Chapter Text
"So Sifo is in a sordid love affair with the current Mand'alor?," Jocasta glanced up over her folded hands. The steep angle with which she held her eyebrows said it all.
Yan slung one leg over the other. "Not exactly, no. He wishes he was."
The eyebrows hitched even higher.
At the same time, Sifo, who currently was trying to become one with Jocasta's couch, let out a downright miserable groan.
"And he has been moping about it for the last month ," Yan added, with a quick glance towards the other man.
"Oh, so that's what that was about," Jo murmured. Then, she looked up, "And you are telling me this, why exactly?"
Yan's lips split into a thin, but benevolent smile. The kind of smile he used when he was talking to politicians of the Republic Senate and lured them into making concessions they didn't want to make.
"Wouldn't this be a prime opportunity to better relations with Mandalore in official capacity as well? What Sifo told me about Mand'alor Mereel lets me believe that the man is not only sensible, reliable and graced with great foresight, but also very open to look past our Order's and his peoples' past grievances."
"Yan," Jocasta set her hands down and stared at him with deep suspicion, "You sound like a matchmaker trying to sell me a particularly shapely husband right now. What do you want ?"
The tall Jedi sighed and leaned back. "Sifo got drunk and sent a message to the Haat Mando'ade government. Via the Council's official channels."
He watched her head snap over to the suddenly very still form of Sy.
" What ," her voice was positively glacial, "Did you say , Sy?"
"Now, I haven't seen the message," Yan continued, unperturbed, "But I have been told that it might have looked roughly like something that a rejected Padawan sent their first crush. Typos and all." He laced his fingers together in his lap. "Now, as the Councillor currently responsible for Outward Communications, we simply wanted to warn you."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time, okay," Sifo mumbled into the polster.
Jocasta didn't even dignify that with as much as a glance. Everyone in the room knew that it was a flimsy excuse at most.
…
Half a galaxy away, far far outside the Core, where the influence of the Republic long had ended, two mando'ade stood in front of a comm terminal. And frowned.
"This has to be a really weird and incredibly stupid attempt at a phishing message, right?," Myles looked up from the screen.
Standing right next to him with crossed arms and fingers tapping away impatiently on his vambrace, Silas shook his head. "I triple-checked the frequency. That is the official channel of the jetii high council."
"Any chance they were sliced?"
Silas stood silent for a moment. "Probably," he said, eventually. "But that's the jetiise's problem." He turned and waved the younger mando'ad off. "Just delete it, we've got enough on our hands without having to care for their osik too."
" Lek ," Myles shrugged and deleted the message from the terminal.
Effectively (and unknowingly) foiling all of Sifo-Dyas' drunk plans.
…
Sifo-Dyas on his part eventually realized that his plans (no matter how stupid and spur-of-the-moment they had been) had been foiled by someone.
Yes, he still had had some misplaced hopes that his drunk message was going to be the thing that got him a piece of fine mand'alorly ass. Yes he might have written it like that in the message he had sent. No, he was sure that this would not at all affect the credibility of the entire Jedi Order.
At least he hoped so.
And so far there had been no response. At all.
It had been weeks .
Sifo felt like weeping.
(Was he getting unnecessarily hung-up on getting Jaster in his bed again? Maybe. But most of it was pure spite towards everyone who said that he should just move on. No, Sifo was not going to move one from this, please and thank you. He was going to get this Mand'alor. They would see.)
(No, he was not telling his mind-healer about this.)
Now, the traditional channels all had forsaken him.
But! There was still one - tried and provenl - method he could put his hopes in. And that was Sprintr. (He had , after all, left a glowing review for the site, expressing his deep gratitude to the developers for essentially making his continued survival possible.)
If it could save a life in general, it for sure could also save his love life.
Thus, Jedi Master Sifo-Dyas re-downloaded Sprintr on his new comm. Only that this time, he put in his profile, under 'preferences', a particular fondness for armour, as well as an admiration for men in powerful positions.
Both criterias that Jaster checked.
This simply had to work.
And it did, from a certain perspective.
The only problem was, that Jaster seemed to have forgotten to mention that there were others that claimed the title of Mand'alor too. Others, that, just looking at written criteria, could very easily be confused for him. Approximate age? Check. Species? Human, so a check. Affiliation? Mandalorian, check. Occupation? Mand'alor !
Sifo had been so sure the stranger he'd been chatting with was Jaster, that he had completely forgone any double-checking.
Turns out, that had been a mistake.
