A Bittersweet Homecoming/Part 2

Though "Corellian Jedi" had often been used to refer not only to native Corellians, but also to their colleagues from the other Four Brothers—Selonians, Drall, Talusians, and Tralusians—the splinter faction was linked inextricably to Corellia itself, and so to Corellian symbols. The Corellian Jedi banner paired the Jedi Order's lightsaber, shorn of its wings, with the skyline of Coronet City, Corellia's capital, and the Corellian Jedi had always been headquartered on the Eldest Brother. Most of all, though, the group had appropriated Corellia's trademark green, leading to their more common nickname, the "Green Jedi". And so it was that the group's headquarters in Coronet City had been known since its construction as the Green Jedi Enclave.

Within, the Green Jedi Enclave was not unlike the Jedi Temple on Coruscant—wide halls with high ceilings, plenty of meditation and sparring rooms, archives of knowledge, and statues of ancient heroes that linked the Green Jedi to their past, alongside ferns and other plants that kept them anchored to the Living Force. Without, however, the two could not have been more different. Where the Temple's ziggurat design had been conceived by Jedi of eons past to focus the Force, the Corellians had favored a simple style that made the Enclave no more or less than a towering, durasteel-and-glass obelisk. Moreover, where the Jedi Temple had a district of its own on Coruscant and was as far-removed from everything else as any Coruscanti building could be, the Enclave sat at one end of a square in downtown Coronet City; where the Temple proclaimed, "We are in the world, but not of it", the Enclave assured the citizens of Corellia, "We are with you."

Nawsa Arodion had walked these streets many times in her life, and she had been a student of art and architecture since she was a child, so all this she understood at a glance—which was fortunate, because a glance and a passing thought were all she had to spare. She sat along the basin of the towering fountain that dominated the Green Gardens in the square before the Enclave, trailing her hand back and forth in the cold water. Spring had dislodged winter from Coronet City, but the breeze that rushed across the plaza and slipped beneath Nawsa's raised hood made her shiver.

Or perhaps it wasn't the breeze…

Whoa-WHOA!

A desperate, reflexive grab of the Force—it had been enough, then. And then a splash and a splutter.

Nawsa!

You're lucky you didn't break your arm, or worse!

But I'm all wet!

Oh, come here. Tapas was not often used on others rather than oneself, but after Galera splashed through the fountain, grumbling all the way, Nawsa had cured her shivers in a moment. How'd you even get up there, Little Explorer?

''I jumped from that light—you see it? I almost had it…''

Like Galera so many years before, Nawsa was sure she had almost had the healing in hand, just as she had almost saved Galera from the Anzat assassin. And like Galera, she had learned to her sorrow that "almost" did not cut it.

She sighed. She would have to live with the sting of her failure, the hole in her heart where Galera should have been, for the rest of her life. But a Jedi did not dwell on the past, and a Jedi Master had to set the example.

Rising from the fountain and tugging her dull brown hood farther over her head in hopes that she would not be recognized, she crossed the Gardens back to the Enclave. She knew some Corellian pundits might speculate on what message she sought to convey by staying at the Enclave—Tem-Fol-Rytil had reserved a hotel room—but in the long centuries since the Corellian Jedi had disbanded as a faction, the Enclave had never become a museum or a historical curiosity, but had remained a home away from home to any of Corellia's Forceful sons and daughters who returned to their mother. She would not be driven from her ancestral heritage just because Tyson had appropriated it.

Two banners hung in the Enclave's entrance hall, draped from the ceiling some twenty meters above all the way down so low that Nawsa might have reached up and touched them—the two-and-a-half-star flag of Corellia, and the Green Jedi standard. The Enclave's halls were quiet save for the hum of cleaning droids about their work; even at their height during the Great Galactic War, the Green Jedi had seldom numbered over a hundred. Where the Jedi Temple on Coruscant might have struggled to adequately house all the Jedi of an Order at full strength, the Enclave was designed to serve as the home base for the Green Jedi.

Nawsa brushed back her hood to stare up at the banners. Because they need see no farther than Soronia, where true Jedi know that all stars burn as one.

As she took the broad stairs toward the Grand Concourse, Nawsa met Vinette Cas-Valo. A Human half Nawsa's age, she wore not only the green robe that even Nawsa had worn as a Knight, but also the undertunic and trim of green that Tyson favored. When she saw Nawsa, her eyes widened, and she bowed rather lower than was really necessary—unless trying to hide her face. "Master Arodion."

