Chapter Text
Week One: Day One
Satine sighed tiredly, crossing her arms firmly over her chest. The air was dry around her, the tiny heaters working overtime to provide comfort and warmth during the blackout in Sundari. The muted colour of the palace walls blended into the shadows, and if it wasn’t for the torch in her guard’s hand, she wouldn’t have been able to see her own fingertips.
The thought of hiding, with the Jedi no less, made her feel both angry and embarrassed, and Satine swallowed down her comments before she allowed herself to say something foolish. She couldn’t deny that deep down, she knew her advisors were right: she needed to disappear somewhere the insurgents couldn’t reach her. What other choice did she really have?
Pacifism was an extraordinary concept, and when her father had announced his intentions to move Mandalore into a more peaceful age, many had wondered if perhaps he’d lost his mind. It had been a year since his death, and she knew that perhaps she could put a stop to the needless violence by giving into the Traditionalists demands; but her whole life she’d witnessed the incivility of weapons, and the more catastrophes she saw, the more she knew she had to make sure her father’s legacy lived on.
The Prime minister, Jerec, placed a protective hand on the young girl’s shoulder, looking at her intensely. Her pale skin was smeared with grime and dirt, and her pink and blonde hair fell messily around her face. He truly admired her bravery, but it was beginning to boarder on something akin to stupidity.
“Your Grace, I know it feels counterproductive, but we’ve already lost too many people. We don’t have the means to defend you, but the Jedi do. They will keep you safe.”
Satine felt her breath catch, and her anger dissipated immediately hearing the plea in his tone. To hold the title Duchess of Kalevala at just seventeen years old hadn’t been what anyone had planned, and many thought she was too young for such a responsibility; too emotional, too naive. She wasn’t the grand Duke Adonai Kryze, willing to fight for peace. She was just Satine, the good, little pacifist.
Satine found herself looking away, feeling her chest swill with remorse. “My life is no more important than yours. What kind of message will running away send?”
“You won’t need to hide for long, your Grace,” he assured her.
Satine took in another breath, trying to keep herself composed as she felt her emotions grow. Somewhere in the dark room, water began to drip, and she listened as it plinked against an abandoned desk, which before the war had been filled with data pads and papers. It used to be her fathers. Now it was hers, and the only thing that lay on it today was dust.
Finally, Satine spoke again, although her voice was barely a whisper. “Do we even trust these strangers? The Jetiise.”
“They’re peacekeepers, dear Satine. Perhaps you can learn something from them,” Jerec replied, his hands folding together in front of his torso.
Satine barely held back her contempt, the whirlwind of emotions and lack of sleep getting the better of her, “They’re laser sword wielding crusaders who think they’re superior because of their magical force. What exactly could I come to learn from them?”
Jerec merely raised an eyebrow as he let out a curious noise. “Well, you won’t have to wait to find out.”
**
“This is hardly a conspicuous location for a high-profile target to hide, Master.” Obi-Wan eyed the large building that came in to view as they searched for a place to land their shuttle. “Are we sure this isn’t a trap?”
“Your suspicions are clouding your judgment, Padawan,” Qui-Gon spoke, pointing to a small clearing located by the trees. Obi-Wan automatically steered the shuttle towards it, steeling himself for yet another lecture regarding his lack of trust. “A world unable to organise itself, is hardly a world able to plan to achieve the level of deception needed to orchestrate an abduction.”
They’d flown over the capital and the outer villages, and all they’d seen was devastating evidence of destruction. The civil war was catastrophic, leading to both death and displacement across all the major cities. A government official had pleaded with the council for aid, but the situation still felt odd to Obi-Wan. The Mandalorian’s often saw the Jedi as their enemies, so their sudden plea either meant they were walking into trouble, or they truly were in as much of a predicament as they claimed.
But why ask your enemy for help? He just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Ignoring the anxieties growing in his mind, Obi-Wan continued to steer, turning his head to face Qui-Gon with a curious look in his eyes. “What do we know about the Duchess, Master?”
“Unfortunately, we have very little information other than what’s available in the archives, although I am very intrigued to meet her,” Qui-Gon admitted. “From what I heard she’s young and particularly headstrong. We have been warned that she’s against our presence here, so I advise we proceed with caution.”
“Well, she sounds bloody delightful.”
“Don’t be a smart ass, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon retorted firmly. Kenobi had always had a terrible habit of speaking before he thought, and he often found himself getting into heated debates with masters and peers alike. Sometimes it took every ounce of Jedi training Qui-Gon had had not to shake some sense into the boy. Instead, Jinn went back to reading the debriefing. “Remember, Lady Kryze has lost everything and everyone she holds dear. I’d be more surprised if she didn’t express animosity in the face of uncertainty.”
