Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Incoming transmission, Sir,” said a B-1 Battle droid from where it sat before a set of screens aboard a Separatist Destroyer-class vessel.

“Put it through,” growled the droid’s superior.

“Roger roger.”

A hologram flickered to life. It was of a bearded, old-looking man who nevertheless exuded an air of authority even though he was systems away on the planet of the Serenno. He looked on at the figure standing before him, the Supreme Commander of the Separatist Armies, the Jedi Killer, the cyborg that was General Grievous.

The General’s reptilian-looking eyes turned from the Battle droid to the hologram as it appeared. His arms were folded behind his back, the long black cape he wore fell down his back, showing a body that resembled that of a Krath War-Droid. He stood in a hunched-over position, making him appear shorter than the large hologram before him.

“Grievous, I have a task for you,” began Count Dooku.

The cyborg said nothing, waiting for his superior to carry on. A task?? thought the General. Whatever it is, it had better be worth it. Grievous cared little about politics – a fact he had made clear several times before – he much preferred to be on a battlefield or leading his droid army in a space battle.

“It is of the utmost importance, Grievous,” the Count added, perhaps sensing Grievous’ disdain. “The Zygerians have requested an alliance with the Confederacy. They are willing to provide us with much-needed resources… as long as we can provide them with the necessary labour.”

“I did not realise the Separatist Alliance dealt in slaves now,” Grievous commented.

“As the Clone War drags out, we are losing money faster than it can be made. During wartime, it does not matter where those credits come from so long as the supply is steady.” Was Count Dooku’s curt reply.

“And what would you have me do, Count?” Asked the General.

“The Zygerians have dispatched an envoy to Serenno,” the Count explained, “it has already lost both its escort ships to a band of pirates. You will meet the ship in the Yavin System and ensure that it makes it to its final destination. That is all.”

“Of course, Count Dooku.” Grievous bowed his head.

With a curt nod in the cyborg’s direction, the hologram disappeared, leaving Grievous standing alone. He turned his head towards one of the many Battle droids manning the bridge.

“Set a course to the Yavin System,” he ordered.

“Roger roger,” responded the droid and made the necessary calculations.

The Destroyer turned almost ninety degrees to the left as the droids adjusted its position.

“Preparing to jump to lightspeed,” said another.

All it took was the simple push of a lever and the Destroyer plunged forwards into one of perhaps millions of blue-tunneled hyperspace lanes, moving at a speed that should have been impossible to reach in such a large vessel.

About an hour later, the same lever was pulled back, dropping them out of hyperspace. Around the ship, the stars blurred back into individual specks again and a low boom announced their arrival in the Yavin System. Ahead of the Destroyer loomed the massive red planet, Yavin Prime, orbited by its many moons. It ought to have been peaceful here, far from any active fronts, but it was not. Before the Destroyer raged a battle between the very same envoy ship Grievous had been sent to protect and a small fleet of starships.

The fighters zoomed past the Zygerian ship, nimbly avoiding the blasts from its cannons while one circled around from behind and fired a single ion torpedo aimed at the ship’s rear thrusters. It detonated on impact and almost immediately, Grievous saw the ship power down. A larger ship sped in, wasting no time in docking with the disabled craft. He couldn’t help but wonder if his Destroyer had been spotted yet. With a growl, he pointed to the two ships.

“Send out the Vulture Droids now!” He snarled, “I want those enemy fighters destroyed!”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Roger roger.”

The hangar bay doors opened, and out of them zoomed almost a hundred Vulture Droids, ready to shoot down any unknown craft. The Vulture Droids hounded the enemy fighters, not allowing them a moment’s respite and downing them at a rate. Of course, their side was not without loss, too, with nearly a dozen Vulture Droids destroyed by the enemy. Eventually those pirates that were left decided to cut their losses and jumped into hyperspace, Vulture Droids scattering in their wake.

So much for honour among thieves, thought Grievous as he looked to their main ship that still remained docked with the Zygerian vessel. He eyed the ships, suspecting that the pirate crew must still be aboard the envoy’s ship; perhaps even headed back to their own ship to try and escape. The corners of the cyborg’s eyes lifted as he smiled. It was the kind of smile that sent shivers down spines.

“Have the tractor beam ready!” Grievous instructed the droids, “If that ship attempts to flee, keep it here!”

“I’m not sure they’d like that, Sir,” quipped one droid.

Grievous shot it a withering look, immediately making it uneasy.

“Prepare a boarding party. I will deal with the remaining forces.”

“Roger roger.”

Chapter Text

Grievous turned around, his cape swishing behind him as he did, and walked out of the bridge, headed for the hangar bay where a shuttle awaited. Stalking aboard the smaller craft, the ramp closed behind him as the engines powered up. Along the walls were lined six Commando droids and twelve regular B-1 Battle droids.

As the ship took off, Grievous felt the telltale vibrations run along the surfaces of the ship and up his own cybernetic legs. Even though he stood in what was basically a sealed-off metal container, he was still aware of the sensation of the shuttle’s movement through the vacuum of space.

“We’re here, sir,” reported a droid from the cockpit eventually.

“Initiate docking procedures,” Grievous ordered.

The droid didn’t respond, but Grievous felt and heard the noise of his ship’s airlock clamping onto another. One of the Battle droids approached the airlock and opened it, only to discover another sealed door barring their way.

“Uh-oh, we didn’t bring anything to open this with!” The droid said with concern.

“Out of the way!” Grievous said ill-temperedly.

Pushing the droid aside, Grievous withdrew two lightsabers he always carried with him and ignited the blades. He plunged both lightsabers through until only their hilts showed. One saber was at the top, the other at the bottom – he then turned them in a half-circle before kicking out the circle of scorched metal. The Commando droids were the first out, flipping through and securing the corridor.

Stepping through himself, Grievous found himself in an empty corridor. A slightly grimy, but nonetheless empty corridor. After ordering two Commando droids and four Battle droids to remain at this airlock, the cyborg set out with the remainder of the droids for the second airlock which was – to his knowledge – still open into the Zygerrian ship. It didn’t take long to get there.

Grievous took a moment to stand there. On his way here, he hadn’t encountered any of these pirates, so he assumed they were all still aboard the Zygerrians’ ship. He wondered if the pirates would appear in the corridor leading back to their own ship. They did.

A motley collection of humans and other alien species came charging towards the airlock that led to their means of escape. The sight of four Commando droids and eight more Battle droids was enough to stop them in their tracks, however. Especially when there was another, more menacing figure standing behind said droids.

“What’re you waiting for?” One yelled after a tense silence, “Kill ‘em!”

The droids didn’t need an order to begin their own attack.

The small crew yanked out an assortment of blasters and began to open to open fire at the droids, who returned fire. The four Commando droids leapt and ducked around the blasts as they quickly covered the distance between themselves and the enemy. One Commando shot a man at point-blank range, another had his head twisted around too far for his neck to cope while a third was deliberately thrown into the line of fire and a fourth was used as a living shield.

Soon, despite the valiant fight they had put up, the intruders were all killed. Grievous removed his foot from one’s crushed head and surveyed his surroundings. There was nothing more to be seen, so he made his way further into the ship, seeking out the Zygerrians with only one Battle droid in tow. Weren’t there any aboard? He wondered. Or had they all been killed? Unlikely, Grievous reasoned, the pirates couldn’t have moved that fast. He headed straight to the bridge and found the blast doors sealed. At the bottom of the doors, he noticed scorch marks from where someone had attempted to cut through. Grievous turned to the Battle droid that had followed him from the airlock.

“Contact the Zygerrian ship,” he ordered.

“… But sir, we’re on the Zygerrian ship.” The droid pointed out.

“I’m aware of that!” Grievous snapped, “Just do it!”

“Roger roger!” It squawked in alarm.

Grievous waited while the droid worked; he didn’t just cut down the doors because – even if it would have been simpler – Count Dooku would have had something to say about it.

“What is taking so long?” He growled to the Droid.

“Well, I had to contact our ship and have them contact this one,” the droid tried to explain.

In response, the General rolled his eyes in frustration.

Just then, though, the blast doors began to open. And with it, some amount of Grievous’ faith in Battle droids was restored.

“That’s weird,” the droid suddenly said, “the command ship hadn’t even patched me through yet.”

And that faith was quickly gone.

Finally, the blast doors had opened completely. From the other side of the last set of doors, however, there came a loud thud as something that sounded suspiciously like a body hit the metal doors. Right on cue, they opened and both Grievous and the droid looked down as an unconscious Zygerrian fell out. They then looked back up and into the bridge; Grievous half expecting to see another pirate, but no. instead he saw what seemed to be the Zygerrians fighting it out with one of their own slaves.

He wondered why they didn’t simply use the shock collar fitted around the slave’s neck to incapacitate them. Then he spotted the controller for the collar held tightly in the slave’s hand, and knew why.

“I wonder who that is,” said the droid by his side.

“Quiet.” Grievous replied.

“Roger roger.”

The general walked in, unnoticed by both the conscious and unconscious Zygerrians and their slave, who was about to dispatch the last of the slavers with a punch to his face. The slave’s well-toned arm drew back, the fingers curled into a fist. But just as they were about to punch the Zygerrian, Grievous grabbed the slave’s wrist in his right hand, stopping the punch in its tracks. The slave seemed unfazed, though, as she instead drop-kicked the Zygerrian in the head. Grievous was surprised, to say the least.

And then he blinked in confusion. She??

The slave whirled around to face General Grievous, her eyes flashing indignantly. Barely registering his actions, Grievous found himself releasing his grip from her wrist, which she snatched away from him and flexed her clawed fingers. Now, Grievous could see the slave properly, and what he saw stunned him.

The slave was a female Kaleesh.

Chapter Text

The slave glared up at Grievous suspiciously – for even though he stood hunched, he was still a few inches taller than her – her pupils two dark slits in her golden eyes. Her face was framed by long, dark brown hair that fell in waves down her back. Two small tusks grew from the bottom of her jaw, their ivory color contrasted beautifully with the russet-brown of her skin. The tips of her pointed ears showed through her mane of hair; both were pricked and alert.

She shifted her feet slightly as she took up a more defensive position, the claws on her toes scratching the metal floor slightly as she did. Judging from her well-toned but slightly gaunt appearance, Grievous came to the conclusion that she was no stranger to hard, physical work. Surreptitiously, she angled the controller for her collar away from Grievous and behind her back.

She was beautiful – that much grievous could not deny. The only thing that was out of place on her was that ugly, metal shock-collar clamped around her neck. Unbeknownst to Grievous, as he took in her appearance, she was doing the same.

The Kaleesh’s gaze slid over the stranger’s appearance; he (she assumed the figure standing before her was a he) looked more droid than actual flesh and blood. A cloak fell down his back, but did nothing to shroud his appearance, and if she had to sum it up in a few words, it would be sharp and hard. The metal that made him up was a dull grey and the armour plates were a shade of beige. An unnerving skull-like mask covered his real face, but through the holes in them, she could see his eyes – they were slit-pupiled like hers, but where hers were golden, his were a slightly green-tinged yellow. What little skin she could see surrounding them was reddened and raw-looking.

Finally, he spoke.

“And just who might you be?” Grievous asked, his voice holding some degree of interest in the individual standing before him.

“It’s not any of your business as to who I am,” came her brazen reply.

She spoke in accented yet flawless Basic, but at the sound of her voice, Grievous found himself wincing slightly as he felt a sudden stab of pain through his skull. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong but Grievous had no clue as to what it could be. He ignored the little warning bells going off in his head and instead leered down at the female Kaleesh.

“It’s obvious enough that you are a slave,” he sneered. “What I want to know is your name, Kaleesh.”

There was a brief flash of anger across those golden eyes of hers, and her gaze hardened.

“And why would you care what my name is?” She demanded.

“Because if you tell me, I may be able to help you.”

“Ha!” She barked out a laugh, “Help me?? I don’t need help from anyone – especially not you!”

“Suit yourself,” Grievous spat, his temper rising. “If you want to keep on serving the Zygerians, then you can stay right here!”

He grabbed at her, but she ducked under his arm and tucked her legs in as she rolled aside – successfully dodging a swipe from the cyborg. She leapt back to her feet in an instant and eyed him, daring him to make the first move.

So Grievous did, and lunged forwards fast enough that he was able to grab ahold of her left forearm as she twisted away and yanked her off-balance, throwing her to the ground. The female Kaleesh – for some reason, Grievous couldn’t bring himself to label her a slave – hit the metal floor with a grunt of pain. But still she rolled to her feet and clenched her hands into fists.

“You’re in my way,” she growled.

“In your way?” He goaded, “Of what? Freedom?”

“Yes!!” She bellowed and launched herself forwards.

Grievous’ head turned upwards as she leapt towards him, aiming a kick for his face. The General blocked it with his forearm and she pushed off from there – using his arm as a launching pad – backflipping to land behind him, closer to the doors. But as she started towards it, two things happened.

First was the droid that had come with Grievous. As she darted for the doors, the Battle droid raised its blaster, exclaiming “Halt!” as it did. When she didn’t comply, the droid squeezed the trigger, letting off two bolts of energy at her.

Second was General Grievous, who had been turning around as she had begun moving towards the door. He saw the blasts, almost in slow motion, as they burned through the air towards the female Kaleesh. Grievous acted instinctively, his mind telling his mechanical body what to do; Don’t let those blasts hit her, it said.

So Grievous found himself closing the toes of his foot around her midriff and tossing her aside and out of the way of the incoming blasts. She crashed into two unconscious Zygerians, their bodies cushioning her landing. Grievous was not so lucky. Both blasts fired by the droid made contact with him; the first stuck just below the joint of his right knee while the second scorched his faceplate. Grievous let out a feral snarl at the droid which visibly quaked in fear.

Had it not been for his armour plating, things would have been much more serious.

But when Grievous reached for the nearest sizeable object to lob at the Battle droid – he didn’t even care if it was a body – his gaze fell on something that lay by his foot. As he reached for it, he happened to glance towards the fallen Kaleesh. It was with some surprise that he registered the dread on her face. And in that moment, he realised what it was that he was picking up: the controller for her shock collar.

Grievous’ fingers closed around it and slowly, he lifted it up. All the while, his eyes never left the female Kaleesh, while hers were fixated on the controller. Though her face was as hard and unfeeling as Grievous’ faceplate, he could see the apprehension in those startingly golden eyes of hers. Grievous idly tapped his thumb against the button on it with just enough force that the tapping noise made it clear that he was in charge.

The Kaleesh glared at him with so much hate and loathing in her eyes. If looks could kill, then Grievous would have been long-dead by now. Under his faceplate, Grievous smiled a smug, triumphant smile that reached his eyes. It made the female Kaleesh hate him even more.

“I’m going to ask you again,” Grievous took a few steps nearer, lowering his head to look her in the eye, “what is your name?”

She continued to glare daggers at the General for a moment, too stubborn to comply with his request. But then he held up the controller for her to see, to remind her that he was now calling the shots. She tied to snatch it from his hand, but missed as Grievous jerked it out of reach. In response, she growled in frustration while Grievous only chuckled to himself.

“Ronderu.” She finally said, “My name is Ronderu.”

Chapter Text

For the second time in the space of a few minutes, a spike of pain lanced through Grievous’ head and his face twisted into a grimace. The female Kaleesh – Ronderu – noticed his eyes narrow and heard a soft hiss of pain from under the mask this… cyborg wore. He drew back, though, before she could make another grab for the controller. Grievous straightened up and turned his gaze down to Ronderu.

“Get up.” He ordered her.

Grudgingly, she complied and got to her feet, eyeing him with distaste.

“You know who I am,” she began, ”so what’s your name, cyborg?”

“I am General Grievous,” he growled to her.

“Grievous?” She echoed, folding her arms, “That’s not much of a name.”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he muttered, “Ronderu.”

“Sorry about that, Grievous,” was Ronderu’s sniffy reply.

“You will call me General.” Grievous informed her coldly.

“I see we’re not on a first-name basis,” she commented loud enough for Grievous to hear.

In response, he shot a glare at her from over his shoulder. Ronderu watched as he approached one of the unconscious Zygerrians – there were dead ones, too, but Ronderu wasn’t going to be the one to tell Grievous that. Grievous picked him up in his left hand, his claw-like fingers closing around the Zygerrian’s jaw before proceeding to slam him into the wall. That woke him up.

And almost instantly, his hands flew to the mechanical claws gripping him by the face, tying to pull it off or at the very least ease the strain on his head and neck.

“W-what is going on?” He gasped out, “The pirates – !”

“Have been dealt with, Zygerrian,” Grievous cut across. “Now tell me which one of you is the envoy.”

Though the Zygerrian did not respond to the question, his eyes stayed to one body that lay on the floor, the head twisted at an unnatural angle. Grievous looked from the body to the Kaleesh. Ronderu said nothing, only raised her eyebrows, the message she conveyed was clear; He’s dead. What do you want me to do about it? Grievous scowled irritably. Thanks to her, his mission was as good as failed. But then a thought struck him and he turned slowly to look at the Zygerrian sideways.

The Zygerrian, meanwhile, had laid his eyes on Ronderu and his face twisted with anger while he bared his teeth.

“You!!” He spat, “Filthy slave – I’ll have your head for this!”

“Not if he has yours first,” Ronderu replied, having suddenly noticed the feral air from Grievous.

“What?”

Thinking it was a bluff, the Zygerrian’s attention nonetheless returned to General Grievous and he felt a sudden shiver of fear run down his spine as he looked at the mask and, behind it, those evil reptilian eyes. He stared uncomprehendingly as the General reached for something clipped to the back of his hip. He withdrew a roughly tube-like object that he held in his right hand. The Zygerrian immediately recognized what it was, though.

It was a lightsaber.

“What – ?” He stammered.

Grievous ignited the lightsaber, a blue-tinged energy blade springing from it. The cyborg drew his hand back, the blade pointed straight at the Zygerrian. Ronderu couldn’t help but watch with a sort of detached fascination.

“No no – please – ! No!!”

But his cries fell on deaf ears. The blade jabbed forwards and the smell of burning flesh soon reached Ronderu’s nose. The Zygerrian’s voice stopped and after a moment, his body dropped to the ground.

Ronderu looked from the body back to Grievous. He stood with his back to her, but she didn’t make any move towards him – partly because he still held the activated lightsaber in his hand, its blade humming. But it was also because she was apprehensive. Something about this General Grievous seemed… wrong, somehow, but she wasn’t sure what it was. There was something unnatural about him.

But then the moment passed, though, as the lightsaber’s blade withdrew and silence descended on the bridge once again. Grievous turned back to Ronderu, his eyes cold.

“You are coming with me,” he growled to her.

Ronderu didn’t even try to hide her scowl.

The General noticed and his eyes narrowed in response. He didn’t say anything until she had walked up to the door, having reluctantly following him, when Grievous suddenly rounded on her and grabbed her by her throat and drove her against the doorframe. She snarled at him, her hands reflexively grasping at his arm that pinned her back. But she couldn’t pry the robotic hand off, and her struggles only resulted in his strong, metal fingers squeezing tighter against her throat. All of a sudden, she couldn’t help but remember the Zygerrian that had been mercilessly killed not so long ago.

“You should count yourself lucky, Ronderu,” he hissed at her through his mask.

“Lucky?!” Ronderu gasped for breath, “Because now you’ve decided you’re going to be my new master, is that it?”

“No. Lucky because it seems you are going to live to fight another day,” Grievous leered before he broke off, coughing into his fist.

Ronderu grimaced at the noise. The hacking coughs made her want to get as far away as was possible from it. Her claws tightened around Grievous’ arm as she winced. True, the General was more droid than anything, but his coughs made it sound as if there was someone behind all that metal. At the same time, however, it made her feel as if there was an invisible hand tightening around her chest and crushing the breath from her. Ronderu struggled to inhale, and in a last-ditch effort to free herself, hooked the claws of her feet around his arm and yanked it down. The General was forced to drop her and she fell to the ground coughing as she caught her breath.

Grievous himself had recovered from his own coughing fit and felt a sudden, unexpected leap of panic as he saw Ronderu breathing shakily from where she had fallen. What’s wrong with her? He thought with worry. This time as he reached down to pull her to feet, he hesitated – an action that fortunately went unnoticed by her – but gripped her upper arm and lifted her up.

“Follow me,” he told her as he released her arm.

He didn’t bother waiting for a response from her, but turned abruptly and set off the way he had come from, his cape billowing behind him. Ronderu was pushed after Grievous by the Battle droid which followed her closely. She walked after the cyborg General rather numbly, unsure as to why she had felt so… breathless just then. She dismissed her thoughts, however, as they reached the corridor leading to the airlock and began to wonder about escaping. But as they started down the corridor, she caught the acrid tang of smoke in the recycled air and saw the telltale signs of blaster fire in the scorch marks along the walls and the bodies of an assortment of species moved out of the way.

Looking between the bodies, Ronderu saw that some of the bodies had been cut in half or stabbed – the hole going right through them – most likely courtesy of General Grievous. Stepping through the airlock, they entered the pirates’ ship and were joined by more droids. Some of them were regular Battle droids while others were hardier, more mobile Commando droids. Both groups fell in step behind her and Ronderu muttered a curse under her breath.

How was she supposed to escape now?!!

Chapter Text

“There’s no need for that kind of language, Ronderu,” said Grievous from ahead of her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, General,” came her reply.

Inwardly, though, Ronderu was rather surprised. The General understood what she had said?? It hadn’t even been in Galactic Basic!

Grievous understood the words she muttered under her breath because she had spoken in Kaleesh, a language he was familiar with, having once been a Kaleesh himself. He couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly at the crude wording of her curse. Finally, they had left the pirates’ ship, too and entered their own shuttle again.

“Take us back to our ship,” Grievous ordered the pilots.

“Roger roger,” said the Battle droids piloting the shuttle.

The doors closed and there was a hiss as the two airlocks detached from one another. Then came the sense of movement again as the shuttle flew back to the Destroyer. The droids that had boarded the ships lined the sides of the small craft, standing on either side of Grievous and Ronderu. Because of the small size of the shuttle, Ronderu found herself standing uncomfortably close to the General as he waited in that hunched-over position of his. Ronderu herself stood with her arms folded over her chest. She maintained a neutral expression even while her mind raced with impossible, desperate ways to escape.

She’d lost too many years to being a slave, and her plans to escape the Zygerrians hadn’t been one made overnight. It would have succeeded, too, had Grievous not arrived. So, it wasn’t for the first time, Ronderu thought about using a sleight-of-hand maneuver to get the controller from Grievous. But almost as if he knew what she was thinking, he angled his head towards her slightly, his eyes meeting hers.

“What?” She demanded aggressively.

“You had better not try anything,” he warned.

“I’ll do my best,” Ronderu replied coldly.

Grievous’ only response was an unconvinced-sounding grunt.

Finally, the shuttle landed back in the hangar bay of the Destroyer. And as the ramp lowered and extended, Ronderu found herself entering a vast, open space that was lined on three sides by metal – the only exception being the opening behind them. She couldn’t help but gape at all the activity going on around her; a group of Battle droids marched by, and further away, four Vulture droids entered the hangar, their wings pivoting so they could land on them. Four Magnaguards approached Grievous, their electrostaffs powered down and sandy-colored cloaks draped on their shoulders and wrapped around their heads.

The droids that had been aboard the shuttle with them disembarked and walked away with purpose. Ronderu couldn’t help but wonder where it was they were going.

“Keep an eye on her,” she heard Grievous instruct two of his Magnaguards, “do not let her escape.”

They nodded their understanding and moved to stand a few paces behind the female Kaleesh. She noticed, and turned to look at them before looking back to Grievous.

“I’m offended, General,” she feigned indignation. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone,” he responded, eyes flashing with irritation. “I learned that the hard way,” he muttered.

“That’s a sad way to live,” Ronderu commented. “Well, if you could say that whatever state you’re in is… well, alive.”

Now he definitely shot her an angered glare.

“Come with me!” He snapped.

“Not like I have much of a choice,” Ronderu observed under her breath.

The Magnaguards behind her stepped forwards, conveying the message that she should move. With an overly-dramatic sigh, she complied and followed behind General Grievous leaving behind the bustling hangar bay. They walked down a quiet, metal corridor that was eerily lit by unseen green lights. Pipes lined the walls, the makers of the ship having decided to cut costs by scrapping the panels that would usually cover them up. The only noise to be heard was the heavier tread of the Magnaguards, overlapping the lighter clicks of Ronderu’s and Grievous’ claws. Soon they stepped through a pair of doors and entered the bridge.

Through the thick, transparisteel windows, the massive red planet of Yavin Prime could be seen, its many moons stung around it like beads on an invisible necklace. Motionless before it, though, were the two small, pathetic-looking ships that were dwarfed by the sheer size and bulk of the Destroyer.

Despite having been into space before, and aboard many ships, Ronderu was still fascinated by the inky blackness of space. Pin-pricks of light from countless distant stars shone all around them while Yavin Prime glowed in the darkness, part of it in shadow. She found the vastness of the galaxy amazing; and so it was with some reluctance that she tore her gaze away from the viewing panes as she felt the eyes of General Grievous on her again.

“So why bring me up here?” She asked with an air of carelessness, “Don’t tell me it was for the view?”

“Oh yes,” Grievous’ eyes creased with a feral smile, “the view.”

He then turned forwards and extended a clawed hand, pointing to the two defenseless ships before them.

“Starboard cannons fire on those ships!” He ordered, “Destroy them!!”

The Battle droids knew better than to try and contradict those orders or even to try and add anything to it, so all they did was nod.

“Roger roger.”

And immediately, the cannons on the right side of the Destroyer powered up and began to rain fire on the smaller ships. Neither had any deflector shields; not that they would have helped much anyways – perhaps just delayed the inevitable. Ronderu watched in shock as on bolt of red-tinged energy tore into the side of the Zygerrian’s ship. Then another bolt made contact with the pirates’, and then it was followed by more and more. They only stopped when an explosion ripped through the pirates’ ship, splitting it in half before its spluttering engines detonated, engulfing what was left of the Zygerrian’s ship in a fireball.

“What…?” Ronderu murmured, “I don’t understand… Why destroy everything?”

“So that no one will know,” came Grievous’ reply. “I would have thought that seeing your former master’s ship going up in flames would improve your mood.”

Ronderu let out a sort, sharp bark of incredulous laughter.

“Improve my mood?!” She exclaimed, “What’s this – is the General suddenly capable of emotions now??”

If she could see his face, she would have seen his expression sour.

“Put her in a cell,” he said, addressing the Magnaguard to her right, “if she ties to escape, use this.” Grievous produced the controller. “You have my apologies, Ronderu,” he sneered, “a cell is the best accommodation I can provide you with. For now.”

“Believe me – I’ve had worse,” Ronderu retorted as she was manhandled to the doors.

And the doors slid shut behind her, and all was quiet once more. As it should be.

Grievous sank into the chair wearily. His hand went up to his head almost as soon as he sat down. Why did it hurt so much?? He winced again; he was no stranger to pain, but this pain was different; it was like something buried deep in his mind now wanted to be let out. Only, Grievous didn’t know what it was, and what had changed for it to want to be remembered. He shut his eyes against it, pushing it to a corner of his mind. Forget the pain – he had other things to do.

“Contact Count Dooku.” He told a Battle Droid.

“Roger roger.”

Chapter Text

The General got back to his feet and not long after, a hologram of Count Dooku appeared before him.

“My lord, I have bad news,” Grievous began.

Count Dooku’s expression did not change save for the minute narrowing of his eyes. But he didn’t interrupt; he only waited, his figure radiating nothing but disapproval and some amount of disdain.

“I arrived in the Yavin Sector too late,” Grievous said, pausing a moment to cough. “The pirates had already destroyed the envoy’s ship.”

“… I see.” Dooku responded, his voice even. “That is most unfortunate. And tell me, what became of these pirates?”

“They are dead. I saw to it myself.” The General informed him.

“Hm, this news will not pacify the Zygerrians, Grievous,” Dooku’s eyes were steely. “I only hope these… events will not cause Separatist relations with the Zygerrians to deteriorate. I hope so, for your sake.”

The hologram flickered out of existence and Grievous’ eyes narrowed at the thinly-veiled threat Dooku had issued. For some reason, it bothered him even more than it would have at any other time. But Grievous still dismissed the threat because – like so many others he’d heard before it – it was hollow. A bluff that held no substance.

The Separatists had no one who could replace him.

Dooku had no one who could replace him.

Grievous seated himself once again, mulling over the latest developments. Why had he wanted to kill those Zygerrians so badly? What was it that had enraged him so? Was it Ronderu? And that name!!

What was it about it about that name that tugged at so many unfamiliar, turbulent emotions within him?! What was it??

Grievous wished he could bury it all; bury it all and forget! He was General Grievous – Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies – he did not have time for feelings; for emotions. For – for whatever it was he felt towards Ronderu! Such things were for weaklings – not Grievous. Soon, though, he decided that what he needed now was a fight. A battlefront to distract him from this strange fogginess he felt in his mind. Grievous steepled his claw-like fingers before his faceplate, his eyes flicking towards a droid.

“Where is the nearest active battlefront?” He asked it.

“Uh, that would be Felucia, Sir.” The droid responded, “Our forces are being pushed back by the Republic.”

A feral growl sounded from behind Grievous’ faceplate.

“Turn this ship around and take us to Felucia,” he said aloud, “I’ll deal with these Republic forces myself.”

“Roger roger,” went up from the droids working the navigation systems.

Grievous sat back, and waited.

- - - - - - -

Ronderu deeply disliked the Magnaguard droids.

They didn’t seem to speak at all – at least, not in any language she understood – their glowing red ‘eyes’ unnerved her, and she was of the opinion that few things would be able to provoke a response from them.

Their pincer-like grip on her forearms didn’t ease even as they manhandled her into a turbolift that took them deeper into the bowels of the Destroyer. They marched her down no fewer than five corridors and down two ramps before reaching the ship’s brig. One of the Magnaguards let go of her arm and walked ahead, pausing as it opened a cell door before it, nodding to the one droid left holding her arm.

“Oh no you don’t – “ Ronderu struggled against its iron grip but to no avail and was roughly thrown into the cell.

She switched from Galactic Basic to Kaleesh as she cursed them.

The droids didn’t even react to that, and with the push of a button, the door slid shut with a whoosh. Ronderu sat against the far wall with an irritable huff. She had only been waiting a few minutes before she felt something warm and wet on her cheek. Lightly touching a finger to the area, she looked at the dark liquid staining it.

Great, she sighed. Now, she was bleeding.

“Just my luck,” she muttered.

Drawing her right knee against herself as she tied to make herself comfortable against the cold metal wall behind her. The cell was a bare, simple affair. It measured about ten paces by seven, with the walls, ceiling and floor solid metal. There was no way for her to get out of the cell – no ventilation grille to pry off and escape through, no loose panels to pull off – nothing!

In other words, no way out other than the door.

Ronderu’s ears flicked at the noise of a distant and low boom that sounded their entry into hyperspace. Idly, she wondered where they were headed to now; off to destroy other defenseless ships? Because as much as Ronderu despised all things related to slavery, she did not like that General Grievous had simply attacked the two ships. With a sigh, she leaned her head back against the wall and stared at the dull, uninspiring grey ceiling for a moment before she closed her eyes and lost herself to her thoughts.

The cell was still and quiet; a little pocket of calm with Ronderu in the middle of it that she was – in all honesty – grateful for. It gave her the opportunity to try and make sense of what had happened. Mentally, she ran through the events of the past few hours.

First, she had boarded the ship with the Zygerrian who had ‘bought’ her from the Huk so many years ago. She had been plotting during those years, plotting her escape. And her plans had almost come to fruition; she had been the model of a subservient, beaten and broken slave. She had played her part to perfection, convinced the Zygerrian (whose name she had never bothered learning) that she was no threat; that she was perfectly harmless.

So when he was travelling off-world, what better slave to take than one who would pose no trouble? And what better time for Ronderu to attempt to steal the controller for her collar? After all, they would be aboard a ship, in space and far away from anywhere and anyone who could help. She could kill him, steal an escape pod and leave the slavers far behind her. She might even have gone back to Kalee – fight off any Huk; if there were any to fight, that was. As she thought about her homeworld, she felt a pang of nostalgia for it.

Kalee…

How would it be had she returned? Would anything have changed? Would there be anyone there who remembered her? Or would they all have… forgotten…?

Ronderu almost smacked herself then. Of course there would be Kaleesh to remember her – warriors, civilians, liberated slaves… They would remember her; after all, the figure and name of Ronderu lij Kummar was not one that was easy to forget. But deep inside her, she knew there was only one Kaleesh’s remembering that she really needed – that she wanted. She remembered his name, a wistful smile curling the corners of her mouth as she did. Yes; seeing him again was all she wanted.

Qymaen jai Sheelal.