As had trying to surprise this 'Jaster'.
"You're not Jaster," Sifo said accusingly, mood dropping by the second.
" How dare you ," spat the unfamiliar Mandalorian in dark armor.
And then he did something very unwise. He attacked Sifo-Dyas.
Now, Sifo wasn't the best fighter in the Order, far from it. That title belonged to Yan, Jocasta or maybe also Master Utrila. Now that he was thinking about it, Knight Drallig could also be a contestant - the man was on the best path to becoming a Battlemaster after all. Well, point in case. Many people were better at fighting than Sy. But that didn't mean that he was a pushover.
Even without his saber.
(Another casualty to the crash. Yet maybe that had been for the best, Sy had felt that his resonance with the crystal had been dwindling anyways - although maybe he should go about recovering it at some point. Just leaving it on that moon probably wasn't the best show of gratitude for the years it had served him.)
But that was something he would have to go about after dealing with the unnecessarily irate Mamdalorian in front of him. A Mandalorian who had just drawn a sizable vibroblade on him.
A ha! That , Sy could do as well!
Yan wouldn't have let him leave the Temple without any means of self defense after all!
Sifo drew his own vibroblade.
"Hey!," he called out as he parried the other man's first blow, "This is a misunderstanding!"
The man responded with a string of snarled words that probably were insults.
"I'm really sorry I mistook you for someone else," Sy tried again, ducking out of the way of a few more large swings, "It's an honest mistake! I didn't know there were multiple claimants to the title Mand'alor!"
"There aren't !," spittle flew out of the Mandalorians mouth. "What connections do you have with Mereel, aruetii!?"
Ah, Sy knew that last word. And thus he recognized the insult.
This wouldn't do. "What's your problem with Jaster?," he asked, almost colloquially. Compared to Yan, the man's hits were sluggishly slow, which made them easy to avoid.
The other guy evidently did not take the perceived ease with which Sy countered his attacks well. Or maybe it was the mention of Jaster's name. Well, whatever the reason for it was, his murderous intent practically doubled and Sifo only had a quick warning flare in the Force to thank for not getting hit by a salve of small projectiles that exploded against the garden wall behind him.
Oops.
For a moment, Sifo dazedly looked at the falling debris and charred vegetation.
Then, he turned back. "Hey!" There was open accusation in his voice. "What the fuck was that, you lunatic?"
" Die , aruetii !"
It then dawned on Sifo that this Mandalorian was very much set on killing him over this misunderstanding. Or maybe because of Jaster, he did seem to have personal problems with him. Not something Sy would have cared for normally, everyone was entitled to some blood feuds - Jocasta had enough of them going on after all -, but he was still trying to get his Mand'alor into his bed. So this rando killing or trying to kill Jaster was simply out of the question.
It seemed that, to protect the future of his sex life, Sifo would have to take this fight seriously.
With a deep sigh, he parried another blow (and then caught with his off-hand the additional dagger the Mando was trying to shank him with), before finally starting his counteroffensive. Adapting Niman to a vibroblade was a bit of a challenge, and using it offensively against an armoured opponent even more so. It was no wonder then, that Sifo did get some scrapes and bruises - his adversary was still Mandalorian after all.
But Sifo had no desire to lose .
Metal scraped over metal as he twisted his blade and with an outraged cry, the other man was disarmed.
It followed an, admittedly Force-assisted, kick to his chest, and he tumbled back into a shrubbery that had taken some collateral damage from their fight.
Swinging the vibroblade loosely in his hand, Sifo stepped up to the glaring man. "Again," he started, "This was an honest mistake. And I do not particularely feel like killing you, so why don't we-"
" ALOR !" A new voice suddenly cried out, accompanied by the wooshing of an engaged jetpack.
Sifo's head snapped up towards the sound - just in time to see the danger end of a blaster trained on him.
He stumbled back. A quick barrage of blasterfire hit the ground where he just had stood only moment before.
" Stop !," the first Mandalorian snarled, taking Sifo by surprise, "He is my opponent. Don't you dare interrupt our fight!"
Sifo could feel the misplaced pride, saturated with quite a bit of anger and the desire for revenge, rolling of the man. He seemed awfully set on continuing something Sifo had considered done.
The second Mandalorian seemed equally taken aback.
"Mand'alor-," they started, but the first one sprung up and socked them right in the side , where a bit of a gap between the armour plates was. Eyes wide, Sifo watched the second Mandalorian hunch over, undoubtedly because of the sudden hit.