They landed soon after, and Qui-Gon stood up wordlessly and made his way towards the ramp. Obi-Wan wasn’t far behind, and he reached out to the force to shut the cockpit door behind him. Although, he found himself pausing as he was met with Qui-Gon’s blank stare, and it wasn’t until Jinn reached out to the distinctive looking bruise on Obi-Wan’s neck that he finally understood why.
Qui-Gon gave his apprentice a harsh sigh, leaving Obi-Wan to pull his cloak hood over his head at a suspiciously fast speed for someone on the cusp of trying to plead their innocence.
“Mm, Siri Tachi, I assume?” the Jedi Master enquired.
Obi-Wan chose to stay silent, knowing that if they were to trace the origins of that particular bruise, they would discover it most certainly had been Siri’s handiwork.
Jinn certainly wasn’t against his padawan experimenting with casual dalliances, and he didn’t know how far their fling had gone, nor did he want to know, but as he watched them grow closer and blur the lines of the code, he did what every good Master would do to stop their apprentice making a terrible, terrible mistake.
Obi-Wan was going to make a wonderful Jedi Knight one day. But until he learned to get his attachments under control, things were going to be difficult for him. Perhaps it made him a hypocrite, but it was something the Jedi Master unfortunately knew all too well.
With a flick of his fingers, Qui-Gon lowered the ramp, heading towards the Kryze residence with a gradual stride. “We’ll talk about this later. For now, stay alert. I sense we’re being watched.”
Suddenly a man hurried towards them, rushing down the grand steps as he glanced around the sky, as though he were anticipating an attack from above. His face was shining with both worry and gratitude, and as Obi-Wan reached out to the force, all he felt was relief from the man. “Jettise, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you and I welcome you as my guests here at Kryze Manor. It’s unfortunate this alliance couldn’t be under better circumstances.”
“My name is Qui-Gon Jinn,” the older Jedi replied. He gestured to Kenobi, “And this is my apprentice, Obi-Wan.”
“Prime Minister Jerec,” he replied, bowing his head respectfully. “You must understand already there has been several attempts on Satine’s life, and I fear they are getting worse. We’re running out of options.”
“And you’re certain the Traditionalists are behind the attacks?” Obi-Wan asked, folding his hands together so his sleeves hung around his wrists.
Jerec sighed. “Insurgents, bounty hunters, anyone looking to make a few credits. Satine has done well legalise the changes so quickly, but unless this civil war ends, there won’t be much of Mandalore left to see the outcome.” He impatiently extended his arm towards the door, as though he were sensing something outside the Jedi couldn’t. “Please, allow me to show you inside.”
The Jedi followed Jerec up the steps, and as soon as they entered the house, they immediately stepped into a room that had been frozen in time. The ample stairs were shrouded with a cinnabar red carpet and the walls were covered in paintings depicting tales of Mandalorian warriors. Obi-Wan felt his eyes linger on the domed ceiling as he moved into the sunlight, which shone down from the circular glass window above them. The entrance was certainly grandiose, and Kenobi would be lying if he said he didn’t find the furnishings intriguing. It was exactly how he would have pictured a private residence that belonged nobility. It was pretentious, arrogant, and frankly the epitome of elitism.
As they walked further into the hall, Jerec called over a young girl, perhaps a year or two older than Obi-Wan. She excused herself from a conversation with a Very Keen-Looking Royal Guard, who would no doubt need to mourn her departure, before she strode over, her head held high. Her red hair sat pristinely around her face, and her green eyes took in the sight of the Jedi with a friendly glance. Everything about her attire and the way she carried herself gave the air of aristocracy. Which was why both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were surprised when Jerec introduced her, “This is my daughter, Amera.”
Amera held her hand out and exchanged pleasantries, and Qui-Gon undoubtedly frowned at the way she shook Obi-Wan’s hand just a little longer than necessary.
“Where is Lady Kryze?” Jerec asked curiously.
Amera’s tone was dry and piqued, and the narrowing of her eyes at the Duchesses name certainly didn’t go unnoticed, “I last saw her in her room. She was packing a bag.”
“Good,” Jerec mumbled. “Perhaps Master Qui-Gon, you and I could iron out the final details of Satine’s protection whilst Amera escorts Obi-Wan to meet Lady Kryze? The sooner she’s out of harm’s way the better.”
“Very well, provide some assistance if required, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon replied. He locked eyes with his apprentice, “Remember, her cooperation is imperative.”
Obi-Wan simply nodded in return, the real message being delivered by the intensity in his eyes, it simply rang piss her off at your peril.
As Amera led Obi-Wan wordlessly up the staircase, he couldn’t help noticing the passersby pause to glare in his direction. He already felt restless after three days in hyperspace, and by the time he’d given a reassuring smile to the fifth Mandalorian, he struggled to hold back his commentary, “It seems your people don’t want us here.”