Nawsa returned the bow. "Hello Vinette."

"I…uh…"

Nawsa sighed. When Gasald had crushed the Seventy-Second Republic Battle Group at Eriadu, Tyson's standing call for Corellian Jedi to defect to the Green Jedi—to "defend our home", as he had put it—had taken on new urgency. With Mali hard at war against Aresh, and Master Kirthi dead at Vandak's blade a year before, Nawsa had been the only prominent partisan for the Order, and so this time Tyson's words had not fallen on deaf ears. But then Tirien and his self-appointed strike team had turned the tables, undone Gasald's fleet, and quite possibly killed Gasald herself, leaving the defectors in as unenviable a position as Nawsa could imagine.

No doubt Council Masters Mar Towla or Loworr Dubb would have used the occasion to remonstrate Vinette for responding with emotion rather than remaining mindful of the future; even Tem-Fol-Rytil would likely have expected no less than Vinette's meekness. But Nawsa was not her colleagues, and she knew what it was to love home.

"I understand, Vinette." She took the young woman's hand. "I understand why. I can't approve, but I don't judge, and I don't seek to punish.  Just come home.  The Order needs every Jedi, and every Jedi is valuable."

Conflict raged all over Vinette's face, and she squeezed Nawsa's hand with both of hers. "Thank you, Master. That means a lot to me…but…I am home."

Nawsa sighed, but patted Vinette's hands before she tugged hers away. She felt Vinette's eyes on her back, but she left it alone; both harping on her own points and giving Vinette an excuse to press hers would drive the girl further from the Order, and in the end, her argument was not with Vinette.

Among the Green Jedi's other architectural reproofs of the Jedi Order, the table that had once accommodated the Corellian Jedi Council sat in an open hall beneath a long gallery, where any passing Jedi could observe or even call comments into the Council's deliberations. No Corellian Jedi Council had convened for thousands of years, but Tyson Dumiel sat at the table, resting his mouth against his clasped fists. He glanced up at Nawsa, who returned his gaze for a moment before turning toward the distant staircase. The Force was more than up to the task of gentling her descent had she leapt, but a Jedi did not employ the Force as a mere convenience, rendering it tool rather than partner.

When she approached, Tyson looked up again. "Senator Rose is inbound; she'll land within the hour."

Nawsa nodded. "And her guards?"

"She was her usual self on the matter," Tyson remarked with a snort, "but Diktat Daikros imposed on her. CSPS will be waiting to meet her."

Nawsa couldn't help but notice he hadn't dispatched any of "his" Jedi for the duty, but she left it unremarked, not wanting to start a fight. Seeming to sense something unsaid, he gestured to the other chairs around the table. "Join me, won't you?"

"I'll stand," Nawsa said dryly. "I already have a Council seat."

Tyson rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself."

His roguish looks and casual irreverence together would have suggested the comparison to Mali Darakhan even to those who didn't know them both as well as Nawsa did. Neither of them, she suspected, was thrilled by the resemblance, though in so many ways, they were two sides of the same coin—loyal, brave, stubborn, defiant, and protective, but those virtues and vices channeled on opposite paths. Tyson had only grown his beard when he was already a Jedi Master; once in a while, Nawsa wondered whether he had done it on purpose to irk Mali—or perhaps Ainar, Mali's former master.

"Find what you were looking for outside?" asked Tyson.

Nawsa sighed. "Not looking for, but looking back. Remembering.  Do you remember how she used to try to sneak aboard the freighters down at the spaceport?"

Tyson barked a laugh, and years melted off his face as he smiled; the tight lines at the corners of his eyes turned from stress marks to smile lines. "Force save me, yes. If she hadn't knocked over that toolbox, she'd have been halfway to the Outer Rim before we figured out where she'd gone."

Nawsa laughed. "Everyone thought she'd be the CDF warrior, especially with Satir so…"

She cast about for a gentle term, but Tyson chuckled. "Tubby, yes."

They laughed together for a moment, and Nawsa brushed at the wetness in her eyes as Tyson smiled at the tabletop. "She loved you, you know. She wouldn't have blamed you—not for her death or Satir's."

