theheartofwar | for orren

for orren

Dantooine wasn't what he thought it would be.

First of all, it was boring. Which he had expected for a world that was widely considered to be a dirtball even before he knew it housed a Jedi enclave, which made it worse. Pretty fields, he'll give it that, but he couldn't stop thinking in the back of his head about how well those golden hills would take to blazing down.

Truth be told, he couldn't explain why he was sticking around, either. He'd stayed in the Ebon Hawk mostly, when he wasn't at Khaar's side being dragged around to investigate the dregs of his people or missing droids or whatever - they'd been offered quarters in the compound, but Canderous had very little intention of hanging too closely around those sanctimonious weaklings even if she had wanted to, for no good reason he could see.

Also, it seemed like Mandalorians weren't particularly welcome around these parts. Hardly a surprise, and not usually something he gave a single damn about. He wandered about in the vague hopes of provoking a fight, his clan Ordo tattoo on pointed display, but nobody took him up on it. Not any of the Jedi, and not any of the farmers. Not much around here in actual entertainment, unless you counted endless trips to the fields to take potshots at the kath hounds. Or talking weaponry with that enthusiastic Rodian.

Still, there were some interesting people on this planet. And he'd found some booze stashed in the Ebon Hawk, just like he'd expected. The good stuff, too. Davik's personal stash, that he took great pleasure in drinking. He'd left half the bottle on the table - Mission would probably find it, but he was done with it - stretched, and headed off to the refresher.

But one routine that never let him down was maintaining his repeating blaster. Only when he's completely sure he's sober does he deposit his weapon onto the workbench - only a fool who doesn't care for their fingers handles their weapons drunk - still armed to the teeth, more so than usual, even, and starts disassembling it.

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Mission would not be finding the stray bottle of abhorrently expensive alcohol because Orren found it first and he had every intention of stowing it away. He picked it up with a beleaguered sigh and made for the cargo hold, but stopped when he heard a loud thunk coming from the garage - something heavy hitting something metal. It was followed shortly by the small rattles and cranks of tools, which just about explained the liquor on the common room table.

When he went over to investigate, he saw what he expected to find - Canderous Ordo, elbow deep in that massive heavy repeater of his.

"This was yours, I take it?" He asks, giving the bottle a little demonstrative shake. No accusation in it, nor any particular hostility or annoyance.

Ordo, who was indeed elbow-deep in his massive heavy repeater and in the middle of something extremely sensitive, turns his head to look straight at Orren, blinking and sharp. But his hands keep moving steadily.

"Was mine? No," he says, in a steady voice. But before he think he's taking the piss or something, Canderous continues in the same tone of voice. "Was Davik's. Now mine."

"Yours now, if you want it. What do you want?"

"I won't be troubling you for long, don't worry." Orren replies dryly. "Just do be a little more careful where you leave half-full bottles of over-proofed liquor."

Canderous grunts, then puts his tools down to give him his full attention.

He doesn't hold a grudge against Organa, much like he doesn't against Revan, but that doesn't mean he isn't as suspicious as he always is. A Jedi traipsing around the Ebon Hawk for a social call isn't terribly likely, especially when the only one he'd have reason to talk to wasn't here. He can respect a warrior as skilled and renowned as he was, but he doesn't think much of the fact that he abandoned the war to go here, to this backwater dirtball, instead of following the call to glory.

"You looking for something?" Canderous asks.

"Are you aware of Marila's visions?" Orren asks, not looking particularly bothered by the suspicious scrutiny. "Of Revan and Malak?"

Canderous examines him for a moment longer, then answers.

"Yeah," he says, helpfully not elaborating at all. Why was he standing here and wasting his time talking to him about it? "It's only the whole fucking reason your Council has us here twiddling our thumbs after all. What about it?"

Believe him, Canderous, talking to you is not high on Orren's list of things to do.

"The council has asked that Marila pursue those visions and seek out the other fragments of the star map you found in the ruins. They believe that whatever Revan and Malak found at the end of the trail is the reason for the Sith's seemingly infinite resources, and if we have any hope of winning the war, that needs to be resolved."

Of course, all that only sets him up for a follow up question: What the fuck are you doing here?