The man that Sy was definitely not considering a date anymore, grabbed them by the throat and hissed, "You dare defy your Mand'alor ?"
"I have committed a crime worthy of death," the other wheezed out, sinking to their knees. "I will accept your punishment, Mand'alor."
"That's what I thought." He tossed their head back and then turned to face Sifo again.
His face was a bloodshot mask of pure rage.
Sifo meanwhile had settled into an eerie calm.
Jaster had mentioned something. A mandalorian extremist group - terrorists that cared neither for their own nor for other's lives. Led by a lunatic who wanted nothing more than to bring forth an age of bloody war for their people. (What Jaster hadn't mentioned was the fact that said lunatic claimed the same title as him. Really, the man just wanted misunderstandings like this to happen, didn't he?)
A Jedi's mission was to further peace and understanding in the galaxy.
And something told him that there was very little understanding to be had with this guy.
Reaching into the Force to sharpen his senses, Sifo settled in a Niman battle stance - only this time he meant it. No more games.
The lunatic in front of him let out a manic laugh and then fletched his teeth. "I will enjoy destroying you," he spat (completely ignoring that even before Sy was taking this fight earnestly, he hadn't stood much of a chance?. "Warmed Mereel's bed, have you? Let's see that hutuun 's face when I present him with your flayed skin."
Sifo felt the need to sigh. What was it with these guys and their need to make absolutely uninspired threats?
"I'll have you know," Sy said, feeling snippy, "That I actually haven't . At least not in the way you think." With an almost wistful tone, he added, "I wish though. I wish…"
As he was standing there, getting slightly distracted by the vague memory of Jaster's soft little kisses against his hair, the man janked something out from behind his back.
Wait.
Was that a-
Absolutely flabbergasted, Sifo watched this madman ignite a karking lightsaber .
Or at least he thought it had to be one. It sure looked different though.
"Where did you get that?," he whispered, unable to tear away his gaze from the weapon. It didn't feel dark - the crystal didn't scream like a bled one would - but it sure as hell didn't seem happy either. The Force warped weirdly around it, in a constant flux between light and dark and all the shades of gray.
He should have anticipated that this mandalorian wouldn't be gracing him with an answer.
The next few moments passed Sy like a trance.
Probably because he fell into one.
All he could think about was that this saber could not be allowed to remain in this man's hands, no matter the price. The taste of blood filled his mouth and his nose and he felt himself almost - almost - tipping over into another vision, Force whipping around them angrily.
And then it was over.
Blinking, Sifo stood.
His gaze fell down.
The Mandalorian's motionless form lay beneath him, his head a few meters off. The still humming blade in Sy's hand sent thrums up his arm, the resonance of a kyber, an incredibly strong one, filling his ears, his heart, his head.
" Oh ," he said softly.
His brain felt like fog. Numbly, he raised his hand, staring at the humming weapon. It felt… pleased.
Sated?
No. It didn't desire blood like some Sith weapons did.
All Sifo felt was a quiet settling of the saber's resonance against his presence, two rhythms falling into a steady resonance.
" Oh ," he said again.
Then. "This is weird."
He shook himself out of his stupor, dreary exhaustion immediately clinging to his bones. He had been way too close to a vision just now, this didn't bode well.
Taking a deep breath, he disengaged the saber's blade and took a step away from the fresh corpse (kriff, he hadn't even felt the loss of life, just how far gone had he been? ).
There was a rustle behind him.
Right, the second Mandalorian! He whipped around, only to find them still kneeling.
Though now they had pulled their helmet off, baring a painfully young face and giant blue eyes that were staring at him with a mixture of fear and awe. The fear was a lot stronger though. Suddenly realizing that they were meeting his gaze head on, they flinched violently and immediately lowered their head, a few ratty strands of blonde hair halfway flattened by the helmet falling over it.
"You d-"
"Mand'alor!," they proclaimed loudly.
Sifo couldn't help but notice the tremors in ther shoulders.
Then, he frowned. And looked around. Mand'alor? But there was no one else around, apart from the aforementioned corpse of the previous claimant to this title. And his head, should one choose to count them separately (Sifo knew there were cultures that did that).
He turned back to the young Mandalorian, many questions on the back of his throat.
They all died down though as he saw that they were back at staring at him, almost expectantly.
"Mand'alor," they said again, with much more conviction this time around.
Sifo blinked. Then he pointed to himself. "Who? Me ?"
