Jedi don't form attachments. At least, they're not supposed to. But Obi-Wan's newly appointed Padawan, Y/N, seems to have fallen into the strangest sort of love with Captain Rex.
As the apprentice struggles to navigate their inner turmoil with the d...
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Warm, desperate hands on your cheeks. Your face was shaken but no amount of movement could have reached your inner thoughts--for in your mind you were plummeting, a bird with wings torn, a fallen angel about to break every bone in its body the second that it reached the ungiving ground below. An faint echo resonated through your skull: "Moonildt, are you alright? MOONILDT, ANSWER ME! Y/N!"
But something stopped your fall--those same twisted thoughts, taking on the vague form of hands, pulling you back up to the surface. And a voice, its vowels cutting as the midwinter day, reverberated through your mind: Save them. Save them all.
You were wrenched to the surface. Out the corner of your eye you saw a very anxious Rex leaning over you. But farther than that, the other three clones hadn't seemed to notice your passing out--rather, they were leaning over the balcony, craning their necks to better see something distant in the amphitheater.
Your mind was a mess. Your vision still blurred. But even the fog couldn't muffle the screams coming from the stands, piercing the air in a ghastly echo as all the nobles scrambled over each other to desperately escape the theatre. What is happening?
"Why is everyone running away?" you finally asked Rex, who stood over you, his gaze fixed on the far horizon. His brow furrowed, and something seemed to flash in his eyes before they darkened.
"Death Watch," he said in a low, grim voice, almost a growl. "They're here. No time to waste."
Whipping around to face the edge, you seized the railing and peered over at the other balcony--the one that was now swarming with armoured soldiers. Mandalorian. And in the center cowered a petrified Duchess Satine.
"She's here?!!" you hissed. Your hand flew instinctively to your lightsaber--but this wasn't a mission, and you weren't dressed for one.
Unarmed. How am I gonna pull this off? Your eyes darted frantically over the gathering. Their weapons bristling, armour gleaming, they closed in slowly on the Duchess in a circle, until one separated from the rest--the leader. Behind you, Rex barked orders and hastily pulled out his comm to call for backup.
The leader's cunning voice rang out over the amphitheater: "Duchess Satine, heretic and false ruler of Mandalore!" he began. A few remaining guests quailed in their seats.
The Duchess stood tall in spite of the threat, and raised her chin defiantly. Derision tugged her brows up into arches. "Go on, don't be shy. Say what you want to say."
Your heart thundered against your chest. What to do, what to do. I should get help. I should call for Master Kenobi. I should do something useful.
Screw this. You scrambled over the railing and, before an astonished Rex could pull you back, you did a large Force-leap over to the next outcropping. Slam. Kicked one of the assembled men over the head. Swept him under his leg. He toppled over just as the others whipped around.
