Chapter Text
It takes some time for the session to continue.
Some resume their work, content in the knowledge Mandalore does not seem inclined to war and uninterested in whatever the Jedi have to say.
Some search the holonet, intent on finding answers.
Some turn to their companions, wondering aloud what it all means. What has the Senate done? The answers elude them and yet… a child. The Mandalorian said there was a child, that they were monsters for it.
They wonder, trying to put the pieces together, what it says about the Senate that Mandalore, violent and uncaring Mandalore, was so incensed.
No one finds the answers they seek.
Eventually the Chancellor manages to gain control of the body with a few firm words and promises that they will discuss this new development in an extended session after their already scheduled business is concluded.
“Thank you for your cooperation, now, our last item on the agenda. The Jedi Order has requested to speak with us.” He waves a dismissive and tired hand. “Please introduce yourself for the record before you begin.”
The tall Jedi has already piloted the pod out into the middle of the chamber. He offers the Senate a rather shallow bow and begins. “I am Jedi Master and Council Member Dooku. Before I address the reasons our Order has requested to come before you, I would like to tell you a story.”
At least one Senator in frame rolls their eyes at the prospect, another slumping further into a chair with a visible groan of frustration.
A few across the galaxy perk up, interested to hear what a Jedi story might sound like.
“This all happened less than a decade ago, far from the core, on a planet content in its obscurity. There was a child born, a little blessing upon his parents.”
He pauses for a moment.
“This child was loved, their second joy.”
The audience wonders where the story turns, there is no question that it will. The Jedi carries grief with him like a shroud.
“But not all was well, for the child would cry, heaving sobs that none could comfort. He would stare unblinkingly into the eyes of the elders, and some said he saw terrible things there. His brother claimed that he could move things without touching them, although none of the adults ever saw it. He often cried, upset by nothing, upset by everything.”
The people listen.
“His parents were at a loss, for they could find no way to comfort him. Their love could not overcome the exhaustion and fear of a child who cries and cries nearly without end.”
The Jedi pauses once again, steadying himself.
“One day, as they discussed what could be done for their blessing, there came a ship. It spluttered smoke and shook dangerously. From the ship came a young stranger, with strange robes and an even stranger object on his waist. It was an unusual thing for someone to make their way to this corner of space.”
“Many went to investigate and ensure that the young stranger was unhurt.” He gestures casually. “In their rush, the child was brought along. He did not cry, they were certain he would, and yet…”
“The little one simply stared, as he so often did, with unknowable truths in his gaze. The stranger did not flinch away or declare him wrong. He smiled, and, much to everyone’s bafflement, the little one smiled back.”
The Jedi smiles slightly at this, as if caught in a memory, before refocusing.
“It was then that one of the elders remembered the ancient tales of strange beings with great power, who once helped defend their planet in a time of great need. They inquired with the young stranger and he explained that he was something called a Jedi and that their blessing could be too. That his tears and his staring had an explanation and that there was a place he could be happy, a place with other children just as strange and loved as he.”
“He told them they had a choice to make. That he could take their child with him, to live a life they could only imagine. That if they wished he would leave them in peace, a few pieces of wisdom left behind to help.”
The people hold their breath.
“They looked at their blessing, staring with such wide fascinated eyes at the young stranger, and they knew there was no choice. Their little one was meant for something different, they would remember him, their strange, beloved little one.”
He takes a breath and they cannot look away.
“The young stranger left them with their memories and a single promise. That their little one would be loved and protected, that the Jedi would not abandon him, that they would see him safe and happy and cared for.”
The air seems to freeze in place.
“This body has rendered us oath-breakers.”
His gaze snaps coldly to the Chancellor’s pod.
“We have served the Republic with pride for millennia. We have faced great trials alongside the Republic and its people.” He continues, loud enough to be heard over the rising din of protest. “We had thought ourselves partners, in this great endeavor of justice and democracy. Clearly, we were naive.”
He pauses for a moment before moving on.
“The Jedi have always taken our oaths seriously. Our oaths to the Republic, our oaths to the Order, our oaths to our children. We are not slaves to the whims of the Senate. We are a people, a people who chose this path long ago because we saw that it was right and just.”
The people watch with baited breath. This will not end well, how can it?
“We are a people who will not stand for the sacrificing of our children to cover for the mistakes of this Senate. Our children are precious and loved, they are protected. They are not tools to be thrown to the mercy of our enemies at your convenience.”
He lets some of the remaining calm drop from his face, anger glinting in his eyes.
“Our children are not yours, they never have been, they never will be. The Jedi Order cannot continue to serve at the threat of our young ones, consider this our resignation, effective immediately.”
The chamber is deadly silent.
Bars and homes and public places all over the galaxy freeze in shocked silence.
Even the Senators don’t seem to know how to react.
How does one face the split of a partnership built over millennia?
How does one face the end?
“We apologize for the chaos this action will no doubt bring, and the suffering that will go unchecked in the aftermath. We are not certain… exactly how this will affect our mandate, or missions. We will reach out with answers as soon as possible, please know that we will not abandon the people of the Republic if we can help it.”
The Senators explode in protest once again, having found their voices once more, hurling accusations and vitriol.
“Now, now, Master Jedi! Let’s not be hasty here! There’s no need for such drastic action!” The Chancellor manages to make himself heard over the din, all calming gestures and tense smiles. “We understand you may be upset but let us be reasonable! Take this to mediation, let everyone’s grievances be heard!”
The Senate quiets down, many Senators nodding, pleased with the suggestion.
The people are not so certain.
“Chancellor,” The Jedi’s voice is soft and firm. “The Jedi protested sending a Jedi to Mandalore in this very chamber, mere months ago, it is all in the public record. You may remember we protested the sending of an adult.” He sighs, a deep sadness to his expression.
“You may remember ignoring our words, stealing a child from his home without warning or the chance to even say goodbye. The time for mediation is long past Senators, we are not asking. We are already gone, the Temple is empty.”
“You cannot-”
“We must.” His voice allows for no argument. “May the Force be with you Senators, and with your people.”
Master Dooku says nothing more, smoothly returning the pod to its place amidst chaos and fury.
No one moves to stop him.
Arla Fett is waiting for him, in the aftermath a few will mark the tilt of her helmet as concerned.
As it is, the people just feel lost.
History is happening before their very eyes.
This is no history of glory, of triumph.
It is a shattering.
The way of things for generations destroyed in a single decision.
Or perhaps, perhaps the final decision.
A step too far, too quick.
One last disaster to push everything to the brink.
Many wonder what it all means.
They don’t know.
They debate and argue and consider.
Still, they don’t know.
They wish more than anything that they did.