" Elek ." The gaze was lowered again.
The soft thrum from the saber hilt in his hand seemed much louder all of the sudden. And its rhythm resembled a rumbling laugh with eery accuracy.
…
Reva Saxon stared at the man who had killed Tor. Killed him with nothing more than a standard vibroblade - not even a particularly well maintained one.
She had seen others fight against him. Spars or challenges, even as much as getting a hit in when he'd wielded the Dha'kad had been difficult.
And now they were telling her that this beanstalk of a man with long, soft hair and a stupidly gentle smile had killed Tor within seconds ?
Unbelievable.
She could not believe it.
And others were saying the same. Tor had ruled with a beskar hand and a bloody knife, those who dared to challenge him steadily grown less - mostly because he killed them all. But now she could feel those with desires for power stir again, greed shone from their eyes and they all were trained on the frail human who was standing obliviously in a den of hungry loth wolves. Reva would lie if she said that she herself did not also have those thoughts.
The Vhett whelp, Tor's personal pet project, was the only one standing next to their new 'Mand'alor'.
Well, Reva guessed she had to, being the one to have witnessed the duel between Tor and this stranger herself.
"He's an aruetii !," someone called out, feeling particularely brave, "He has no right to wield the Dha'kad !"
The Vhett whelp flinched and Reva looked who it had been. To her surprise, one of her own cousins stepped forward - Roy had always had more brawn than brain though, so it was well within his character.
"I'm told it was a fair challenge," the aruetii said, voice deceptively soft and yet it carried over the general clamor easily.
"Ha!," Roy, that idiot, spat. "Fair challenge my ass. You definitely cheated, aruetii ."
"Now, now," the stranger smiled - actually smiled - and it sent a shiver down Reva's back, "There is no need to be crude. By the laws of your people I won the weapon, and the title I guess, fair and square. Do you take issue with that?"
Reva's eyes widened and even the Vhett whelp seemed to be surprised by the ease with which the aruetii welcomed another challenge.
Any Roy? Roy had licked blood. "You better have the skill to back those words up, Mand'alor ," he declared and drew his beskad . "Because I, Roy Saxon, Clan Saxon, House Vizsla hereby challenge you for the title of Mand'alor and the right to wield the Dha'kad ."
Weirdly enough, a genuine smile appeared on the aruetii's face.
"Then I shall accept," he declared with a karking bow .
The man's gaunt face turned around, scanning the crowd and the large entrance hall they had bassembled in. He seemed to think.
"Do you… wish to duel here?," he asked, eliciting quite a few surprised murmurs from the onlookers. A brief moment of genuine insecurity flitted over him seemingly. "I'm still quite new to this, so I am not sure if the collateral damage is accounted for in such duels or if there normally is a specific venue one would head for."
In Reva's head the gears turned. And she was by far not the only one.
This man had been injured in whatever fight he and Tor had had, that much was visible. No one knew the extent of his injuries, but they all had expected him to stall for time anyways - maybe claiming time needed for recovery, but maybe also simply demanding to have the customary preparation time for such a duel. Ka'ra knew, Tor always had made a big spectacle out of 'training' for such occasions.
Well, usually.
There had been times where he'd been too irate by the challenge to wait, but no one would have expected the aruetii to pull a similar move.
Especially since he seemed both weak and unnaturally calm.
(Maybe he was on drugs? That seemed to be the only explanation for his behavior.)
Roy on the other hand, blessed be his simple brain, did not clock any of those red flags and proudly declared that all he needed was the ground to stand on and a weapon to fight.
The stranger nodded and drew his vibroblade.
Thus, the challenge stood.
And for the next minute-and-a-half or so, Reva watched her cousin be thoroughly trashed by a man more than a head shorter than him, with no armour and the apparent muscle mass of a newborn eopie.
She shouldn't be calling it eye-opening, but that was what it had been.
Their new Mand'alor then proceeded to wipe the floor with two more challengers after that - barely any pause between them and only ever utilizing his vibroblade whilst accepting his opponents using everything they had at their disposal.
Of course he didn't stay unharmed during it.
Ars Wren, the second challenger, had pulled a blaster on him and gotten a clean shot to the man's thigh, yet that seemed to only minutely hinder the stranger's ability to strike her down.
Reva's drug theory gained ground by the second.
Null Riast, the third to brave the challenge, tried to use the objectively bad looking wound to her advantage - with moderate success. The woman got a solid few hits more in than anyone before her, including, but not limited to, a fist to the stranger's face that split his upper lip.