The memory of Galera's love kept the ghost of Nawsa's smile on her lips, but its life was spent. "No, probably not. But that doesn't make it not my fault."

Tyson gripped one fist with the other hand again, and his face grew shrewd again. "And you loved her."

"Yes." Many Jedi might have thought that a weakness, even the temptation of the dark side, but one could only conquer the dark by acknowledging it. Nawsa had loved Galera, but she would not let that love warp into something obscene by seeking vengeance against Darth Alecto for Galera's death.

"Her, and here, and everything that makes us special," Tyson went on. His frown was vexed—his default emotion these last few years—but with more than a bit of bafflement mixed in. "You belong with us, Nawsa. You're one of us."

Some of Nawsa's Consular colleagues on the High Council might have had sharp reactions to that, too, but Nawsa only sighed. "And I always will be. But being a Jedi from Corellia doesn't mean the rest of the galaxy ceases to matter."

"Every life has value, but Corellia is our home," Tyson argued. "Billions of people on the Five Brothers…how many lives would have been lost in ancient times without the Green Jedi as a shield between them and the evils of the galaxy?"

"That was then. This is—"

"This is not so far from then, I think," Tyson countered. He set his hands on the tabletop, but seemed unable to resist squeezing them into fists again. "The Diktat and Senator Rose put forth a strong face, as they should, but Corellia isn't invulnerable."

"Gasald's downfall—"

"Has bought us time, nothing more. The Sith will regroup and renew their assault; hell, Darth Saleej is already ravaging space around Obroa-skai—"

"Darth Hokhtan." Nawsa had let him get away with interrupting her as an exercise in restraint, but a small part of her enjoyed turning the tables. "All our intelligence lately suggests Darth Hokhtan's the Overlord now."

Tyson rocked back for a moment, but then snorted. "Shall we play everyone's favorite game?"

"It's not a game, Tyson."

"No, it isn't." Even acerbic humor didn't last long on Tyson's face. "I don't know how much of a fighter Hokhtan is after Kadych crippled him, but he'll be just as good a commander. And Gasald's death—or whatever's become of her—may work to the Empire's benefit.  Oh, sure, they've suffered quite a setback, but Darshére added whole sectors to their territory, and Gasald was overcautious; if they'd had someone like Saleej in charge on the Corellian Run, Allanteen might've fallen years ago.  Corellia's a target."

"Corellia will always be a target! A Core Founder, a key Republic world, the economic center of the quadrant, the…well, maybe not the backbone of the Republic military, but more than one vertebra of it.  The price of greatness is always being a target."

"And what's the reward of greatness?" Tyson asked. "Or of good faith? We give, and give, and give to the Republic, and what do we have to show for it?  Millions of Corellians serving under the Republic banner instead of Corellia's, and dying far from home, or else standing guard over worlds like Milagro, behind enemy lines, because the rest of the Core Worlds are too frightened or too incompetent to do it.  And now even the Solos have bled for the Republic's campaigns."

Resisting the bait, Nawsa said, "We're Jedi, Tyson; this provincialness is beneath us. We can't just think about Corellia."

"Someone has to."

Nawsa turned toward the new voice, though she recognized it at once. Master Ainar Zylorus came down a short flight of stairs from a side passage, clad in dark Jedi fabrics but wearing his green robe. Mali's former master preferred a more conservative cut to his beard and mustache than Tyson, and he lacked some of Tyson's edge too. Had he been a bit less attached to his homeworld, Ainar might easily have had Nawsa's seat on the High Council, or any of the half-dozen that had come open since; he had the stoic calm Tyson didn't.

"Ainar."

"Nawsa." He clasped her arm when she offered and embraced her with his other. "I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the medcenter on Commenor."

Nawsa shook her head. "There was nothing you could have done. And with the attack, the Diktat needed you here.  How is he?"

"Restless," Ainar admitted as they returned to Tyson. "Between worlds, you might say. Our enemies have struck at the heart of Corellia at the same moment the military threat has been compromised."

"Gasald may be gone, but her fleet won't stay gone with her," Tyson warned.

"I said compromised, not eradicated," Ainar countered, taking a chair two down from Tyson's. When he saw Nawsa's frown, he gave her a half-smile. "Sometimes a chair is just a chair, Nawsa."

