Chapter null:
The noisy alien was bothering the genitors still. They had been at it for days, but a decision was approaching. The screams were less shrill, there were fewer threats, and Mother and Father looked at him with speculative, cold glances. It was different from the way things were, he thought. They used to be warmer, or so he seemed to remember, back before he had moved a toy with his mind, a few cycles ago. They treated him differently since then, and it was confusing because he hadn't done anything wrong, or at least he didn't think he had. The alien even said so, claiming he had a gift that would help the Galaxy. That sounded better than remaining here, where there were even talks of another heir. He watched silently as they finally agreed on something, and they all turned to look at him.
The fosterer (don't call me mother, she had said) led him into a huge room, filled with all kind of sophonts. They looked curious, but he felt they were judging him, finding him too big, too Hutt, too other. Maybe that's why they said I should have come younger, he lamented, how will I ever fit in with them? He crawled slowly where he was pointed (Clan Bergruufta? Where those like banthas maybe?), and waited to the side of his new fellows. Someone made a softly spoken comment about the smell, and he flinched. He steeled himself and decided to ignore them, or rather to show them he was worth it. Even if they all knew what the Force was and were younger, that Jedi had said a Hutt Jedi was a historical milestone! He could do this.
Beldorion set himself on guard, the practiced stance of Form VI taking shape while he watched his opponent. It was his last time taking the Initiate Trials, for better or worse. They thought he didn't realize it, but he knew he was too old by far. Most Jedi took Padawans by 13 standard years of age, and he was past that when he arrived. Only some clever wordplay on relative maturity had allowed him to slip into the Temple, and he regretted it on his bad days. Master Yoda's words reverberated on his mind, unbidden. A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind. He breathed in, slowly. I will be a Jedi. I am a Jedi. Nerves settled, he began advancing. He knew this duel was as good as won, it had to be.
Master Ro shook his head as he instructed him on meditation again. Years meditating on the Temple, and only now they tell me I'm wrong? Kriffing brat, I'm older than you. ...and still a Padawan, he thought, resentful. But it was no news to be told off, for slacking, not committing to study, training, the mission. All because I'm a Hutt, and I made the mistake of entering the Temple. He resolved to try again, he was in too deep to abandon ship anyway. I believe Khooshu would have called it a sunk cost fallacy? In any case, there couldn't be more than a few years until his own trials of Knighthood, even at his glacial pace.
Ro Ambria shook his head in exasperation. This Beldorion, always with the resentment. He supposed he had some reason to feel that way, but the Jedi way called for peace, not grudges. I was not the best choice for his Master, but who else would take him? He repressed his uncharitable thoughts, and reminded himself of his resolution, I should help him as much as I can, at the very least. He began his lecture again, but could feel he was making little impact. At least he would eventually be ready for Knighthood, he considered, unknowingly mirroring Beldorion's own musings.
It was a long apprenticeship, but it ended, like all trials. And in his favor too. The years doing missions for the Order went by quickly, the selfless work a balm for his soul. He didn't grow, learned little, but he was approaching peace in his own way. On his good days, he felt like just another brother, and he would greet his fellow Jedi with a respectful nod, get one in return from most. Other days he brooded, and imagined them making fun of him for his age, his size, his Huttness. That comfortable routine ended when he was called by Master Will Scottol, who had a joint mission. Entering his office, his gaze fell on a fellow Knight waiting attentively. Knight Taselda, I believe. Dependable as I recall. After she greeted him, his attention turned to the Master, who nodded to him and began his explanation. "Welcome, Knights. Today we request your aid on a reconnaissance mission to one obscure world, Nam Chorios..."
That fool had proved worthless in the end, and good riddance to the chuta. It had been years since she dared surface, and she had to be getting old by now. He turned to his new chef, one of them Kubaz. He was a promising find, always eager to experiment and create new culinary experiences. He claimed his next creation would be his masterpiece, based on a local species. Beldorion turned to his balcony, half listening as Zubindi explained his methods and extolled his own genius. Nam Chorios turned out to be quite a find, a diamond in the rough. And still he found himself empty, listless. Becoming a Hutt lord was not as fulfilling as he had expected, expecially if it implied he had to remain there forever. One day he'd have to take care of those cannons if only to make trade easier.
It had worked. Princess Leia was their guest, and Dzym was working on her. The plan was coming together, and she was a treat to boot. It made him positively nostalgic, remembering his Padawan days, his time as a youngling. Her brother was restarting the Order (and we hardly noticed they were gone, he thought with a pang), and he allowed himself to believe she was a trusted confident for a moment. She would have to die, but first he'd tell her about Illum. Those were shining days indeed, literally with all the crystal. He chuckled softly and took another Droch from his plate, crunching him with his radula. Maybe he'd show her some lightsaber tricks later, before she... left forever.
Author's note:
You almost feel sorry for the guy, huh? Anyway, great news! Beldorion is now a recognized character in the Star Wars category! The story has been updated to reflect this.