Yet in the end she too was defeated as the man dipped under her and, in a blur, grabbed her weapon arm, twisted it and threw her over his shoulder. Going by the dry crack and the scream of pain that followed, he had broken Riast's arm.
That was the moment Reva decided it had been enough.
Before anyone could do something, she stepped forward (and for the first time, she saw something akin to wariness in the new Mand'alor's eyes - so the wounds were catching up to him and he knew it, interesting) and shot a few bolts up into the ceiling.
With a raised voice, she declared, "I think we have all seen enough of the Mand'alor's fighting prowess for the day. I, Reva Saxon, Alor be Saxon acknowledge his skill and the validity of his claim." She made a point to salute sharply to the man. " Oya , Mand'alor!"
" Oya, Mand'alor! ," voices all around her echoed.
Notedly, not all, but surprisingly many. It made her grin, simple minds, the whole lot of them.
She pivoted on her heel and pocketed her blaster. "Anyone still desiring a challenge can come back tomorrow!"
Because there was no way they'd just give up after only this much. It would give them pause, sure, but stop them?
A true mando'ad never stopped.
Now they would simply have to see if this new Mand'alor of theirs could keep up.
…
Sifo regarded this new Mandalorian in front of him with a healthy dose of suspicion.
The Force had seemed ambivalent about her and Arla immediately had submitted to her (the poor girl was more than traumatized, all thanks to that asshole he'd killed a few days ago).
Reva Saxon, as she had introduced herself, was a woman that very much embodied what he'd learned about Mandalorians in the Temple. Ruthless, efficient, loyal and more than capable of killing someone within seconds.
Too bad for her that Sifo shared those criteria with her.
Well, most of them.
She was high-ranking, that much he had clocked as well. She'd mentioned something that had sounded like a title when she'd addressed the rest of the assembled terrorists, but Sy had been too preoccupied by keeping his leg from failing, that he hadn't remembered. He'd just ask Arla afterwards.
"Mand'alor," Reva said, her voice sporting a bit of a harsh accent. Just a touch though.
(If he weren't trying to keep himself from keeling over from pain, he'd probably find it very attractive.)
"I'd recommend spending the night in a bacta tank." Her steely eyes flitted to his bad leg.
Sifo bit out a smile - it probably looked less effortless than he would have wished though. "What are the chances that someone will spike the bacta while I'm in it?," he countered.
Just because he acted naive most of the time that didn't mean he actually was .
Behind him, Arla bristled.
Surprisingly, this Reva woman simply laughed, a raspy, short thing. "After this fight? Less than you'd think." She shook her head. "You proved to be a kriffing strong opponent and killing you in anything but an open fight would not be honorable. Pretty sure everyone who'd try for a challenge has enough of an ego to not want be labeled a hutuun ."
Well, that was reassuring.
"But if you want make sure," she continued, "Why not have someone guard you?"
Sifo's eyebrow climbed. "And who would do that?"
She shrugged. "I'm sure you'd find someone."
"Is this you offering?," he couldn't resist to quip back, holding her gaze.
" Please ," she leaned forward as well, mockery easy on her face, "My bedside manner is atrocious . You'd be better off without someone in that case."
Was that a veiled threat? A hint that she would try to do something?
(Well, whatever it was, it was kriffing attractive.)
He could formally feel Yan's disappointed stare. But hey, if he was becoming the leader of a de-facto terrorist group by accident, he was allowed to have some fun with it.
"I'm sure we can could find you something to do," he teased back. Me, for example , he thought to himself.
She must have caught his drift, because she hacked out another laugh. "Oh sweetie," she showed a row of pointier-than-normal teeth, "You're not equipped to handle me."
Ignoring the little noise of offense from Arla, Sifo chuckled. "I can assure you, good lady, I am more than capable." Usually. He didn't have any conclusive data on how he'd do in a Mandalorian's bed (which was a certain someone's fault), so maybe that would be where Sifo-Dyas' win streak ended. But something told him that shouldn't be the case. "Alas, your loss," he flicked his hair back in playful theatrics, "I have my eyes set on greener pastures anyways."
She snorted, and something in her presence shifted.
Finally.
She looked back up at him and nodded first to Sifo and then towards Arla (who seemed genuinely surprised by it). "I shall organize something with the baar'ur'e , Mand'alor, verd'ika." She thumped her hand against her chestpiece. "Let me accompany you to your quarters."