Letting that go, Nawsa asked, "What else?"

"Mali can't make it back, but he sent his condolences to the Solos."

Tyson frowned. "Not even for the funeral?"

Ainar rotated his chair so he could fix Tyson with a penetrating look. "If you were in Mali's place, and it was Hybelle, not Aldayr, in Aresh's claws, would you come back?"

Nawsa felt a sliver of unease, wondering if Ainar had been wise to pull at the scab of that old wound, but no explosion came. Something dimmed in Tyson's eyes, and he lowered them. "No."

Leaving it there, Ainar turned back to Nawsa. "You'll stay the night?"

"A night or two, yes." Catching his curious look, Nawsa scraped together a smile for him. "Sometimes a place to sleep is just a place to sleep."

Ainar laughed. "Fair enough."

"It will do the people good to see you here," Tyson added.

Nawsa controlled a wince. "You think so—even after Commenor?"

"The government hasn't shared all the details about what happened there, and I don't think they will," said Tyson. "The people know the important part: our people died at the hands of Sith assassins, despite the Republic's attempt to protect them."

Nawsa didn't at all care for the way he framed that—laying the blame at the feet of the Republic, as if Corellia might have done better. She knew, without arrogance or false modesty, that neither Ainar nor Tyson was any greater a Jedi than she was, and none of those who had recently thrown in with the Green Jedi was in the same league. By not telling the people everything, Tyson could allow them to conclude that things would have been different if only Corellia had been given the mission, without having to explain exactly how.

And yet, if the truth was known, Nawsa might lose the strength of her voice in support of the Republic. Conscious anew of how fragile that position now was, with Kirthi dead and Mali preoccupied, Nawsa feared the consequences of empowering schismatic voices to dominate the conversation. Exposing herself to that felt like betraying the Republic…and yet sitting on the truth felt like betraying her people.

Did she have that duty to suffer with her own conscience, rather than flaunt her failures and so enable Corellia to weaken both itself and the Republic—perhaps fatally? Or was that no more than the arrogance of which so many beings accused the Jedi—choosing who was worthy to know what, as if they were lesser beings?

Nawsa gripped the back of a chair with both hands, grimacing, and Ainar and Tyson seemed to sense her moment of introspection. After they traded a look, Tyson rose and said, "I need to coordinate with CSPS for security at the funeral; I doubt the Sith would try for a second bite, but we can't be too sure. If you'll both excuse me…"

When he was gone, Ainar said, "It wasn't your fault, Nawsa."

"So Tyson tells me. You weren't there, Ainar."

Ainar thought a moment, then stood. "Walk with me, won't you?"

They strolled through the halls—mostly abandoned for centuries, and yet painstakingly preserved by droids and a handful of local Jedi enthusiasts. Ainar said, "It's good to see you back here."

"It's good to see you at all," Nawsa retorted. "The Council's found you…distant of late, Ainar."

"Hmph. I'm doing good here."

"You could be doing good in a lot of places. Candidly, part of me is surprised you're not up north with Mali."

Ainar stopped, frowning now. "To tell you the truth…I was going to be. When he told me about Garqi, and Aldayr, I intended to join his fleet as soon as practicable.  I informed the Diktat, but then…"

"Eriadu," Nawsa guessed.

Ainar nodded. "I couldn't leave, not with Corellia so gravely imperiled. I thought I might have an opening after Allanteen, but now this business with the Solos…"

Nawsa shook her head. "What are you doing here, Ainar? Have you thrown in with Tyson's rebellion?"

"I prefer to think of myself as a moderating influence. Tyson is a good man, and he remains a Jedi, but you know his views as well as I do, and they're…"

"Extreme?"

"…let's go with 'radical'—he may be the logical extreme of Corellian thought, but it is logical. He seeks to serve the Force by serving Corellia, just as the rest of the Order serves it by serving the Republic."

"The Order is partnered with the Republic, but in service to the Force alone."

Ainar gave her the easy shrug he had passed on to Mali. "Semantics. That's Consular territory, I'm just a Guardian."

Nawsa rolled her eyes. "And what about you? What are you seeking?"

"Balance. The Republic uses Corellia without thanks or second thought, more than most worlds—and you don't need to put on that conflicted look for my sake, we both know it's true."

