just...stood there, half-crouched in readiness.
Gaff dabbed the edge of his towel over his brow, feeling a fresh sheen of sweat break out. Next to him, a man from General Koth's company hastily stifled a cough. The silence in the gym had grown to oppressive proportions.
Just as Gaff thought he might scream at the two Jedi to do something, anything, General Arhen's face broke into a wide smile. Straightening from his crouch, the general threw back his head and laughed.
"You've got me beat, Master."
General Koth gave his former pupil a mocking bow. "Ah, but you've run a good race, Garett. You gave it your all, coming at me from all possible angles."
"But what good is any attack, when there is no weakness in your defenses?" The general concluded.
The two Jedi bowed, still smiling.
Gaff and the rest of the troopers were left to stare from one to the other, bewildered by a fight that had never taken place and yet, seemed to have been won and lost.
His eyes caught those of General Koth's man and the other trooper gave a helpless shrug that seemed to say it all.
Jedi.