"After you, then," Sy made a sweeping gesture.
…
Not everyone took the news of his takeover of Deathwatch - or Kyr'tsad as they called themselves - as well as Alor Saxon. In the late afternoon, after Sy had gotten himself patched up as good as possible and dosed with enough painkillers to tranq a bantha, she cheerily informed him that already three outposts had rebelled against him and that they had lost all contact with them.
Sy could feel the headache forming already. Even through the drugs.
"How dare they," Arla hissed, "How dare they rebel against their Mand'alor?!"
He shot the teen a complicated glance. Sure, he was happy that she accepted him so wholeheartedly, but it did not seem to stem from a healthy place. And Sifo should know, he'd done many things that left his mind healer reaching for their off-brand corellian whiskey.
Speaking of which, did they have mind healers here? Somehow he doubted it.
And yet it seemed like just the thing needed for many of the people here. They were loud in the Force, and what they projected out let Sifo shudder. There was a reason why cult infiltration usually was Shadow stuff - it took quite a bit of a toll, being surrounded by so many twisted minds.
Hmm, yep. His own mind healer was going to have a field day with him when he got back.
"How likely is it that they will come here, guns blazing?," Sifo asked tiredly.
Reva smiled. "Very. But rest assured, the closest one is a full three-day journey away, if they use the common hyperlanes. Longer if they don't." He could feel her eyes boring into him.
She was waiting for him to make a decision.
Ugh.
Jocasta was the decision making guy in his friend group. Not him. Sifo wasn't designed for that.
(Too many options, too many possibilities for things to go wrong, to go right, to go off the road.)
As if on instinct, his hand found the hilt of the saber. They had called it the Darksaber.
The same Darksaber Sifo had heard about in history class? He hoped not. Because surely that would only bring complications.
The laughter-like thrum was back.
Grimacing, he dragged his attention away from the blade. "If you can muster enough people that you're reasonably sure won't also defect," he decided, "Have them patrol the lanes. If not, have them on standby around the planet and behind the moon."
They were on an outpost themselves here, a jungle world just at the cusp of mandalorian space - uninhabited save for Sifo's merry band of terrorists apparently.
He could feel quiet approval from Reva and a more aggressive one from Arla.
"It will be done, Mand'alor," the woman saluted again and was about to turn and leave him be to prepare for his stay in a bacta tube, when she hesitated. Sy could feel she had remembered something just now and that she was not sure she should tell him.
Not that he was going to give her the option.
"What is on your mind?," he asked, smile easy, but eyes trained on her every move.
She took a breath, then turned her face halfways to him. Weirdly enough, her eyes then wandered over to Arla, as she contemplated.
"You aren't mando'ad ," she eventually said, a statement, a fact. "You know nothing of our culture. Or you shouldn't . Yet from how you acted so far, I assume that you have some knowledge on what it means to be one of us, am I right?"
If one counted the things Jaster had told him about during their cuddle sessions, sure.
Meanwhile, Arla seemed to have taken issue with the tone of the older Mandalorian. There was a spike of dislike, and then Sy heard the tell-tale sound of a blaster safety being disengaged.
"You disrespect -"
" Arla ," Sifo stopped her before the girl could do something stupid. He looked at her gently, reaching out ever so slightly to smooth over the instinctive spike of panic that followed. Evidently, she thought he was going to punish her for her insubordination. "Peace, child," she still was so delicate, "Take your weapons down, Alor Saxon is not our enemy. She has done or said nothing that necessitates me threatening her."
" But… ," and now there were tears brimming in her eyes. The hand around her blaster tightened, until her knuckles contrasted bright against her tan skin.
With a deep sigh, Sifo pushed himself off the corner of the sickbed he'd been sitting on. Ignoring the stab of discomfort that lanced up his left leg, he stepped up to the now hyperventilating child. Her pupils were blown wide and she shivered all over.
"This is why I hate having to make decisions," he murmured to himself, before looking back at the expressionlessly observing Alor Saxon on the other end of the bed.
"Indeed. I am not Mandalorian - mando'ad . You are also correct in that someone taught me about you, about what a Mandalorian could be." He paused. "Apart from a hereditary enemy."
Taking a gamble, Sy turned back to face Arla and then reached out, gently waving his hand in front of her wide-blown eyes. "Sleep," he said, voice laced with a strong, but unintrusive Force-suggestion.
Her form sagged like a pupped whose strings had been cut and he caught her in one arm. Pulling back the cover of his bed with the other, he laid the girl down, careful to not get her hair caught under her.