Nawsa wanted to deny it, but she found the words wouldn't come. Instead, she said, "The Republic is more than the sum of its parts, and there are thousands of worlds that can only dream of being as safe as Corellia."

"And that's why there needs to be balance—someone who recognizes the value of Corellia and its culture, but who isn't a strict partisan, and keeps his eyes on the big picture. I don't want to see Corellia get used to the point of abuse, but I don't want it to make a mistake either."

"And reforming the Green Jedi? That isn't a mistake?"

"No, I don't think so. The Order's had Jedi Watchmen for millennia, serving a single sector or quadrant or whatever it happened to be.  The Green Jedi are really nothing more than Corellia's Jedi Watchmen, just with a few more eyes than usual to keep watch."

"Normally the Council appoints Jedi Watchmen…"

"Would you like to become an unofficial member? That'd square things with Coruscant, and I think we have some green robes in your size…"

"I'll pass."

"Would you like to become an official member?"

Nawsa blinked. "What?"

"You're Corellian, and a well-respected Jedi Master—respected more widely than Tyson or me, that's for sure. You'd be another voice reminding the Corellian Jedi not to forget the larger context of the war.  Senator Rose likes you, and you and the king have always been…close."

Nawsa Arodion was a grown woman and a Jedi Master, not some teenage Padawan, so she didn't allow herself a flush or any such weakness, but she struggled to get a handle on the situation. "Ainar, you can't be serious. I'm a Master of the High Council!"

"That's why I'm serious. You'd be the link between Coruscant and Corellia that neither Tyson nor I can ever be."

"Somehow, I doubt the Grand Master's going to look as favorably on me if I abscond from the High Council to join the rebellion."

"Now you mention it, where is Tem-Fol-Rytil? There isn't really anything for him to do with the funeral preparations, is there?"

"He said he wanted to see Sil why he's here."

"Well, then he's a braver man than me. We invited Sil to take up residence here, but he, ah…declined."

"Did he say why?"

Ainar cleared his throat. "He said the last time he threw in with a small group of malcontents, he wound up getting stabbed in the back, so he's had enough defiance to last him for a while."

That was vintage Sil Kadych, Nawsa had to admit. She wasn't sure whether to be happy his sense of humor had survived his injuries, or disappointed they hadn't brought an end to his torrid love affair with others' discomfort.

"But Tem-Fol-Rytil came here for the funeral, I'm sure?" Ainar asked.

"Yes. Since he was on Commenor already, Nulu asked him to go as a representative of the Republic and the Order both."

"You're here," Ainar pointed out.

"Yes, but I'm—" Nawsa started, but even though she caught herself after three words, she knew Ainar had trapped her.

"Corellian?" When she sighed, Ainar said, "You're here because you belong here, Nawsa. Because Corellia is your home, it's part of you.  You loved Galera, and Satir too, and not just because King Jedossen is their uncle.  The Order knows that attachment can lead to greed, but it's forgotten that love can be a ward against the dark as much as it can be a lure into it.  But we haven't forgotten—Tyson, and Vinette, and Shan, and yes, me too.  And you haven't either."

"I…owe a duty to the Order, Ainar. Service on the High Council isn't a gift or a reward, it's a privilege—it's a sacred trust I owe to every Jedi who trusts me to guide them well."

"We would trust you to lead us here—I would trust you."

"And Tyson?"

"Tyson…" Ainar glanced over his shoulder, then sighed. "I'm going to be frank with you: Tyson and I are both destined to be overshadowed by our own accomplishments. I trained Mali Darakhan, but Mali's going to be a much greater Jedi than me, if he's not already—he's already accomplished twice what I had at his age.  Tyson may be the man to rekindle the flame of the Green Jedi, but he and I both sense he's not the one who will really set us ablaze again."

Nawsa raised her eyebrows. "What was that about Guardians not being big on words?"

Ainar chuckled. "You know Tyson as well as I do. He's a firebrand, and Force knows he'd give every breath in his body for Corellia, but he burns more than he warms.  We need another Jedi—a stronger Jedi—to govern the restored Green Jedi.  If I had my choice, I'd choose you."

For a moment, Nawsa struggled for words. "That's…I appreciate the sentiment, Ainar. But I didn't come home for the Green Jedi."

"I know. And Satir and Galera have to come first—we all owe them that much.  Just give it some thought."