“Mandalore and the Jedi have a complicated history. They have no reason to trust you,” Amera responded frankly, hopping up the final few steps, her hair swinging from side to side, “And now the bounty hunters are after Satine, we don’t know who we can rely on anymore.”
“You think you have a spy?” Obi-Wan probed, reading into her words. That information certainly hadn’t been made available during the briefing, and he wondered if it were simply hearsay.
Amera didn’t slow her pace. “You’re looking at all that is left of those who are brave enough to stand by her.”
Obi-Wan glanced around the corridors as they walked further into the house. The plush carpet had been replaced by a creaky floor, and the ambient lighting suddenly felt ominous. He could smell the aroma of spices coming from a kitchen somewhere nearby, but as he reached out to the force, the house felt still. Kenobi crossed his arms again. “There doesn’t seem to be many of you here.”
“The death threats scared a lot of people away,” Amera said in response.
Obi-Wan titled his head to the side, watching the redhead prance in front of him. “But they don’t concern you?”
“Oh, I don’t scare that easily,” Amera retorted, throwing a coy look over her shoulder. “It really hasn’t been easy making the transition to the New Mandalorian ways, I just hope it’s all worth it.”
Obi-Wan sensed her sudden condemnation, and he found himself carefully broaching the ultimate question: “Do you think it was wrong of Lady Satine to reject traditionalism?”
“You’re a man of peace, Jetii,” Amera replied, “Do you believe in violence?”
“Only as a last resort,” he responded. “I don’t favour it, but I’m taught to defend myself and those under my protection.”
“Pacifism only encourages peace,” Amera mumbled. “And if it weren’t for my father, Satine would most certainly would be dead. I’m afraid for her… I’m afraid for us all.”
Amera pushed open another door, and they both stepped into a larger room. It was a living space, with several chaises all circling a large grand fireplace. Obi-Wan found himself nonchalantly investigating the area as Amera knocked on one of the adjacent doors, running his finger along the oak coffee table. Part of him wished that his friend Quinlan Vos had been here; he certainly wouldn’t have hesitated to use his psychometry abilities to uncover the echoes of those who had passed through. But if he were to hazard a guess, he would have said this was where the young Duchess came to hide, her own personal space away from the tragedies of war and burden of responsibility.
He placed a candle back down as he heard Amera wander back over, and he turned to see a smile growing across her delicate face. “Lady Satine will be out in a moment.”
He thanked her, turning to rest against the dark, wooden table, and found himself asking the question that had been consuming him from the moment they had received this assignment, “Amera, whose idea was it to contact the Jedi council for aid?”
“Mine,” she responded, much to Obi-Wan’s confusion. She laughed, looking down at the floor. “Don’t look so surprised, Jetii. I’m a student at the University of Coruscant when I’m not helping fellow Mandalorian’s flee the civil war. We all have a life to return to, and the sooner this ordeal is over, the sooner we can go back to normality.”
There was something concerning in her words that set off Kenobi’s internal alarms, but before he could react, Amera flashed him a devilish look, fluttering her long eyelashes. “I understand how strange it is to be so far from home, Obi-Wan, so if there’s anything I can do for you to make your stay here more comfortable, please do let me know.”
Obi-Wan was taken aback by her suggestive tone, but he quickly brushed it off with a charming smile. “It appears you and your father are the only two people here who are warm towards my kind.”
“They just need a little persuasion; someone to put in a good word,” Amera murmured, placing her hand on his chest, just to really make sure her intentions were unmistakable.
Obi-Wan snickered in response, despite the certain involuntary ache in his crotch telling him now was a good time to stop his conversation. It was hardly professional to harmlessly flirt with anyone whilst on the job, and more so whilst he was currently in the shit with his Master.
In that moment, footsteps echoed behind them, but the redhead didn’t make any indication of stepping away from the Jedi, if anything she seemed to get closer. The figure in the doorway scoffed, “Really Amera, yet another of my guards you wish you bed? Don’t you think this game is getting a little tiring?”
“Hello Satine,” Amera responded dryly.
Suddenly Obi-Wan realised they clearly were not friends.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, taking in the sight of the Duchess as he stepped away. Satine’s sharp features almost made her affronted expression more extreme, and her icy blue eyes were cold and unpleasant as they studied him in return. Satine wasn’t dressed like any other Duchess he’d seen before; she was wearing dark brown leggings with a fraying poncho and a pair of muddy ankle boots. The only thing that gave him a hint of her personality were the pink lowlights in her hair.
Obi-Wan bowed respectfully, but his eyes stayed locked on to hers. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi. I’m part of the Jedi protection assigned to you.”
“Satine Kryze,” she spoke, forgoing her title in favour of establishing a sense of ease, but something about the boy made her feel scrutinised. Satine hadn’t met a Jedi before, but from what she’d seen so far, something told her that they most likely weren’t going to get on.