As he eighted himself back up again, he looked back over to Reva.
She still was observing him like a shriek-hawk, only now her hand lay ready over her blaster. There was tension in her frame.
Sifo chuckled a bit. "I take it that you would like an explanation?"
"You presume I would let you talk , jetii ."
He shrugged and pulled a chair over with a wave of his hand. (Yes, he was posturing a bit, but who wouldn't.) "The fact that you haven't shot me yet speaks for itself, my dear." He leaned back, taking the weight off his injured leg. "Plus, I know yours is a curious people."
At least if you took Jaster as the gold standard.
Which, maybe one shouldn't.
Eh, who cared.
"You put a lot of faith in second-rate intelligence and my personal ability to stay my hand." Her tone was frosty. "What did you do to her?"
Sifo looked over at the gently breathing form of Arla. "A sleeping suggestion," he explained readily, "It's no different from a hypo or another sleeping aid. It is no bigger of an intrusion on her mind than the brainwashing you people put her through."
"I would never ," Reva shot out with sudden vitriol, before blinking as if surprised at her outburst.
"No, I guess you wouldn't," Sifo said with sad indifference, "You didn't have to. Others were already doing it." Rarely was it that people high up in the ranks dirtied their hands directly after all.
"I don't hurt children!"
"And yet," Sifo pulled out the saber that immediately started humming contentedly at the touch, "Neither did you stop those who did. Looking the other way is so easy , isn't it?"
He could hear her teeth grinding. "I have a Clan to look out for," she defended herself, "I had to protect our children first."
"Then why stay with Kyr'tsad ?" Sifo genuinely wanted to know, to understand her reasoning. Because it didn't make sense .
"It is not Kyr'tsad that is important, jetii ," she nodded to the hilt, "It is the sword. Whoever carries it is the Mand'alor, and Vizsla was strong . He defended his right time and time again."
"And yet the weapon didn't want him," Sy said sardonically, "What an irony."
Genuine surprise rolled out from Reva. "What?"
Sy tossed her the hilt, which she scrambled to catch but then immediately looked supremely uncomfortable with holding.
"Lightsabers," he explained, "are, to a degree, sentient. Especially those that are as old as this one." Jo and Yan would be so jealous. "They are powered by special crystals, usually kyber. No two are the same, and neither will they work for everyone to the same degree. Lightsabers can have opinions on their wielder." He thought back to the memorable moment where Yan had tried to use Vokara Che's saber once. He still had a small scar from the starks it had produced while short-circuiting. "It's the same with this one. I know not nearly enough about it, but it was Master Tarre Vizsla's, yes?"
He didn't wait for a response, it didn't seem like one was coming anyways. "Good man, great Jedi. I've worked with one of his holocrons once, he'll be happy to hear the saber has been found again." He mused. "What he won't be so happy about is his descendant - I assume Tor was - being a terrorist and using his weapon and power to hurt children."
"You have… spoken to Mand'alor Vizsla?," Reva's voice suddenly was very quiet.
Ah, how to explain the concept of an advanced holocron to someone who knew nothing. "Not him, no. But a… recording of his spirit, so to speak? It carries its own sort of sentience." He waved it off. "But that isn't important now."
He folded his hands. "You say the saber is what's important. Very well, I carry it now. A Jedi carries the weapon you claim makes or breaks the loyalty you hold - a loyalty that made you forgo one of the most important duties a Mandalorian has: to protect children." Jaster had been very clear on that. Children over everything. Children were the future.
And Sifo agreed, Younglings were precious.
"So, what will you do?"
He could feel her tense even more, but at the same time, her mind was racing. There was anger, confusion, denial - yet what stood out most prominently was the guilt. She positively reeked of it.
Not that he was going to comment on it.
A few more, tense moments passed.
Then, she took a deep breath and righted herself. In a few, clipped steps, Reva stood before him. Her eyes flitted over to Arla once again, and then she met Sifo's gaze head on.
"Take your weapon," she said, " Mand'alor ."
Not breaking eye contact, Sy took the Darksaber from her open hand. "Thank you, Alor Saxon."
Jaw squared, she saluted.
"What you were before doesn't matter," she declared (and sounded only a little forced), "The Dha'kad has chosen you and you have proven worthy of it. And… you seem to be a better man than many of the alternatives. Even if you are a jetii ."
Sy felt the urge to roll his eyes. "Comon, you did so well in the first part," he grumbled.