Her comrade-in-arms, closest friend and soulmate. Just the mere thought of being reunited with him was the only thing that had stopped her from giving up years ago. Well, that and her own stubbornness, too. She remembered him as she had last seen him; mumuu bone mask obscuring his face but showing the tusks that stretched a little beyond his jaw, the confidence and resolve in his eyes, a Czerka rifle casually slung over one shoulder, his Lig knives hanging by his side as he pointed to a Huk settlement on the shores of the Jenuwaa Sea. The light-colored cloak he wore billowed in the stiff sea breeze, while his clawed toes left shallow imprints in the sand.

And then they had charged into battle, and they had fought.

But they’d been separated, leaving Ronderu to fight off a swarm of Huk all on her own. So she had killed them; killed and killed and killed some more. They hadn’t stopped coming. Their sheer numbers had overwhelmed her, but then a nearby explosion had thrown them all bodily into the air. Ronderu barely remembered getting back to her feet and lurching back into the fray. She did remember, though, with startling clarity the Huk that had managed to stab her through her stomach with its dagger-like forelimbs.

The fact that she had survived her injuries was nothing short of a miracle.

…

Anyway, Ronderu thought, quickly changing the subject as she felt the lump in her throat.

Right – so she’d been presented with the perfect opportunity to steal the controller for her shock collar when the ship had been attacked. The Zygerrian had been in his cabin with her at the time, going over some holographic documents while she had stood ready with a drink for his lordship. The ship had shook as something had hit its shields and immediately afterwards, the guards posted outside his room had pounded on it, yelling at him that they were being boarded. So the natural course of action was for him to exit his cabin, snapping at Ronderu to follow. She only complied because the controller still hung from his belt.

They had made their way to the bridge, and while he approached the viewing ports to look out and be distracted as the captain informed him of the developments, Ronderu made her move. She had slowly, almost imperceptibly moved to stand beside the Zygerrian, her fingers unclipping the controller from his belt.

Unfortunately, though, she had been spotted by one of the other Zygerrians manning the bridge. He had shouted out, getting the attention of everyone else aboard the bridge, including Ronderu’s owner. He had just begun to turn, but Ronderu was faster than he was, and in no time had seized him in a headlock.

“Drop your weapons or I break his neck!” She’d demanded in Basic.

“You’re bluffing!” One of the Zygerrian guards had snarled, pointing a blaster her way.

“Pull that trigger,” Ronderu growled, “I dare you.”

The Zygerrians facing her glanced at one another shiftily, trying to decide whether or not to attack her and risk injuring their superior in the process. But then their ship shook, blaster-fire from their attackers striking the hull and making everyone stagger in the process. Ronderu took her chances and threw the Zygerrian she’d been holding at the others, knocking some of them over.

“Do not kill her!” He still managed to say.

Ronderu didn’t know why he wanted her alive, but at that point, she didn’t care.

Either she escaped now or died trying. There would be no going back to being a slave; never again.

Chapter Text

One Zygerrian pulled an energy whip from his belt, the crackling energy falling to the ground. He snarled, meaning to intimidate her and Ronderu only narrowed her eyes in response. He lashed the whip towards her, but she was already springing over it and had covered the distance between herself and the Zygerrian in bare seconds. Before he could react, she had punched him in the gut and as he doubled over in pain, her knee connected with his face with a satisfying crunch. Another Zygerrian charged at her, but Ronderu sidestepped him, dodged his punches to grab him by an ear, managing to swing him around and send him rolling aside. With those two Zygerrians down, that left fourteen.

Ronderu knew she could handle them.

This time three Zygerrians rushed at her, aiming to overwhelm her. She wasn’t even fazed. Planting her feet firmly, she exhaled and just before they collided with her, she performed a backflip, kicking one of the Zygerrians in the process. He fell back while the other two – unable to stop themselves in time – crashed headfirst into one another. Ronderu landed in a crouch just before the controls and grinned in exhilaration.

She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed this.

The remaining ten approached more cautiously, their eyes fixed in her. She glanced at each of them in turn and caught the surreptitious nod the captain sent to one of his lieutenants. He then leapt forwards, attempting to tackle Ronderu and catch her unawares, but Ronderu saw him coming and planted a foot in his face, sending him sprawling backwards. But it seemed that he had just been a distraction because then the end of a whip wrapped around her left forearm, electrocuting her. Ronderu bit back her cry of pain, gritting her teeth to block it out. Two Zygerrians approached with the aim of reclaiming the controller to her shock collar while another two broke off to man some of the controls to a side, trying to shoot down the ships attacking them.

Ronderu grabbed ahold of the energy whip in her other hand, her face still screwed up in pain, and gave it a yank, pulling the Zygerrian captain off-balance. As he fell over, he let go of the handle and Ronderu pulled it into her own hands. The Zygerrian to her right managed to land a punch to her face while she was distracted but quickly snatched back his hand, his knuckles having been sliced by one of her tusks. The force of the punch, however, turned her head to a side and she headbutted the Zygerrian to her left. The one who had punched her had begun to move away from her, but before he could put enough distance between himself and Ronderu, her hand shot out and clamped ahold of his throat. She squeezed and crushed it, letting the Zygerrian’s limp body fall to the ground.

The one she’d headbutted had regained his senses, though, and with a snarl, he lunged at her and wrapped his hands around her throat, driving her backwards into the control panel. Ronderu grimaced as she slammed into the raised levers and buttons, the Zygerrian’s face contorted in rage. He continued to squeeze, trying to suffocate her.

“Tell your captain,” Ronderu said through gritted teeth, “that he can have his whip back.”

“Wha-?”

Saying so, she shoved the handle of the now-deactivated whip into the Zygerrian’s mouth just as it opened. Ronderu pressed the button on the side and activated it. The Zygerrian’s eyes bugged out of his head as he screamed, the tendril of energy crackling and electrocuting him as it wormed its way down his throat. He staggered backwards and fell over, limbs jerking. The remaining four saw this, the expressions on their faces horrified. One even took an involuntary step back. A noise, though, shifted all of their attention; it was the hiss of doors sealing. They all turned and saw the Zygerrian who brought her up here – her former owner – standing by the doors, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“I have sealed the blast doors,” he informed them all with a sneer. ”No one leaves without me saying so!”

And then there was another noise – an explosion – and almost at once, Ronderu felt an overwhelming surge of energy through the ship before everything went dark. Shouts of confusion went up from the Zygerrians.

“What’s going on?!”

“They must have used ion torpedoes – we’ve lost all power!”

“Try to bring the engines back online!”

“We need to restore power to the bridge…!”

Ronderu looked down in surprise as her feet left the floor. Lost all power, huh? It seemed that even the artificial gravity had been knocked out. But the darkness gave Ronderu an advantage – she could still the Zygerrians as clearly in the dark as it was when the lights were on. She braced her feet on the controls behind her and pushed off, sailing over the four Zygerrians still left, aiming for past them. Her former owner didn’t see her until it was too late and she was right in front of him. He started in surprise as he finally registered her form before him.

“Consider this payback,” she’d hissed, “for every family and planet you and your kind tore apart, slaver scum.”

“Stay back!” He’d ordered, unholstering a small blaster from his side and pointing it at her.

Ronderu’s glowing golden eyes turned from the firearm to the Zygerrian. She grabbed ahold of his wrist, her fingers tightening around it even as she pulled it down slowly, forcing him to let go of the blaster as his wrist twisted awkwardly.

“Who,” Ronderu began, her voice frigid, “do you think you’re tying to order around, slaver?”

She saw him quake at the tone of her voice, fear showing in his eyes. She grinned at him just before she broke his wrist. He let out a sharp exclamation of pain and tried to pull away, getting the attention of the other Zygerrians on the bridge. But Ronderu kicked him against the wall and pinned him there, planting the toes of her foot in his back even as she took hold of his head in both her hands.

“No – what are you – ?! Don’t – “

But he never finished what he was trying to say because Ronderu had already given his head a sharp twist and been rewarded with a muffled crack as his neck broke. She pushed the body away. It floated away, turning slowly in the zero-gravity conditions. Reaching out, Ronderu had only just closed her fingers around the handle of the blaster drifting by when the artificial gravity suddenly kicked back in, sending them all thudding to the floor.

“Auxiliary power is back online!” Said one of the Zygerrians still faithfully working the controls.

The four remaining fighters were back on their feet in an instant, followed by the slightly more dazed captain. It was he who spotted the dead Zygerrian that lay crumpled on the floor, eyes glazed over, muscles slack and head twisted at an unnatural angle.

“Kill her!!” He bellowed in anger.

At the same time, Ronderu raised the blaster she now held and shot him square in the face. He keeled over, dead before he even hit the floor.

“We’re being boarded!” Exclaimed one of the two Zygerrians not fighting her.

All four lunged for her. Ronderu managed to shoot one of them in the chest before the blaster was knocked from her hand. But even bare-handed, she was not defenceless. She punched one Zygerrian in the face, ducked under a blow from another and delivered an uppercut to the third’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards. Ronderu elbowed the second in the face and kneed the first in the groin. Eyes bugging out of his face, he crumpled with a soundless scream. Baring her claws, she slashed the second across his face before leaping up and kicking him into the two at the controls.

But the third Zygerrian slammed into her from behind, throwing her to a side. Ronderu twisted, landing in a crouch and eyed her opponent. Not far from him, the one she’d kneed was struggling to his feet. She decided then and there that she could handle him first. So she darted forwards and backhanded him to daze him. The other Zygerrian didn’t even know what was happening, even when Ronderu had slipped behind him, standing back-to-back with him, she reached up and clamped her hands around the bottom of his head and yanked. She had proceeded to throw into the blast doors which – as she had been about to dispatch the last conscious Zygerrian – had opened with a beep.

General Grievous had turned up then.

Ronderu groaned, her attention returning to the present. What lousy timing the cyborg had; if only he had turned up later, she could have gotten away! Reflexively, her hand went to her stomach as she traced the line of the scar that stretched across it like the torn edge of material. She exhaled a sigh, trying not to remember the pain she’d endured while her wounds had healed.

The Huk who had enslaved her hadn’t helped by lashing out at her with dagger-sharp forelimbs whenever they felt like it. As a result, Ronderu now possessed a multitude of scars that crisscrossed her back. Some were from the Huk, some from the Zygerrians but all fortunately hidden by her long mane of hair. She then reached up to finger the collar around her neck.

Ronderu hated it.

She longed to be able to rip it off and throw the hated thing as far as she could, far out of sight. Or better yet, smash it to pieces with something. Maybe a rock… or maybe even a Huk’s head. It would be beyond satisfying to hear the metal crumple, to see the circuitry within spark and spray as it was destroyed…

She had been this close to removing it!!

She’d held the controller in her hands. She’d had the power, the opportunity to remove it and fling it away. And with it, get rid of all traces of her enslavement. She could have been free. Free to do what she wanted; to go where she wanted…

Free to go home.

Ronderu buried her head in her hands. Because deep down, she had a dark, creeping fear that surfaced only during times like this – her bleakest, loneliest hours. What if she returned to Kalee and found that… that Qymaen was dead? What would she do then?

And as she huddled in a corner of the cell, she had never felt more alone.

But… if Qymaen was dead, she would know…

… Wouldn’t she?

- - - - - - - - -

The Destroyer dropped out of hyperspace.

Ahead of it were more Separatist ships engaged in a fierce aerial battle with Republic Cruisers. To the right of the Destroyer lay the planet Felucia. Grievous knew that somewhere down on the surface of planet raged on an equally brutal firefight between Separatist and Republic forces. But he also knew that the droids were losing ground to the clones. He wondered what Jedi was leading the Republic’s forces; surely not Kenobi?

“Contact our lead ship,” he ordered a droid.

“Roger roger,” it acknowledged.

A hologram of a tactical droid sprang up.

“What is going on here?” Grievous demanded from it.

“Sir, our forces are suffering heavy losses on the surface. The Jedi has them in the retreat.” It informed him.

“Which Jedi is leading them?” He growled.

“That would be the Jedi Knight Nova Regis,” it told him. “His tactics have proved most unorthodox; the aerial assault is being handled by – “

“I don’t care about that!” Grievous snarled.

The hologram of the tactical droid nodded once before it disappeared. Grievous had already turned around by then.

“Prepare landing craft!” He ordered, “Be ready to send reinforcements down to the surface!”

“Roger roger.”

“What will you do, Sir?” Piped up one droid.

“Kill the Jedi,” Grievous muttered darkly as he strode out.

The Separatist general boarded a landing craft that was headed down to the surface. Most likely the Republic would try to stop their enemy from landing anymore reinforcements, but Grievous was confident of making it to the surface unopposed. The doors closed slowly, leaving the droid battalion within – and General Grievous – housed in total darkness until a dim red light flickered in. It didn’t do much to drive out the shadows; if anything, it only made them more pronounced.

The Battle droids stood to attention in neat rows, their blasters held ready, the light bathing them the colour of blood. The Super Battle droids were mere hulking shapes in the gloom. Behind them were three tanks, their top hatches open as the droids within awaited their eventual touchdown on Felucia. And finally – behind the droids and tanks – stood General Grievous. He was flanked by his Magnaguards, having decided to recall the two standing guard outside Ronderu’s cell in anticipation of the coming battle. After all, it was a secure cell; it wasn’t like she could escape – she was no Jedi!

Grievous quickly banished all thoughts of Ronderu from his mind. He couldn’t have them distracting him – especially when he was locked in combat. He himself eagerly awaited the inevitable confrontation between himself and this Jedi Knight. The name was not one that was familiar to him – perhaps this was one who was new to the battlefield, or perhaps just one of the many other Jedi he was yet to meet – there were, after all, over ten thousand Jedi Knights in the galaxy.

Grievous allowed himself a grim smile.

Soon, it would be time for him to test this Jedi’s skills personally.

Chapter Text

An explosion rocked the ground as a blast from a Separatist tank hit the base of one of Felucia’s giant fungus trees instead of the advancing ranks of clone troopers. They ducked as pieces of the tree flew overhead, their attention on the retreating droids ahead of them. The clones fired bolts of blue-tinged energy from their blasters, cutting down Battle droids left, right and center. But for every droid they shot down, there were another two more cut down by the expert handling of their Jedi General – Jedi Knight Nova Regis.

He was a human from the planet of Panthea, and as such, wore a gauntlet over his right arm that extended into an armguard – one with intricate designs in the gold metal. It was customary amongst his people to wear more pieces of often-elaborate armour, but being a Jedi, he had settled with the single gauntlet. He stood at well below the height of a clone and was tan-skinned like them. His dark reddish-brown hair was braided tightly and reached his shoulders, with small bronze-coloured loops tied at the ends. Some of the braids were tied back off his face, with two falling on either side of his face. He wore the customary light-coloured Jedi robes, the only difference being that the left sleeve bore the insignia of the 715th Clone Battalion – the very same one he now led – the swooping form of the Anthon Hawk that was native to his homeworld.

The lightsaber he wielded had a green blade, its slightly curving hilt inlaid with a green tinted metal that was reminiscent of the swords soldiers from his homeworld had once wielded.

Commander Kray – CC 4485 – led the 715th under the General while a separate division was led by Captain Diaz- CT 7912. The Commander was an easy figure to spot, on account of the two maroon-painted pauldrons on his shoulders. On his helmet was painted a stylized talon that cut down across the left side of his visor. Maroon and grey kama hung from his belt down to his knees. His shin guards, boots and armguards were maroon with lines running down the remaining pieces of his armour.

Captain Diaz, too, made a striking figure on the battlefield. The entire silhouette of the swooping hawk adorned his helmet, the bird’s talons stretching to the bottom of the helmet. His knee and shoulder pads were painted maroon, as was the one pauldron he wore with the outline of a feather picked out in white. The ends of his kama were maroon, and his boots white.

Even as they fought, they heard the noise of an engine over the din of battle. Crouching low, Captain Diaz looked around and quickly spotted the incoming droid landing craft.

“Looks like the clankers are gettin’ reinforcements!” He yelled.

Kray saw it too, as it approached the ground. He turned back to face his men.

“Prep a rocket launcher now! The only landing I want that thing to have is a crash landing!”

“Yes, Sir!!”

Two troopers sprang into action; one unslung a pack he was carrying while the second hefted up a rocket launcher, resting the back end on the ground. The first unpacked a rocket which was quickly loaded into the launcher. The second trooper lifted the rocket launcher onto his shoulder and braced himself.

“You’re clear – FIRE!!” Yelled the first.

The trigger was pulled and the rocket blasted out of the tube, soaring towards the Separatist landing craft. The rocket struck between the two wings on the left side of the ship and exploded. Some members of the 715th cheered as the craft began a more uncontrolled descent, smoke and debris trailing behind it. But the craft was heading straight for the droid forces and under his helmet, Commander Kray’s eyes widened. The General was right there! Ducking below a blast, he activated his commlink.

“Sir – you have to get out of there!”

But Kray shouldn’t have worried – General Regis had already seen the incoming craft and turned around, leaping into the air. Behind him, the landing craft crashed into the droids they had been pursuing, crushing them under its bulk. As for the Jedi Knight Regis, he landed safely on his feet beside Kray.

“That was cutting it a little close, Commander, even for me,” he said in accented Basic.

“I did give you a heads-up, Sir,” Kray pointed out.

“Just before the crash!” Regis objected.

“Better late than never,” Kray countered.

“I don’t know how my Master ever managed with you,” Regis said with a weary shake of his head.

“He managed somehow,” the Commander responded, a smile in his voice.

The previous General of the 715th – and Nova Regis’ teacher – had been Umbria Shrike. He had died earlier on in the war when his fighter had been opened up by Buzz droids in outer space. A grisly way to go, but this was war. Not everyone pulled through at the end of the day.

“Well,” Regis said, looking towards the flaming wreckage of the landing craft. “I think that concludes our battle.”

“I’ll contact the Cruisers,” Kray added. “Better tell them the good news – and that we’ll be needing a pick-up.”

“We certainly will, Commander,” Regis said with a smile.

Commander Kray nodded and strode off to contact the Cruisers still in orbit. Regis knew that their forces up there were most likely still engaged in combat. It was likely that he and the rest of the 715th would have to wait awhile before they could return to Coruscant. Turning, he found that already some of his men were picking through what was left of the droids and making sure none were still operational. But just then, Regis frowned, sensing something; something that was approaching them. And whatever it was, it was hardly alive.

“Everyone stay alert!” He called out, unclipping his lightsaber from his belt once more, “We may have more company soon!”

Immediately, the clones snapped to, on guard as they took up positions and surveyed their surroundings. Another landing craft appeared through the smoke rising from the first. It swooped overhead, coming down to land behind them, turning so it faced them.

“Defensive positions!” Captain Diaz ordered.

At once, the clones took up their positions, some partly hidden behind fungus trees, others standing their ground in the open, their DC-15S blasters aimed and ready. Commander Kray stood ready to Regis’ left. A little further back were the two clones who had successfully downed the first landing craft – Steg and Allos. Steg had already unpacked a second rocket and handed it to Allos who began loading it into his rocket launcher. From a little way ahead of them, Captain Diaz turned around.

“Make sure you two have enough rockets to take down at least one tank, got that?” He said.

“Sir, yes sir!” They both replied.

Finally the loading doors of the landing craft began to open, a ramp slid down to the ground so that the Separatist forces within could disembark. The Battle droids marched out first, Kray signaling his men to open fire, and so the battle commenced. Even as it did, Allos was already hefting up the rocket launcher back onto his shoulder, just as Steg spotted the incoming B2 Super Battle droids.

“Steg, how many rockets’ve you got left?” Allos called back to his companion.

“I got… four! Four left!” Steg exclaimed after a cursory inspection of his pack’s contents. “It should be enough for two tanks at the most!”

“Alright, that’s good news!” Allos grinned under his helmet.

Saying so, he took aim at the centre-most ranks of Super Battle droids and pulled the trigger. The rocket shot out, whistling past the heads of the clone troopers, over the Battle droids and exploded in the midst of the Super Battle droids.

“Nice shot!” Steg commended.

“Ain’t it always?!” Laughed Allos in response.

The explosion had wiped out a good number of the Super Battle droids and even put a dent in the amount of regular B1 droids approaching. As they set about reloading the rocket launcher, the clones ahead of them continued to fire upon the droids. A few blasts went wild, but most struck a droid. However, their own side wasn’t without losses, too, especially when the three tanks finally appeared. The turret of the middle tank swivelled and fired upon the front ranks of the clones.

“INCOMING!!” Someone yelled.

A few clones managed to dive out of the way, but several were caught in the explosion. There were cries of pain from the wounded, other clones moving to cover them while their injured brothers were hauled aside for the medics. The tank to the left opened fire as well, but Regis thrust out his hand, his face creasing with concentration as he used the Force to deflect the bolt of energy harmlessly into the trees. He then darted forwards into the ranks of Battle droids, cutting them down instead of just deflecting blasts at them from a distance. And as he carved through the droids’ ranks, they were forced to turn inwards if they hoped to shoot him. That left fewer droids firing on the 715th.

“Take out those clankers!” Commander Kray roared. “Diaz, you and your boys are clear – make the dive!”

“Yes, Sir!”

A group of fifteen clones – plus Captain Diaz – had scaled some of the fungus trees to the droids’ right when the battle had commenced. While the fight had raged below them, these sixteen clones had remained hidden at the tops of the trees, awaiting the all-clear. Captain Diaz had already outlined their plan of action and their main targets were the tanks. And then came the signal from the Commander, and Diaz’s men leapt into action.

They stood up – no easy feat when they were over thirty feet in the air, on top of now-swaying fungus trees – and took aim at the trees on the other side of the battling forces. On the underside of their DC-15 blaster rifles were attached ascension cables. They pulled the triggers near simultaneously, and over forty feet of cable flew out, the end clamping onto the opposing trees. Each clone gave their cables quick, experimental tugs to make sure the ends were secure. Once they were done, they unhooked the canisters containing the ascension cables from their blasters, and secured the back end of the cables to the trees they were standing on. From their belts, they pulled another length of cable, this one with a magnetic grip that attached to the ascension cables.

Diaz looked to his men, all of them giving him a thumbs-up, signaling that they were all good to go. In response, he gave them a single nod.

That was all the confirmation they needed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, they leapt off the trees. The sixteen clones – troopers and Captain – swung over the droids, blasters held up and ready. As soon as they reached a certain point, they aimed their blasters downwards and opened fire on the advancing droids. Diaz and four of his men disengaged the back end of their ascension cables, swinging so low over the droids that they ended up running over some of their heads to keep up their momentum.

A third rocket whooshed past them, exploding against the tank to their right, which had been about to open fire. The explosion rocked it, but only the turret was disabled and the lower cannons continued to fire on the clones. Diaz and his men touched down – him and one clone on the middle tank, the other three on the left tank. Tome – the clone with Diaz – slid down to the tank’s lower hatch and pried it open. The droid inside looked up at him.

“Hey, who are you?” It asked him accusingly.

“Don’ matter,” Tome replied, tossing in grenade before slamming the hatch shut.

He leapt off, closely followed by Diaz who had done the same with the top hatch. The explosions that ripped through the tank propelled them forwards, back over the droids. The three clones on the other tank – Spade, Web and Pier – had just left, too, with Web only pausing to drop a grenade down the barrel of turret. It didn’t take long for that tank to go up in flames like its counterparts. What was left of the remaining tank was quickly dispatched by another rocket exploding into its lower half.

There was a groan of crumpling metal and the remains of the tank thudded heavily to the ground. But even as Diaz inwardly cheered the tanks’ destruction as he swung out of the way, he saw something that was going to be an even bigger problem than those turrets – it was General Grievous. The Head Clanker himself had just arrived on the battlefield.

Dread coiling in the pit of his stomach, Diaz activated his commlink before holding it to the bottom of his helmet, trying first to get in touch with Commander Kray. Taking cover behind a tree, he began to speak.

“Commander! We’ve got a problem – the Head Clanker’s here and the General’s headed for straight for him!” Diaz informed Kray, struggling to keep the nerves out of his voice.

“What?!” Came Kray’s exclamation of disbelief. “Grievous himself?? Clone Intelligence reported he wasn’t even in this system!”

“Well he’s here now,” Diaz said grimly.

“The General won’t turn back.” Kray stated flatly. “The only way we can help is by scrapping as many droids as we possibly can.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“And Diaz?”

“Sir?” The Captain paused.

“Tell your boys to be careful out there,” Kray said, a weary smile to his voice.

“Will do, Sir,” Diaz nodded even though his Commander wouldn’t be able to see it.

The Captain closed his eyes and exhaled, focusing. When he got back out there, his men were relying on him to have a level head, to be able to command them properly. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he was distracted by worrying about the General. He was a Jedi. He could handle himself. Opening his eyes after a moment, he hefted a blaster in his hand and inhaled.

Then he was swinging back into the battle, ready to give the droids everything he had.

Chapter Text

General Grievous was unamused when a large chunk of the deployed Super Battle droids were wiped out by well-aimed Republic rocket.

He was even less amused when all three tanks were blown up and disabled after having been out for a few measly minutes. He glowered at the clone forces on the ground and the ones swinging between the trees from where he stood on the ramp. He begrudgingly admitted, however, that it was an ingenious tactic.

Now where was this Jedi?

Grievous got his answer sooner than expected when the twisted, burning wrecks that were the tanks lurched aside sharply. The smoke parted for him to see the figure of the Jedi as he stood in the space he’d created. The Knight was shorter than Grievous expected, and held a green-bladed lightsaber in his right hand. From what else grievous could see, he also wore a gold-tinted armguard over his right forearm and his robes were stained by smoke and dust.

“Ah, the Jedi,” Grievous sneered, a smile twisting his scarred face.

On either side of him, his Magnaguards’ staffs came to life, purple arcs of electricity crackling at both ends. The Magnaguards moved further aside, fanning out on either side of Grievous as he reached under his cloak and unclipped two lightsabers.

“General Grievous himself,” the Jedi observed, his voice steely. “This is truly an honour – to fight the Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies is not something I expected to do.” He took up a stance, “Especially not today.”

Grievous chuckled evilly at the Jedi’s words, igniting the blades of both his lightsabers. This Jedi was certainly no Kenobi, Grievous mused to himself. But even so, he was curious to see how well this Knight would fare when up against Grievous himself. As his eyes fell on the two lightsabers Grievous held ready, his face hardened.

“Those lightsabers are not yours,” his voice was as frigid as outer space. “I’m going to have to ask you to hand them over to me.”

“Come and get them,” Grievous said, drawing himself up to his full height, his cloak falling to the ground, “Jedi scum.”

Regis’ eyes narrowed, but he made the first move. He thrust out his left hand and yanked it back towards himself forcefully. Grievous saw two of his Magnaguards dragged forwards towards the Jedi before being flung bodily into the burning wrecks of the tanks behind him. The cyborg general eyed the Knight with distaste. The Jedi then leapt into the air, aiming for Grievous’ head, who deflected the blow by crossing his two lightsabers.

But in that split-second, Grievous found his mind flashing back to earlier the same day, when he had tussled briefly with Ronderu. She had pulled a similar move, hadn’t she? Grievous snapped out of his reverie, angry that he could be distracted by something so trivial in the midst of a one-on-one fight with a Jedi. He only just managed to slip out of the way as the Jedi pushed off their crossed blades, landing behind him and slashing at Grievous’ middle with his saber, attempting to cut him in half. As Grievous took a few steps away, his two remaining Magnaguards advanced on the Jedi Regis.

Once again, he settled into a stance. This one was low, and he held his blade close to himself, his eyes on the approaching Magnaguards. The droid to his left lunged in for an attack, aiming for his feet, but Regis swung his lightsaber, parrying the blow and getting in some attacks of his own. The last droid took that as its cue to join the fight and it did. But the Jedi was ready for it, dragging the tip of his lightsaber against the ground as he dodged an attack from the first, a sharp flick of his wrist spraying red-hot dirt against its optical sensors. It reeled backwards, its sight momentarily compromised, and Regis Force-pushed the first one at Grievous.

The heavy droid collided with the General but didn’t knock him over. Irritably, Grievous snarled, about to toss aside the useless scrap-heap of a droid when an emerald blade stabbed through it, only just stopping short of his faceplate. Grievous couldn’t help his eyes widening in shock. He flung away the droid as Regis moved back, his lightsaber held at an angle in both his hands. Both fighters eyed one another. To one side, the last Magnaguard had regained its sight and stood ready, electrostaffs in hand. Grievous reached behind himself again, removing the other two lightsabers he always carried with him.

His arms split; first at his elbow joints and then at his wrists. He activated both lightsabers, holding them in his four arms. The Jedi appeared to be studying him from a distance of a few meters. Surreptitiously, the Magnaguard took a step nearer to the Jedi, and Grievous began to spin the two lightsabers he held in his higher pair of arms. The blades hummed as they were spun through the air and Regis adjusted the weight resting on his back foot. Behind him, Grievous’ Magnaguard had advanced to within striking distance of the Jedi. Grievous kept his eyes on the Jedi’s, commanding his attention and thereby distracting him from the more immediate threat posed by the electrostaffs-wielding droid behind him. Grievous smirked under his faceplate.

This battle was his and his alone; no treacherous, silver-tongued Jedi would best him.

Especially not one that was obviously such a novice as this.

The Magnaguard thrust its electrostaffs forwards, aiming the strike at the Jedi’s back. But somehow, the small Knight twisted out of the way in what should have been in an impossible move and succeeded in cutting off both of the droid’s feet. As it collapsed to the ground, Regis cut off its head.

He glared at Grievous accusingly.

“Will you not fight me, General?” He asked with a frown.

“Are you so eager to die?” Grievous sneered in response. “If that is the case, then I can help you with that, Jedi.”

“We shall see,” declared Regis levelly.

The two of them lunged forwards, Grievous spinning two lightsabers, the other two held like the points of a stabbing pincer. Regis held his own saber at an angle, his right forearm open to Grievous, the armguard glinting in the light. Grievous slashed at him with all four lightsabers and Regis blocked them with his emerald-green blade, his teeth bared as he fought to stop Grievous pushing the blades downwards and killing him. Again, he spun away, disengaging before their blades could lock.

Grievous made the first move, advancing on Regis, a blue and green lightsaber spinning in front of him. The blurs of energy made it difficult for Regis to anticipate the General’s next move. He did, however, have something the cyborg did not and that was his connection to the Force. Regis exhaled, calming himself even as Grievous neared him and let his senses expand, telling him of the rapidly approaching attack that seemed to appear out of nowhere. The lightsaber slashed towards him and Regis barely dodged it by dropping into a crouch, still feeling the heat of the blade as it passed over his head.

From his position on the ground, Regis re-ignited his lightsaber and sliced at Grievous’ feet, but the cyborg was too quick, and dodged the sweeping blade. The Jedi leapt back to his own feet and both combatants circled slowly before darting in and trading blows at close range. The lightsaber blades crackled as they dragged along one another. As they fought, Regis hooked the destroyed Magnaguard’s electrostaff on his foot and kicked it at the General. Grievous batted it aside, momentarily distracted, and Regis extended his left arm, his fingers curling slightly as he hoisted up Grievous with the Force and threw him in an arc so he collided violently with a corner of the landing craft before rebounding onto the ramp.

Regis lifted his hand again, raising a few boulders into the air. Grievous – still winded slightly from the blow – got to his feet, his head racked with pain from where it had struck the edge of the landing craft’s open doors. Nevertheless, he dropped down to the ground as a boulder was flung at him, passing over his head and smashing into the ramp behind him. Grievous scuttled aside on all his limbs as a second boulder crashed down where he had been barely a second ago. He flipped back to his feet, narrowly missing the third and final rock.

Now that he was out of projectiles, Regis ignited his lightsaber and darted forwards at Grievous to engage in close combat once more.

Shaking away a slowly descending fogginess in his mind, Grievous fought to concentrate. He was barley aware of himself activating his lightsabers and engaging the Jedi head-on for a second time. Reflexively, he countered and parried blows from Regis, all while strange images that were half-memory and half-dream flitted by in his mind. He struggled to focus on his opponent and not these strange, lucid thoughts. Grievous finally roared in frustration, throwing Regis back with a powerful blow.

The young Jedi sprawled backwards but flipped back to his feet in an instant, seemingly unharmed, his face a mask of calm. Grievous, meanwhile, was the complete opposite of him – his mind was suddenly raging like a storm over the Jenuwaa Sea.

The Jenuwaa Sea…?

His mind tweaked.

He had sailed across it once, long ago. But… why?

There had been… something – no, not something – someone. Someone important; someone close… treasured. Someone… lost.

General Grievous lurched to a side like a drunken pirate, his head spinning. All of a sudden, he felt as if he was missing something important; a part of him, if that made any sense. And then came the deep, rending grief for… for something he didn’t remember. The feeling was crippling, and Grievous stared ahead unseeingly, looking for something that just wasn’t there.

Who was it that he could almost remember?

And why did he feel so… empty when he almost did?

He had so many questions, yet no answers… Or… did he…?

Grievous blinked a few times, shaking his head and trying to clear it of these creeping doubts and uncertainties. All the while, Regis had observed his opponent with a mixture of confusion and curiosity. Why was the General acting this way? He seemed… out of balance with his surroundings, and maybe even with himself. Regis didn’t make a move, but watched as the cyborg staggered, unsteady on his own two feet. A hand went to his head and his eyes darted around in confusion, as if he didn’t even know where he was or what was going happening.