Satine offered a smile, but a tiny crinkle formed between her eyebrows. “It’s kind of you both come, but I really think Jerec has overreacted.”
“There’s been four attempts on your life in the last week, Satine,” Amera argued.
Obi-Wan pursed his lips at the sudden outburst from Amera, looking at the two girls curiously. He was certain there was animosity between them, but also a strange sense of loyalty. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, cutting in, “That doesn’t sound like an overreaction, Your Highness, and standing around arguing is only delaying the inevitable. Surely you realise that by being here, you’re inadvertently putting everyone in jeopardy.”
Satine wasn’t sure whether it was because of Amera’s flirty little eyes, or Kenobi’s audacity to accuse her of endangering her people, but she raised a disapprovingly eyebrow, her approachability depleted. “Oh, so you thought you would come and sample a few of my hostages in the process of rescuing them?” she taunted.
Her attempt at vilification immediately angered Kenobi, and he didn’t hold back his disdain, “It appears the only thing I’m sampling is your belligerence, Your Highness,” he retorted.
Despite wanting nothing more than to give this cantankerous Jedi the satisfaction of an argument, Satine chose to save her breath and ignore him like a person of her values ought to do. Instead, she disappeared back into her bedroom, walking with such a purposeful stride it looked as though she had somewhere else to be.
Back in the living space, the silence in the room began to grow, and a cold unpleasant wave settled in the atmosphere. Obi-Wan had no idea what had just happened, but it certainly wasn’t the cooperation Qui-Gon expected. Although, as if used to the abhorrent hostility, Amera gave him a warm smile, shuffling towards the door, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get you in to trouble.”
Obi-Wan was quite sure that was lie, but he chose not to say as much.
Instead, she tucked her hair behind her ear with a nod. “Well, I’m down the hall, three doors on your right. Maybe if you have time later tonight you can stop by?” she suggested.
Perhaps Kenobi could be a remarkable idiot at times, but he certainly didn’t have a death wish, so he crossed his arms with a smirk, “And steal you away from the adoring Royal Guard downstairs? I couldn’t be so selfish.”
Amera simply chuckled as she disappeared out of view.
Steeling himself to make nice with the duchess, Obi-Wan stepped over to the other side of the room and stood at the edge of Satine’s carpet, taking her open door as his invitation to follow. The decor matched the rest of the house with large red drapes and a grand bed with circular, fluffy pillows, and she’d thrown mountains of clothes all over the floor as though she’d been unpacking in a hurry. Suddenly a small weightless bag dropped by his feet, and he looked down at the sight of it as Satine began to rummage around her chest of draws, “I see you’ve made a friend.”
Her tone was so sickly sweet, that for a moment, Obi-Wan couldn’t tell if she were mocking him. But considering they’d already gotten off on the wrong foot the chances of this being an olive branch were slim.
Ignoring her comment, Obi-Wan dutifully picked up the bag, using the force as not to bend down at her behest. “My master is just gathering the last of the intel we need before we find somewhere else to go, Your Grace.”
“No one should have to put themselves in danger for me. This isn’t your fight,” Satine muttered.
Truthfully, this know-it-all Jedi enraged her. No, he more than enraged her, and if she wasn’t a pacifist, she certainly would have had thoughts of kicking him squarely in the crotch. But alas, he wouldn’t have anything else left to think with, the Duchess thought sardonically.
Satine understood what her people were willingly sacrificing by staying by her side, and she didn’t need the snarky reminder. She wanted to ask him who exactly he thought he was coming in here and making such insensitive remarks, and she truly hoped the other Jedi was going to be significantly more tolerable than this self-absorbed teenage boy.
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow as he watched her organise her things in a hectic frenzy. “Lady Kryze, I mean no disrespect, but we seem to be your last option.”
“My only option is diplomacy,” she insisted softly. “I’m not afraid of the Traditionalists. If I give in, what message will that send?”
While Obi-Wan understood and, to some degree, respected her determination, he found himself feeling exhausted. He’d decided Satine was foolish, defiant, and just a little condescending—and he most definitely didn’t like her. “Your Highness, bounty hunters don’t understand politics—they understand the lure of currency.”
Satine threw down a cloak on her bed, turning to face him with a sigh. She shook her head, frustrated, her eyes fixated on a framed picture hanging on the panelled wall. “And what do you understand, Jetii?”
The question took him by surprise, but still he humoured it, “My duty, Your Grace.”
“Then you’ll know why I can’t run.” Satine let the impact of her words settle as she motioned to the shut the door, giving him one last cold look. “I’ll rendezvous with you and your Master later. Perhaps try not to insult any of my people on the way out: Pacifists may be against violence, but we have no qualms putting unpleasant off-worlders in their place.”