She ignored him. "You have Clan Saxon's loyalty, Mand'alor. I swear."
He gave her a final once-over. She seemed earnest enough. "I accept," he nodded.
" Vor'e ," she murmured and saluted again.
Then, she seemed to remember something. "You cherish children?"
That took Sifo a bit by surprise. "Of course," he answered honestly, "I know what the rumors say, but most Jedi put a great amount of care and importance on the safety and wellbeing of younglings."
"There is a child," Reva said and there was a great deal of raw pain in her eyes, "That Tor took."
Dread settled in Sifo's stomach.
"That he took ?"
She nodded and there was a degree of helplessness to her that he hadn't thought possible for the sharp Mandalorian. "As his successor. He was his sister's. She… she tried to run, when she found out she was pregnant. Tor caught her." Her voice turned bitter. "He let her live long enough to give birth."
" Force ," Sifo suddenly was doubly glad he had rid the galaxy of such a stain.
" No on e was comfortable with that," she assured him, "But it was a Clan issue, and as such there was nothing we could do. There were challenges, but…"
Yes, Sifo could guess the outcome of those.
"No one knows where he was keeping him. Well, except maybe for…" She nodded towards Arla.
He frowned. "Why Arla?"
"She… was his other project," Reva admitted, "A weapon specifically designed to hurt Mereel."
"Jaster?," Sifo's full attention was on her, "What has she to do with Jaster?"
If Reva wondered why he was on first-name basis with the other claimant to the Mand'alor title, she didn't show it. "She's the pendant to the boy Mereeel adopted. The sister to his heir. He was planning to make her into a mindless assassin and have her kill her brother."
Sifo cursed .
"He always kept her close, but never quite managed to break her."
Judging from Reva's tone, that wasn't as much of a happy thing as it sounded at first.
"So you think she might have seen where he brought the kid?," Sifo concluded.
Reva nodded. "It is our best bet." Then, a little quieter, she added, "I hope she knows, otherwise there is no guarantee that the boy survives."
"I will ask her, once she has slept and calmed down," Sifo said. He'd have to tread carefully though, whatever hole Tor Vizsla had kept his stolen heir at probably was not a place of fond memories for Arla. "And if she doesn't know…," he twirled the hilt of the Darksaber in his hand, "There are… other ways. Less direct ones, but ways."
The Mandalorian's eyes narrowed a tic. "Are you saying your… jetii space magic can lead you to a lost child?"
"I am saying ," Sy corrected her, "That there are more ways than one and that the Force can show them to those who know how to listen."
Not that that seemed to convince her, but Sifo would say that she simply would have to deal with it. After all, he was her Mand'alor now and she'd sworn fealty to him, so really, what grounds had she to criticize him?
(Maybe he should hold this over the rest of the High Council. Those stuck-up asscracks thought themselves oh so high and mighty, but which one of them could lay claim to rulership over their hereditary enemies? Not one , that was all Sifo, baby.)
(Ugh, probably another thing he'd have to tell his mind healer about. He should start a list.)
"Anyways," he clipped the Darksaber back to his belt, "That will have to happen tomorrow. Because this Mand'alor," and he, with a groan like an old man, stood up from his chair, "Is gonna take a skinny dip in some kriffing bacta now."
"Ah, of course," Reva said hastily, as she suddenly seemed to realize that he too was wounded right now. "I will… lead the way."
"Don't bother," he waved her off, "I'm confident I can find the way alone, I was told it isn't far off, after all." Which was true, the baar'ur that had patched him up before had given him the directions. He nodded at Reva. "I'd much rather have you keep an eye on Arla. Keep her safe. You're probably not the only one to suspect she knows where Vizsla's heir is - and others might not be as well-intentioned as us."
She grimaced a little at that, but nodded. " Elek , Mand'alor. I wish you a speedy recovery."
"Thanks," Sy said, with a small smile, "And thank you for not straight out shooting me. That would have made things awkward."
She regarded him with a blank expression. "You're not a jetii anymore, I have no reason to shoot you. You're the Mand'alor."
For a moment, he felt the need to correct her. One didn't just stop being a Jedi.
But something told him that that might actually be counterproductive to his continued survival, so he let it be.
"Whatever," He waved over his shoulder as he turned, "I'll be off now. Don't kill anyone who doesn't deserve it while I'm out."
Ge could hear the low thump of another salute.
Yeah, explaining all of this to the High Council would be interesting .
But that was a problem for future Sifo.