Slowly, Regis raised his lightsaber in his right hand to point it at Grievous.

“Your move, General,” he called out.

The cyborg heard him, his head turning towards the Jedi, his eyes troubled. The General ignited the four lightsabers at once and held them ready. But even as Regis darted in and they began to fight once more, he could tell that the General was distracted; his defence wasn’t up to par and his offensive moves seemed half-hearted, as if he was simply acting out of reflex.

Regis managed to slip in a strike past Grievous’ poor guard and scored a slice down his chest plates, cutting off the cyborg’s lower left arm in the process. Grievous noticed, the loss apparently snapping him back to reality as he let out a hiss of annoyance. He drew back, seemingly contemplating his next move, his eyes livid all the while.

But then Grievous leapt, covering the distance between himself and Regis in one massive bound, and they began to fight in earnest.

The blows from Grievous came quick and heavy, smashing against Regis’ lightsaber whenever he blocked them. Some of the attacks he was able to dodge – even if they did come a little close to connecting with him – and managed to launch some attacks of his own. Grievous then kicked out at Regis with his left foot, his clawed toes catching the Jedi squarely in the torso and sending him tumbling back a few meters. Regis got back to his feet – a little winded and a little bruised, but otherwise fine. And then he realised he had dropped his lightsaber and it now lay between himself and Grievous.

The General noticed it, too.

Two sets of eyes regarded the lightsaber before the combatants’ gazes met. Each tried to gauge the other’s next move. Regis knew he needed his lightsaber back and fast; he didn’t want to be unarmed when Grievous ran him down. Grievous meanwhile, knew that Regis would most likely use the Force in this instance. If he was going to end this fight, then he would have to stop the Jedi from getting his lightsaber. But there was nothing he could do to stop a Jedi from using the Force.

Surreptitiously, the cyborg reached behind himself again, the fingers of his remaining left hand closing around a blaster that was attached to the back of his hip. In the blink of an eye, Grievous had withdrawn the blaster and pointed it at the Jedi, his index finger squeezing the trigger to fire off three bolts of energy in quick succession at Regis. The Jedi, however, saw them coming, his eyes widening in alarm. He threw himself forwards in a roll to dodge them – not to a side like he normally would have – aiming to retrieve his lightsaber in the process. Grievous, too, lunged at him, a lightsaber already in hand as he tried to cut off Regis’ right arm as it reached for the fallen saber.

The bright green blade cut down towards Regis’ forearm –

– and bounced off the dull gold armguard.

Chapter Text

Grievous’ eyes widened in disbelief. What had just happened??! Why hadn’t the lightsaber cut through?? Regis’ fingers closed around his lightsaber and he slipped under the lunging form of Grievous to end up behind him.

Incensed, the cyborg General whirled around, bringing up his blaster to fire off more shots. Jumping to his feet, Regis spun his lightsaber, easily deflecting the energy bolts. In response, Grievous withdrew his sabers again, feeling cheated of a victory and pressed forwards. His aggressive attacks forced Regis back – but then the Jedi switched his lightsaber from his right hand to his left and began to fight using a from that Grievous did not recognize, the armguard he was now using to block and deflect blows from Grievous’ crippled left side. Grievous, meanwhile, was growing angrier every moment this battle dragged out.

Why wouldn’t the Jedi just die already?!

It wasn’t so hard to give up, was it??

He growled as their blades locked once again. Both tried to push the other back through sheer force; in this aspect, Grievous had the upper hand. He forced the Jedi back a few steps. Gritting his teeth, Regis struggled to match Grievous’ strength. The cyborg was stronger than he was, and if he let this stalemate continue, then Grievous would surely overwhelm him. Regis’ gaze happened to stray downwards as he looked for something he could use. It was then that he saw the scorch marks below Grievous’ right knee joint and an idea popped into his head.

He let his right hand – the gauntleted one – drop from where it was holding his lightsaber’s blade and clenched his hand into a fist. Regis then dropped down into a crouch, much to Grievous’ surprise, the General lurching forwards now that the opposing force was suddenly gone. Without a moment’s hesitation, Regis drove his fist into Grievous’ right knee even as one of the cyborg’s lightsabers scored a shallow line that just missed his right eye. There was a crunch as metal connected with metal and Grievous’ foot abruptly buckled from the blow. Grievous pitched forwards into the ground, his remaining three arms halting his fall. Looking over his shoulder, Grievous lashed out with left leg, feeling some amount of satisfaction as the kick connected and the Jedi Knight was thrown backwards.

Laughing, Grievous didn’t let his various injuries slow him down as he scuttled towards Regis. Flipping back to his feet, he raised a blue lightsaber in his left hand, holding it over the Jedi. There was a triumphant gleam in his eyes as he prepared to bring it down on the Knight now at his mercy.

“This is where your story ends, Jedi scum,” Grievous said gloatingly at the helpless Jedi.

Regis could do nothing but stare at Grievous’ somewhat scorched faceplate and – behind it – those unfeeling reptilian eyes. He couldn’t move; he was pinned below one of Grievous’ feet and his lightsaber lay too far out of reach, having been thrown aside as the cyborg’s kick had connected with him. But even as Regis’ eyes met Grievous’ own, he felt no fear: instead, he felt acceptance.

He was going to die, but for some reason that didn’t bother him.

“It was a good fight,” Regis admitted. “Do your worst, General.”

Saying so, the Jedi closed his eyes and awaited what seemed to be the inevitable.

With a guttural snarl, Grievous brought his lightsaber down on the unarmed Jedi, aiming to decapitate him. He was lost in his own world, now; only he, his lightsaber and the Jedi existed. He didn’t see the clone – didn’t hear his cry of anguish as the blade cut down. He didn’t even see that his own droid forces had been destroyed and the clones, advancing on him, had come to a halt at the sight of what they would have thought was their General’s last moments.

All that mattered was killing the Jedi.

And yet…

And yet he found he couldn’t.

The humming energy blade came to a screeching, abrupt halt a fraction of an inch from the Jedi’s throat. It was close enough that the Jedi would no doubt feel some pain, but it was also far enough that it wouldn’t simply slip downwards and kill him. All that Grievous needed to do was to push downwards ever so slightly. That was all it would take. Why couldn’t he do it? Why, indeed?

Perhaps it was because the fog of battle had lifted; perhaps it was a moment of weakness. But even though he tried to push away his thoughts, Grievous knew why he hesitated. He knew what it was that stopped him. Because when he looked down at the helpless young Jedi, he did not see him as he was; no – instead, he saw himself. He saw what was a younger version of himself: how he had once been, before all of his upgrades, before all the changes that made him what he was now.

And though he didn’t know what it was that made him see it, this image was nevertheless powerful enough to stop him from killing the Jedi. Grievous saw his hand – and in turn the blade – tremble. Why? Why did his mind betray him? Why didn’t it let him carry out this one, simple task that he had done countless times before?

Yet before he could debate it further, a blast struck his head, narrowly missing his eye and instead ricocheting off his faceplate.

Grievous’ head snapped around and his eyes immediately fell on the ranks of clone troopers still advancing cautiously towards him. At their front was their Commander, bedecked in white and maroon armor. The cyborg general glanced around, quickly spying the clones that had slowly encircled him – even the ones in the trees had their blaster rifles trained on him.

The clone Commander took a few more steps forwards, two DC-17 blaster pistols in hand as he looked unflinchingly at Grievous.

“Consider this your only warning,” the clone said. “Put your weapons down, or we will open fire.”

“Ha!” Grievous scoffed. “You fools think you can defeat me??”

He then noticed one clone had a rocket launcher that was pointed his way. But even so, Grievous was still confident about his odds.

By now, Regis had opened his eyes. He turned his head, immediately spotting his men.

“Commander!” He exclaimed. “What are you doing?!”

“No disrespect meant, Sir,” the Commander responded. “But we felt it was a necessary interference.”

Grievous was now certain that he could not kill Regis, and he didn’t fancy being taken prisoner by the Republic, either. So he surreptitiously activated his commlink, the transmission he knew, would be picked up near-immediately by the B-1 droids manning the bridge of the Destroyer. The order would be given to dispatch a shuttle with a Vulture droid escort at once. Now, it was only a matter of time. And that would mean Grievous would need to get to high ground fast. It was in that split-second, though, that he happened to glance at the landing craft to one side.

His eyes narrowed craftily.

“You’re outnumbered!” The clone barked. “Drop your weapons!”

Acting quickly, Grievous hefted up Regis in his left foot, his talons holding the Jedi by the bottom half of his face before transferring his throat to a free hand. He ignored the shouts of alarm from the clones and Regis’ futile attempts to free himself. The Jedi was young. He was panicking. And Grievous had long since learned that when Jedi panicked – no matter whether they were Knight or Master – they wouldn’t use the Force. It was like they forgot they could. Grievous looked around at the clones, even as he ignited a lightsaber that he held close to Regis’ face.

“Put him down!!” The clone ordered.

“Make me, clone,” Grievous laughed, all the while stalling for time.

Where was his shuttle??

“You have until the count of three,” the Commander called out. “One…”

They should have been here by now!

“Two…”

Where were they?? And then more derisively: This clone doesn’t seriously think he could subdue me, does he?!

“Three.”

Neither side had moved. Grievous still held Regis by his throat, lightsaber below the Jedi’s eye. His own shuttle was yet to appear.

“You had your chance,” the clone muttered with disdain. “Open fire!!”

Grievous couldn’t believe these clones.

They would open fire in him even when he had their General captive? Even though he was essentially holding the Jedi up as a human shield?? Just what lengths were they willing to go to in order to capture or kill him?! Didn’t they care if they shot their Jedi, too?

Blasts were fired his way. Grievous – instead of simply using the body of the Jedi as a human shield – spun the lightsaber he still held, deflecting the blasts away from him. So focused on this task was Grievous, that he failed to notice the clones in the trees as they took aim at him with their blaster rifles.

He didn’t see Captain Diaz signal his men to fire.

Cables struck Grievous with alarming accuracy; the clamps attaching themselves to his armor plating, with some going so far as to even pierce it in places. There were fifteen cables in total – two sank into each of his legs, one even slipped between the armor plates to embed itself in the machinery beneath. Of the remaining eleven, three struck his back, holding fast, and the remaining eight wrapped themselves around his arms.

Grievous roared in anger, dropping Regis as the cables attached to his arms were pulled.

The clones in the trees were well-prepared, though, having attached the ends of the cables to the trees themselves. No matter how much Grievous struggled to free himself, even with all of his strength, he could not hope to break free on his own. Regis scrambled back as Grievous thrashed and fought against the now-secure cables. Commander Kray hauled the young Jedi to his feet before signalling to his men.

“Set your blasters to stun; we’re taking this clanker alive!” He ordered.

Stun blasts were fired through the air and at Grievous, striking him dead-on.

The General snarled, his fierce struggles, though were already beginning to lessen as the stun blasts interfered with the workings of his mechanical body and even what was left of his organic one. He was just on the verge of losing consciousness when a clone suddenly yelled.

“INCOMING!”

“Look out!!”

Then came the sound of heavy blasterfire quickly followed by explosions. Grievous heard the roar of a fighter’s engines as it zoomed overhead, shouts and blasts filling the air as the Vulture droids began to circle back for a second run. Grievous himself crumpled to the ground, finding some of the cables that had been securing him had been sliced through by the Vulture droids’ blasts. Snatching up his fallen lightsaber, he sliced through the remaining cables and fumbled to activate his communicator, his mind a muddle of lucid thoughts. Finally, the comms were online.

“Er, General, there seems to be a lot of fire down there; I don’t think we’ll be able to land the shuttle,” said one of the droids piloting the shuttle.

“Forget landing!” Grievous rasped. “Lower the ramp and stay close to the top of the landing craft, understood?!”

“Roger roger.”

Stowing away the commlink, Grievous leapt up onto the side of the landing craft. The leap wasn’t as high as it would have been if his foot wasn’t damaged, but it still got him nearly a third of the way up. From there, he dug his claws into the metal and made his way to the top. The clones had no time to deal with him; two droid gunships had deposited their load of Super Battle droids to keep the Republic troops busy. On top of the landing craft, Grievous saw the shuttle making its approach, the ramp lowered and extended as he had ordered.

It slowed down and Grievous readied himself as it drew nearer.

The shuttle flew by and Grievous’ limbs powered him up into a jump so powerful it seemed impossible. He landed on the ramp with a loud crack and a scrabble of claws. But then he was inside, and he was safe.

Grievous sank to the floor with an exhausted groan.

The battle had taken its toll on him, and Grievous looked a wreck – his armor plating was dented and pierced in some places; across his chest-plate was a neat slash from the Jedi’s lightsaber and his left foot was looking a little worse for wear. He was racked by a sudden spasm of coughing, and when he was done, slumped against the wall behind him.

And then, closing his eyes wearily, Grievous drifted into grateful unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

Ronderu was sitting in a corner of her cell, her feet drawn up against herself and her arms wrapped around them. She rested her jaw on the top of her knees, her glowing golden eyes staring ahead blanky at nothing in particular. Ronderu heaved a sigh. She was bored. The silence in the cell was intense – the only noise came form her whenever she shifted her position slightly.

She found herself wondering what was going on outside, and where they were now.

Was the General still in the ship’s bridge? Were there guards stationed outside her door? And if so, would it be the Magnaguard with the controller for her collar? And where in space were they – near a planet or still en route?

She got to her feet with an irritable huff and idly shifted her weight from foot to foot as she looked around the bare cell. Striding to the door, she pressed an ear to it, straining to hear beyond the solid durasteel plate before her.

“Say, do you know who’s in this cell we’re guarding?”

“Err… no…”

Ronderu recognized the voices as those of Battle droids. Most likely there were two stationed just outside the door. At their voices, though, she couldn’t help but crack a smile. It seemed that even droids were entitled to their own thoughts.

“Whoever it is, they must be important,” said one droid.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, because the General’s own bodyguards were guarding this cell before we were.”

“Oh yeah…” Came the surprised voice of the second.

“So like I said – whoever it is, they must be important.”

“Roger roger.”

Ronderu drew back a moment later, having realized that that would be all she would hear.

Tapping the first thumb of her right hand thoughtfully against a tusk, she paced the length of her cell, trying to think of a way to escape. She had decided that she had spent long enough in solitary confinement; it was high time she caused some mayhem, she thought with a grim smile.

But before she could do anything more, she was struck by a sudden wave of emotions.

Confusion, fear and pain swamped her senses, making her stagger back and lean against the wall heavily for support. The last to come was the anger and Gods, there was so much of it. But these emotions…

…They weren’t hers.

And there was… someone. Someone almost completely overwhelmed by all that suffering and pain that they were almost gone – almost completely erased from existence. But a small part of that same person still struggled against what seemed to be an unstoppable, unrelenting storm of emotions.

It was in that moment, though, that Ronderu realized that she knew whose emotions she could feel now. She knew.

“Qymaen…” Ronderu breathed.

He was alive.

She felt her heart leap with joy, even though she herself didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He was alive!! She wanted to shout it out, just so that she could hear those words with her own ears. Alive. Ronderu laughed for the first time in many years. It had been a long time since her laughter had been real; since it had been genuine, and born from joy and not to simply mask her fear.

It had been a long time since she had actually been happy.

Ronderu could scarcely believe it, though. Qymaen was alive; she could feel it. And after so many years spent feeling as if she was missing a part of herself, it now felt like an unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Mentally, she reached out to Qymaen – to her soulmate – where he floundered weakly in the waves. She felt his fingertips brush hers, and then she was grasping his hand in hers. She pulled, straining every fiber of her being as she did, as she struggled to pull him from the waters of his grief.

I’m here, she wanted to tell him. I’m alive. You’re not alone anymore, Qymaen, you never were; I was always here.

I promise I’ll find you. I will return to Kalee. And I’ll be able to tell you… everything…

Wait for me Qymaen. I’m coming home.

---------------------

Qymaen…

Qymaen jai Sheelal…

Where… is she…? My soulmate…

Grievous awoke to a splitting headache and a strangely familiar voice echoing through his mind. He could barely make out the words being spoken. And the language… it wasn’t Basic – no, it was Kaleesh. He blinked blearily, only just remembering the last thing the voice had said; Wait for me, Qymaen. I’m coming home.

Qymaen…

That was a name he hadn’t heard in a long time. It had been his name once, in what now seemed like a lifetime ago. It had been the name of a warrior, of a son, a leader… Why was he remembering it now? And… that voice… Whose could it have been? Was it the effects of a Jedi mind trick? Grievous didn’t know, but he wanted to find out what it meant. He was still in the shuttle and it was only just landing in the hangar of his ship.

Shakily, he got to his feet.

At any other time, he would have been disgusted by how weak he felt, but he didn’t today. He had other, more pressing issues on his mind. As he stood, he reached to the back of his hip with his right hand, removing from it something that had been attached there, something that wasn’t his. It was the controller for the shock collar that Ronderu wore. Grievous had taken it from his Magnaguard just before they had come in to land on Felucia. It had been a good thing that he had, or else it too would have been destroyed when the droid had been flung into the burning tank.

The shuttle landed, the ramp extending as soon as it did. Grievous limped out, wearily realizing that he would need several repairs. But before he headed up to the bridge, he headed to the brig on a whim. Approaching Ronderu’s cell, he found the two Battle droids that were guarding it standing away from the door and – if it was possible – eyeing it with what appeared to be suspicion. Grievous frowned to himself, the pain in his head intensifying ever so slightly as he did. Both droids turned at the sound of Grievous’ footsteps, the one that was further away saying “Uh-oh!” as it saw him.

“What’s going on?” He asked them, even though he was not in the mood for bad news of any kind.

“Well, uh…” The droids glanced at one another uneasily.

“There seems to be a bit of a problem, Sir,” said the one closer to him.

“What problem?” Grievous asked in a low voice, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Uh…”

“Has she escaped?” He asked them.

“No, but…” The Battle droid trailed off awkwardly. “That’s the problem, Sir, the prisoner’s not trying to escape anymore.”

“… How is that a problem?” Grievous frowned, feeling his headache intensify.

“We heard the prisoner banging around for a little while,” the droid further away informed him, “but then they stopped and we heard strange noises like…”

“Choking?” Suggested the other.

“Oh yeah, we heard choking.” Agreed the first droid.

Grievous’ eyes widened in horror, panic surging through his mind though he had no clue as to why that was.

“What??” He demanded, aghast.

Without waiting for an answer, he pushed the droids aside and slammed a fist against the panel beside the door, destroying it in the process. Nevertheless, the door slid upwards with a mechanical whoosh. Grievous hesitated at the door, his eyes peering into the gloom of the cell beyond. He leaned in, feeling unusually self-conscious as he did, and looked around.

Where was Ronderu?

He got his answer sooner than expected when something dropped onto him from above the doorway. The sudden force made him collapse, his damaged foot giving way below him. He landed heavily – and awkwardly – the bottom of his faceplate striking the floor and jarring his head.

But that was enough to clear his mind.

Even as Ronderu had scrambled off him, ignoring the Battle droids slowly picking themselves up, Grievous had turned around and grabbed ahold of her foot in his right hand. The female Kaleesh hit the floor with an “oof!”, but almost immediately, she pushed herself up on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at Grievous. As she did, both their eyes met and Grievous felt… something inside him. It was a feeling he couldn’t identify.

But he wasn’t given the chance to ponder it any further, because just then, Ronderu lashed out at him. A powerful kick from her free foot connected with his faceplate, one of her claws scraping what felt like a sizeable gouge in it and Grievous abruptly, reflexively, let go of the foot he held. Ronderu’s reaction was immediate; she was in her feet in an instant, choosing to run from him rather than stay and fight. Smart choice, Grievous thought with a half-smile as he got to his feet with a groggy shake of his head. But even so, she would not get far, he knew.

Grievous crouched low for a moment, his eyes alight with anticipation as he judged the distance. He smiled as he lowered his head. And then he sprang.

He easily covered the distance between them in that single leap, and barely a second later, he collided with Ronderu and threw her to the ground in the process. The fall was not one she would be getting up from so easily. Lifting her up off the floor, he pinned her to the wall of the corridor, between two doors that led into cells.

From where she was held before him, Ronderu’s eyes were ablaze with anger. She was positively seething, Grievous could see; every muscle on her body were tensed, her hands were closed around his hand that held her throat and there was a vicious scowl on her face. Grievous’ own eyes gleamed with amusement, his mouth curled into a smile that showed in his eyes.

“And just where were you going, Ronderu?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“Far away from you, General,” she replied with an acid undertone.

“Leaving so soon?” He chuckled. “Why would you do that?”

“Hm, that’s a difficult question to answer,” Ronderu answered sarcastically, her eyes still livid.

Grievous laughed, his right arm detaching from one another – much to Ronderu’s surprise – the lower one reached for the controller which he held up for her to see.

“And you would leave even without this?” He smiled.

She growled at him in response.

“If I had to,” she said with her teeth bared.

“How would you remove your collar, Kummar?” He asked, tapping it with a claw-like finger.

“I’d think of something, Grievous,” Ronderu sneered in reply.

For some strange reason, he felt pleased that she had called him by name and not simply by his rank as he’d told her to earlier. It sent an odd tingle through the back of his mind and Grievous knew that he would have felt it down his spine, too, had it not been replaced many years prior.

“I’m sure you would have, given enough time,” he said. “But for now, you are my guest so I invite you to stay a little longer.”

“For a host, you’re not giving me much of a choice,” Ronderu all but spat the words, straining against his hands.

Once again, Grievous laughed, but it soon gave way to another coughing fit. From her position before him, Ronderu snarled as Grievous’ grip on her tightened involuntarily. For the second time in the same day, her attempts to escape had been thwarted by none other than General Grievous. She could feel the resentment she already bore towards the cyborg grow, but at the same time, she felt almost… sorry for him.

As she let herself take in his appearance, it was plain to see that he was injured. Part of his left arm appeared to be missing and there was a neat slash that looked like it had been burned into his chest plate. The various pieces of armour plating on him were scorched in some places and dented and pierced in others. Even his faceplate was scratched and stained, and he seemed to be favouring one leg over the other.

Just what had happened for him to end up in such a state?

Recovering from his coughing fit, he turned his head towards her again. As they looked at one another, Ronderu could see the weariness in those troubled eyes of his. But he was a droid; surely he couldn’t feel tired? He seemed to be… thinking about something, but as to what that could have been, Ronderu had no clue.

“Droid!” He suddenly snapped, startling Ronderu.

“Uh, yes Sir?!” The droids said somewhat hesitantly, standing to attention.

“Go to the bridge and have this ship turned around; I want it in the Clacis Sector at once!” He ordered.

“Roger roger!” The droids nodded, their previous fear evidently forgotten.

The droids turned and marched away, leaving Ronderu and Grievous alone in the corridor. And despite Grievous’ injuries, Ronderu couldn’t help but feel uneasy all of a sudden. She glanced back at the General and was startled to find his intense gaze on her. As if he was studying her. She eyed him warily, wondering what it was about her that made him look at her like that. She didn’t like it and wanted him to stop.

“Something wrong, Grievous?” She forced a careless tone into her voice.

And it worked; he blinked, snapping out of whatever trance he had been in. Grievous said nothing, and for a moment, Ronderu wondered if he was even aware that he had blanked-out for those few moments. He reached out with his free hand, using one talon to open a cell door that lay to her right. Grievous was about to push her in when he hesitated. He had put away the controller and now reached towards her with that hand, to brush aside some of her hair that fell across her face. In response, Ronderu snarled at him, making it clear that she didn’t appreciate the physical contact.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated. “What happened?”

“It’s none of your business,” she growled back at him.

Why would he even want to know? Ronderu thought indignantly.

“Tell me,” Grievous urged, his voice barely audible.

Ronderu was about to snap back an irate remark, when something made her bite back her scathing retort. Maybe it was because the General possessed the controller to her shock collar; maybe it was because he carried laser swords with him. Or maybe, just maybe it was the earnest, almost concerned look in his eyes. They were still troubled – yes – but troubled, it would seem, because she would not tell him.

Why… why would he care…?

“It… was one of your droids…” She found herself responding slowly, thoughtfully. “When they threw me into the cell, I… cut myself.”

“… I see,” Grievous responded just as slowly.

Slowly – almost carefully, it seemed to Ronderu – he moved towards the cell and put her down on the floor inside. Ronderu looked at the General, a thoughtful, confused frown creasing her face. Why did he suddenly care? It didn’t make any sense. But then he stepped back from the door, his right hand extending towards the control panel. And then, for some reason, he hesitated.

“I’m sorry…” He said softly. “Ronderu.”

And then the door closed, sealing her in the gloom.

Standing inside, she barely registered the low rumble as the ship jumped to hyperspace once more. She remained staring at the door, her gaze distant and contemplative as she replayed the conversation in her mind. Something about it had been… odd. Out of place, somehow.

And then she found it: Grievous – he had called her Kummar.

Where had he even heard that name? she had never once uttered it in his presence – all she had called herself was Ronderu. In fact, it had been many long years since anyone had called her Kummar. And how had he even known to call her that? It didn’t make any sense – no one offworld of Kalee had ever heard that name. And what had Grievous’ last words meant? He had said he was sorry, but sorry for what?? The little scratch his droids had given her? The fact that he was keeping her here against her will?? Just what was he sorry about?!

Ronderu felt like she was going to explode.

She had so many questions and no answers to any of them. And then, of course, there was the puzzle that was General Grievous himself. She didn’t know what to make of him anymore and now… now he was – dare she say it? – caring? She wasn’t sure if he was truly the villain she had originally made him out to be, or whether he was… something else entirely.

But still she felt her anger simmering away inside of her. A part of her – the part of her that had never stopped being a warrior – hated the General with a vengeance and was now positively seething that she had been unable to break free from him even when he had been injured. There was no denying the fact, however, that Grievous’ robotic body put him at an advantage over her. Metal did not feel, it did not tire. It wasn’t even alive.

And Ronderu did not like that.

Pacing her new cell, she ignored the light bruising she was beginning to feel along her back, from where Grievous had collided with her. There was just something else he could be sorry for, she thought spitefully. Ronderu halted by the door, her arms folded as she still tried her best to answer what few questions she could. Where were they headed to now? What was in the Clacis Sector?? And where in the galaxy even was it?!

Snarling a curse in Kaleesh, she slammed her fists against the door in anger and frustration, the noise echoing slightly in her small cell. Exhaling a sigh, she rested her forehead against the cold metal of the door. She remained that way for a while before it finally clicked. She had thought it herself – no one offworld of Kalee knew of Ronderu lij Kummar. So could that possibly mean that General Grievous had, at one point, been to Kalee??

She drew back from the door. The more she thought about it, the more plausible the thought seemed: he knew Kaleesh, he had called her Kummar and certainly seemed to know more than he let on. But suddenly, Ronderu’s mind flashed back to his eyes; those slit-pupiled eyes…

Was it possible?

Could it be… that the General was…

Kaleesh?

Chapter Text

The doors ahead of Grievous slid open and he limped aboard the bridge. Through the transparisteel windows he could see the iridescent blue wormhole the ship was travelling through. He sat down heavily in the chair, inwardly relieved to have the brief rest.

He needed repairs; that was why he was headed to the Clacis Sector. Within it was the Venestria System and within that, was the planet Kryolos. It was a little heard-of place and an out of the way destination. But, it was also the location of Grievous’ new lair – he had been forced to relocate after the Jedi had discovered his base on the third moon of Vassek earlier in the war. Wearily, he closed his eyes.

A mild sense of disdain pervaded his otherwise grim mood; weary? He thought spitefully. He did not have time to be weary! But, at the same time, he was trying in vain to keep his thoughts off Ronderu. He was failing at that task. So, he found himself wondering why he had called her that; and what did Kummar even mean?? Most importantly, though, where had he heard that name before? It sounded so… so strangely familiar… and yet… He didn’t know. Kummar… he had said it with the same ease that came with speaking it several times before.

Grievous badly wanted to know, but he feared it was somehow linked to his sudden, splitting headache. It was worse than the headaches Grievous would sometimes find himself burdened with from time to time. This felt like there was a knife – maybe even a lightsaber – stabbing into his skull, slowly rotating and cutting into the burned and reddened skin he had left. He absently raised his hand to his head, as if holding it would help ease the pain.

Memories – vague and indistinct – floated by, just within reach. Grievous wanted to grab ahold, see what they were, but something held him back. He couldn’t tell what it was, but all he knew was that it was not a part of him; whatever was stopping him, it wasn’t supposed to be there. So instead, he focused on one memory that he had half-remembered.

The sea. And not just any sea, but the Jenuwaa Sea. He smelled the salt once again and felt spray against his bare skin. There was a rocking motion from the below as the waves rolled beneath his boat, the wind lashing at him as it began to pick up speed. And suddenly, he was in the middle of a tempest. Rain fell in torrents around him, the dark storm clouds above him hanging low and heavy. The very air seemed to throb with each deafening thunderclap and he found himself squinting with every blinding flash of lightning. The sea pitched and spiked below him, threatening to capsize his small vessel. But still he pressed on. He was chilled to the bone by the howling winds and lashing rains, yet still something drove him forwards.

Finally, despite the elements opposing him, he had made landfall.

Where… where had he made landfall…?

It was a beach…? No – it was a coast, a rocky coast – a small island in fact…

The name finally came to him: Abesmi.

Abesmi?! Grievous’ eyes opened, what had he been doing there?? Had he been there for his dead family…? No, it hadn’t been for them; it had been for someone else. Someone who had been so close they had almost been a part of him. She… But who had she been? He thought impatiently.

She was a warrior, a small voice inside his head told him, a great warrior. Worthy of your respect; your equal.

Equal?? Grievous thought with a start.

On the battlefield. And even during peace.

Peace, he thought bitterly. When had he ever experienced peace?

She was your soulmate.

Impossible!! Grievous stiffened in alarm. His soulmate?! How could that be? – he had none!

Grievous did not. Qymaen jai Sheelal did.

The cyborg General blinked, his eyes coming back into focus once more. They were still in hyperspace… though for how long they’d been this way, he could not tell. Soulmate… He didn’t know what to make of that. He couldn’t have had a soulmate, could he? Surely, he would have remembered someone of such importance to him, wouldn’t he…?

And for the first time in a long while, Grievous found that he was uncertain. It almost felt like ha was missing a large part of his life. Why couldn’t he remember? Qymaen jai Sheelal was once him… so had he had a soulmate? But that didn’t explain why he had journeyed to Abesmi – those who did went there to typically honour their ancestors or beseech them to let them see a loved one – –

All strength seemed to leave Grievous as he slumped in his chair.

He knew why he had gone to Abesmi.

It was because his soulmate was dead.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

The Separatist Destroyer dropped out of hyperspace. It had taken about three standard hours, but they were now in the Clacis Sector, close enough to the Venestria System. A shuttle was prepared for Grievous – he did not intend on taking the entire ship with him; it could help with the war effort on another front somewhere.

He made his way down to the brig again, stopping outside Ronderu’s cell, hesitating for a moment before opening the cell door. Inside, he found her lying the floor, her back to the door with her left arm folded under her head as a support. Her long hair was swept off her back, revealing to Grievous her bare back and he could not help but stare at the lines of scars crisscrossing her back, some looking like burns from electro-whips while others looked… different. From where she lay, Ronderu turned head, spotting him in an instant.

“What do you want now, Grievous?” She asked him bitterly.

“Come with me,” he responded.

Taking her own time, she got to her feet and eyed him with more loathing in her gaze than should have been possible.

“Why?” She demanded. “Why do you want me to come with you? Why won’t you let me go?! By the gods, what could you possibly want from me??”

Grievous did not respond immediately.

He took a moment to simply stand there in silence and observe the furious Kaleesh before him. He didn’t know what to say – what should he say? – that being around her seemed to stir so many forgotten feelings inside him? That he felt as if he knew her from a past life? There were so many reasons – real reasons – that compelled him to keep her here even though she hated it.

But he couldn’t tell her that.

He couldn’t tell her any of his reasons.

“You are a slave, are you not?” He sneered. “I assumed you would have learned not to ask so many questions – if your scars are not proof enough of lessons learned.”

Ronderu’s face had darkened, her golden eyes narrowed and there was a barely concealed look of disgust on her face.

But still Grievous knew that what he had just said had cut deep; deeper than any of the scars she carried. Strangely, knowing that hurt him, too. He didn’t know why either of them was so affected by that statement. He had a suspicion as to ah this was, but nothing concrete to go by. Grievous didn’t want to stake too much hope in it either, for he was tired.

Tired of being denied of anything that gave him joy.

But the way Ronderu looked at him almost crushed him. He did his best, though, to ignore it.

“I am not going to tell you again,” said Grievous, all too used to playing the part of the villain, “come with me.”

