The Choices of War

14

It does not go as poorly as Satine had feared.

Perhaps Maul, too, was drained from their experience in the cave- it is as if all the rage and malice she has come to expect have been leeched out of him. He takes the device, and the twitching of his fingers gripping it are the only signs of emotion she can detect. Even the golden sheen of his eyes is muted as he stares at the message.

"This is extremely poor timing," he says at last, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing before her.

Understatement of the year Satine thinks. Out-loud she simply replies, "Yes, Lord Maul." Her use of his title seems to please him somewhat, but his eyes quickly darken again.

"Saxon has information for me, as well," Maul informs her. "He is afraid of delivering it. Although, I cannot imagine it will be worse than this." A strange expression crosses his features, a sort of joyless amusement. He grimaces. "I should see to that." There is not much more preamble before he leaves, as deathlessly quiet as a shade.

She waits for only a moment, gathering her thoughts, before leaving the room they were in, eager to get away from it. Even the air there feels stale and frigid. She tells herself it is just the cave getting to him, just like it got to her. She remembers the deep crush of hopeless she experienced after the bond was severed, and thinks that even Maul of all people cannot be completely immune.

The other explanation for his uncharacteristic behavior - the one she doesn't wish to consider- taunts her, glimmering coldly in the back of her mind. She attempts to sequester it away, but it will not be denied; it raises itself to the forefront of her thoughts, mutinous and defiant. Perhaps it whispers to her he has simply given up. She dismisses it, but not without some trepidation.

Without Maul to protect Mandalore... without Maul to protect Satine, who now again has the privilege of influencing legislation and thus determining the lives of his subjects on a much more real and pronounced way for them then the matter of who calls themselves their king... the world is lost. Their option of a peaceful future, their ability to choose for themselves a life in service to harmony, is only possible because they are shielded from the shroud of galactic war and zealots like Bo-Katan. Shielded by strength. Satine ruminates on a Mandalore abandoned, and she despairs at the thought of it. She sees a world in flames, cities in ruins, bodies turned to ash, survivors sold into slavery.

There is a wolf at their doorstep, dressed in Jedi garb, one that is a far more dangerous opponent because it thinks itself a savior.

She knows that even if she personally pleaded with him to stand down, it would be for naught. He is too stubborn, too narrow-minded in these circumstances. He has grown and matured since she first met him, but some of that reckless, brash spirit still resides inside of him, and Satine knows that he would simply refuse to believe any message from her that so dramatically went against his image of her.

Typical of the Jedi, she thinks bitterly, long-dormant resentment rising inside of her. To blunder into a situation, protected by an impenetrable barrier of self-righteousness, completely unaware of the larger context. She notes that her despair has now curdled into an impotent anger, and she doesn't try to stifle it. She fumes at the thought of Obi-Wan's Jedi Order. She does not blame them for the clone wars- not entirely - but she has always believed their meddling and short-sightedness helped fan the flames of the conflict. She had always tried to keep Mandalore neutral, and the thought of all her careful efforts and alliances wasted.... She forces herself to breathe in and then out deeply. She closes her eyes, letting herself focus on the inhale and exhale of her breath, of the rise and fall of her belly. She is lost in the repetition, the soothing reassurance of the familiar, meditative action... so much so that she does not hear him until he is directly in front of her.