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texasdreamer01Title and Platform: Where a standard never flew (AO3)
The lightsaber leveled at him trembled, ever so faintly. He kept his stance casual, peeling off the layers of guards that same ’saber-wielder taught him, when the blood of a brother was still fresh on his armor. It was the only way to know – to prove that he came in peace.
Like grease on a blade, the cunning, unassuming gloss was wiped away, baring the etchings of his memories. The recent ones were pried at first, a wince cracking across his face as they were inspected – it firmed the grip upon the other’s blade, the volunteered purpose sharpening the deadly aim.
Time warped backwards. His sharpest and most recent memories were plucked at. The journey here, to Tatooine, was a jumbled tangle of urgency. Cody could taste the anticipation, the same flavour of apprehension and fitful prayer as when the transport had made port. It unspooled slowly from there, the firm touch of the Jedi’s reach reading each crest and trough of his time… away.
A flinch reverberated through his bones at the strained currents of Cody’s thoughts, emanating from the Jedi. His fingers ached at their forced emptiness, at his refusal to so much as curl them against his thighs in a gesture of self-comfort. Instead, he drew in a reorienting breath, wading into the rivers of his mind with the intent to guide the other.
Before the spaceport, before the ship with its hired hands and barely licit cargo, there was a hallway. An alcove, with just enough space for two huddled clones, lingering where nobody would look with a flimsi of treasonous news held between their hands. He could feel the pause, how the fractured faith bleeding through to him was shaken just a little further. It took effort to stay relaxed, to not murmur the words of his past.
“So it’s true.”
“We should have known. We should have believed…”
The intervening time was a blur of plans and plots and prowling down streets no one with Fett’s face should have. A deep breath, credits slid over with a determined hand, a room he prayed he would see the outside of again.
Success – improbable, impossible, success. The heady feeling of freedom, and gambling his way straight to the man that leveled a blade of myth at his throat. For where else would Obi-Wan Kenobi be, but the very last place the darjetii Skywalker would look?
A gasp dropped the ’saber, extinguished it. Cody chanced a glance at the ashen face before him, with its sun-burned crevices made deep by grief. He swallowed, throat clicking from the dry air, fingers curling loosely.
“I’m sorry. I-”
The words stayed stuck, too numerous and riddled with shame to line up. He dropped his gaze, and was unprepared for the arms that clutched him close.
“Cody,” His general said, all at once present and thought-deep, “Cody. You’re forgiven.”
He clung back, twisting worn and sand-dusted robes under his hands. So relieved was he that the words whispered into his shoulder almost dissipated into the wind. Cody ducked his head, lips pressed near Obi-Wan’s ear, “I forgive you, too.”
It wracked a shudder through his general, shaking loose a line of tightly-wound despair, afterimages burning into Cody’s eyes. A precious shard – the flickering sight of newborns through blurred vision – tumbled into his awareness, and he wondered no longer at his fierce, cold-eyed reception.
“We can do this, Obi-Wan,” He said, close enough to feel the fluttering lashes, the ragged node of hope echoing in his own heart, “We’ll do it together.”
Recipient: smaragdbird
Rating: Gen
Rating: Gen
Fandoms: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Additional Tags: Post-Order 66, Dubious Force Ethics, Force Bond (Star Wars)
Summary:
"The lightsaber leveled at him trembled, ever so faintly."
Beginning notes:
You cannot choose your battlefield,
God does that for you;
But you can plant a standard
Where a standard never flew.
- Nathalia Crane
Beginning notes:
You cannot choose your battlefield,
God does that for you;
But you can plant a standard
Where a standard never flew.
- Nathalia Crane
The lightsaber leveled at him trembled, ever so faintly. He kept his stance casual, peeling off the layers of guards that same ’saber-wielder taught him, when the blood of a brother was still fresh on his armor. It was the only way to know – to prove that he came in peace.
Like grease on a blade, the cunning, unassuming gloss was wiped away, baring the etchings of his memories. The recent ones were pried at first, a wince cracking across his face as they were inspected – it firmed the grip upon the other’s blade, the volunteered purpose sharpening the deadly aim.
Time warped backwards. His sharpest and most recent memories were plucked at. The journey here, to Tatooine, was a jumbled tangle of urgency. Cody could taste the anticipation, the same flavour of apprehension and fitful prayer as when the transport had made port. It unspooled slowly from there, the firm touch of the Jedi’s reach reading each crest and trough of his time… away.
A flinch reverberated through his bones at the strained currents of Cody’s thoughts, emanating from the Jedi. His fingers ached at their forced emptiness, at his refusal to so much as curl them against his thighs in a gesture of self-comfort. Instead, he drew in a reorienting breath, wading into the rivers of his mind with the intent to guide the other.
Before the spaceport, before the ship with its hired hands and barely licit cargo, there was a hallway. An alcove, with just enough space for two huddled clones, lingering where nobody would look with a flimsi of treasonous news held between their hands. He could feel the pause, how the fractured faith bleeding through to him was shaken just a little further. It took effort to stay relaxed, to not murmur the words of his past.
“So it’s true.”
“We should have known. We should have believed…”
The intervening time was a blur of plans and plots and prowling down streets no one with Fett’s face should have. A deep breath, credits slid over with a determined hand, a room he prayed he would see the outside of again.
Success – improbable, impossible, success. The heady feeling of freedom, and gambling his way straight to the man that leveled a blade of myth at his throat. For where else would Obi-Wan Kenobi be, but the very last place the darjetii Skywalker would look?
A gasp dropped the ’saber, extinguished it. Cody chanced a glance at the ashen face before him, with its sun-burned crevices made deep by grief. He swallowed, throat clicking from the dry air, fingers curling loosely.
“I’m sorry. I-”
The words stayed stuck, too numerous and riddled with shame to line up. He dropped his gaze, and was unprepared for the arms that clutched him close.
“Cody,” His general said, all at once present and thought-deep, “Cody. You’re forgiven.”
He clung back, twisting worn and sand-dusted robes under his hands. So relieved was he that the words whispered into his shoulder almost dissipated into the wind. Cody ducked his head, lips pressed near Obi-Wan’s ear, “I forgive you, too.”
It wracked a shudder through his general, shaking loose a line of tightly-wound despair, afterimages burning into Cody’s eyes. A precious shard – the flickering sight of newborns through blurred vision – tumbled into his awareness, and he wondered no longer at his fierce, cold-eyed reception.
“We can do this, Obi-Wan,” He said, close enough to feel the fluttering lashes, the ragged node of hope echoing in his own heart, “We’ll do it together.”
=====
Footnotes:
darjetii - Sith, lit. non-Jedi
darjetii - Sith, lit. non-Jedi