Sullenly and silently, Ronderu stepped forwards and approached the door. Grievous stepped aside to let her pass and closed the cell door behind her with a push of a button. He then proceeded to take ahold of her upper arm in his hand. She glared at him balefully, her feelings all too clear to him. Grievous simply scowled at her from behind his faceplate, conveying his own message that he would not tolerate her trying to escape again. Wordlessly, he then led her to the hangar bay and pushed her aboard his shuttle. Ronderu stumbled in, followed closely by Grievous. The door closed behind them and then the shuttle was taking off, piloted by two droids in the cockpit.

This shuttle had seats and, after a moment, Grievous gestured to one. Reluctantly, Ronderu seated herself on the edge of one seat, holding herself tensely. She sat ramrod-straight, her jaw set and the expression on her face one of indifference. There was a hardness in her eyes that Grievous had not seen before, and she seemed to have made it a point to look everywhere besides him. Grievous too, sat down on a seat that was closer to the rear of the shuttle. Leaning back, he had to suppress a groan.

He was in desperate need of repairs.

Grievous glanced towards Ronderu, only to discover that she was blatantly ignoring him. Well then, let her ignore him! Grievous thought sourly; it’s not like he cared! Just then, the shuttle jumped into hyperspace but all was still quiet in side it. He didn’t want to be the first to break the silence – it would make him look weak – so he too, waited.

But soon he found his thoughts straying yet again to Abesmi; to vague memories of his soulmate. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind, an irritable growl inadvertently escaping his mouth as he did so. One of Ronderu’s ears pricked at the sound and she shot a glance his way, a thoughtful look on her face.

“Where are we going now?” She asked, her tone careless.

“The Venestria System,” Grievous replied, “a planet called Kryolos.”

“What’s there?” She sounded thoroughly uninterested.

“It is an abandoned planet,” he growled in response. “There are nothing but ruins left.”

“Then why are we going there?”

“Because I need repairs and a place for you to stay out of trouble.”

“Touching,” Ronderu sniffed sarcastically.

“I cannot have you getting in my way when I face the Jedi,” Grievous responded coldly.

“Jedi…” She muttered. “I’ve heard that name before – but what are they exactly?”

“The Jedi are cowards!” He snarled. “They are the ones who should be held accountable for this war – but instead, they cower inside their temple on Coruscant and their troops on a battlefield.”

Grievous’ eyes narrowed at the mere thought of the Jedi, a haze of anger beginning to descend upon his mind – as it so often did whenever his thoughts turned to the robed Force-wielders.

“They call themselves keepers of the peace,” he spat derisively. “Where do they keep the peace? When have they kept the peace?! Even before the Clone War began, they turned a blind eye to the suffering of millions across the galaxy! Their Order is corrupt. The Jedi are not needed in this galaxy.”

Ronderu was silent, observing Grievous silently. Once she was certain he was done talking, she folded her arms and shrugged.

“And you think you’re better than them?” She asked placidly.

His head snapped around so he was facing her, his eyes livid with anger and disbelief.

“Of course I am,” Grievous replied, his voice low and dangerous.

She finally turned his way, to look at him properly for the first time since they had boarded the shuttle. Her gaze was pointed and cold.

“At least the Jedi don’t condone slavery.”

That statement felt like a hammer blow to Grievous. His anger was gone faster than it had appeared and he stared at Ronderu uncomprehendingly. What she said wasn’t true – Grievous despised slavery as much as any other Kaleesh, if not even more so – but then, Ronderu didn’t know he was Kaleesh, did she? He didn’t like having to act as a villain to her, for some strange reason, but he saw it as being necessary.

But necessary for what exactly?

To stop her escaping? To stop her from knowing who he was? To appear strong and not weak?! Grievous didn’t know anymore, but he couldn’t let up his façade. Not now.

They dropped out of hyperspace, within the Venestria System and within sight of the planet Kryolos. Neither of the pilot droids said a word as they entered the atmosphere and began their approach to a remote mountain range in the Eastern hemisphere. The shuttle skimmed over vast, grass-filled plains and a strange orange lake. Above the shuttle, the sky was an odd dusky blue, with stars visible even though the star Kryolos orbited was still high in the sky. Slowly, the ground below the shuttle began to rise, the grass was soon replaced by low scrub. Finally, the mountain range was within sight, at its foothills lay the crumbling ruins of what may have once been a town; ruins that nature had long since reclaimed.

The shuttle rose, headed for a fortress that sat imperiously on the top of a strange, flat-topped mountain, part of it even disappearing into the taller cliff that lay behind it. To one side was a natural valley – its opening blocked by an old landslide that had effectively dammed a river, creating a large glacial lake that was a more natural blue in colour. Cut into the mountain below the fortress appeared to be the door to a hangar bay, made of durasteel and painted the same colour as the rock around it, the hangar door was well blended in with its surroundings. The shuttle slowed as it approached its landing site, the door sliding open seemingly of its own accord.

Gliding in, the shuttle began landing procedures as the door slid shut with an ominous noise. Grievous got to his feet just before the ramp of the shuttle descended and shot a look at Ronderu; its meaning clear. Rising in one fluid motion, she followed him out into the hangar bay.

It was a simple affair, large but empty save for some fuel canisters stacked against one wall and now the shuttle occupying less than half of its space. There were large metal brackets bolted into the veined rock walls that housed the lights. To the rear of the hangar, opposite to the bay entrance, was a set of stairs that led up into the fortress. Taking ahold of her arm again – despite Ronderu’s hiss of anger – Grievous proceeded to lead her to the stairs. Ronderu could do little more than follow him, so she did; albeit sourly.

The stairs were wide but steep; easy for Grievous to take but uncomfortable for anyone else. In no time they emerged from the stairwell and into a decently-sized, roofed courtyard. In the middle was a disused fountain that looked like it hadn’t seen water in years. There may have been grass in other sections of the courtyard but all that remained now was dust. Looking up at the roof, Ronderu realized that it was much newer than the rest of her surroundings – it was made of metal and supported by the same, ugly brackets from the hangar. Walking (or in Grievous’ case, limping) upto the main doors that led into the fortress, Grievous reached up and pushed a panel in the thick, wooden doors and they both heard a grinding noise as something moved.

Grievous let go of her arm then, but gave her another look. At that, Ronderu merely shrugged.

“And just where would I go even if I ran?” She asked him.

He growled his irritation and returned his attention to the doors. Pushing another two panels, he then braced his hands against the doors and heaved. With a protesting creak, they began to open slowly, resisting the force applied to them. Grabbing her arm again, Grievous pulled her in as the doors began to close quickly. As she was pulled past them, Ronderu realized that the even though the doors were wooden, they were reinforced with a layer of metal that lay within them, making them as thick as her forearm was long.

Finally, they were inside the fortress and Ronderu frowned into the gloom. There were electric lights set above sconces that would have once held torches, the light they cast was dull and oppressive. The corridor was gloomy, pipes ran along the top of the wall, leading to somewhere deep within the fortress.

Two doors on either side of them – these ones newer and automatic – slid open to reveal two Magnaguard droids. They stepped out of the murk of the rooms behind them – perhaps they had been guardrooms once? – their electrostaffs powering up as soon as they did. Grievous handed her over to them, seemingly confident that they would be able to handle her.

“Take her to a cell!” He ordered. “Do not let her out of your sight and do not hurt her, or else – !!”

Grievous broke off, though, as he was seized by another one of his awful bouts of coughing. He waved away the two droids and Ronderu even as he continued to cough. The Magnaguards simply nodded their heads once in acknowledgement before pushing Ronderu between them and marching her further into the bowels of the fortress. She glanced around as she was led into what appeared to be a different wing of the structure; the walls were polished rock, streaked with bands of gold and other colored minerals. The lighting here was better – even the atmosphere was not as heavy. But even so, Ronderu had decided she’d had enough of being pushed around by droids.

It was time to act.

Ronderu yanked her hand out of the grip of the Magnaguard on her right, kicking the back of its foot so it pitched forwards. The other released her arm on its own accord to hold its staff better. The end of its electrostaffs was jabbed at her but she avoided it by twisting to a side. The Magnaguard pressed forwards, driving her back with swings from its electrostaffs. But now, the second droid was on its feet again and they both advanced on her in unison. Ronderu’s eyes flicked between the two of them. She knew she needed a weapon; something she could use against those electrostaffs without having to worry about being electrocuted – she didn’t fancy on having to relive that experience again.

But then her eyes fell on the sconces set in the wall behind the droids. In them, were two burned-out torches. Without hesitation, she grabbed at the two that were set behind her. Weighing them in her hands, she realized that they were heavy. Though they were wooden, they felt more like they were crudely-fashioned metal clubs than torches. They were certainly no Lig knives, but they would have to do for now. The Magnaguards made the first move.

One thrust its staff at her, forcing her closer to its companion. Ducking under the staff, she spun, cracking one of the torches against its side and sending it staggering. The second droid swiped at her with its staff and she narrowly avoided it by tucking into a roll. She stopped in a crouch and glanced back over her shoulder at the droids. Of course they were still going. Well, they were no Zygerrians, that was for sure.

Ronderu leapt back to her feet just as an electrostaffs jabbed into the floor where she’d been a heartbeat ago. Spinning, she smashed the charred end of the torch into the side of the Magnaguard’s head, sending it staggering aside. The other one advanced, seeming more wary – or perhaps more calculating – than its companion.

Soon, though, its processor seemed to have decided on the next course of action to take, and the droid advanced towards her. Ronderu took a few steps back, her eyes not leaving the Magnaguard for a moment as she tried to gauge its next move. Without warning, it lunged at her, spinning its electrostaffs as it attempted to get past her guard. Ronderu blocked its attacks, staying on the defensive as she got a feel for its technique. She was surprised, however, when she realized that its moves were familiar.

Why?

Because they were almost the same as the standard forms of Kaleesh swordsmanship.

That fact alone only reinforced Ronderu’s suspicion of General Grievous being Kaleesh. But then if he was, how could he even stand to see slavery?? She couldn’t help but think. If he was – or had ever been Kaleesh in the first place – how could he even call her, one of his kind, a slave??

But that thought distracted her, and in her distraction, one of the Magnaguard’s attacks slipped past her guard and jabbed hard into her uncovered midriff; right into the scar that stretched across her stomach. Her old wound flared with pain, electricity from the electrostaff arcing up to her shock collar and intensifying. Ronderu gritted her teeth against the scream of pain that was building within her. The torches she had been fighting with had dropped to the ground, with her barely even aware of it. Her legs buckled below her as the electrostaff was not removed from her, but was instead joined by a second one that was jabbed into her lower back.

Each and every fiber of her being screamed for the torch to be withdrawn, even as her mouth opened in a soundless scream and her eyes screwed shut, as if that would keep the pain away. Make it stop, her thoughts pleaded.

But she remained that way for an unknown period of time, every agony-filled second stretching into what felt like hours, the Magnaguards refusing to let up.

And then, just as she felt herself slipping into unconsciousness, for one fleeting moment, it felt as if someone was reaching for her – and not just anyone, but Qymaen – or perhaps it was just a lucid thought from a pain-wracked mind. But then abruptly, the pain disappeared as the electrostaffs’ ends left her and Ronderu had never been more relieved.

And even as electricity continued to spark along her collar, she slumped forwards into grateful unconsciousness.

Chapter Text

An unnatural, animalistic howl of pain echoed through the corridors of the fortress.

It was this noise that started Ronderu awake.

For a few moments, she didn’t remember anything – where was she? What was going on? Why did everything hurt so much? She stared blearily at an unfamiliar ceiling of rough, uncut rock banded with colourful streaks of minerals; dark red, deep brown and bronze… She closed her eyes for a moment, letting everything come back to her – her near-escape, General Grievous capturing her, their conversations, the arrival to his personal fortress and finally, her fight with the Magnaguards. She couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran down her back as she recalled her last moments of consciousness.

But what had happened? Why had they stopped? And had she really felt Qymaen, or had it merely been a pain-induced hallucination? And where was she now?

Stiffly, she propped herself up on her elbows before sitting up completely. Looking around, she saw she was in a room, sitting on a pile of blankets that had been laid out over raised stone slab against one wall. Ronderu grimaced inwardly, and tried not to compare the slab to a sacrificial altar. Swinging her legs off the bed, she found the walls a plain, pale grey. To the right of her bed were floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down upon a steep slope that led to the forested shore of a high-altitude lake. There were two doors; one was set in the wall opposite the windows, the other one in the same wall her bed was against.

Other than these, the room was bare.

Ronderu got to her feet and approached the first door. It was made of metal, set in a solid frame. Placing her hand against it, she looked to the wall on either side of the door, searching for a panel or button that might let her open the door. But, there was none; and apparently, no way for the door to open – or at least, no way for her to open it from the inside. But even so, she tried to pry the edges of her clawed fingers into the small gap between the door and doorframe to try and pry it open. After a few failed attempts, she drew away with a barely-suppressed sigh. Turning, she walked stiffly to the second door, to find out if she could at least open this one. Ronderu blinked in surprise as the second door slid open, but to her disappointment, it led into a refresher.

Closing the door, she turned around and leaned back against it, giving herself a few moments to rub the sleep from her eyes. She then walked to the windows, looking for something that might indicate them being able to open. No luck there, of course. Clenching her hand into a fist, she pounded half-heartedly against the glass a few times before reaching the conclusion that she couldn’t break it; not with her bare hands, at least.

With a groan, she sat down heavily at the foot what served as her bed, leaning back against the cold rock. Soon, though, she heard another noise – faint and echoey – that started as a low growl before building into a roar. When the fortress grew quiet again, Ronderu found herself wondering what that could have been. Just what else was in here with her??

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Some hours earlier, Grievous had loped into one of the innermost chambers of the fortress. Once, it had been the throne room for a monarch that was now long-dead, but now it had been repurposed into a control room from where the rest of the fortress could be monitored. The only thing that remained from a previous age was a large, intricately carved stone throne. The walls, too, were carved – but these with scenes of a forgotten planet’s forgotten past – but they were mostly obscured with more modern technology. The stairs leading up to the throne had been cut away, and set in the dais below the throne was now a door that led underground into a separate chamber. Grievous paused before stepping through the door, his senses telling him that there was someone watching.

“Doctor!” Grievous called out. “Where are you?”

“Oh, there you are, Master,” came a snide voice. “I was wondering where you had got to – did you perhaps forget the route to take? Sometimes, even I get lost in this place.”

“I doubt that,” Grievous responded sourly.

From across the room shuffled an EV-series medical droid – EV-A4-D, Grievous’ personal doctor. A4-D’s programming possessed a massive flaw in the eyes of his creators; one that had led to him nearly being decommissioned several years ago. Nevertheless, here he was – in perfect condition as long as the long scorch mark across his body was ignored (a reminder of when he had been cut in half by a Jedi). A4-D’s white photoreceptors were focused intently on Grievous, eager to hear the latest news from the battlefronts.

“Master, what have you been doing to yourself?!” A4-D demanded, his tone aghast as he took in Grievous’ battered appearance.

“What do you think happened?” Grievous snapped ill-temperedly, not in the mood for A4-D’s usual conversation. “Just do your job and get my repairs done!”

“Very well,” conceded the droid.

The two of them stepped through the door set below the throne and into a concealed turbolift. It took them down, coming to a halt after a few moments and letting them out in to a large cavern. This was where all of Grievous’ spare parts were housed and in the center of the cavern was an operating table; a door to one side led into Grievous’ trophy room – it contained the lightsabers he’d taken from the Jedi he’d slaughtered, as well as other trophies.

Grievous seated himself on the worktable, swinging his legs up onto it as well before lying down completely. A4-D approached, quickly scanning Grievous’ mechanical body to ascertain what damage he’d obtained. If it were possible, the droid seemed to eye Grievous with disdain.

“Honestly, Master, I find myself having to repair worse and worse damage with every visit of yours,” A4-D remarked. “Did a Jedi do this?”

Realising that A4-D’s question was being directed rather pointedly to something – most likely one of his various injuries – so Grievous raised his head and looked over to what A4-D was pointing to. His eyes quickly fell on the puncture holes in his armour plating, the ones given to him by the Jedi’s clone troops. With a non-committal grunt, Grievous lay back down again.

“A Jedi,” Grievous answered, “and his clones.”

“Clones!” Echoed A4-D incredulously as he retrieved the necessary parts. “I believe that this only proves how terrible a fighter you are! Now, if you were any better – “

“Just get on with it before I regret having you rebuilt,” the cyborg growled in warning.

A4-D wisely complied and began with Grievous’ repairs. The first things to be replaced were both the cyborg’s legs; A4-D’s scans had revealed to him that the motor functions in the left had been impaired by what looked like a grapple embedded in it. The knee joint of his right foot seemed to have been subject to a well-aimed blaster bolt. Next to go was the entirety of Grievous’ left arm, armour plating and all. A new one was swiftly installed in its place, the fingers flexing as Grievous made sure they were responsive and properly integrated. Moving onto his damaged chest plates, A4-D spoke up.

“So, Master, I am curious – just who is that organic you brought in today? A prisoner?”

“She is here for reasons you would not understand,” Grievous muttered.

“This is very unlike you, Master,” A4-D observed as he fitted in a new chest plate. “After all, why would you require a slave when you have droids to get a job done?”

Grievous’ newly-installed left hand slammed against the table in anger. A moment of tense silence elapsed, during which Grievous’ incensed eyes didn’t leave A4-D. the droid in question was too surprised by the sudden show of hostility to say anything, though he did take an involuntary step back. While it was true that the EV-droid had seen Grievous angry before, this kind of anger had never before been directed specifically at him.

“She is not a slave,” said Grievous, his voice dangerously low.

But A4-D could not help a response to that; it was simply a flaw in his programming.

“Really?” His tone was bordering on sarcastic. “I would have thought the shock collar she wore said otherwise.”

His eyes widening in fury, Grievous’ left hand shot out, his taloned fingers closing around A4-D’s neck joint before proceeding to lift him clear of the floor. Only once before had the medical droid experienced terror – and that had been right before he’d been cut in half by that Jedi – but this was different. This was an actual, genuine fear of Grievous himself; the very same cyborg that A4-D had spent so many years repairing and chiding and subtly insulting, as well. But even so, he knew that despite his presence often grating on Grievous’ nerves, the Separatist General still put up with him. Why? The logical answer was that Grievous needed A4-D to keep him functional; but over the years and many sessions, the droid suspected that the General had even come to view his medical droid as – almost – a friend.

The thought was flattering one, and at some point, A4-D had actually come to believe it. He knew that Grievous would never raise a hand – or even lightsaber – to A4-D like he did to the several B1 droids that annoyed him.

But now, as Grievous’ claws tightened their grip on him, a cold, calculating anger in the cyborg’s eyes, A4-D was no longer so sure.

“She is not a slave.” Grievous repeated to A4-D, his voice icy. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Had A4-D been human, there might have been a tremor in his voice.

“Consider her a guest,” Grievous paused a moment. “She is only here because I could not allow Zygerrian slavers to possess a Kaleesh slave!”

“I see,” A4-D said, his voice unusually cautious. “Perhaps you could put me down now, Master? After all, it would certainly benefit no one if I was accidently damaged.”

Grievous eyed the medical droid for a moment before begrudgingly setting him down. Equally reluctantly, it would seem, he lay down again – impatient for his repairs to be done so he could get away. The droid got back to work, replacing the armour damaged by blasterfire. At the expert handling of the controls beside the operating table, a set of mechanical arms extended from the ceiling, these ones helping A4-D to replace the damaged plates on Grievous’ back. Soon, that too was done. Now, it was time for the most… painful replacement; Grievous’ faceplate.

A4-D’s specialized arms reached over to either side of the cyborg’s head.

“There may be some discomfort,” he said out of habit.

A grunt told him to carry on, even as Grievous’ claws curled around the edges of the table and tightened their hold there. And without hesitation, A4-D removed the damaged faceplate. Grievous’ limbs spasmed with pain, his eyes widening with it as the inside of the faceplate came unstuck from his burned and half-mutilated face. Eventually, though, the job was done and Grievous could breathe a sigh of relief.

But then, barely a second later, a searing pain cut through his skull. Grievous hissed, his eyes screwing shut as he cradled his head in both hands; a futile effort to shut out the agony he felt now.

A4-D was beyond alarmed when the rest of Grievous’ body began to spasm, his back arching so far back that A4-D feared it would snap in half. Abruptly, Grievous’ hands left his head, only to stiffen and slam against the tabletop. A strangled noise escaped the cyborg’s throat – a noise that was reminiscent of a scream.

“Master! What’s wrong?!” A4-D asked with what could have been concern in his voice.

One of Grievous’ eyes – the left one – opened to meet A4-D’s photoreceptors briefly, maddened with a pain that was beyond comprehension.

“It’s in my head,” Grievous hissed, just loud enough for A4-D’s audio receptors to pick up. “Make it stop, Doctor...! Get it out of my head!!”

The cyborg’s head lifted up suddenly, before it violently slammed back down against the table, his legs jerking like they had a life of their own while his arms flailed at unseen figures, fingers clawing at empty air. Grievous panted heavily, his breaths coming in wheezes now. Wasting no more time, A4-D hastily pushed a button on the control panel beside the operating table and metal restraints sprung out of the table’s surface, securing down Grievous’ limbs. Working more controls, a different machine descended from the ceiling to stop on the right side of the table.

“Do not worry, Master, I will soon find out what’s wrong with you,” A4-D said as he approached the new machine as fast as he could.

Grievous’ eyes snapped open to stare at the droid madly, a strange look in them that A4-D could not quite place. Opting to ignore it, he got to work; working the controls of the new machine – a high-power scanner that could only be found in select few places – A4-D activated it, quickly initiating a scan of Grievous’ head, where the source of this pain appeared to be. Almost immediately, the scan singled out two anomalies in Grievous’ brain. Peering at the screen in confusion, A4-D came to the conclusion that they must be shrapnel from an explosion or an old accident – – because what else could they be?

But how odd it was that there seemed to be no entry points.

“Master, I know what is wrong,” A4-D told Grievous. “However, the matter will require some surgery to fix.”

“What… iss it?” Grievous hissed.

“There appear to be two pieces of shrapnel that have managed to enter and become lodged in your brain. Will you require anesthetic?”

“No!” The cyborg managed to gasp out. “No drugs! Just… do it!”

“As you wish,” A4-D conceded.

A4-D had long since learned not to question Grievous about his strange aversion to sedatives and painkillers, so he moved into position, standing behind Grievous’ head. Reaching out, he removed Grievous’ faceplate for the second time that rotation. A few minutes passed before A4-D was able to remove the rear part of the helmet that enclosed his head. How strange it was to see an organic head underneath all that metal and armour. Noticing two scars along his skin, however, the droid was puzzled; what could those be from? They were too neat to have come from the shrapnel’s entry and, on closer inspection, seemed to possess a sort of medical-like precision to them. Now that was odd. While it was true that A4-D was equipped to perform surgery on organics, it was also true that he had never done so for the General.

Referring to the scan again, he reached the conclusion that to reach these (deliberately?) embedded pieces of shrapnel, it would be easiest to reopen the old wounds. So, after what was only a microsecond’s pause, he got to work.

— — — — — — — — — — — — —

Grievous opened his eyes, only to be greeted by surroundings that were very out of focus and bright. Too bright.

With a grimace, he closed his eyes and waited a moment before opening them to look around properly. Gradually, his memories returned and he wondered briefly what had happened. A4-D had mentioned surgery… was it already over? He blinked blearily a few times, feeling like he had woken up from a very, very long sleep.

Suddenly, A4-D’s head popped into view directly in front of him, peering down at Grievous who in turn was too surprised by the sudden appearance to say anything.

“Welcome back, Master. It seems you have finally returned to your senses,” A4-D said, an almost smug air about him.

“What… what happened?” Grievous croaked, his throat dry.

“Well, I’m sure that you will be happy to know that the procedure was a success; I was able to remove not one, but two pieces of shrapnel from within your head. However…” the medical droid trailed off, mid-sentence.

Grievous eyed him suspiciously.

“And?” He prompted. “What are you not telling me, Doctor?”

“… After I removed what I had believed to be shrapnel, I then discovered that they, in fact, weren’t.” A4-D admitted.

“Then what were they?” Grievous frowned.

“That is what puzzles me as well, Master. They appear to be chips of some sort,” the droid informed him.

"Chips?” Grievous echoed, something stirring deep in the recesses of his mind.

“Yes,” A4-D nodded. “From what I was able to make out of the first one, I would say that it was in place to stimulate your rage centers. But I will only be able to know more after a more thorough inspection – as for the second one, I cannot say what it was for,” A4-D paused. “Master?”

Grievous was now sitting up, his eyes distant; haunted, even. He was no longer paying attention to the doctor. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts instead, no longer aware of his immediate surroundings.

“I told him,” the cyborg muttered to himself. “Yes, I told him… that-that I didn’t want them to alter my mind…”

Memories were now returning to Grievous; long forgotten, long-suppressed memories.

The Kaleesh closed his eyes and inhaled shakily, letting them come back to him. He remembered what seemed to have been another life entirely; a life that he had left behind on his homeworld, Kalee. There was an early memory – one of his father teaching him to use a Czerka rifle; Huk swarming through a Kaleesh settlement; himself – Qymaen jai Sheelal – fighting them off. Rallying behind the many clans of Kalee. His name – Sheelal… it meant The Dreamer, did it not?

The story of The Dreamer and The Dreamt came back to him, and with it, memories of his soulmate. Or – was it Qymaen’s soulmate…?

Her name… what had her name been…?

And then it came to him – her name – and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

It couldn’t be…

Ronderu lij Kummar. She was alive.

And she was in his fortress.

Now Grievous realized the purpose of the second chip. It had been an inhibitor chip; there to suppress his memories. His past. His life. And what had it been replaced with? Lies, thought Grievous.

“Lies,” he hissed almost to himself, his hands clenching into fists.

Everything that he had thought had made him into who he was now, had all.

Been.

Lies.

For a moment, the thought of contacting Dooku and venting his anger while promising the Count that Grievous would have his revenge, was all-consuming. But then, a more rational part of himself – one that felt new to him – stopped him from doing so. Your anger will not help you now, it told him. It was true, the cyborg realized, but it felt strange not having to rely on his anger like he had before.

Grievous checked his emotions, and – for the first time in years – mastered them instead of them mastering him. And then, he looked down at his hands; at himself. And what he saw filled him with disgust. Claw-like fingers of grey metal and beige ceramoplast flexed themselves with a mere thought from him. They joined to sharp-looking arms, pointed armour plates protected his forearms, his feet were hideous, taloned limbs with two forwards and backwards-facing toes. Improvements were what he’d once thought this body to be.

“What… did they do to me?” He breathed in horror, as he saw this new body – his body – in a new light.

Because he knew now that he had never voluntarily chosen to have these… these upgrades installed. No, it was because his shuttle – The Martyr – had crashed. A bomb had been planted inside it, had gone off inside it. Dooku had insisted it was the doing of the Jedi, the lapdogs of the Republic and its Senators, who wanted his atrocities against one of their members to cease – one way or another. At the time, Grievous had believed him. But now, he seriously doubted that the bomb had been the work of anyone but Dooku. After all, if he had been lied to about so many other things, who was to say that Dooku wouldn’t have lied about the bomb as well? Suddenly, Grievous was hit by a fresh wave of emotion and he closed his eyes in anguish at yet another newly-resurfaced memory.

He had not been the only one aboard that shuttle.

There had been others; brave warriors who had loyally followed him into battle – his Izvoshra – his generals… They had not deserved to die. None of them had deserved to die.

Yet there was no denying the facts; someone had planted a bomb aboard his shuttle, and when it had gone off, it had paved the way for him to be rebuilt as a cyborg. And no one had stood to gain anything from this. No one, that was, apart from Dooku.

A mixture of outrage, anger and loathing reared their heads inside Grievous like some sort of monstrous hydra. All this time… All this time, Dooku had known. He had done this to Grievous. He had used him, treated him as nothing more than a pawn to be discarded at a moment’s notice. To the Separatists, he had been little more than a tool to be used in the war. That was all he was; all he would ever be to them.

“Doctor,” Grievous said, his voice level, “do you know why I am a cyborg?”

A4-D hesitated before answering, unsure as to what Grievous was leading upto.

“Certainly,” he began. “You are a cyborg because you agreed to have your old body replaced with this, thus making you as efficient as a droid and a much more capable fighter against the Jedi.”

“No, A4-D. I neve agreed to anything,” Grievous spat bitterly, “I am this monstrosity because I almost perished in a shuttle crash. I only wanted to be rebuilt and in return I agreed to aid Dooku. The only thing I asked was that my mind would not be tampered with.”

He startled A4-D by turning to look at him, his eyes ablaze with a cold, frigid anger.

“And do you know what he did?” Grievous asked, his voice barely audible.

“No, Master.” A4-D admitted cautiously. “I do not.”

“He went back on his word,” Grievous seethed.

“What will you do about this, Master?” Concern tinged A4-D’s voice.

And Grievous surprised A4-D by not responding with an immediate, expected reply of “I will kill him!” Instead, Grievous was silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful.

“For now, nothing.” He said finally. “Remember, A4-D – tell no one of this. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Master,” A4-D replied, “no one will be hearing about this from me.”

“Let Dooku think I am still his mindless pawn,” Grievous said, distaste in his voice. “When the time is right, I will act.”

A4-D was quiet. Today had been a very surprising day for him, and this new Grievous would certainly take some getting used to. Without the chip enhancing his rage centres, he seemed like a different cyborg entirely. But then, perhaps this was what he was really like? After all, the chip had not been a part of him; so then this ‘new’ Grievous was perhaps the ‘real’ Grievous? It was a lot to take, A4-D decided.

Slowly, deliberately, Grievous got off the table, his mind suddenly flashing back to something Kenobi had said to him once – “And what has that quest for power gotten you, General? A mutilated body? An errand boy in Dooku’s bidding?”

Grievous could not help but utter a snort. How ironic it was that Kenobi had been right; he could now see the sense, the truth in the Jedi’s words – even if at the time, he had vehemently denied it. If only… If only Grievous had known of this treachery and deception sooner, things could have turned out differently. Briefly, the cyborg wondered of it was possible that Kenobi had known something of his condition, but quickly dismissed the idea. No one besides Dooku and the Geonosians that rebuilt him would have had any inkling of the truth.

His thoughts soon turned back to Ronderu, though, and he found himself wondering – what would she think of him? Of what he had become? It seemed foolish to hope that she could – or would – accept him. Grievous was known far and wide as a monster, a murderer, the Jedi Killer. More than anything, he feared what Ronderu would do should she find out his identity. Grievous was ashamed of what he had become. He couldn’t let her know – no matter what – but at the same time, he could only just feel her consciousness at the edge of his own. How long had it been since he’d felt this? He took a moment to savour the feeling, a sense of contentment – something he had not felt for a long time – making itself known to him. She was awake, he realized slowly, surprised by the sudden nervousness he felt.

He… should probably go and check on her…

Grievous got to his feet slowly and walked to the lift, feeling like he was navigating a dream instead of reality. Gods, how could his memories, his feelings for Ronderu have been suppressed?? How, when she meant so much to him? Grievous quashed the guilt that threatened to overwhelm him, focusing instead on what he was supposed to say when he saw Ronderu.

“Where are you going, Master?” A4-D piped up from somewhere behind him.

Still in a bit of a daze, Grievous waved away the question, finally stepping into the lift. The doors slid shut silently, leaving a bewildered A4-D to shake his head slowly.

Chapter Text

Ronderu had been relieved to find that the refresher worked.

It felt good to be able to clean up after everything that had happened, and she even spent a little longer than was strictly necessary inside. Just as she was done drying herself off and was about to exit the small refresher, however, she froze. Was… was that Qymaen’s presence she could feel? Could it really be him?

“Qymaen…?” She breathed in confusion.

It had been a long time since the connection that the two of them shared had felt this… alive. She could only just sense his mind now, abuzz with indistinct thoughts and emotions that she could not make out – but that was to be expected, given the likely distance between them. But, at the same time, she could sense that his end of their bond was underlaid with a current of cold, hard anger; to a degree that she had never before felt from her soulmate; though there seemed to be less anger than what she had felt the last time. But what was that new emotion she could barely sense alongside the anger? Shame? But of what?

Reaching out to open the door, Ronderu hesitated a second time. She happened to spot a bar attached to the ceiling, one that seemingly had no purpose, and she was just able to reach it and pried it loose. She preferred having a weapon in hand – even if this one was a little flimsier than she would have liked. Opening the door, she stepped back out into her plain, confining room. In her right hand were some balled-up rags that she had torn from one of the sheets, while her make-shift weapon was held tight in her left hand.

Barely five seconds had passed since Ronderu had exited the refresher when she heard the door to her room unlock. She turned towards in surprise, just as it slid open. Grievous appeared at the door, looking in almost cautiously. But his eyes fell on her almost immediately, widening fractionally as he took in her still-wet hair and expression of disbelief.

“Get out!” Ronderu found herself exclaiming.

And, acting out of sheer reflex, she threw the ball of rags at his head.

It struck him square in the faceplate and the General hastily withdrew, with what could have been a quickly-uttered apology. The door closed behind him, but Ronderu continued to stare at it for a few moments longer, taking the time to be grateful that she had dressed in the refresher instead of in the room itself. Eventually she shook her head mutely, but could not help the small snort of amusement as she thought back to Grievous’ reaction. Would it have been so hard for him to have simply knocked, though? It was common courtesy, after all. With a sigh, Ronderu picked up some of the crumpled sheets and started to fold them as her mind wandered. As she was finishing up, though, she was brought back to reality by a couple of slow, deliberate knocks on the door. She looked towards it again, feeling annoyance flare inside her.

Oh, so now he was going to be polite and knock, was he?

She scowled to herself and folded her arms. Couldn’t Grievous just leave her alone?! She didn’t understand what he could possibly want her for; why he wanted her – it was all a mystery. Ronderu glared irritably at the door, as if she could see actually see Grievous through it. She scowled to herself, waiting for the General to try and explain himself or even apologize. There was a brief pause, followed by a few more knocks, then silence once again.

“Forgive my intrusion earlier…” Came Grievous’ voice through the still-closed door. “I only wish to talk to you.”

Ronderu huffed, but otherwise remained silent.

“May I come in?” His tone was hesitant.

“No, you may not,” she replied scathingly. “But then, it’s hardly up to me to decide now, is it? This is your fortress, is it not? Why even bother asking me in the first place? If you feel like it, you can just walk in!”

“No, I meant – ,“ he paused awkwardly. “Would you… require anything?”

Ronderu was silent for a moment, thinking. It was clear enough from Grievous’ tone, that by ‘anything’, he obviously meant food. The very thought of it made Ronderu’s stomach growl and she grimaced, hugging her arms around her stomach in an attempt to ignore the gnawing hunger she felt. It had been a few days at least since she’d last eaten anything – longer still since she’d had a decent meal – her previous ‘owner’ often forgot or didn’t bother as far as food was concerned. Ronderu knew that she could not go much longer without any; if she tried, she’d simply grow weak, losing what little strength she still possessed. While she’d been in the refresher, Ronderu had looked long and hard at her reflection. It shouldn’t have come as any surprise to find out that she’d lost weight – but it did, and she found she was almost unrecognizable even to herself.

So she sighed, knowing that she didn’t have much choice other than to rely on the good General’s continued generosity.

“Yes, thank you, some food would be nice,” she responded in the stoniest voice she could manage.

“Is there… anything in particular you would like?”

Gods, he sounded so awkward right now. Well, that’s what he got for walking into her room unannounced.

“I’ll let you get creative, General,” she answered drily.

She barely caught the sound of a low grumble from the other side of the door, followed by silence a few moments later and she knew then that Grievous had gone. But a thought struck her just then, in the silence of her room – what if the food was drugged? That was a worrying thought, and a very real possibility; after all, she still had no clue as to what it was that the cyborg wanted with her. Ronderu sat down heavily, these and countless other thoughts whirling around in her head and weighing her down. Groaning, she raised her hands to her head, massaging her temples in an attempt to alleviate her steadily growing headache.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Food.

Food was going to be an issue, Grievous knew. Because for one thing, there was nothing even remotely edible within the fortress on account of the simple fact that Grievous himself was not required to consume any due to his… current condition. His mind wondered to the large, tentacled creature that had set up residence in a lower, submerged part of the fortress. He would have gotten rid of it were it not for the fact that it seemed impossible to kill. But wait… it lived in water – Grievous’ thoughts turned immediately to the lake outside. Surely there would be fish living in it, wouldn’t there? And fish were edible…

…unless they were poisonous, a part of his mind reminded him.

But never mind that – he could always have A4-D scan anything he brought back in just in case. Setting out, he couldn’t help but feel mildly irritated that Ronderu had called him ‘General’. He knew he shouldn’t be bothered by it, but he was. He wanted her to call him Grievous, because that was as close to the name Qymaen as she could get. After all, it had only been after he presumed her to be dead that he had started going by Grievous. And that thought brought him back to the question nagging away at him.

How was she alive?

For so many long years, he had thought her dead; murdered by the Huk on the shores of the Jenuwaa Sea and her body dragged out into those cold, dark waters to be lost forever. Grievous shuddered, shaking away morbid thoughts of her death and how he himself had been so tempted to let the same deep waters claim him as well. But of course, he could not simply lay down and let the ancestors take him; no, they’d had other plans for him.

With a weary sigh, he set off further into the South Wing, taking nothing but his lightsabers with him. Grievous had long since memorized the layout of the fortress and as such, knew that there was a secret entrance that led out into what had once been a garden but what was now an overgrown mess strangled with weeds and what A4-D had identified as poisonous creepers. The actual door that led out into said garden was well disguised, being practically indistinguishable from the wall it was set in. As an added precaution, however, there was a code required to open the door, the only two beings who knew the code was himself and A4-D – but it wasn’t like something as simple as a locked door would deter a Jedi, Grievous thought with an amused huff. Reaching out to punch in the code, he could not help but feel a pang of nostalgia. After all, the code was none other than the coordinates for his (former? Grievous wasn’t even sure at this point) homeworld, Kalee.

He wondered how everyone there was faring but, at the same time, felt guilt twist at his insides – well, what was left of them, at least.

Because with the return of his memories, Grievous now knew that it was because of him that Kalee and her people had suffered; he and Ronderu had led their people in battle against the Huk. After her supposed death, Grievous had dedicated his life to the war, to seeing the bugs leave or better yet, to being completely exterminated. And in pursuing his goals, he had committed atrocity after atrocity against the invaders and made them so desperate as to turn to the Galactic Republic for aid.

And they had imposed sanctions on Kalee, effectively halting what little inter-planetary trade his planet had possessed. Thousands of Kaleesh had died, unable to receive proper medicine or supplies. And what had the Jedi – the so-called peacekeepers – done?

Nothing.

To help ease his people’s suffering, Grievous had been forced to turn to the InterGalactic Banking Clan to bail out his people and in some degree, to the soon-to-be formed Confederacy of Independent Systems. The degree to which he’d been manipulated was… astonishing in all aspects.

But Grievous pushed these thoughts from his mind, deciding that he’d have enough time to spend mulling over them in the future. The door opened with a barely perceptible hum and Grievous entered the garden on the other side, making his way over to the wall and scaling it with ease. Dropping down on the other side, he landed on a thin lip of solid ground. Beyond it stretched a steep slope that consisted of nothing but scree and gravel. A one-way trip then, from the looks of it.

Placing one clawed-toed foot at the beginning of the slope, Grievous tests the scree, hesitating a moment before he launches himself forwards, sliding down the rock fragments and twisting to avoid larger boulders. However, he still found himself approaching the trees bordering the glacial lake faster than he would have liked – certainly faster than he’d anticipated. But he did not bother to panic; instead, leaning back to slow himself down – so far back that he was almost parallel to the slope itself. Gradually, he slowed to a halt shortly before he reached the treeline. Glancing back the way he came, Grievous could only just make out an edge of his fortress from where he stood, the slope he’d come down looking much steeper from the bottom than it had from the top. Turning away from the mountain, he made his way over to the lake’s edge.

The trees that grew along its shores had rooted the scree, making the ground much easier to walk on. Above him, turquoise-green leaves rustled in the light breeze, a few of them breaking loose to drift lazily past him. He picked his way between the tall trees, stopping at the water’s edge and looking hard into its crystal-clear depths. His eyes scanned the lake’s flat, ripple-free surface for any signs of movement – anything that would give away the presence of something lurking below.

Grievous waded slowly into the water, his movements slow and careful, stopping when the water came halfway up his artificial legs. Any deeper would be a bad idea; as it was, Grievous had bad experiences concerning large bodies of water. There was no point in adding another close call to that list. Exhaling, Grievous waited.

Time passed, and the sky began to noticeably darken. But unlike on Kalee, there were no vibrant, fiery shades that painted the sky during sunset – here, the sky simply darkened from an already dusky blue to a black that was positively crammed with stars. But even as the heavens grew dark, the surrounding landscape took on its own – albeit faint – light. The leaves of the trees that grew on the lake’s shore glimmered sea-blue, the trunks having fainter streaks of silver running down them. Even the edges of the lake, where the water lapped the shore, twinkled with green specks of light. Soon, it was only the centre of the lake that remained dark, like the gaping entrance of a cave.

Grievous tried to ignore that particular observation of his, focusing instead on the small flash further out in the dark waters. At once, he was on alert as little-by-little, the small group of fish approached the shallows where Grievous stood waiting. And then finally, they were close enough to reach and Grievous struck in the blink of an eye, snatching three of them straight from the water like some sort of predatory bird. They wriggled in his hands, their scales glinting in the soft light. Giving them a quick once-over, he grunted in satisfaction, deciding that these three fish would do for now.

He turned, about to take the long way back to the fortress when he suddenly paused. There were no longer any kitchens in the fortress. So where would these fish be cooked…?

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

There was loud clatter as several pieces of wood were dropped to the floor. The wood was then followed by what appeared to be kindling and finally, a piece of flint and metal.

Ronderu looked from the items that now lay on the floor by her feet back up to Grievous, who had brought them here. He stood to a side, three decently-sized fish in hand.

“…What’s this for?” Ronderu asked finally.

“There aren’t any kitchens,” Grievous answered with what could have been an apologetic shrug.

“So I’m supposed to cook these myself?” She gestured to the fish.

“Yes.”

“By lighting a fire in here?” She pressed.

“Yes –,”

“In this enclosed and obviously very poorly-ventilated room?”

“Well – ,”

“Do you know how dangerous that is?” She demanded. “The smoke could easily suffocate me, or the fire could spread and burn me alive – ,”

“Enough!” Grievous snapped, apparently having decided that it was his turn to cut her off.

Ronderu obliged, however, and shot him a haughty look – the response to which was an exasperated roll of the cyborg’s eyes.

“You have made your point,” he acknowledged. “Would you eat if the area was…better ventilated?”

“I might,” she responded with a careless shrug.

“Very well; follow me.” Grievous acknowledged after a moment’s deliberation. “But bring the wood!”

Ronderu complied and picked up the firewood, followed by the other items. It was an awkward bundle to carry and she stood, hesitating a moment as she shifted the weight of the branches in her hands, struggling to make sure that nothing dropped. Her gaze happened to fall the blankets she’d folded previously and an idea struck her. Dumping the firewood back on the ground, she began to unfold one of them. Grievous – who was waiting outside for her – look back in, seeing her with the sheet.

“What are you doing?” He asked her in that strangely hoarse voice of his.

“Unlike you, I don’t have four arms,” Ronderu answered, “so I need an easier way to carry this.”

He didn’t respond to that and left Ronderu to it.

A few minutes later, she emerged from the room with the firewood, kindling and flint-and-steel bundled up in the sheet that she casually hoisted over her shoulder. Grievous looked at her, but seemed to decide not to comment, which was probably a good thing – Ronderu might have taken a swing at him otherwise. The two of them looked at one another in silence for a moment before Ronderu finally shrugged.

“Well? Where are we going?”

“This way,” Grievous responded, turning away.

She couldn’t do anything more than comply at this point, so Ronderu followed him. Also, maybe it was just her, but those fish were starting to look very appetizing – cooked or not. She silenced the growls from her stomach, hoping that they weren’t loud enough for Grievous to hear; he didn’t need to know how desperate she was, how weak; and instead, she turned to wondering where it was that they were going. Not a word passed between them and Ronderu’s thoughts slowly began to turn to the possibility of swinging her bulky bundle at the back of Grievous’ head. Could she do it? Would it knock him out? And if so, for how long?

But sadly, Ronderu missed her chance to do such a thing, having wasted too much time simply thinking about it. Soon, they stepped into a turbolift and Grievous pushed a button inside it, and it began to move upwards. Unfortunately, the lift wasn’t of the spacious variety, and there was only just enough room for the two of them to stand side-by-side inside it. But even then, it was still too close for Ronderu’s liking. So, Ronderu resigned herself to simply waiting. Fortunately, it was not for long. The turbolift came to a halt and the doors opened, letting them out. Grievous exited first, followed by the female Kaleesh. Looking around, she was more than a little surprised to realize that they were on the roof. Why the roof? Surely there were other, more secure places within the confines of the fortress, weren’t there?

But Ronderu kept her mouth shut and took in the sight of the surrounding landscape instead. There was no moon in the sky; instead, it was crammed full of thousands of twinkling stars and a faint aurora that wreathed its way across the backdrop of the night sky. But the landscape surrounding the fortress was in no way one that was shrouded in darkness by the lack of an orbiting celestial body – no, the planet’s native flora had instead decided that it would provide its own light during the planet’s night cycle – and everything glowed. If Ronderu didn’t know any better, she’d have thought she was dreaming, but… she just knew she wasn’t. she turned in a slow circle, her eyes wide at the sight that lay before them. Never before had she seen such a place; in fact, she doubted that she could even have imagined anything like it. It just –

“It takes your breath away, does it not?”

Ronderu turned, the words from Grievous so unexpected that they startled her. To her surprise, though, his eyes were directed up at the stars above, completely oblivious to Ronderu’s gaze. There was a strange sort of melancholy to his voice that she almost missed, but it made her pause and think: why did her sound that way? But she turned away after a few moments passed, unwillingly to let Grievous see her watching him or worse still, catch his gaze.

“So?” She asked, breaking the silence. “Now what?”

Grievous turned to her, snapping out of whatever reverie he had been lost in. For a moment he just looked at her in silence, his gaze seemingly assessing her.

“You may eat,” he finally responded, holding out the fish to her.

She eyed them before dumping her bundle on the ground and crouching down to untie it. Reaching out to take the fish from Grievous’ hand, Ronderu hesitated fractionally. It was such a small gesture that it should have gone unnoticed, but Grievous – being Grievous – noticed. His eyes met hers, the look in them quizzical, but before he could say a word Ronderu snatched the fish from his hand, muttering her thanks.

Avoiding his gaze, she crouched down, arranging the kindling and the sticks after laying aside the fish on a corner of the sheet. It took her a few minutes to gut the fish, but soon they were placed down once again and Ronderu turned her attention to getting the fire going. She picked up the rudimentary flint-and-steel, doing her best to try and ignore Grievous as he stood somewhere behind her, out of her line of sight. Striking the two against one another, she managed to produce a few sparks but none took to the kindling. Again and again, she kept going until the sparks finally took on her twelfth try.

With a small sigh of relief, she quickly transferred the smoldering kindling to where she had already set up the firewood. Blowing gently on the embers, she coaxed a small flame into being and just as her own expression brightened, the flame abruptly snuffed itself out. Ronderu stared in disbelief for a moment, before she set her jaw and turned around to get the flint-and-steel. She had barely turned away when a blaster bolt streaked past her and into the kindling, still lying in the pile of firewood. With a small pop, it ignited and the wood slowly began to burn.

She turned in the direction the bolt had come from, a look of disbelief and incredulity showing on her face as she found herself staring at Grievous. Ronderu knew she shouldn’t have been surprised; he was the only other person up here besides her, anyway; but she was. In his right hand, he held a blaster, its muzzle still smoking gently from the shot, his eyes focused intently on the now-crackling flames. He started suddenly, before he noticed that Ronderu looking at him, and stowed away the blaster on the back of his hip. Without a word, he turned and walked aside and Ronderu realized that he was giving her space. She watched him as he seated himself on a low stone wall some distance away, slowly turning his gaze to the strangely illuminated landscape. Ronderu shook her head, and set the fish to cook.

She settled down to wait, absently watching as a flurry of sparks burst forth as a branch snapped, whirling upwards on a hot draught. If she focused only on the sky and the sparks, listening to the crackle of the fire and inhaling the fresh, night air tinged with the smell of cooking meat, she could almost fool herself into thinking that she was back home – on Kalee.

Almost.

She smiled as she remembered days that were long past. At times like these, her old life felt like it belonged to someone else – someone who wasn’t her. In what felt like it had been a lifetime ago, she had been Ronderu lij Kummar; warrior, friend… The Dreamt…

But now she was Ronderu the slave, something that the weight of the shock collar encircling her neck made sure that she would never forget. She fingered it absently, as she waited for the fish to be done cooking and wondered if there was any way to possibly remove it without the aid of its controller.

Continuing to watch the stars, Ronderu didn’t notice when Grievous’ gaze slowly turned her way. A moment passed, after which he produced something from where it had been hidden in a compartment in his left forearm. It was none other than the controller for Ronderu’s shock collar. He turned it over thoughtfully in his hand, his eyes not leaving it for a few minutes. Then he glanced back at Ronderu. Her eyes – distant and wistful – were pointed upwards at the stars, almost as though she was dreaming of something. But her right hand remained against her collar, a stark and painful reminder of the years she spent as a slave. How ironic – how for all these years they had both been slaves.

Guiltily, he regarded the controller in his hand once again.

Such a small device it was. But to so many, it was a sign – no, a symbol – of dominance. The dominance of slaver over slave; an owner and their property. Disgusting. Grievous was no slaver – how could he be, when he loathed the very idea of slavery with such a vengeance? – so then why did he hesitate? Why could he not bring himself to deactivate Ronderu’s collar, to let her be free? It would be so easy, but at the same time… almost impossible.

He closed his eyes, as if he were in pain.

Because in a way, he was. Grievous knew the answers to his internal debate, and the answers themselves brought with them even more worries and concerns. What if he removed her collar? What of she tried to escape? And what if, in doing so, she was hurt? Or worse still – stranded somewhere on this planet where he could not reach her, somewhere he could not find her… There were reasons, after all, for this planet having been abandoned so long ago. Or what if… what if she tried to return to Kalee…? Everyone there believed her to be dead. There was no telling how they would react to finding out that she was alive. There was no telling how anyone would react to her apparent return from beyond – Grievous didn’t even know if anyone would believe her.

He sighed wearily.

Eventually, it all boiled down to one simple reason. The reason being that, should he remove her collar, she would leave. And Grievous did not want that.

Even if keeping her here against her will made her hate him, he could not bear to let her go. Not again. Not when he actually had a say in it this time. He may have refused to give the thoughts in his head a proper voice, but he still loved her. She meant too much to him. And besides, she could – and no doubt she did – hate Grievous with every fibre of her being, but at least that meant she would still love Qymaen jai Sheelal.

– – – – – — – – – – – – – – – – — — – — – – — — – – – – –

It had taken Ronderu less time to eat the fish than it had taken to cook them.

All three were gone, the only leftovers being three heads and tails. But even though she had just eaten, Ronderu felt like she could still manage more. No – she knew she could stomach more. It was unfortunate that three fish seemed to be the extent to which Grievous’ goodwill extended. A pity, really, but there didn’t seem to be anything more that could be done about it. Leaning back, she rested her weight on her hands, her face angled upwards. A breeze tugged at her hair and she reached up to brush some of it back. She closed her eyes, relishing the feeling of cool night air on her skin. There was a time when she took such a feeling for granted; she’d never realized how much she took it for granted until she had been forced to spend so many years cooped up in a small, stuffy room. She shuddered slightly at the memory of it, and pushed those thoughts away. There was absolutely no way she was going to ruin her first time being outside with those memories. After all that she had been through, Ronderu felt as though she appreciated these smaller things more than she used to.

As much as she appreciated having had a meal, Ronderu knows better than to let down her guard. She didn’t make it so far being a slave by being trusting. She wanted to escape from this place more than anything; to be able to make choices for herself once again, not trade in one owner for another. Especially when this new ‘master’ of hers was more droid than actual flesh and blood. Ronderu would give anything to leave this place. The only question now, was where would she even start?

Some hours later, a noise snapped Ronderu out of her swirling thoughts, making her turn around in time to see Grievous getting to his feet. The fire had burned out a while ago, leaving behind nothing but a pile of ash and embers. Grievous looked her way, his yellow-green eyes glowing faintly in the weak light.

“Get up,” he informed her, “we are going.”

Ronderu sighed to herself. Of course all good things never last.

“You go on,” she waved him off. “I’ll catch up in a bit.”

Grievous stalked over to her, towering over her as he all but glared down at where she sat.

“Are you suggesting I leave you here unaccompanied?” He seemed to cowl at her.

“Perhaps I am,” Ronderu shrugged with an air of carelessness. “Would that be a problem?”

“It certainly would, given your tendency to try and run off,” he growled.

“Don’t you trust me?” She asked him sarcastically.

Ronderu expected a disdainful reply, or even that Grievous threaten her by producing his blaster or laser sword. But he does neither – he doesn’t even roughly manhandle her to her feet even though Ronderu knows he’s more than capable of doing that. What she didn’t expect was for him to go silent all of a sudden, as if he was at a complete loss for words. So, she decided to press her advantage, wanting to find out once and for all if her suspicions were well-placed.

“I would have expected you to, given that you and I aren’t so different.”

Grievous started, a look of wariness in his eyes.

“And what do you mean by that?” He demanded, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“It’s not so hard to guess,” Ronderu said brazenly, meeting his gaze. “And I think you already know what I’m talking about. But I’ll go ahead and let you guess.”

“I have no time for these games!” Grievous declared, turning to leave.

But Ronderu refused to be dissuaded so easily. She was nothing if not stubborn. At the very least, she wanted her question answered, and by the Ancestors, she was going to get that answer out of the cyborg general. She got to her feet behind him, her anger showing on her face.

“Answer me, Grievous!” She ordered. “Are you Kaleesh?!”

A few meters ahead of her, Grievous stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t turn around so Ronderu could read whatever emotion would have been showing in his eyes. Instead, he remained facing away motionless save for the swaying of his cloak in the wind. He was silent. This in itself was enough to answer her question.

“Why would you ask me that?” He asked, his voice low.

“Then you are Kaleesh?” She pressed.

Grievous turned his head fractionally, just enough that she could only just see his eye as he looked over his shoulder at her. He was silent for a moment longer. But then he said a single word that staggered Ronderu.

“No.”

“No??” Ronderu echoed incredulously.

“Not anymore,” was all the elaboration he provided. “Now come with me.”

Chapter Text

It was well past noon (or so she assumed) when Ronderu awoke the next day.

From where she lay on her ‘bed’, she stretched, yawning so hard it brought tears to her eyes. In all honesty though, she was surprised that she’d even managed to sleep at all. Sitting up, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slowly got to her feet, shuffling into the refresher.

The water she splashed onto her face was positively freezing, and as such, brought her back to her senses quite quickly. Last night had been…eventful, to say the least.

Grievous had denied being Kaleesh – well, at least that explained his willingness to keep her as a slave. But did that mean he had been? That he had been Kaleesh, or at least, considered himself one before…before whatever it was that had made him into a cyborg? She wondered if it was wrong that she almost felt a degree of pity towards him now. But last night, there had been no pity – instead, his response had only served to outrage her, leading Ronderu to snatch a crumbly piece of burned wood from the extinguished fire and throw it at him. The charred log had struck him in the back, shattering on impact, and Grievous did not even react to it. Possibly even hadn’t noticed it. She didn’t know at the time, and still didn’t know even now. Not that she cared. But afterwards, he’d grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her back to her room even as she screamed insults at him – insults that she had picked up both on Kalee and during her time belonging to others – it was undignified for sure, but she was long past caring. Why bother maintaining an image with someone she couldn’t care less about, after all?

Leaving the refresher scant minutes later, she paused at its doorway, more than a little surprised upon noticing the new additions to her room. She approached the new piece of furniture that had been left in her room – a table – that had on it a large jug filled with a strange, thick blue liquid along with two bowls of what was unmistakably food. Though what food exactly, she couldn’t tell. What’s more, this food had not been prepared by her, nor had she seen it being prepared.

So she eyed the new addition with some amount of suspicion.

After all, it could easily be drugged and there was no way for her to know. While it was true she was hungry, she didn’t want to take the risk of being drugged. She didn’t want to be at anyone’s mercy, regardless of who they were – but especially not Grievous. Was he even capable of showing mercy? She involuntarily shuddered, unwilling to take the risk and find out. Ronderu decided to give the food a pass, instead making her way over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and staring out of them, deep in thought. After a while, she sat down taking in the sight of the lake the windows happened to overlook. Her thoughts strayed to Qymaen. How was he? Where was he – back on Kalee? She wondered what he was up to. Maybe he had succeeded in driving out the Huk from their homeworld, just like he’d always dreamed of doing. She hoped he had. She also wondered if he missed her. No, of course he’d miss her – but did anyone else? Did they…remember her…?

Ronderu huffed, a mixture of irritation and nostalgia bubbling inside her. But eventually it was the combination of boredom and hunger – but mainly boredom – that drove her to the food. The blue liquid turned out to be milk, albeit strangely coloured, and the food itself was passable. It wasn’t the best meal she’d ever had, but it certainly wasn’t the worst; granted she wasn’t the best cook in the first place, with her skills only covering about the most basic of meals. She wolfed down the food and sat back, trying to remember the last time she had felt so…satisfied. To her surprise, she could not come up with an answer.

Not long after she’d finished eating, the door to her room unexpectedly opened and she was instantly on guard. But to her surprise – and infinite wariness – it was two Magnaguard droids that appeared in the doorway instead of Grievous. One remained by the door, electrostaff at the ready in its hand, while the other had its electrostaff slung over its back as it entered the room, prompting Ronderu to tense up as she stood her ground. However, all it did was pick up the empty bowls and jug, appearing to stare her down for a moment before walking back out, the first droid moving aside to let it pass. But as one droid left, another entered – this one a different make and model from the Magnaguards.

For one thing, this droid was much shorter than them, bronze-coloured in place of the usual dull grey. Its photoreceptors were white as opposed to red and there was a strange mark that seemed to stretch around its body, reminding Ronderu of a bad weld. Besides the usual sets of limbs, Ronderu could make out another set of arms folded compactly against the pack on its back.

“Ah, so our guest is awake,” it said in a distinctly male voice, managing to sound condescending.

“I suppose it must look that way,” Ronderu replied with a flat smile.

“Indeed,” the droid observed. “I am EV-A4-D, your host while my Master is absent.”

“Master?” Ronderu echoed with amusement. “You mean Grievous?”

“That is correct – and it’s General Grievous to you,” the droid sounded disapproving, “don’t tell me you weren’t paying attention?”

“Alright, metal-head, why are you here?” Ronderu frowned, feeling her patience stretch thin.

“I’m so glad you asked,” he said, sounding the exact opposite of his words. “I am here to lay out some ground rules you are expected to follow during your stay here.”

“So you mean I can leave?” She gasped sarcastically.

“Why certainly,” EV-A4-D said cheerfully, “as long as you’re dead.”

Ronderu folded her arms, eyeing the droid before her with disdain and wondering if it was just her bad luck that she kept running into ones that disliked her.

A4-D meanwhile, couldn’t help but feel smug as he stood there; perhaps it was because he’d simply had the last word in their conversation. It wasn’t often that he got to talk to anyone – much less anyone new – and it wasn’t like he could continuously sass off to the General without fear of retribution. Because for all his talk of being invaluable, the droid knew that it would not stop Grievous from taking him apart and having him put back together if he was angry enough. But at the same time, a part of his processor wondered why his Master kept this Kaleesh around. Why, if A4-D didn’t know any better, he’d say that his Master actually liked her! But that was preposterous!

…

Wasn’t it…?

But A4-D sighed to himself, deleting that particular line of thought before it could go any further. Instead, he resigned himself to explaining the rules that would apply to this organic.

“Rule number one; while you are here, you will only be allowed access to the South Wing of the fortress – naturally, because it’s where your quarters are located… Rule number two; you may visit the library but will be accompanied to and from by a guard. Three; you may have limited access to the HoloNet – though why that is, is beyond me,” he added in a lower voice. “Four; the West Wing is strictly off-limits, as is the Throne Room.

“And finally,” A4-D sounded as though he was explaining this to a defective model of droid – but she was an organic, so that was hardly much better – “and I believe this goes without saying, but I will tell you anyway – try not to make any escape attempts.”

“Because that’s so obvious,” she remarked drily.

“Well certainly,” A4-D couldn’t help but be amused. “Because a failed escape attempt could mean injury, and serious enough injuries will warrant treatment.”

“Who by? Surely not Grievous?” The Kaleesh gasped, feigning shock.

“By yours truly, of course,” he chose to ignore her last question. “But I must warn you – as the General is the only one I treat nowadays, it means there is no anesthetic within these walls. And no anesthetic would mean that a surgery would be…quite painful.”

“Please, I’m no stranger to pain,” she growled, folding her arms. “And don’t tell me you’re supposed to be a doctor.”

“A medical droid, if you would prefer to be more precise,” he responded crisply.

“Why would a droid need a droid doctor?” She sneered. “You seem to have done a terrible job fixing that cough of his.”

Now A4-D was more than a little annoyed. How dare she? How dare this… this organic come here and question his skill?! The EV droid felt a blow to his pride, something he simply would not stand for!

“Just so you know,” A4-D began, his tone clipped, “I am programmed with more medical procedures than would fit in that feeble excuse of a brain you carry around in that skull of yours. And as an extra precaution to ensure your compliance, I was entrusted with this.”

Oh, he just could not keep that sadistic glee out of his voice as he spoke those words, at the same time holding up the shock collar’s controller for the organic to look upon it with her own eyes. He watched with smug satisfaction as his photoreceptors picked up the slight hitch in her breathing upon the sight of it. There was a sudden, predatory gleam in her eyes as she beheld it and her hand twitched – perhaps involuntarily – something that did not go unnoticed by the Magnaguard at A4-D’s side. It immediately stepped forward, its mere presence enough off a deterrent against her trying anything foolish.

Sure enough, the female Kaleesh was no fool. She recognized the clear warning and threat that was presented before her in the form of the Magnaguard. Her hands curled into fists and her face grew stony, but she did nothing more beyond that.

A4-D would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed.

A part of him wanted her to try something – just so he could watch her fumble in an entertaining if, ultimately futile attempt to escape. Instead, all she did was glare at him.

“So why are you telling me all of this?” Her tone was less than pleased. “Why not your wonderful Master? Or is Grievous too good for me that he won’t even speak to me anymore?”

“Actually, my Master had business to attend to offworld,” A4-D informed her. “It’s no easy task to fight in a war, you know.”

For a beat, the Kaleesh looked surprised – confused, even.

“War?”

“You poor thing,” A4-D declared sarcastically, “surely you’ve heard of the Clone War?”

“You don’t hear much when you’re a slave,” was her moody reply.

“Hm, well it seems that someone has some catching up to do on Galactic affairs. Since you’re not busy, why not head to the library?”

“No thank you,” she replied with a flat smile.

“Oh, it wasn’t a suggestion.”

— — — — — — — — — —

And that was how Ronderu found herself on her way to this library, despite her flat-out refusal. Of course, she wasn’t alone – true enough, she was escorted by a Magnaguard. It walked alongside her, silent and immutable as it showed her the way through this labyrinthine fortress. Even so, Ronderu memorized the route they were taking, thinking that it would come in handy later on to know even some of the layout of the place. Who knew? Maybe something would come of it when she finally escaped. Looking around surreptitiously, she realized that they were heading deeper and deeper into the fortress, making her suspect that some of it must be carved straight out of the mountainside behind it. Not for the first time, she spared a look at the pipes that ran against the ceiling, leading somewhere within the walls. As they walked, Ronderu noticed that there seemed to be more and more pipes converging along their route until finally, they passed by a set of massive, intricately carved wooden doors. It was here that all the pipes led into, passing through the wall above the doors.

Ronderu frowned slightly in thought. Was this the throne room that she was forbidden from entering? She wondered what was really behind those doors – because she highly doubted it was a simple throne beyond. Was it the control hub? Something else? Soon though, they had passed these doors as well and were now approaching another set of carved – albeit somewhat smaller – set of doors. The Magnaguard paused to push them open and for a moment, Ronderu entertained the idea of trying to wrest its electrostaff from it and escape. She quickly dismissed this idea, however, reckoning that it was too soon to try anything yet. For now, she would have to wait. The doors were now open and she walked in past the droid, feeling its soulless red gaze following her.

Entering the library, she blinked in surprise upon finding herself in a vast, almost cavernous hall. Looking around, she was momentarily stunned by the number of books housed in the tall, looming bookcases. As if that was enough, Ronderu could see another level of the library, distinguishable by the balcony that overlooked the main section. This room – was calling it a room wrong? The place was easily the size of a large banquet hall – contrasted starkly with the rest of what Ronderu had seen of the fortress’s interior. While the rest of it was simple, unfinished rock walls, ceilings and floors, the library was instead paneled with wood. From the looks of it, entire trees would have been cut down to simply make the supports that reached from the floor to the ceiling. There were small windows located higher up – unfortunately too high for her to reach – that allowed natural light to streak in, painting the wood in rich, deep shades. However, located on the ground floor were other, more traditional forms of lighting – lanterns. Giving one a thoughtful look, she found that there was no flame or wick within. Instead, it appeared that the whole thing was instead carved out of some sort of glowing rock.

Turning away from it, Ronderu approached the nearest bookcase instead, pulling out a book at random from the many volumes arranged neatly. She opened it and flipped through a few pages before reaching the conclusion that it was written in a language she did not understand. Closing it with a snap, she returned it to where she’d taken it from and slowly made her way further into the library, running a hand over the exposed spines of the books. As she walked, she paused momentarily at the sound of quickly turning pages. Turning towards the noise, she spotted a table piled high with stacks of several books. But what drew her attention was the open book placed in front of chair, one page settling as though it had just been turned. She eyed it for a moment before glancing around, checking if there was anyone here besides her and her Magnaguard escort. When, after a few moments, she saw no sign of another, she moved on, deciding that it was simply nothing more than a breeze that had stirred the page. Because what else could it possibly have been?

Eventually, she reached the center of the library and found herself looking up at a towering statue carved out of a strange, almost glassy dark rock. Portions of it were gilded with great care and detail, making Ronderu idly wonder if, at some point, the entire thing had been covered in gold at some point. At the foot of the statue, located just in front of its plinth, was a holotable – no doubt the newest addition to the entire library. Ronderu approached it, activating it and immediately accessing the HoloNet.

While browsing through it, she considered the possibility of contacting someone through it. While it was certainly possible, she had no doubts that the General and his droids would have the necessary precautions to ensure that she would be unable to go through with such a plan. Besides, even if she could bypass their security measures, who was she going to contact? She had no allies who could possibly reach her. But despite these sour thoughts, she couldn’t tear her mind away from thoughts of escape. A4-D had told her that Grievous was offworld, so what better time than to try and escape?

With him gone, Ronderu was determined to not let anything stand in her way to freedom.

— — — — — — — — — —

It had been almost two standard weeks since Grievous had regained his lost memories.

Since then, he had yet to return to Kryolos after the surgery. Instead, he had been kept busy having to attend to different battlefronts scattered across a multitude of systems. However, at each battle the Separatists had been at a distinct advantage over the Republic forces. And this of course, was thanks to the fact that the Separatists had a listening facility located close to major Republic space. All this time, the facility had been tapping into Republic comm frequencies, deciphering information and feeding it to Separatist command.

Grievous knew this.

He also knew of the facility’s location; the planet it was hidden on, its exact coordinates and even its defences. All of this information – and much more – was stored on small data spike that he now held in his hand. Sitting aboard the bridge of a Providence-Class Dreadnaught, Grievous was slowly turning the data drive over in his hand.

At the same time, he gazed out at the swirling blue hyperspace tunnel they were travelling through. Despite his unreadable gaze, his mind was occupied by matters that would be considered treasonous by the Separatist alliance; namely the data drive and the information it held. While it was true that at times, sensitive information was required to be passed between officers physically for fear of transmissions being intercepted, it was never done so in such a haphazard manner as this. It was usually much more low-key – transferred between two points by trusted agents or inconspicuous droids. But then again, this was not a usual situation. For Grievous was not taking this information to another Separatist, oh no.

He was going to pass it on to the Republic.

One way or another, Grievous would have his revenge against Dooku, the Separatists and whoever else had used him in the past and continued to use him to this day. And this was only the first step of his plan. Grievous had deliberately had the droids plot a course through Republic-controlled space. The Dreadnaught would drop out of hyperspace and almost certainly into a confrontation against the Jedi. And even though it had in no way been simple, Grievous had done everything in his power to ensure that it would be Kenobi who would face him. Not Skywalker and his apprentice, not Windu and certainly not any other Jedi. For the plan to work, it demanded that Kenobi be the one he would face. It was simply too risky to try the same with another Jedi.

Arranging their coincidental meetup had been tricky, but not impossible. First, Grievous had had to rely on information from the very same listening facility he was now attempting to expose, to ascertain the location of Kenobi’s fleet. Second, he had then sent out only a partially-encrypted transmission to a since-abandoned space station that Republic operatives were sure to notice. Grievous was confident that the Jedi would take the bait but for now, he would have to wait.

One standard hour later, the Dreadnaught dropped out of hyperspace and Grievous’ eyes lit up at the sight before them. He knew then, without a doubt, that the Jedi had received his message. For there, blocking the way forwards, were three Republic Venators. Grievous felt himself tense with eager anticipation at what he knew was to come. He got to his feet as the Venators moved forwards into firing range.

“Prepare to engage!” He ordered the droids.

“But General, we’re outnumbered!” Pointed out one droid somewhat uneasily. “Shouldn’t we retreat?”

“Do as I command,” Grievous snarled.

“Roger roger.”

“Deploy Vulture droids on my signal,” he instructed, “and open fire as soon as we are within firing range.”

I hope that’s you, Kenobi, Grievous thought to himself, sending a wordless prayer to whichever one of his Gods or Ancestors may be listening.

A shudder ran through the Dreadnaught as the two forces began to exchange fire. Upon Grievous’ order, the Vulture droids were deployed, racing to engage the Cruisers at close range and distract some of their heavier artillery from the Dreadnaught itself. As the battle raged on, Grievous had to quell his rising impatience and anxiety. Would Kenobi come, or would Grievous have to take the fight to him? The cyborg didn't know what to do, and that uncertainty made him nervous. It had been many long years since he had been graced by this feeling. It seemed that the chips had done much more than he’d first thought – suppressing memories and emotions alike while enhancing others. The feeling felt alien to him, only serving to make him even more uncomfortable.

But it was not the first time he had experienced the nerves that came with battle, so he closed his eyes and exhaled, slowly feeling some of his tension leave him with each breath he took. His slow, measured breathing brought with it memories from a childhood long past – the feeling of lying flat on his belly in the grass, Czerka rifle propped before him as another, older Kaleesh – his father – instructed him on how to use it. Grievous felt a smile at that memory and opened his eyes, pulling himself out of his past and returning to the present.

Evidently, he had been that way for longer than expected, because upon returning to the present, he was greeted by the sight of chaos and destruction reigning free in the space around and between the opposing battleships. Grievous’ well-practiced eye quickly made out that the battle had taken a turn for the worse for the Separatists.

“Sir! Reporting extensive damage to the hull.”

“Shields are down – ,“

“Vulture droid numbers are dwindling…”

But none of these battle updates were the ones that Grievous wished to hear. Surely the Republic would not pass up an opportunity to capture him, would they? Unless this wasn’t Kenobi, but another Jedi who was more concerned in simply ending him once and for all… Grievous’ hands clenched into fists as he deliberated his next move; remain on the doomed Dreadnaught for a little while longer or flee before it was too late? But then, a droid not too far from him suddenly squawked in alarm:

“General! We’re being boarded by Republic troops!”

“Ah! Just as I expected,” Grievous could not help the grin that twisted his face. “Who is leading the charge?”

“It appears to be Obi-wan Kenobi, Sir,” the droid informed him. “What should we do?”

“We wait,” he smiled.

Chapter Text

Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Master and General of the Grand Army of the Republic, was feeling oddly apprehensive.

He did, however, have every reason to feel this way. Just three hours ago, a transmission had been intercepted – one sent by none other than Grievous himself, a cyborg who needed no introduction. What bothered Obi-wan was the fact that the message had been easy to decrypt. Maybe even too easy; it had been no hard task to work out where Grievous and his troops were going to be.

But with that knowledge came other questions – for example, why travel through Republic space? There were plenty of other routes that could be taken and Obi-wan was under no illusion that Grievous did not know that. This move was…reckless, to say the least. Even for someone like Grievous, this was too much. Unless, of course, he had known that his transmission was going to be intercepted and this was instead an ambush that they were about to spring… Obi-wan sighed quietly to himself, resolving to face this unprecedented situation with caution. Because something like this was simply too good to be true.

It wasn’t long before the very Dreadnought supposedly carrying Grievous himself dropped out of hyperspace before them. There was a tense moment, during which neither side did anything and Obi-wan half-expected more Separatist ships to drop out beside the first ship.

But it did not come to pass. There were no Destroyers, no escort – nothing besides the one ship.

He was even more surprised when the Dreadnought made no attempt to flee the system, but rather, stayed its position as though goading through its inaction. Obi-wan scrutinized the situation a moment longer before issuing his orders.

“Move into attack positions and open fire when in range,” he told the clones in the control pits. “Our aim is to keep that ship here until we can ascertain whether or not Grievous is aboard.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Moving Cruisers into attack positions – ,”

There were other affirmations from the several clones aboard the bridge. But it wasn’t long before one of the technicians at the controls let out a warning;

“Enemy fighters inbound!”

True enough, Obi-wan quickly spotted the rapidly-approaching group of Vulture droids that cut across the empty space between the ships and began to rain fire on the Venators’ shields. Obi-wan felt the bridge under his feet judder slightly as some shots made it past the shields and found their mark against the hull.

“Sir, the droids are too fast for the batteries,” a Sergeant informed him briskly.

Obi-wan nodded, understanding at once what the clone was suggesting.

“Deploy our fighters,” the Jedi instructed as a Vulture droid crashed into their ship. “Have you run the scans yet, Gage?”

The question he addressed to a uniform-clad clone manning one of the stations.

“They’re finishing up now, Sir!” He responded.

“Is Grievous aboard?”

“Yes, sir – he’s on the bridge!” Gage said, looking up sharply at his General.

Obi-wan turned his gaze to the Dreadnought that lurked in the distance, its cannons firing upon all three of his cruisers. He wasn’t sure how to feel about the situation. While he was glad the information hadn’t been flawed, he still couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Surely Grievous was planning something…? A Vulture droid zoomed past the bridge’s viewports, followed closely by one of their own fighters, and Obi-wan’s eyes narrowed slightly. He made up his mind quickly, though, and turned to another clone.

“Jam their communications – we don’t want them calling for any reinforcements just yet,” he said.

“Understood, Sir!”

Raising his left arm, Obi-wan activated his comm-link.

“Prepare a shuttle, Cody,” he told his Commander, “we’re going to be boarding that Dreadnought.”

“Copy that, Sir,” came the response.

Obi-wan nodded to the officers aboard the bridge, leaving command of the ships in their capable hands. Turning, he strode out, making his way quickly to the main hangar bay, finding a shuttle ready and waiting for him along with Cody and a small squad of his men.

“General,” Cody nodded to Obi-wan. “I take it we’re boarding this ship for Grievous?”

“Indeed we are, Cody,” the Jedi confirmed. “It won’t be easy, but we cannot pass up an opportunity such as this.”

“If you don’t mind me saying, though Sir,“ Cody said as they boarded the shuttle, the ramp shutting behind them, “this whole situation strikes me as just a little too convenient – what are the odds of this, anyway?”

“I know what you mean, Cody, the thought occurred to me as well.” Obi-wan hummed thoughtfully, “But for now, we play Grievous’ game. Whatever it may be.”

Their shuttle suddenly rattled and shook from the force of a nearby explosion, as cannon-fire from the Dreadnought narrowly missed them.

“We’re coming up on the enemy ship!” One of the pilots shouted. “Hold on tight – things are gonna get bumpy!”

The passengers grew tense, expecting a shot to rip through the hull at any moment and suck them into the cold vacuum of space. The two pilots fought to avoid the cannon-fire that grew increasingly as they neared the looming Dreadnought. They were determined to get their passengers – eleven brothers and their General – to and from the enemy ship unharmed. In an attempt to get past the defences, the pilots made the split-second decision to make a fast approach to the Dreadnought’s hangar. The shuttle accelerated, streaking forwards and – through a combination of skill and sheer luck on the pilots’ end – successfully avoiding stray shots, approached the hangar seemingly on a collision course with it as it loomed before them.

“Brace yourselves!!” The co-pilot yelled.

Acting as one, the pilots pulled back on the controls as hard as they could, in an effort to slow down the shuttle before it entered – and subsequently crashed – in the Separatist ship’s hangar. The co-pilot hastily deployed the landing gear as they entered the Dreadnought, the gear scraping and sparking across the floor as their momentum sent them skidding forwards and scattering Battle droids before them. With a jolt, the shuttle finally came to a halt and the pilots slumped in their seats, exhausted but triumphant.

“Alright, we’re here,” Cody addressed the troops as he activated the ramp. “Watch each other’s backs out there – we could be out for one heck of a fight.”

“Sir, yes sir!” Chorused ten clones in unison.

While disembarking, it was Obi-wan and Cody who took point. Their small squad fanned out behind them, providing cover fire where necessary. There were a few surviving Battle droids that attempted to stop them, but these were easily taken care of.

Turning down a corridor, they ran to the Bridge, aiming to get there as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, a squadron of Super Battle droids blocked their path when they were little more than halfway through. But Obi-wan noticed that it didn’t seem as though the droids had been waiting for them there – on the contrary, the Jedi and clones seemed to have taken them by surprise. So it was the clones of the 212th that opened fire first, even as they took cover as best they could in the corridor. Obi-wan, however, remained in the middle of the corridor where he could wield his lightsaber with maximum efficiency, deflecting blasts that came his way.

As soon as he spotted an opening, Obi-wan leapt forwards, his lightsaber spinning as he cut down droids at close range. At last, he paused behind the squad of droids and deactivated his lightsaber, the last few droids growing still and falling apart at that moment. Turning back to check on his men, Obi-wan met Cody’s visored gaze. In response to his General’s unanswered question, the clone commander shook his head: no casualties.

The group set forwards once more, eager to find General Grievous.

Finally, and without further incident, they reach the Dreadnought’s bridge. The fact that they had not run into anymore patrols concerned Obi-wan. Surely, the bridge crew – even Grievous – had already made note of the Republic troops aboard their ship. Why then, had no droids been dispatched to stop them? So upon reaching the doors to the bridge, Obi-wan activated his lightsaber before they’d even slid open fully. However, it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who was on edge – for no sooner than the doors opened, had eleven blasters been raised, anticipating enemy fire and ready to return it in full force.

But none came.

Instead, the group found themselves on a bridge devoid of any and all activity; whose sole occupants seemed to be none other than themselves. The lights were turned off, but enough illumination was provided by the still-ongoing battle to see by. And it in turn, revealed that there wasn’t a single Battle droid in sight.

“Where…is everybody?” One clone voiced what they were all thinking.

An uncomfortable shiver ran up Obi-wan’s back. He angled his lightsaber to provide a little more lighting, looking around the bridge and reaching out with the Force, attempting to sense Grievous. He had taken a few steps forward, towards the chair meant for an officer when the Force alerted him to a sudden threat.

Obi-wan dodged as six Commando droids appeared out of their hiding places, white photoreceptors flashing in the semi-darkness of the bridge. They acted near instantly, blasters already in hand as they unleashed a salvo of blaster-fire at the Republic troops.

“Take cover!” Cody ordered as Obi-wan deflected some blasts.

But the warning came too late and two clones went down even as the others scattered behind cover, scorched holes in their chestplates. Gritting his teeth, Obi-wan ducked below the edge of a vibrosword that was aimed at his head and sliced the droid wielding it in two. A second Commando droid went down from a well-placed shot to the back of its head. While two more droids remained to distract Obi-wan, the other two slipped past him, making their way towards the clones. Deflecting blasts, the Jedi need to turn around to know that the droids were getting closer to his men. One of the droids was knocked over by a shot deflected into its chest, leaving only one still facing Obi-wan. Using the Force, he pulled the Commando droid towards him and decapitated it before spinning around to face the clones. Extending a hand, he called upon the Force once more, this time using it to halt the droids in their tracks and make them easy targets. But no sooner had they gone down, when one of the clones suddenly called out:

“Look out, Sir!”

Eyes widening, Obi-wan rolled under a blast that had been meant for him, coming up again with his lightsaber in hand to see a droid armed with a vibrosword bearing down on him. But before he could do anything, a blast struck it squarely in the center of its head. The light of its photoreceptors flickered before winking out and the droid keeled over. Looking over his shoulder, Obi-wan was unsurprised to find it was Cody who had fired the last shot. Nodding his thanks, he returned his attention to the rest of the bridge.

“Good shot, sir,” one clone said in awe

And despite what had just happened, Obi-wan allowed himself a small smile while his back was turned to the men. He scoured the rest of the bridge from where he stood, but the cloying darkness wasn’t doing him any favors.

“There isn’t anything here, sir,” Cody voiced what Obi-wan was thinking, “not even a Tactical droid. Are you sure the head clanker’s even aboard?”

“I know he is,” Obi-wan answered, glancing through the transparisteel panes.

He could see that the battle was almost won. There were only a few more Vulture droids that needed to still be brought down, and he knew that would not take too long. He turned around to address the clones.

“We’ll conduct a sweep of the rest of the ship,” the Jedi told them, “and see if we can’t find where Grievous is hiding.”

Cody nodded his understanding.

“I’ll take some of the boys to the engine rooms and the rest can check the brig.”

“And I’ll finish up here.” Obi-wan concluded. “If all goes well, we’ll meet back at the shuttle.”

“Yes, sir.”

Signaling to the rest of the men, Cody and the remaining troopers began to file out with the Commander bringing up the rear. But before he stepped out, Obi-wan called out to him:

“And Cody?”

“Sir?” He turned around.

“If you do find Grievous…”

“I know, sir,” there was a steady resolve in his voice, “we’ll try to delay him if we can, but we won’t engage him directly.”

“Good. Be on guard, Cody. There’s something strange going on.”

And soon, the bridge was empty save for the singular Jedi Master. Obi-wan wasted no time, making his way into the lower control decks, looking for anything that might tell him what was going on. Because he was certain that something was – there was a strange sense of anticipation in the Force that was setting the Jedi on edge ever-so-slightly. He was certain that something was going to happen, and he was certain that whatever it was going to be, it would be centered here in the bridge. It was fortunate then, that Cody and his men had left. Igniting his lightsaber, Obi-wan held it up, his gaze passing over the controls that should have been manned by Battle droids. But where were they? And surely those Commando droids must have been here to protect something??

He stumbled suddenly as his foot caught against something.

Bringing his lightsaber lower, his eyes widened. Because lying on the ground, hidden in the shadows and only now revealed, were the remains of a destroyed Battle droid. He moved forward, keeping his lightsaber low and quickly reached the conclusion that every single droid operating the bridge had been destroyed. But…why?? And who had done this?

At that moment, something made Obi-wan halt in his tracks.

And slowly, ever so slowly, he looked up.

He stared up at the shadows wreathing the ceiling. There was nothing more to be seen besides that… Or was there? He inhaled sharply at the sight of two glowing yellow eyes watching him out of the gloom. A well-timed explosion beyond the viewing panes suddenly threw a flash of light along the ceiling and an all-too familiar form was suddenly silhouetted against it.

So Grievous had been here all along – and he still was – watching Obi-wan.

An involuntary shiver ran up Obi-wan’s back at the sight, though he did not outwardly show the shock he felt. He realized then, that for more than a little while, he would have been standing directly beneath where Grievous was hiding. The cyborg could easily have dropped down, taking both Obi-wan and the clones by surprise, quite possibly even earning himself a victory in doing so. The Jedi highly doubted that Grievous would not have realized this, too. Why, then, had he held himself back?

And even now, Grievous knew he had been spotted. Yet he remained up there for a few moments longer, as if giving Obi-wan the time to reach his conclusions. But he chose then to release his grip on the ceiling and landed in a crouch not far from the doors to the bridge. Not wanting to be at the disadvantage of having the low ground, Obi-wan leapt up to join him, landing a bit of a distance from Grievous. The cyborg General seemed unfazed, though, instead eyeing him with what could only have been satisfaction in his eyes.

“I knew you would come, Kenobi,” Grievous chuckled hoarsely. “Just the Jedi I wanted to see.”

Smiling cordially, Obi-wan took up a fighting stance.

“You know me, General,” he responded, “I try not to disappoint.”

“Indeed,” the corners of Grievous’ eyes narrowed in a smile. “And you have far exceeded my expectations on many occasions.”

“I do my best,” was his modest reply.

With a final snort of amusement, Grievous unclipped two lightsabers from his hip and activated them, taking up stance to oppose Obi-wan’s. For a moment, the two eyed one other, wordlessly daring the other to be the one to make the first move. When neither did, they lunged forward simultaneously and their blades met as they immediately began to trade blows. Their attacks were fast, almost blindingly so, with Obi-wan staying on the defensive as he deflected Grievous’ twin blades.

Obi-wan was forced back by the onslaught until he found his back against the commander’s seat. He back-flipped over it, and at the same time found himself dodging a slash that cut through the back. Landing lightly on his feet beyond it, Obi-wan readied himself as Grievous leapt over, apparently satisfied with using only two lightsabers for this fight. As soon as he landed in front of the Jedi, Grievous lashed out and the three lightsaber blades locked. For a few moments, they both pushed against the other, keeping the blades from being forced into their own faces. But with a sudden, unexpected clicking sound, Grievous’ right arm split in two and the lower one grabbed hold of Obi-wan by his throat and threw him to the floor.

The Jedi grunted as he hit the floor of the bridge and slid a few feet, the breath driven out of his lungs. But before he could get to his feet, a sudden warning of danger through the Force made Obi-wan roll aside scarce seconds before Grievous’ lightsabers came crashing down where he’d been lying. Had he been any slower, Obi-wan would have suffered much worse than some light bruising. As it was, the blades cut into a control panel and sparks flew, distracting Grievous for just long enough for Obi-wan to jump to his feet and reactivate his lightsaber. He lunged forward, aiming to cut off Grievous’ left arm while he had an opening, but the General reacted in a flash, expertly twisting a blade into the path of Obi-wan’s before the two pushed one another back.

“Surrender, General,” Obi-wan told him, not for the first time.

“Surrender?” He intoned, mock horror in his voice. “So that the Republic can lock me away? I think you and I both know the answer to that, Kenobi.”

“Surely such a thing would be better than being Dooku’s slave?” Obi-wan countered.

The two of them were slowly circling one another, but neither made a move to attack the other.

“Do not speak so lightly of such serious matters, Kenobi,” the cyborg growled in warning, “But I do consider myself fortunate enough to be aware of the role I am expected to play. What of you, Kenobi? Are you aware of yours?”

Obi-wan said nothing in reply, merely tightening his grip on his lightsaber’s hilt.

He knew that Grievous was of course referring to the war and to the Jedi’s involvement in it. But at the same time, the way he was talking about it seemed…oddly out of character for the cyborg. And he never spent this long simply trading words with Obi-wan – not unless they were insults or simple claims of how he was superior to the Jedi and would destroy them all. Usually, Grievous never spoke to the Jedi with anything other than scorn and loathing in his voice. But now, there was something undeniably different about him – something more than a simple change in the tone of his voice.

“Of course I’m aware,” Obi-wan responded with a slight frown. “I am a Jedi and therefore, a peacekeeper of the Galaxy. The very peace the Separatists threaten.”

“Then you are even more foolish than I realised if you believe that drivel spouted by the Senate,” Grievous spat venomously. “The Jedi are not peacekeepers. They have not been so for a long time.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Obi-wan countered firmly. Certainly, it was not the first time he had heard such sentiment, but to hear them from Grievous himself? Well, now that could be a cause for concern.

“Don’t I?” The cyborg chuckled darkly, his eyes boring into Obi-wan’s. “Very well, then,” his voice was suddenly lighter, but still with a dangerous edge, “if the Jedi are truly who they claim to be, then why did they turn their backs on my people in their time of need?”

Obi-wan didn’t know how to answer that. He knew that Grievous was Kaleesh, but beyond the good General himself, Obi-wan knew little of the species as a whole. Much less of what Grievous was referring to. But even so, the faint sense of unease made itself known to him. Something about what Grievous was talking about was important – it was clearly of great significance to the cyborg – but without even knowing what it was he was referring to, Obi-wan could do little more than guess. But apparently, his silence spoke volumes to the General, for he laughed mirthlessly after the brief pause.

“So it seems you have not heard of the plight of Kalee,” he said with a slight tilt of his head. “Yet somehow, it does not surprise me that you find yourself in the dark, Kenobi, like so many others. But I’m sure there would be records of it – so check your precious archives, Kenobi. See for yourself what the Republic you protect did to my people.”

To say that Obi-wan was perplexed was an understatement.

The way Grievous was speaking to him, he sounded like a completely different person altogether. The sudden change in his attitude was mildly unsettling, but Obi-wan did not outwardly react to it. But, preoccupied by his thoughts, he missed the moment when Grievous abruptly halted his circling, eyeing the Jedi for a scant second before charging him abruptly. Obi-wan barely had time to raise his lightsaber to deflect an incoming blow from the cyborg, but at the last second, he unexpectedly whirled around and lashed out with one foot, catching Obi-wan in the side and throwing him aside. Tumbling aside, Obi-wan struggled to get up.

And as he did, the sight before him made his blood run cold.

For it seemed that as he had fallen, he had dropped his lightsaber. And his lightsaber was now in Grievous’ hand.

For his part, though, the cyborg General all but ignored the fallen Jedi, his attention instead fixed on the lightsaber he had in his grip. Grievous turned it over, apparently admiring it for a few moments and then, as though he could sense Obi-wan’s gaze on him, he turned to face him. There was triumph in his slit-pupiled eyes as he regarded the Jedi. He tilted his head in a movement that was almost contemplative and Obi-wan found himself surprised that Grievous had yet again not taken the chance to finish him off. But even as these thoughts crossed Obi-wan’s mind, he seized the opportunity to act while Grievous did not.

Obi-wan thrust his hands out, throwing Grievous back with the Force. Even as the General was crashing into the control panels behind him, Obi-wan had already recalled his lightsaber to his own hands. But Grievous was back on his feet soon after, snarling with annoyance. Now that the two of them were back on their feet once again, they sized up one another.

“You had better tell your clones to leave while they still can, Kenobi,” Grievous growled, his words surprising Obi-wan. “It would be unfortunate if such brave soldiers were to die here.”

“What are you getting at, General?” Obi-wan asked, his brow furrowed.

“I have had charges placed in the engines,” was his cool response, “and they could go off at any moment. So what will you do, Kenobi? Will you remain here and attempt to bring me in? Or will you send your men out of harm’s way?”

Obi-wan hesitated, while Grievous seemed amused by the Jedi’s indecision. But still, he looked at the General with disbelief. While it was true that the Separatist General would stoop to such feats, Obi-wan was disconcerted that he had even chosen to inform him of this plan. What game could he be playing? Grievous reactivated his two lightsabers, his yellow eyes observing the Jedi intently, waiting to see what he would do. Obi-wan took a step back, nearer to the main doors that lead out of the bridge. In response, Grievous took a single step nearer, maintaining the distance between them.

Again Obi-wan stepped back, and again Grievous followed.

A moment passed during which neither of them moved.

But then, without warning, Grievous threw a lightsaber at Obi-wan who abruptly flipped over it, landing closer to the doors and dashing through them. Yet he couldn’t help but feel as though the thrown lightsaber would not have stuck him; it was almost as if Grievous had been trying to miss on purpose. Deciding that he would have plenty of time to think about it later, Obi-wan used the Force to shut the doors to the bridge, cutting off Grievous and delaying him for even a little while. He didn’t waste any more time, turning and running back the way he and the clones had come earlier, activating his commlink as he ran.

“Cody – Cody, come in,” Obi-wan speaks into it urgently.

For a few, agonizing moments, there was no response. But then, there is a brief hiss of static.

“General Kenobi,” said a familiar voice, “I read you. Is something going on?”

“Cody, get everyone to the hangar now!” Obi-wan exclaimed. “There are charges planted in the engines – we have to leave before we’re all blown up!”

“Don’t worry, Sir, we’ll be at the shuttle – “

“Clankers!!” A voice yelled out on Cody’s end. “Look out, they’re comin’ in!”

“Cody, what’s happening?” Obi-wan asked, almost coming to a halt.

“Droids!” Cody grunted. “It’s an ambush!”

“How many?!”

“Can’t tell, I – Neo, get down!!”

The audio abruptly cut out, replaced by the hiss of static.

Fearing the worst, Obi-wan broke into a run once more, doubling his efforts to reach the Dreadnought’s engines. At the same time, he tried – and failed – to get in touch with the other half of the squad that had been sent to the brig. He could only pray that they were alright. Recognising the corridor he was headed down, Obi-wan realized he wasn’t far from the engines now – just one last turn up ahead and – –

Cody and his men rounded the corner Obi-wan had been headed towards, both parties surprised to see the other.

“General?! Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here?” Cody was the first to speak.

“Well, I was on my way to help, but it seems it won’t be needed,” he answered. “Have you been able to get through to the others?”

“I did,” Cody said, starting forwards and prompting his men to fall in behind him, “they said they’re on their way to the hangar. We’d best catch up with them.”

“Good – now let’s hurry! There’s no time to waste!”

It wasn’t long before they burst into the hangar bay, and it wasn’t a moment too soon – for just before they’d emerged into the hangar, an explosion had shook the walls of the ship and Obi-wan feared the worst. The clones from the second group were already there, outside the shuttle and ready to cover the others if necessary. Upon seeing the fast-approaching Jedi and clones, one of them waved, clearly elated to see them.

Obi-wan paused at the edge of the ramp, allowing the clones to board before him while he scanned the hangar for any unwelcome activity. Yet no droids showed up to stop them, even when the Dreadnought began to fall apart around them. Once all the clones were aboard, Obi-wan finally turned his back on the Separatist hangar and entered the shuttle, the ramp closing behind him.

The remainder of the boarding party made themselves comfortable for the short trip back to the Cruisers while Obi-wan moved past them to the cockpit. He entered it just in time to witness a fighter zoom past the shuttle, one that was unmistakable in its design. For it was none other than Grievous’ personal craft – The Soulless One. Obi-wan’s eyes narrowed fractionally as it passed them by, for a moment it paused and the Jedi could almost imagine Grievous watching the shuttle for a moment. And then, before any of their fighters had the chance to pursue it, the craft had jumped into hyperspace.

As it did, Obi-wan suppressed a sigh.

Once again, Grievous had slipped through the Republic’s grasp. The only difference this time being that it had been Obi-wan who had been forced to flee their battle first; not the General.

Another opportunity – wasted.

Obi-wan wondered what the Council would have to say about this.

Chapter Text

With a shake of his head, Obi-wan made his way back to the cargo hold where the remaining clones now waited. While it was true that their journey back to the Cruisers was relatively short, it was also nowhere near as harried as the one to the Dreadnought. As such, it would be a minute or so before they got back. Looking over the small squad, Obi-wan was both saddened and relieved by what he saw – of the eleven men they’d set out with, there had been three casualties. One of the troopers was patching up the blaster wound another had suffered to his shoulder, but for the most part, the clones were silent and wrapped up in their own thoughts. One of them, though, looked up as Obi-wan re-entered. It took a moment for Obi-wan to place his face and name – Sickle, a newer recruit to the 212th – he and a few others had been the ones to head down to the brig.

“Something on your mind, Sickle?” Obi-wan asked, noting the expression on his face.

“Oh – er, well, I just wanted to thank you, Sir. For the save.” He explained. “If you hadn’t showed up when you did, me an’ the others would’ve been goners for sure.”

Four other clones nodded in agreement with his words.

Obi-wan’s brow furrowed slightly and he folded his arms reflexively, one hand reaching up to stroke at his beard thoughtfully. He frowned to himself before addressing Sickle once more:

“I never made my way down to the brig, Sickle.”

The trooper blinked in confusion while his fellow squad-mates exchanged glances and frowns amongst themselves. Eventually, one of them spoke up.

“But we saw you there, Sir,” he said.

“You saw me?”

“Well…” he hesitated. “Not really? I mean, the lights went out – we couldn’t see a thing.”

“But we saw someone with a lightsaber cut down those droids!” Sickle cut in. “It had to have been you, Sir!”

“I was on my way to the engine room at the time,” Obi-wan said contemplatively. “And there certainly weren’t any other Jedi aboard. So who, then…?”

Obi-wan trailed off, growing silent while the clones awaited some explanation for what they’d seen or tried to figure things out themselves. While they were undeniably confused, they were not unduly concerned, confident that it had been their General. Only Cody noticed Obi-wan’s eyes widen fractionally, suggesting that he had realized something. But despite this, it was easy to tell that whatever conclusion his General had reached, it was not one that put him at ease. Rather, it seemed to be quite the opposite instead.

The Jedi himself was stunned by the realization of what he had been told.

It hadn’t taken him long to realize that – while it was true he had been the only Jedi present aboard the Dreadnaught, the same could not be said for him being the only one there in possession of a blue-bladed lightsaber. Because try as he might to ignore it, there was no denying the fact that there had been another individual aboard the ship who could have wielded a lightsaber.

And that was none other than General Grievous himself.

Yet the more he thought about it, the more he came to see that this was the only explanation for such an instance. But it still made no sense…! Why would Grievous of all people even think of aiding clones, troopers fighting on the opposing side? Perhaps…it was for the same reason that he had informed Obi-wan of the planted charges… But why…?

Obi-wan knew better than to jump to conclusions without the necessary evidence to back it up. Just because Grievous had seemed out of character when speaking with him hardly meant that he had now suddenly become a Republic sympathizer. He noticed, somewhat absently, that he was still holding his lightsaber in his hand. It was out of reflex that he moved his hand, not really paying any attention as he moved to clip it back to his belt. However, he was snapped out of his thoughts when his lightsaber unexpectedly clunked to the floor.

Surprised, Obi-wan looked down, half-expecting to find that he had imagined the sound but it seemed as though he had not. For sitting innocuously next to his foot, was his lightsaber. But at the same time, something about it seemed…strangely off. It was somehow longer? Frowning, the Jedi picked it up, confirming that yes – his lightsaber had apparently grown by a few inches.

“Is that a data spike, Sir?” Cody asked.

“So it would appear,” Obi-wan agreed, nevertheless bemused. “But where could it have come from…?”

He gave the spike a sharp yank, pulling it free from the back end of his lightsaber. Holding it, he turned it over in his hand, perplexed. He returned his lightsaber to its place on his belt and continued to study the data spike. It wasn’t of a particularly noteworthy design, but still Obi-wan wondered how it could have possibly wound up on his lightsaber. And yet again he found that there was only one suspect – Grievous.

Was he trying to help Obi-wan?

Whatever the answer to that question was, he would soon find out.

 ----------------------------------------

“We’ve compared the data on this to every known Separatist encryption, Sir. We’ve had no luck,” the technician shook his head wearily.

Cody looked again at the projected lines of seemingly indecipherable text that had been stored on the data spike that had somehow found its way onto the General’s lightsaber. The clone commander had a few ideas over how it had wound up there – just like he was sure he had reached the same conclusion regarding the mysterious rescue of his men from the brig. But since General Kenobi hadn’t mentioned anything about it, Cody, too, decided not to bring it up. Suppressing a sigh, he returned his attention to the wall of text before him. The information stored in the spike hadn’t all been text, though, as there had been schematics for a station of some kind too. However, in the past standard hour they’d been trying to decrypt it, they’d made no headway whatsoever.

“Try again.” Cody said firmly, “It could be a combination of different codes.”

“Right, Sir,” the technician nodded.

He and another bridge officer got to work on the decryption process, while Cody lent his help where he could. When they were trying yet another different approach – the ninth one since they’d tried combining different codes to no avail. Still, though, they didn’t stop trying to crack this one, too. Hearing the doors to the bridge open, Cody turned, immediately spotting the General entering. Not long after they’d gotten back, the General had headed off to give his report to the Jedi Council – and had been stuck in conference with them since now, apparently. He approached the station where the data was being worked on.

“Any luck yet?” He asked.

“Nothing so far,” Cody admitted. “The code is…tricky. It isn’t like anything we’ve seen before.”

“Hmm,” Obi-wan’s eyes flickered over to the blocks of text. “Tell me, Cody, does anything about these characters stand out to you?”

“Not…really, Sir?” He answered, unsure what the General was getting at.

“What I’m saying, Cody, is that I don’t think this is a code at all,” the General answered, a gleam in his eyes. “I think this information is in another language.”

Cody stilled. Another language…? Of course, it was completely possible that it was – after all, they had merely assumed it was an encryption purely out of habit. Because when had the Separatists simply used a language that wasn’t Aurebesh?

“Another language?” Cody echoed, glancing back at the projection. “What made you think of that, Sir?”

“Just a feeling,” Obi-wan admitted with a somewhat strained smile. “Check the data we have available…and see if the data matches against Kaleesh.”

“Kaleesh?”

Now Cody is a little more concerned. He knows that the only Kaleesh he – or even the General for that matter – have ever met is none other than Grievous himself. So if the information they’ve received is in Kaleesh, as his General suspects, then that would all but confirm that Grievous was helping them and undermining the efforts of his own side.

But why?

Nevertheless, Cody nods in response to General Kenobi’s suggestion, turning towards the techs who had been working on the data all this while. Giving them a nod, he doesn’t need to elaborate any further. They heard the conversation that passed between their two superiors and immediately got to work. However, it wasn’t long before they hit a snag.

“What’s wrong?” Cody asked with a frown.

“It’s nothing too serious, Commander,” the tech sighed, “it’s just that we don’t have the Kaleesh alphabet stored in our databanks. We’d probably have the necessary data, but most likely it’s back on Coruscant.”

Cody turned back to General Kenobi, who didn’t seem fazed in the slightest. Instead, there was a look of anticipation in his eyes; as if he couldn’t wait to see if his assumption was correct. Cody, too, was curious as to what they’d find out, should the General’s hunch prove to be right. General Kenobi nodded in response to the tech’s words, his hand going to his beard as he thought for a moment.

“Very well, I think the Jedi Archives will have just what we’re looking for.”

 ----------------------------------------

For the time being, Grievous was satisfied.

The information on the dataspike he had successfully passed on to Kenobi had been put to good use. Within four standard rotations, the Separatist outpost had been destroyed by Republic Forces. Not only that, but Grievous knew that some of the clones who had participated in the raid had coincidentally found yet more valuable information. Once again, information that could be well-utilized.

Smiling to himself, Grievous reclined in his seat aboard the bridge of another Destroyer, pleased with everything that had come to pass so far. Granted, these were only small victories, but Grievous knew this was only the beginning. He would not stop here – oh no – Grievous would lay clue after clue after clue until finally – finally – he could lead the Republic straight to Dooku. And perhaps…perhaps even Dooku’s Master…

No - Grievous could not help but shudder at that thought – his eyes darting around as if expecting a leering figure to materialize out of the gloom, knowing what he was thinking. What he was planning.

He pushed away his thoughts of Dooku’s Master – the one they all answered to, even indirectly – and turned his thoughts back to Dooku once more, his mood significantly soured. However, thoughts of revenge somewhat lightened his disgruntlement. Soon, he told himself. Soon, he would be able to pay back Dooku for everything he had ever done to him; everything he had taken, and all the lies he had fed him. But should he succeed, then he would be free.

Free to do as he pleased. He could go back to Kalee or even travel to the very edges of the known Galaxy, far away from any fighting… far away from any war and bloodshed… Free. Free to be with Ronderu. And who knew? Maybe he could finally wipe out the scourge that were the Huk once and for all. But Grievous sighed then, knowing that now was not the time to let his mind ramble over what the future could hold. He was getting ahead of himself; there was little point thinking about these things before Dooku was dead.

Deciding then that a transmission to Kryolos to check up on things there was long overdue, Grievous got to his feet and left the bridge. None of the droids acknowledged his leaving, nor did they need to – he’d ordered them not to interrupt him unless it was urgent. He walked down a passageway, deliberating which would be the most private section of the Destroyer. It was a pity that Separatist ships weren’t built with any living quarters – those would have been ideal.

Eventually, Grievous made up his mind and entered a separate chamber – one that had been designed and built for Dooku, complete with an escape route in case of an attack. The cyborg closed and locked the door behind him, not wanting any interruptions, and proceeded to sweep the room for any bugs. One could never be too cautious, after all. Once he was satisfied that his surroundings were secure and his comm wasn’t being tapped, Grievous placed a holo-transmitter on the floor and contacted his fortress on Kryolos. The transmission was answered in a few moments, and a shaky blue hologram of A4-D appeared before him.

“Ah, Master,” the EV droid began, “to what do I owe this unexpected transmission?”

“Do not pretend you don’t know the reason for my transmission,” Grievous responded, his voice mildly exasperated even though he was inwardly amused.

“Why Master, you flatter me!” A4-D exclaimed, “I’m so honored that you called merely to enquire after my wellbeing!”

“A4-D,” Grievous’ voice took on a warning tone.

“Oh, alright,” the droid said with what sounded like a huff. “You wanted to check up on your lady friend, I take it?”

“Yes,” he scowled. “How is she?”

“Oh, don’t worry Master, she is perfectly fine,” A4-D assured him. “However, I have posted a guard outside her room after her poor attempt at an escape.”

“She tried to escape?!” Grievous started in alarm. “What happened? Is she hurt?!”

“I believe her pride took a bruising,” A4-D snarked, “but other than that, she is unharmed.”

“How did she try to escape?” Grievous asked, feeling mildly relieved.

“Through the lower levels,” the medical droid sounded all too amused. “The creature we share our residence with is quite the menace, I must say. Four Magnaguards were required to simply free her! And did I mention that two of them were rendered completely useless in the process?”

Despite his initial worry, Grievous couldn’t help but laugh at his doctor’s recount. The whole situation just seemed so absurd, he had a hard time believing it actually happened. What he could easily imagine though, was how Ronderu would have been after such an ordeal – she certainly would have been less than happy about how things turned out, no doubt. However, when his laughter gave way to coughing, his humour disappeared almost at once and he grew serious once more.

“This guest is quite the handful, Master,” A4-D griped, “I don’t understand why you insist on keeping her around – she’s going to be nothing but trouble for as long as she’s here.”

“Don’t tell me you cannot handle her,” Grievous shot back sarcastically.

“I most certainly can!” He responded, miffed by the implied accusation.

“So where is she now?” Grievous asked, changing the subject before A4-D got too worked up.

“She is in the library,” the medical droid answered. “By the way, Master, did you know that she didn’t even know of the existence about the Clone War? Quite honestly, I find it quite hard to believe that she couldn’t have known…!”

“She has been a – a slave since before the war began,” Grievous frowned to himself, disliking how that word sounded to him.

“Even so, that’s hardly an excuse to be ignorant of a Galaxy-wide conflict that’s been ongoing for almost two standard years, now!” A4-D’s tone was incredulous. “Wouldn’t you agree, Master?”

“There would have been a language barrier,” the cyborg growled, his eyes narrowing fractionally, “no one offworld of Kalee speaks Kaleesh.”

Well, maybe that wasn’t exactly true, but the number of non-Kaleesh individuals who did know the language was negligible. And somehow Grievous doubted they spent much of their time translating coverage of the War to a language nearly no one else spoke.

“Then it is a good thing she learned Basic,” A4-D’s words brought Grievous out of his thoughts.

“Yes,” he grunted.

“Would you like to talk to her?” The EV droid suddenly asked, catching Grievous off-guard.

“What?” Grievous blinked in alarm, a little stunned. “No, A4-D!” He snapped, quickly regaining his composure, “I do not have the time – “

“Oh, would you look at that, Master, she’s already here!” A4-D abruptly cut in. “In fact, she arrived while we were speaking.”

Before that point, Grievous had never known it possible for a droid – defective or otherwise – to sound quite so maddeningly smug. It shouldn’t even have been possible, but somehow, his doctor managed to pull it off.

“A4-D!!” Grievous snarled as the droid moved out of view.

Grievous knew that A4-D wouldn’t have dared pull such a stunt had Grievous been on Kryolos – or even in the general vicinity of the system – out of fear of bodily harm. But with Grievous being so many hundreds of parsecs away, it seemed that the medical droid simply could not resist. But at the same time, Grievous was dreading speaking to Ronderu. It had been over two standard weeks since he had initially taken her to his fortress – or even spoken to her, for that matter. Mostly, it was because he was afraid she would figure out who he really was. And he didn’t want that.

He wasn’t ready for her to know, and in all honesty, Grievous doubted he would ever be ready.

But regardless of his inner turmoil, there was Ronderu, stepping into view and there was nothing Grievous could do. He froze, looking at her, finding himself pinned by her gaze. He could always end the transmission and that would be that. But…he didn’t. he couldn’t bring himself to. Grievous hesitated, and in that time, Ronderu folded her bare arms over her chest. The movement snapping the cyborg out of his thoughts. Only then did he notice the Magnaguard lurking just at the edge of the hologram. So it would appear that A4-D was more wary of Ronderu than he let on.

He couldn’t help the twinge of pride he felt at that realization.

“Ronderu,” Grievous spoke first, “it is good to see you again.”

The words the General spoke were genuine. Seeing her again, it… made him feel lighter somehow. Unfortunately, the faceplate he wore distorted his already modulated voice to the point that it sounded sarcastic even to him. And Grievous knew that if he could notice it, then there was absolutely no doubt about Ronderu picking up on it, too. He winced inwardly as he saw her face grow colder.

“General Grievous,” her voice was flat and dry as the steppes he had grown up in. “I wish I could say the same.”

He felt wounded, but decided to push on, anyway.

“I hear you tried to escape,” he said simply.

“Yes, but that was almost eight days ago, now,” Ronderu admitted with disinterest. “Or did your faithful doctor not inform you sooner? I’m surprised.”

“You’re not the only one,” Grievous muttered, his eyes flicking over to the barely-visible figure of A4-D at the edge of the hologram. “But I trust you have learned something from the attempt?”

Ronderu frowned thoughtfully, raising her left hand so she could tap at her jaw with one clawed finger. The movement drew Grievous’ attention to her smaller-than-usual tusks and he remembered how she had once told him how she had been insecure about them. At the time, he had been surprised by her unexpected confession, but that had not stopped him from offering her comfort in his own, admittedly rather awkward, way. Still, he had succeeded in convincing her that they were nothing to be ashamed of.

“They’d be a smaller liability in battle,” Qymaen had pointed out, trying to be logical. “Less of a chance of someone trying to go for them – and succeeding.”

“And long hair isn’t a liability?” Ronderu had half-snorted.

“Of course not.” He’d said with such certainty. “Not when it comes to you.”

She had looked at him in surprise then. And Qymaen, too, had stared back at her, blinking once in confusion. Her surprise gave way to a smile and she had punched his shoulder affectionately. It was by no means a soft blow, and he had almost fallen off his precarious perch from the force of it. Watching him struggle to maintain his balance had made her laugh, and Qymaen made an irritated face at her when he was no longer at risk of falling over. She, of course, remained unfazed, merely grinning back at the younger warrior. In return, he’d rolled his eyes and turned away – though a smile tugged at the corners of his own mouth.

“Besides,” he added gruffly, “you’ve survived this long, haven’t you? I’d say that speaks for itself…”

“Look at you – must have been quite the sweet-talker back home, hm?” She’d teased.

Qymaen had sputtered, caught off-guard by her comment and failing to produce anything beyond inarticulate sounds. And oh, how Ronderu had laughed then.

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of Ronderu’s voice as she replied to his earlier question.

“Oh, I’ve certainly learned something,” she concluded, her eyes flickering back towards him. “You have poor taste in pets, General.”

“That thing is not my pet,” he growled in response, while sadly remembering Gor.

“As you say,” came her flippant response.

Closing his eyes wearily, Grievous sighed wearily. When he opened them again, it was to look at the Magnaguard that was standing a little ways behind Ronderu.

“I believe that concludes our conversation for today, Ronderu.” He said, attempting to remain as polite as he could manage. “Take her to the library,” he instructed the Magnaguard.

The IG droid nodded dutifully before proceeding to seize hold of Ronderu’s upper arm and steer her away. Grievous saw her bare her teeth in a show of anger she didn’t bother to conceal. She yanked her hand out of the droid’s grip and walked ahead imperiously, not bothering to look back. And even though he couldn’t see her face, Grievous could just as easily picture the thunderous expression that would be on it. He waited for a little while until the two figures had disappeared, before looking at A4-D who shuffled back into sight.

“Why didn’t you inform me of this sooner?” He asked the doctor.

“Why?” A4-D’s voice was incredulous. “I’ll tell you why, Master, because you were busy, that’s why. If I had told you of what had happened when it did, you would have been distracted when you should have been engaged in glorious battle against the Republic!”

A4-D shook a raised fist to further reinforce his point of ‘glorious battle’. Honestly, that droid really had all the wrong ideas about war…

But Grievous understood what A4-D was getting at. Distraction in the middle of a battle could lead to possible injuries – or worse – that would require him to return to Kryolos for repairs. And returning to Kryolos would mean having to confront Ronderu again. Something that he was not ready to do. Something that he didn’t want to have to do. And something told him that in such an instance, it was doubtful he would have been able to keep up his façade. He would have slipped up somewhere; accidently give away information that would have raised Ronderu’s suspicions…

“Very well, A4-D,” Grievous huffed, wresting himself away from his swiftly spiraling thoughts. “That will be all for now.”

The EV droid bowed his head, maybe in acknowledgement or maybe in respect, it was hard to tell with him – and then the hologram flickered out.

For a few moments, Grievous stood alone in the quiet of the room. He continued to look at the transmitter still on the floor for a little while longer before actually bending to pick it up and stow it away in the folds of his cloak. Looking up, he found his attention drawn to the view beyond the panes of transparisteel that were set opposite the door. Grievous barely registered how his feet carried him right up to the panes so he could see more. Not that there was much to see… There was nothing but the black void of space, dotted with pinpricks of blue and white light from stars in other systems. The sight made Grievous think of his own situation. Even in the darkness of space, there was light.

Even in his sorrow, in his despair, there was still hope.

Hope for a better future. A better future for Ronderu, and for all his people.

 ----------------------------------------

Walking back to the library, Ronderu could feel the Magnaguard following closely behind her.

Choosing not to roll her eyes, she was annoyed at the fact that Grievous’ droid doctor would no longer be taking any chances with her after her failed escape attempt. Because for as much as he may dislike her, she knew he dared not go against his Master’s orders – the ones that specifically said that she was to remain her, alive and unharmed. But she still wondered what the cyborg could possibly want from her. Was he hoping to get something out of this?

Certainly, he must have needed something from her – why go through all this effort otherwise?

He could deny it all he wanted, but Ronderu knew that Grievous was concerned for her wellbeing – in his own odd, possessive sort of way – or else he wouldn’t have been so invested in her being alive. Was it just because they were both Kaleesh?

But then surely he would realize that at a time like this, death would be a mercy to her. No sooner had that thought crossed her mind that Ronderu snorted with derision. Grievous may have been Kaleesh, but there was no denying that he was a coward – unable to bring himself to grant her an honorable death. she frowned then, something beginning to take vague shape within her mind.

What if…the next time Grievous was here, she challenged him to a duel…?

Warrior against warrior, he wouldn’t be able to refuse. He would have to accept. And if she won, she would be able to return home. If not, then… at least she would have the dignity of dying a warrior’s death.

Even this simple idea stirred the smallest flicker of hope within her. And then, unexpectedly, she felt that hope swell and could not help but smile. She recognized Qymaen in some of it, and the thought that he was out there, possibly even waiting for her, gave her a much-needed boost of morale.

It was heartening to know that despite everything, Qymaen was still out there.

Chapter Text

The IG-100 Magnaguard stood by the door that led out of the training hall. It had been assigned by EV-A4-D to watch the prisoner during her time on Kryolos. The medical droid was confident it would not be for much longer. Occasionally, though, when it was required to deactivate in order to charge, another Magnaguard would take over from this one.

The prisoner had now been here for almost three standard months, during which time she had made no fewer than five escape attempts. While all of them had nevertheless failed, they had served to highlight weak spots in the fortress interior’s security. Oversights on their part. So perhaps the prisoner’s presence her was not necessarily a bad thing. She had proved to be quite resourceful and unconventional in her attempts at escape. However, there was one small fact that bothered the Magnaguard; the fact being that the prisoner’s last escape attempt had been nearly an entire month ago and she did not seem to be plotting anything more.

Now, she simply seemed obsessed with keeping up with a strict training regimen and practicing her fighting skills.

The Magnaguard suspected, however, that this was just another plan of hers in the making. Perhaps she was training in order to be able to defeat it during her next escape attempt. So that was why, as she lunged and slashed, kicked and parried against an invisible opponent, it kept its photoreceptors trained on her. Having spent as long as it had, being witness to these training sessions, it had been a simple enough matter to commit her moves to its memory banks. It knew now, that if she were to try to fight her way out of the fortress, it would have the upper hand.

— — — — — — —

Ronderu took a break from practicing her knifework.

Breathing heavily, she straightened up to her full height, exhaling slowly. She approached one of the benches that lined the walls of the dark training room and set down the two knives she had been using. She sat down beside them and closed her eyes for a moment, all too aware of the sheen of sweat coating the bare skin of her arms and back, as well as the bloody gaze of the Magnaguard that stood sentry by the door. Ronderu sighed inwardly, telling herself to simply ignore the unblinking photoreceptors that were trained her way. She knew the droid was watching her and she was still undecided over whether she wanted to either scrap it or Grievous first. To Ronderu, it almost felt like it was waiting for her to try something. Like it was daring her to try to escape.

But that was just her imagination, wasn’t it?

Or maybe this one was just defective. But then again, what did she know about droids, anyway?

She turned her thoughts away from the matter of droids in general and instead to how long she had been here. She had lost track of the days, and it certainly didn’t help that she was almost certain that the days here were longer than back on Kalee. But in all this time, General Grievous had yet to return to his stronghold. At first, she had been frustrated by the wait. But it had not taken her long to realize that it was maybe even blessing in disguise (not that she believed in things like that…) because it meant that she had ample time to get down to some much-needed training. When she had initially started, she had been appalled by how rusty she seemed to have gotten. Fortunately, though, it was nothing that a little practice couldn’t help with and a few sessions later, Ronderu was almost satisfied with her skills. She could tell, though, that a few more days and she’d probably be back to feeling to her old self again. And once that happened, she’d be once again impatient for Grievous’ return.

The sooner he arrived, the sooner she could challenge him.

And the sooner all this could finally be over.

Admittedly, their last few ‘fights’ hadn’t exactly ended well for her, but she chalked that down to her simply being out of practice and not even having a rudimentary weapon to swing around at the time. But now, now she was feeling much more confident of her odds against the cyborg general.

Opening her eyes, she found that – of course – the Magnaguard still had its glowing red ‘eyes’ still fixed on her, making her frown in irritation. For these past few weeks, the droid’s close attention had begun to chafe on her nerves. So it was now that she suddenly snapped at it.

“What?!” She demanded from the sentry.

As expected, it did not respond. Not that this surprised her, of course. From all the droids that seemed to be stationed here, she supposed it was of course, just her luck that the only droid she could understand just so happened to be the scathing, eve-sarcastic A4-D. Gods, she despised that droid. And this one, too, was swiftly becoming a close second on the list of generally dislikeable droids.

Sighing to herself as she dismissed her thoughts, she turned away from the Magnaguard as she reached for her training knives again. When suddenly…

“Request elaboration.” An unfamiliar voice cut through the air.

Ronderu swiveled on the spot, turning in the direction she had heard the voice coming from. Blinking away her surprise, she found herself facing none other than the Magnaguard that had been assigned to watch her.

“It talks?” She muttered, more to herself than anything.

“Yes.” The Magnaguard confirmed, proving to Ronderu that it could in fact, hear her.

“Well that’s just wonderful,” Ronderu commented, at the same time hoping that this one didn’t prove to be as witty as the wonderful doctor. “I didn’t realize you could be chatty as well. So why the sudden change?”

“I am not here to chat with you,” the droid state flatly. “I am here to discourage you from attempting another escape attempt or, if that fails, incapacitate you to prevent one.”

“…Right, thank you for clearing that up, at least,” she responded with no small amount of sarcasm.

The Magnaguard did not respond to that, instead turning away just slightly as if it was deliberately ignoring it. She frowned to herself, realizing at that moment that this droid may get on her nerves even more than even A4-D himself.

Getting back to her feet, she walked over to the windows and looked out. The sun was high up in the ever-dusky, star speckled sky. Below the skies stretched a vast expanse of low hills dotted here and there with the odd bush or stunted tree. Beyond the scrubland were rolling plains that stretched on as far as the eye could see. So even if she were to potentially leave the fortress grounds, she wouldn’t get far without adequate cover.

Ronderu wished she could be outside, to feel the wind against herself and the sun – however weak it may have been – on her face again. The last time she had been outside had been with Grievous, when she had cooked her own meal for the first and last time here. When had that been? Well, it had certainly been a while since then… And in all that time where was General Grievous, anyway? Who knew – maybe he was dead. But as much as that thought brought a smile to her face, Ronderu somehow knew that that was hardly likely. Something told her that the droids here wouldn’t be nearly so accommodating if their precious Master had gotten himself killed somewhere. Looking over her shoulder, though, Ronderu wondered if she could get anymore information out of this droid since speculation would only get her so far.

“Hey droid,” she called out to it.

To her genuine surprise, the Magnaguard actually reacted to that and turned her way, though it did not speak.

“Who’s your Master?” She asked a question which the answer to was already known to her. Even so, she wanted to hear what the droid would say to that.

“The Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies, General Grievous.” It answered readily enough.

“Right,” she smiled. “And do you know where he is now?”

“Affirmative.”

“Will you tell me where he is?”

“Negative.”

“Because?” She prompted with frown.

“Revealing information to prisoners is against programming,” it told her.

“Is Grievous dead?” Ronderu questioned bluntly.

“Negative.”

“So that doesn’t count as revealing information to a prisoner?” She arched a brow.

“Sensitive information,” the droid clarified.

She couldn’t help the snort of laughter at those words. It wasn’t that they were particularly funny – no, it was more like how absurd the situation she’d found herself in was. Also, maybe it was just her imagination, but this droid seemed to have some personality of its own. That, or she’d been spending too much time around droids that she was starting to see them as people. She faced the Magnaguard properly now, leaning against the windowsill as she folded her arms over her chest.

“Tell me, do you have a name?”

“Negative. My only identification is my serial number,” it – he? – informed her.

Ronderu decided to bite.

“And what’s your identification number, then?”

“It is IG-100 dash zero-,” the droid continued to rattle off a series of numbers and letters too fast for Ronderu to follow, sounding almost eager in doing so.

“Whoa, okay,” Ronderu held up her hands as the droid seemed to threatened to go on for much longer than she knew she could listen for. “I’m going to have to stop you there, and there is absolutely no way I’m going to be able to remember all that, so…” she thought back to what she could remember, “how about I just call you Bee-Seven?”

The Magnaguard was silent for a few moments, tilting its head as if considering her question for a few moments.

“That is acceptable,” it – he – nodded.

“Wonderful,” she said with a small smile.

She noted the droid’s slight hesitation before he had answered, though, and she found herself wondering how a droid’s though process worked. How different – or maybe how similar was it – to her own? Had B-7 been surprised? Was that all it took for his processors to be overwhelmed? Truth be told, she found it almost amusing.

“So I take it I’m the first person to give you a nickname?” She asked, making an attempt at light conversation.

“That is correct,” B-7 said with a single nod.

“How long have you been?”

“Almost one standard year,” he answered. “You have been here for two standard months, twenty-six standard days.” B-7 continued, as if predicting what question she would ask next.

“Three months?” Ronderu echoed, feeling oddly hollow at the realization. “I’ve been here for almost three months?”

“Affirmative.”

She resisted the sudden urge to curse in Kaleesh.

Three months and still no sign of Grievous? She smothered the impending feeling of hopelessness behind a mask of righteous fury. Just when would that inconsiderate heap of scrap metal come back to his fortress, anyway?! Ronderu was aching for a real fight, she was sick and tired of doing nothing but train all day long. She wanted a real opponent. She wanted Grievous. He was the only one who could give her a real fight and of course it just so happened that he was nowhere to be found!

“B-7,” she began after a moment, “how often does Grievous come here?”

“The General’s visits here are irregular.”

“Why does he come here?” Ronderu thought back to the last time she had seen him here, and a previous conversation she had had with him. “Is it only to have repairs?”

“Most of the time,” the droid nodded. “Other times it is time to store his trophies.”

“Trophies?” Ronderu frowned, “Trophies from what?”

It certainly wasn’t unheard of for Kaleesh to keep trophies from a hunting expedition, somehow the thought of Grievous returning from whatever it was he did – leading troops? – with trophies seemed odd to her. Surely, he didn’t go on hunting trips, did he? But then B-7 answered her question for her.

“From his victories over the Jedi,” he stated. “The General has slain many in their ranks.”

For some reason, Ronderu felt a chill run down her spine at that. While it was true that Grievous had made it no secret that he detested the Jedi, somehow actually hearing it plainly stated that he had killed some… But what had they done to earn his hatred? Her thoughts suddenly turned to the laser-swords he carried on him at all times. Wasn’t it only Jedi that wielded them? Not to mention, they seemed to be the only ones who could even make them, and Jedi were rumored to be untouchable. So how was it that he had managed to – as B-7 had said – slay many in their ranks??

“How – how many Jedi has he…?” Ronderu’s question was obvious though she did not finish it.

“Many,” was all B-7 said.

She shivered.

“Right…” Ronderu quickly composed herself, putting on an air of carelessness. “Well, I’m headed back to my room. You’re coming too, I suppose?”

“Affirmative.”

She replaced the knives on the only proper stand in the room and walked towards the door. B-7 remained standing in place, not moving until she had stepped out of the door, after which he fell in behind her. The two of them walked in silence back to her room, with Ronderu leading the way, having memorized it in next to no time. It wasn’t like she had that many other places she was allowed in, anyway.

“B-7,” Ronderu began, “what exactly is in this fortress? Besides what I’ve already seen, that is.”

“Do you wish to know the exact inventory of the fortress?” B-7 asked simply. “Because if that is the case, I must inform you that I cannot answer such a question.”

Ronderu gave the droid a strange look. She supposed that at this point, she shouldn’t have been surprised that B-7 was insinuating he knew the entirety of the contents of the fortress.

“No, that’s not it – I’d just like an overview,” she shrugged.

“Are you plotting another escape?” B-7 asked.

“Why would you think that?” Ronderu chuckled.

“Are you lying?”

At that, she merely turned around and smiled at the droid in a way that would make anyone suspicious.

“Of course not,” she told him.

B-7 did not respond to that.

They continued on in silence until they reached her room. B-7 opened the door for her, letting Ronderu walk in by herself. The Magnaguard then closed the door and – presumably – remained outside. Meanwhile, Ronderu headed into the adjoining room and freshened up but still couldn’t seem to be able to tear her mind away from the earlier conversation. The one that brought up the fact that Grievous killed Jedi. Why? And more importantly, how?? She knew she shouldn’t feel so affected by this information but, for some reason she couldn’t fathom, she was.

Based from what she’d heard about the Jedi, they were warriors with unnatural powers. Grievous was a cyborg. Yet he had killed them. In that case… how would she fare against him in an actual duel?

Exiting the refresher, Ronderu banished all uncertainties from her mind. The duel would be her main escape route; but should it fail, she would need a backup plan should Grievous refuse to honour her conditions. Not to mention, there was no telling when he would even be returning and she was already sick and tired of having to wait for so long. Ronderu knew she could try to leave here the same way she’d been brought in all that time ago, but the problem lay in successfully bypassing the security; she didn’t know the codes that opened some of the doors.

But Ronderu was certain that there were other ways out of the fortress. There had to be! The only matter that remained was actually locating them – something that was easier said than done. Things would have been a lot more straightforward if she wasn’t watched every step of the way as soon as she stepped out of her room. Perhaps a viable option out of the fortress was through the flooded lower levels. But that brought up the issue of the creature that resided down there. She’d already tried getting out that way but thanks to that thing she’d been caught in next to no time. Sitting at the foot of her bed, she angrily rubbed at her face, trying to ignore the frustration and helplessness she felt whenever she actually stopped to consider the situation she was in. Letting her hands drop back down to her sides, Ronderu exhaled heavily, looking up at the rough-hewn ceiling. The room suddenly felt… stifling – like it was pressing in on her from all sides. For a moment, Ronderu felt like she couldn’t breathe.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed and forced herself to take a breath and convince her body that she was not, in fact, underwater. Exhaling shakily, she got to her feet having decided that she was not about to waste time wallowing in memories and feeling sorry for herself.

So, she approached the door and knocked on it, letting B-7 know that she wanted to come out. It was times like this that she wished she could open the damn door from the inside. But since she was technically no more than a prisoner here, of course she couldn’t.

The door slid open, revealing the Magnaguard.

“You wish to go the library?” B-7 asked.

“It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” Ronderu cracked a smile.

B-7 simply nodded in acknowledgement of her statement and let her pass. As the two of them began their walk to the library, Ronderu found herself thinking of her Magnaguard watcher. Why had he even spoken to her in the first place? None of the other droids she’d been around here – excluding that irritating medic of Grievous’ – seemed to speak a word of any language she understood. And why was it that B-7 was actually willing to talk to her? She’d expected him to be as unresponsive as the other Magnaguards present in the fortress, at best answering her questions with monosyllabic answers and at worst downright ignoring her. But instead of either of those, the droid seemed almost… happy to answer her questions and talk to her. Ronderu found that surprising.

And strangely endearing.

Well, she couldn’t deny it anymore. Sure, she’d only first spoken to B-7 maybe a little more than hour ago, but already he was starting to grow on her.

True, Ronderu wasn’t entirely sure why that was, but she suspected that it had something to do with the fact that B-7 was the first… person? – she’d been able to have an almost normal conversation with in… a long time. A4-D didn’t count. And certainly, neither did Grievous. It did make her wonder, though, how it was that Grievous was able to put up with A4-D for as long as he did. That droid was just plain unpleasant to be around – it always had some snarky or sarcastic comment at the most inconvenient times.

Glancing to a side, Ronderu found herself looking at the large, carved wooden doors where the pipes converged. She paused to get a better look at them. Eventually, she decided that she had nothing to lose by asking.

“B-7, what’s behind those doors?”

She had come to halt when asking the question, and now B-7 too stopped alongside her and turned to face the doors.

“That would be the Throne Room,” he answered.

“Why does Grievous need a throne room…?” Ronderu muttered to herself before shaking her head in dismissal of the thought. “Is there any reason I’m not allowed in there?”

“Affirmative. But I am not permitted to divulge this reason to you.”

“Is it for the same reason I’m not allowed in the West Wing?”

Her escort turned back to face her.

“Negative,” was his simple response.

“Do you know what’s in the West Wing?”

“Affirmative.”

“But let me guess – you can’t tell me what’s there either, can you?”

“You would be correct in your assumption.” The droid nodded fractionally.

“Right,” Ronderu sighed. “Well, let’s get to the library, shall we?”

— — — — — — —

Ronderu’s eyes opened.

She had no idea of what the time was, except that it was now well into the night cycle, a time that she usually spent asleep. But that was not the case tonight. She sat up, surveying her dark room, unbothered by the lack of any proper illumination. Even during the night, she could still see as well as if it was day. Swinging her feet off the bed, Ronderu approached the door. One of the good things about the Magnaguards – specifically B-7 – assigned to her, was that they offered her some semblance of privacy. They never entered her room and that was how she been able to remove a section of the paneling on the door without them having noticed. But now, before she took it off, she rapped on the metal door sharply to check if there was droid present outside. If there was, then the door would open. If not, then it would mean she was in the clear.

And just as she suspected, the door stayed shut. She pried off the previously loosened panel along the doorframe, exposing the wiring beneath. Moving closer, Ronderu poked a claw into the narrow opening, followed by the rest of her finger. It wasn’t long before she felt two wires that joined in from somewhere else – possibly from the control panel outside the door – and she proceeded to slit the outer casing of the wire with a claw and pry out the wire proper from inside. She did the same to another cable and, without knowing if it would work or not, pressed the two together.

Ronderu felt a jolt run up her arm, twitching involuntarily as it did. However, the door slid open then which more than made up for the mild discomfort. Allowing herself a smile as she stood and approached the now-open door and stepped out. The corridor remained empty as she stood there a few moments; no Magnaguards came rushing down both ends of the corridor to bar her way, and no A4-D appeared to gloat over how predictable her actions were. Ronderu made her way forward with the appropriate amount of caution, surprised that she didn’t run into any guards on the way to her intended destination. The route she took was the same one she took almost everyday on her way to the library, but that was only because it was the only way she knew that made its way past the Throne Room.

And sure enough, it wasn’t long before Ronderu was standing outside those carved wooden double doors that she had walked past so many times before. And today would be the day that she finally found out what was hidden on the side of them. Ronderu shouldered the door open slowly and peered inside, checking that there was no one inside. Fortunately, the space beyond was empty as well. She slipped in, closing the door quietly behind her and turning around to finally have a proper look at the interior of the Throne Room.

As expected – it was large. Maybe in the past it would have been a grander affair than what was left now; it was all crumbling facades and faded colours pervaded through by an oppressive atmosphere. The throne itself was still present, located on top of a person-sized pillar, that no doubt would have been a staircase at some point. Looking around, she took in the various monitor banks, control panels and machinery that were no doubt the newest additions to the place. Ronderu approached the nearest screens, finding that they were displaying what was probably a live feed of an intersection between two corridors. Her gaze skimmed over some of the screens and found that they too, showed different views of various other sections of the fortress that were also apparently under surveillance. Frowning to herself, Ronderu wondered how it was that she’d never seen any of the cameras before. Also, how was it that she’d been lucky enough that there’d been no one here keeping watch? What were the odds that she would be able to get away with no one noticing that she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be?

Somehow, the lack of movement on any of the screens only served to unnerve her. Where were the Magnaguards? She knew there were always at least a few of them on patrol every night. Deciding not to dwell on it too much, Ronderu decided to move on to the next monitor bank. Spending a few minutes trying to decipher it, she came to the conclusions that it was some sort of proximity alert – though whether it was for the fortress or the entire planet, she couldn’t tell. Another screen showed the positions of the Magnaguards in the fortress, even though none of them showed up on the video feed. But besides their present positions, it also showed their patrol routes through the fortress. Ronderu couldn’t help the small scoff of disbelief – the gods really were in a good mood today, weren’t they? – in theory, and with enough time, she could even memorise the routes and possibly even avoid them altogether if she decided to escape one day. That is, if her other idea of escape didn’t work.

After being sure to have a peek around the rest of the Throne room, Ronderu decided she’d seen everything there was to see and turned to leave. But at that moment, her foot caught on a thick cable that snaked along the floor to somewhere behind the throne. Pausing, Ronderu tilted her head, frowning. For she had just spotted a well-disguised door that was set in the pillar under the throne. Curious, she approached it, running a claw along one barely-noticeable seam, wondering where this door could possibly lead.

“Now, how do you open this thing…?” She murmured to herself.

Feeling along the edges of the door, she found a panel set to her right. Pressing it, the door opened with a nearly inaudible hum and after only a moments’ hesitation, she stepped in. To her surprise, Ronderu found herself in a turbolift; one that went only down, it seemed. No sooner had she realized this that the door behind her slid shut by itself. Her ears pricked at the sound and she spun around in an instant, only to bang her clenched fist uselessly on the closed door. But it was too late, and the lift was already moving downwards.

Growling in irritation, she realized that she could do nothing but wait for it to stop at its intended destination.

And it wasn’t long before the lift came to a halt and the door slid open without any prompting from her once again. She hesitated to step out, though, unsure as to where she could be now. Nevertheless, she forced down her reluctance and emerged into what looked to be a large, repurposed cavern. And it soon became clear what exactly the cavern had been repurposed for – because hanging from the ceiling were a multitude of spare parts.

Staring at them in shock, Ronderu couldn’t help but feel a little nauseated by the sight. She realized – somewhat distantly – that there must have been enough spare parts here to rebuild Grievous many, many times over.

The spare limbs hung from circular holders attached to ceiling like a ghastly display of body parts; from another there were several faceplates, the eyeholes empty yet somehow still managing to fix her with silent, judgemental stares. Finally, in the centre of the cavern was a long, low worktable. Above it, was some sort of machine that had a set of mechanical arms attached to it.

Was this Grievous’ repair room?

Ronderu barely even registered her own movements as she slowly edged away from the centre of the cavern until she was standing by one of the walls. She only realized this when, upon moving her foot, it brushed against cold metal. Turning around, she half-expected to come face-to-face with a Magnaguard or something equally terrifying as the strung-up limbs. But no – instead, she found herself looking at a closed door.

Curiosity overcoming her initial surprise, she opened the door to find another room beyond. This one was smaller – and darker – than the main cavern, but not to the point that it bothered her. Walking forward, she paused before a stand that was set in the middle of the room and picked up one of the strange, tubular-shaped objects from it. Turning it over in her hands so she could examine it from all possible angles, she frowned as she wondered what it could possibly be. The design wasn’t overly familiar to her but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen something similar…

And then on one side, she noticed what could only have been a button. Pressing it, she jerked it away from her as a sapphire-tinted energy blade sprang from it. Ronderu almost dropped it in her realization of what it was.

This was a Jedi’s weapon.

Ronderu was holding a Jedi’s weapon in her hand.

And – her eyes flickered back to the stand, and she felt herself go cold from the sight – there were so many more besides this one she was holding now. Maybe not so long ago, these would have belonged to someone. Someone who would have made them and wielded them with pride…

But now, now they just sat here in this underground lair, serving no purpose other than to collect dust despite the fact that they were obviously here as the spoils of war. Ronderu grimaced, her thumb twitched off the button and the cavern was cast back into darkness once more. She returned the weapon to its previous position, unable to shake the strange feeling of sorrow when she turned her gaze to the other laser swords. But just as she thought she had seen enough, Ronderu’s gaze involuntarily stopped on one hilt that was different from the rest – it was smaller. The only reason for that would be that whoever had wielded it had been small as well…

Oh Gods, had this belonged to a child??

So it would seem that Grievous was enough of a monster to go so far as to murder children. Did his hatred for the Jedi truly know no bounds?? Ronderu felt her loathing for the cyborg General grow. How could he even say that he had been Kaleesh?! He had no right to even compare himself to one of them!

And this habit of collecting trophies…! While it was true that Kaleesh themselves were no strangers to such a thing, to loot and defile the body of your opponent…? No one she knew ever stooped so low. And she had certainly met her fair share of bad people both on Kalee and offworld. Tearing her gaze away from the weapons display, her eyes fell on another table that was lined with… what were those? Frowning, she approached the next table cautiously and after a moments’ hesitation, reached out to touch them.

She almost snatched her hand back at the realization that what she saw before her were braids. Braids that could only have come from… someone, or – she thought numbly as she took in the rest of the table – many someones.

Withdrawing her hand, she couldn’t help but scowl.

So lightsabers weren’t the only things Grievous collected, was that right? Looking around, she half-expected to find herself confronted by the mutilated body of a Jedi, or something else along those lines. Maybe a skull? Or perhaps even an entire skeleton – she wasn’t sure what else to expect at this point. With one final look at the grisly contents of this… trophy room, Ronderu turned to leave, wanting nothing more than to put as much distance between herself and this place as possible. She waited a moment for the door to open and when it did, she flinched back in anticipation of an attack.

Because standing just beyond it was a Magnaguard, electrostaff ion hand.

It regarded her a moment with those unnerving red optics. But then – to her utter surprise – it spoke.

“You should not be in here,” it informed her.

“B-7?” She asked.

The droid gave her what could only be described as a curt nod.

“Come with me,” he instructed her.

Stepping away from the door, B-7 made some room for her to walk out and at the same time making it clear that she was to follow. Ronderu fell into step behind the droid, dread coiling in the pit of her stomach as she followed him.

She didn’t know where he was taking her.

Would he tell Grievous? Or maybe his doctor?

And what would they do with her? Because surely, there was a limit to their patience, wasn’t there…?

Chapter Text

Hello!

Terribly sorry, but this is not a new chapter (I'm really bummed, too T-T). But this is just to let you guys know, Chapter 19 is still in the works!

You see right now, the problem I face is that besides my keyboard having stopped working, my laptop crashed and I lost all my chapter drafts. So unfortunately, that means that yes, I will have to retype the entirety of Chapter 19, but I shall endeavour to have it up as soon as is humanly possible for me. And sadly since my keyboard still refuses to properly cooperate, I'll have to get going. To all my readers, a huge thank you for sticking around for so long, and to everyone who's commented on these past few chapters, I adore you guys.

In case anyone's interested, you can come yell at me on my tumblr (because I have one now), the link's on my profile
(and here, too - https://www.tumblr.com/freydpaladin).

Paladin Stormwind, signing out.

Chapter Text

It had been close to five standard months since Grievous had returned to Kryolos.

And during that time, he had accumulated many new and varied damages to his cybernetic body. Now, he was missing most of his right arm, the lower half having been lost to a lucky swing by a Jedi whose name he didn’t remember. His left leg stopped short at the knee, all parts below it having been obliterated in a narrowly-avoided explosion. Both his chest plates were dented and scorched by blaster bolts in several places while the elbow joint of his left arm seemed to have almost seized up completely, to Grievous’ confusion.

Normally, Grievous would have returned to Kryolos as soon as he had lost his arm, but this time was an exception to that rule. This time, he had kept delaying his visits over and over again, until it had reached the point that his body – mechanical as it was – had screamed at him for rest and recuperation. That, unfortunately, was a side-effect of having had the chips removed. Because while it meant that he could finally be himself after so long, it also meant that there was no longer anything to repress the fatigue and weariness that came after every battle. Even though he’d managed to grab a few snatches of sleep from time to time, he knew it wasn’t nearly enough. Sooner or later, he’d need some proper rest or else he’d risk collapsing – mechanical body be damned. It seemed as though those Geonosians had outdone themselves when Dooku had set them to work on him, Grievous thought bitterly. He sighed, right hand twitching as he almost reached up to rub at his faceplate, momentarily forgetting that it was still in place.

But the reason – the real reason – that he’d sought to avoid Kryolos for as long as he had, was Ronderu. Going back meant confronting Ronderu for the first time since having had his inhibitor chips removed, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to face her. He was…

Afraid.

He was afraid of having to confront her again. A part of him worried she would see right through him, through his act, and realise he was more than who he claimed to be. She would realise who he really was.

And she would hate him for what he had become.

He shuddered at that thought, trying to force it out of his mind and convince himself that it had no right to even be there in the first place. Sighing again, Grievous reclined in his seat aboard the shuttle and closed his eyes, attempting to steer his thoughts away from such disheartening matters. Instead, he began to think more on his plans. Or rather, what little of a plan he had managed to scrape together in all this time. One could even go so far as to say that he was simply making things up as he went. Because what did he really want? Of course, to live in peace, to be able to have Ronderu by his side again. For the war to be over, for his people to no longer suffer… For the ones responsible for his current situation to be brought to justice. He wanted revenge, but Grievous was well aware of the risks that came in pursuing such a goal. It could easily blind him, drive him to even more unspeakable acts of cruelty than what he had already dealt out in his striving to save Kalee.

Now, he could no longer stop himself from raising his left hand to his faceplate wearily. The gesture feeling as alien to him as it was familiar. He had already helped the Republic score a few victories against the Separatists, but even these were measly in the long run. What was he supposed to do? Carry on with… this – these insipid, petty attempts at getting back at Dooku? It was demeaning for someone of his status – both former and present. He let out a huff of frustration, letting his hand drop back down to his side again as he instead wondered what the Republic must be making of this situation; this was not even the second time that he'd passed information on to them.

The first time had been the location of the listening station, the second time had been a facility responsible for creating all kinds of new weapons to be used against the Republic. Needless to say, the forces that had stormed that particular base had been very thorough in their seizing of information. Third had been a sizeable hidden cache of credits that had been initially stashed by a certain Neimodian viceroy in case of lean times.

Grievous took particular pleasure in that last little victory of the Republic’s. he knew that it was rather childish of him, but he could not help the feeling of smug satisfaction that rose in his chest.

Perhaps, then, things weren’t going so badly. One could almost even say they were going according to what little of a plan he possessed.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Things are not going as I have planned, Apprentice.”

“I… am aware, Master.”

“Then why is nothing being done about it?!”

Kneeling before a shrouded, staticky blue hologram, Count Dooku – leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, Count of Serenno and Sith Lord – flinched at the intensity of Master’s voice, at the anger and venom behind it. Both of which were now directed at him. Despite the interference in the hologram, from the way it shivered and would not remain still, Dooku could still see the pinpricks of light reflected in the eyes of Darth Sidious. And it was a cold, sinister light; something glinting and hard like the coldest of glaciers.

“Master, I regret to admit that even I have no clue as to how the Republic could have had access to this information.”

While it pained the Count to admit to his shortcomings before his Master, he knew the consequences would be much more dire if he were to lie to him. From beneath the cowl of his cloak, Darth Sidious’ eyes flashed dangerously as his mouth twisted into a sneer of disapproval.

“It is plain enough to see that someone high-placed within the Separatist Alliance is to blame,” Sidious drawled. “My only question to you, Apprentice, is who is it??”

“But surely the Republic could not have a spy…!” Dooku trailed off uncertainly.

“No…” came Sidious’ thoughtful response. “The Republic does not, but I cannot speak for certain of the Jedi.”

“The Jedi could not have convinced an officer to have switched sides – they are not so easily bribed and all are loyal to the Separatist cause,” Dooku mused.

“And yet somehow – over these past few months – they have known about things they should not have!” The Sith snarled.

The Count of Serenno could not meet his Master’s gaze as Sidious turned his full glare on Dooku. He was fully aware of what could happen should too-sensitive information be revealed to the Jedi. It was possible that it could lead to the unravelling of his Master’s careful and elaborately wrought-out plan that had been years in the making. The culmination of all Darth Sidious’ – and Dooku’s own efforts – would soon be upon them, he knew. Which was all the more reason to ensure that things did not spiral out of control at such a critical moment as this. If it did… Count Dooku tried not to think about what consequences it would hold for him if such a thing were to happen.

“I expect you to unearth this mole before anything too… enlightening finds its way into the hands of the Jedi.” Sidious instructed. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Master,” Dooku responded, bowing his head respectfully.

The eyes of Darth Sidious remained on Dooku for one tense moment longer before the hologram finally flickered out of existence, taking the Sith Lord’s presence back to Coruscant. Count Dooku was left alone once more, frustrated as he got back to his feet from where he had been kneeling. His Master was angry – more so than usual – which in itself was never a good sign, but now he was expecting quick results from his apprentice.

Pulling his chair back to the table, Dooku seated himself before pulling up files on all of the higher-ranking officers in the Separatist military. A multitude of information sprang up from the holoprojector in the centre of his desk. Steepling his fingers, Dooku began to skim through some of the files as he began his task of singling out the most likely suspects. Raising a hand to dismiss a large portion of the files on account of the officers not being nearly high-ranking enough, he stilled at a sudden thought. What if the mole was a droid?? It was true enough that several, if not a majority of their forces and battlefronts were overseen by Tactical droids. It would not have been an impossible task for the Jedi to have seized one in one of the many active fronts somewhere and had it reprogrammed; there were certainly enough Jedi with the right kind of know-how. Afterwards, it would have been a simple enough matter to insert that very same reprogrammed droid back into the Separatist ranks.

And if that was the case, then it would be near-impossible to track it down.

Closing his eyes, Dooku stilled his impatience, knowing that it would not aid him in such a situation as this. Mentally, he reviewed the last few victories the Republic had had. Altogether there had been three instances where they had known of projects that had been kept under wraps even from some of the Separatists’ own number. So who could it have been that passed it on to their enemies? Something told Dooku that it was not merely a droid, no; it had to be one of their own. An officer or perhaps even a senator. Certainly, the senators were self-serving enough to pass on information if they thought it would benefit them in the long run. The very thought frustrated Dooku but he knew that even they could not have known of the weapons factory – that particular information was available to only some officers. Trying to find a link between all of this was going to prove more difficult than he'd initially thought; so far, the only factor that stood out to him was Kenobi.

But the Jedi had only been present at one of the three total operations – the one that had seized the factory. And that wasn’t much to go on either. Going over a list of officers, Dooku slowly eliminated those who hadn’t had access to the right information until he was finally left with a list that was still by no means small, but he had at least narrowed down the number of suspects.

It was the location of the cache that bothered Dooku the most – very few had even been aware of its existence. Nute Gunray initially hadn’t even intended for it to be found out by anyone else. While it was true that he had been in Republic custody for a little while, he had never been interrogated or revealed any information to them. Ventress and another agent had confirmed as much. And even if he had somehow told the Republic of this cache, why would they have waited so long to act? That wasn’t even taking into consideration the fact that preparation for such a mission would no doubt have reached the ear of his Master had they been in possession of such knowledge.

There was still something about this whole situation that didn’t quite add up. Dooku felt as though he was overlooking something. Some small, but nonetheless crucial piece of information. Frowning, Dooku realised he still couldn’t quite put his finger on it. There was still something missing, so for now, he decided that he would await the mole’s next move. whoever it was, they were doing a good job of covering up their tracks, but with every new piece of information that was passed onto the Republic only helped narrow down the list of suspects. Whatever the case, though, Dooku knew it was only a matter of time before he had the traitor.

So for now, it was simply a matter of waiting them out.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The shuttle touched down after a long flight.

With a grunt, Grievous lurched to his feet, using his left arm to brace himself against one of the shuttle’s walls. Supporting himself with his arms, he hobbled out of the shuttle, struggling to balance on his one remaining leg. Once he had exited the shuttle, he took a moment to simply stand in the hangar and do nothing for a change. Nothing, that was, except simply appreciate the peace and quiet of a planet that was not under attack and wartorn. The cyborg general exhaled silently, feeling some of the weariness dissipate from his frame. It was at that point that he wished he had returned to Kryolos sooner. But that thought only lasted a whole five seconds before a loud crash made his eyes snap open in alarm - Grievous being completely unaware of when he had even closed them in the first place. What was that? were his initial thoughts.

But then he realised that there was only one explanation for the sudden ruckus, and he hoped to all his Gods and Ancestors that he would be proven wrong. Please let him be proven wrong.

Unfortunately it seemed that neither were listening, or maybe they were just getting a kick out of this whole situation because just then, Ronderu appeared at the top of the stairs.

She was breathing hard as if she’d just run a long distance or exerted herself in some other way. Standing at the top of the stairs for a moment, she simply looked down into the hangar, meeting his eyes, her own gaze steely. And then she made her way down the stairs, somehow managing to look as dignified as ever despite the situation.

It was all Grievous could do to suppress a groan.

Why now?? Of all the times, it had to be now! This was the very thing he’d been trying to avoid! The whole reason he’d stayed away from Kryolos for as long as he had! All so that he wouldn’t have to interact with Ronderu; he had been hoping to avoid her for as long as he could.

He had to wonder, though, if he had wound up intercepting her in one of her half-baked escape schemes. But at the same time, he was too tired to bring himself to even ask her - sarcastically or otherwise. All he wanted to do at this point was get his repairs completed and possibly try to get some rest. Proper rest - and not the hour long naps he was lucky enough to snatch between deployments.

Ronderu halted a few feet from him, somehow managing to look down at him even with their difference in height. She stood, tall and proud, every bit the warrior Grievous remembered her as. It was hard to tell that she had been a slave so recently. The thought of the time she would have spent with the Huk before winding up with the Zygerrians made him wince as his mind throws all kinds of different scenarios she might have - must have - endured at their hands. He forces his thoughts back to present time, eyeing Ronderu warily as she seems to draw herself up taller with anger and righteous indignation.

Eventually, it was Grievous who broke the tense silence first.

“Ronderu,” he acknowledged, “it has been a while.”

“It certainly has, General Grievous,” she responded with a smile that seemed to show just a bit too much of her teeth.

“I take it you did not come out here simply to greet me?” Grievous rasped, fighting against a cough threatening to break free.

“Oh, it seems you know me too well,” she declared sarcastically.

Grievous could not help but appreciate the irony behind that statement. If only she knew. But he chose to remain silent. Now was not the time to go revealing his identity to her. Nevertheless, he could not help a sarcastic little chuckle at her words which Ronderu only responded to with a glare. But even with the hostility in her eyes, Grievous did not avert his eyes, instead noting with approval how she was no longer as skinny as when she had first been when he’d found her. While it certainly hadn’t been to the point of malnourishment, the thought of what the Zygerrians had done to her made his blood boil. It was nice to see her looking almost back to how he remembered her.

But then he’s snapped out of his musings when two Magnaguards (finally) appear, only to swiftly cover the distance to Ronderu and seize ahold of her arms. She doesn’t struggle but levels a steely glare at Grievous, barely acknowledging the droids’ presence. Grievous’ eyes narrowed marginally in suspicion.

“You want something.” He stated. “What is it?”

“Fight me,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes agleam.

The voice dies in Grievous’ throat at her tone. He swallows thickly, his sleep-deprived mind conjuring vivid images he’d rather not see at a time like this. He forced those thoughts into the back of his mind, resolving to ignore them and instead returned his full attention to Ronderu once more, wondering if he had heard her right.

“What…?”

“I challenge you, General Grievous!” Ronderu snarled at him. “I challenge you to single combat - a duel of warrior against warrior.”

Her gleaming golden eyes met his.

“Do you accept?” She asked in a low, predatory voice that would have made Grievous shiver.

Grievous faltered.

She was…challenging him?

To single combat??

The cyborg General stared at Ronderu, managing to mask the turmoil that he felt on the inside. The last thing he wanted was for her to read his sudden hesitation. He knew he couldn’t back out of the challenge - certainly not one issued by another Kaleesh; especially not one issued by Ronderu of all people. Backing out would desecrate the memory and name of his family.

But hadn’t he already dishonoured his ancestors enough already? With everything he had already done - that he still did, it was highly unlikely that he could even still consider himself one of his clan. That thought hurt him more than it should have, and he could not hide the wince that came with it. Ronderu eyed him closely, her entire body taut as a bowstring as she awaited his response.

He had no choice.

He had to accept her challenge.

Grievous closed his eyes and breathed a heavy sigh.

“Ronderu lij Kummar,” he began, his voice weary, “I accept your challenge.”

In response, Ronderu smiled at him. But there was nothing comforting or reassuring in that smile of hers. Grievous wished he could take back his acceptance, but it was too late for that now and they both knew it.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Ronderu had to bite back a larger smile.

So far, so good. Grievous had accepted her challenge - though it was with more than a little hesitation, she’d noticed. He didn’t seem altogether keen on fighting her, she’d since come to realise, but she’d put it down as misplaced kinship on his part. Just because they were both Kaleesh didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight him. She couldn’t deny, though, that she knew it had been a risky move on her part. There had always been the chance that he would flat-out refuse her request, possibly even laugh in her face and lock her back up once more. so, she couldn’t help but breathe an inward sigh of relief.

But even as the Magnaguards gripped her by her upper arms and all but dragged her out of the hangar, she couldn’t help but feel a small pang of pity for the cyborg’s current state. He had been missing two entire limbs! How had that even happened? And who had done that to him? – A Jedi perhaps? Not to mention he looked like he’d spent some quality time in a fire. A part of her is amused by his situation – she really can’t help herself on that part. It’s a pity she couldn’t have seen it all happen with her own eyes. Now that really would have cheered her up.

Her smile faded though, when she realised that this was now the second time that Grievous had referred to her by her full name. Ronderu’s face twitched, knowing that she was no closer to finding out what the General’s own name was. After all, Grievous was very obviously a taken name. She did wonder how he knew her. Had he been one of the warriors or clan heads who had followed Qymaen? Perhaps even fought alongside them?

Ronderu wasn’t sure, but decided that – should she win – she would not only have him let her go, but also tell her his name. His real name, not the fake one he used now. Ronderu exhaled, trying not to focus on what would happen should she lose. She couldn’t lose. She couldn’t. There was no way she was going back to being a slave.

But even so, a small traitorous part of her mind questioned whether it would even be possible for her to fight on par with Grievous – much less win against him. Not to mention, what would they be duelling with? Did he happen to have some pairs of Lig blades hidden away somewhere? Or would he break out the lightsabers that he had collected?

She suppressed a shudder at the thought, knowing full well how dangerous that could be for her. How easy would it be for them to slice off a limb if they could easily cut through metal?? It’s not like flesh and bone would offer much more resistance. But she shook herself out of her reverie when she found that they had reached her room. As much as she appreciated having her personal space for a change, she didn’t like being cooped up in it for hours on end with nothing for her to do. At least when there had been others sharing living quarters, it had never been quiet. Even if they all had been slaves, she had at least had company. Once she beat Grievous – because she would beat him – she looked forward to being free, most of all.

The Magnaguards said nothing as they pushed into the room before closing and locking the door behind her. B-7 must have found out about her tampering with the door and informed the others, because it had since been repaired and there was no longer any way of repeating her trick from before.

Seating herself at the foot of her bed, she wondered what had become of her personal Magnaguard. But then, she wasn’t even sure anymore if he was only assigned to her or had other duties around the fortress, but it had been some time since she had last seen him. In fact, hadn’t it been around the same time that he had caught her snooping around where she wasn’t supposed to be? She knew that the Magnaguards assigned to watch her changed every week, but it had been longer than that since she had last seen him. Her droid. She sighed, leaning back against her stone slab of a bed. Droid or not, she missed being able to interact with anyone – A4-D most certainly did not count. He was much too annoying for her liking. She was so starved for contact that even the prospect of conversing with Grievous himself was starting to look appealing to her.

Gods, the lack of anything else living in here was really getting to her.

Well, General Grievous really knew how to make a person feel alone. Damn him.

She sprawled on the rumpled blankets of her bed, closing her eyes with a sigh and trying to relax. There was still more than enough time until the duel, she knew that. And when it was time, she was going to need all the strength she could get.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

A third Magnaguard had to be summoned down to the hangar after Ronderu had been taken away. This one was needed by Grievous – because there was no way that he could make his way all the way to A4-D with only one leg.

The droid moved to stand at his left, supporting him from that side on account of the mostly-functional arm on that side. Together, with the droid’s help, they were able to make their way up the stairs and into the fortress. There was silence for most of their journey, the Magnaguard forced to slow down on account of Grievous’ limp. He waited while the droid opened the main doors before they resumed their journey to the throne room. It was when they got there that the droid abruptly spoke up:

“General Grievous,” it began, “I must inform you of a development that occurred before your arrival here.”

“Out with it,” Grievous growled, too tired to care about anything at this point.

“The prisoner Ronderu was able to make it into your Trophy room near two standard months ago.”

Perhaps at some other time, Grievous might have been alarmed, but now he only sighed.

It didn’t surprise him that Ronderu had been able to find a way to leave her room without having to be let out by someone else. He knew that she had always had a knack for finding unconventional solutions to her problems, so it would only have been a matter of time until something like this happened. He was, however, ashamed that this also meant she would’ve seen his collection of lightsabers and…other trophies. Some he had taken from newly knighted Jedi, others from padawans and even one from a youngling who had only just made their lightsaber. Grievous closed his eyes with a grimace, trying to banish the sudden memory of the youngling’s wide eyes and terrified face as he had stared up at the cyborg in uncomprehending fear, lightsaber trembling in his hands.

Grievous was ashamed of what he had become during those years when he had been little more than a Sith’s pawn. He hated what Dooku had turned him into – what he had let Dooku turn him into.

A monster.

A murderer…

He had become the embodiment of everything he had once hated and loathed. Everything he had once strived rid his planet of. Oh, what a cruel irony it was. How the mighty had fallen, he thought to himself.

“Does A4-D know of this?” Grievous asked after a long pause, surprising himself with the question.

“Negative.”

“Good,” was his grunted reply.

The elevator doors opened, admitting the two to the underground cavern serving as Grievous’ personal operating theatre and repair room. He would never deign himself to refer to it as a maintenance chamber, after all. The Magnaguard helped him to the table, stepping away to stand by the lift doors after Grievous had seated himself. Swinging his one remaining leg onto the table, he looked around irritably for A4-D. Where was that droid?

“Doctor!” He called out. “Where are you??”

For a moment, there was silence. But then finally, the familiar voice rang out:

“Ah, greetings Master!” A4-D sounded oddly cheerful - something that immediately made Grievous suspect something. “Welcome back! Please forgive the delay, but I was busy cataloguing the various spare parts left in reserve.”

The cyborg merely grunted in acknowledgement, laying down flat on the operating table as A4-D busied himself with retrieving the necessary replacement parts for him. Eventually, he moved back into view, brandishing the spare parts.

“Honestly, Master, I can scarcely believe my own photoreceptors – just look at the state you’re in!” The droid lamented.

Using one of his free arms, A4-D lifted the remains of Grievous’ right arm, turning from it to Grievous accusingly.

“And when did you lose your arm?!” He demanded. “This damage is clearly not recent – I did not step off the assembly line yesterday!”

“Three standard months ago,” Grievous muttered just loud enough for A4-D to hear.

“Three months?!” A4-D crowed incredulously. “And I take it your left leg was lost not long after?”

“A week later,” Grievous clarified.

“A week!!” A4-D sounded like he was on the verge of a breakdown. “Master, I’m sure I have made it abundantly clear before but I suppose I’ll just have to repeat myself as usual – but the loss of a limb is a serious matter! Even for you!”

“I’m aware.”

“You should have returned for repairs at the first sign of damage!” A4-D chastised. “And the wearing away of the joints in your left arm…! How many times did the Jedi throw you into something? Your back plating looks atrocious!”

A4-D’s voice held a note of horror in it, as if he himself could scarcely believe what he was seeing. If Grievous didn’t know any better, he’d say that the EV droid was actually concerned for his well-being. The thought made Grievous huff in amusement, a smile crossing his burned and mutilated face. So, the very same droid that was scheduled to be decommissioned for its sadistic nature had apparently grown attached to the cyborg he now served.

“My damages do not matter,” Grievous said light-heartedly, laying his head back down. “I trust you to handle them.”

Those words made A4-D pause and turn back towards him, his one visible photoreceptor focusing thoughtfully.

“My, my.” A4-D said, his tone surprised. “Am I to understand that my own Master, who I have served without complaint for years finally admits to trusting me?”

Grievous managed a short laugh at the medical droid’s tone, stopping himself before it could give way to a cough. Even with the blatant sarcasm, Grievous heard a small note of hopefulness in A4-D’s voice. He wanted to be told that he was trusted – that Grievous trusted him. Well, he never would have placed A4-D as the sentimental type.

“Do not tell me it is too much responsibility for you to handle?” Grievous mocked with a smile.

The medical droid drew himself up almost haughtily, but Grievous could tell that he was relieved. Happy even.

“You needn't concern yourself with how I handle responsibility, Master,” A4-D replied primly. “Shall I begin with your repairs?”

Grievous laid his head back down and let his eyes close.

“Take your time, Doctor.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — —

IG-100-0832 B-7 stood guard by the lift that connected the control room to the General's operating room.

He stood to attention even as the General spoke to B-7’s superior, EV-A4-D. But the way the General spoke to his medical droid had the Magnaguard puzzled. He spoke as though the doctor was his equal, which – as B-7 knew – he was not. Normally, droids were simply regarded as being inferior to the masters they served – be they droid or organic – or even that they were nothing more than part of the landscape. Yet now the General seemed to have changed his tone.

Strange as it was, B-7 had noticed a change in the General ever since he had returned with the prisoner Ronderu. Something about her had changed him. B-7 just knew it had been here. But what was it about her? And why? Why was the General affected the way he was?

It remained to be seen, however, whether these changes were for better or for worse.