"Marila is still inexperienced, though, and once he catches wind of what you're doing, Malak's going to do his level best to kill all of you before you get anywhere near the end of this." Orren says. "Which is while I'll be accompanying you."

Canderous narrows his eyes in thought as Orren explains, but just gives him a frank nod when he's finished. "I see." It's an easy answer, but this isn't about him, really. Not his place. It's about Khaar - or something - and Canderous is just along for the ride. He's suspicious of the Council, and suspicious of Organa - but as long as he gets what he wants out of this, he'll keep it to himself for now.

But a faint smile comes across his face when Orren mentions Malak, and Canderous adds with approval, thumping Organa on the shoulder if he'll allow it: "Hah! Now the day that comes, that will be a worthy battle. A fight that might even rival the final battles of the war."

It's like he's almost looking forward to Malak trying his best to kill them. No, not almost - definitely. He's excited to hear it, his heart almost leaping free at the thought.

Orren expected nothing less.

"Yes, well, I'll save my excitement for the end of it." He says.

He's made no effort to stop Canderous or disentangle himself from him, but it's pretty clear he doesn't share in his enthusiasm.

"What could be more exciting than that?" Canderous asks, rhetorically. "It's got to be more interesting than here, at least. What you're doing on this dirtball when you could be out there, I couldn't guess."

What you're doing on this dirtball, rather than out there in the stars with the rest of Malak's fleet, is what he means. But Canderous keeps his voice high-spirited, and it's somewhat borne out of genuine curiosity. Besides, this planet is dull, unless you were a Jedi and liked meditating in the fields or something as equally useless and boringly pointless as that.

Oh, he'd picked up on that curiosity from their first encounter. He'd have noticed even if he couldn't sense it lingering among the surface thoughts of Canderous's mind.

"You are aware that I've been on the front more than most Jedi, yes?"

He'd been working against Revan and Malak as soon as he physically could after losing his hand at Telos. Up until a few months ago, he'd been quite active.

Canderous is not entirely familiar with the concept of taking voluntary protracted breaks from warfare, nor does he understand why you would want to. He hasn't been able to hear much news from Taris, working under Davis in the lower city, then a planet-wide lockdown later on.

"Haven't been able to hear much from Taris," Canderous agrees readily, although maybe not in the same spirit as Orren says it. "More than most Jedi - which is to say at all, with you lot."

But Organa isn't quite answering the question. Canderous waits with a relaxed demeanor, but with an expectant air hanging between them.

Orren, however, is somewhat less relaxed. He isn't tense, but his expression makes it clear that he doesn't care for this line of questioning, nor Canderous's insinuations about the Jedi.

"What is it that you want, Canderous Ordo?" He asks, head cocking to one side, deciding he'd rather get to the heart of the matter.

"I am prepared to fight, and more than capable of doing so, if that's what you're asking."

What does Canderous want?

Conversation, mostly. His bluntness is usually mistaken for an agenda, but Canderous is surprisingly amendable to socializing, when he's in the right mood. It's just that not many on the Ebon Hawk have much to say to him. Also, every time he tries to make conversation with Carth, he ends up saying something or the other that the man seems to inexplicably take the wrong way, and Marila has to step in between them.

"I'm just curious what Orren Organa is doing here. My people knew your name, your face. I know you as a great warrior, standing besides those such as Malak and Revan. We certainly may even have been on the same battlefields," he says, optimistically. "You proved yourself to be one of the Jedi who were willing to fight against us. But what are you doing in this dusty company, who would rather chant about peace and control, than seek the honor and glory of battle?"

"Have you considered that I might not see warfare the way that you do, Canderous?" Orren asks, arching an eyebrow out how ... genuine the other man is here. As though he genuinely can't even begin to imagine why someone might not want to be elbow-deep in combat at every opportunity.

"Of course," he says dismissively, with a jerk of his head. "I'm aware of that sad reality. Not many understand our way of life, or how it should be. Which is surprising, considering it's the easiest sentiment in the galaxy to grasp. Some do, of course, but you..."

Canderous trails off, considering him with a gaze that makes no disguise of it, not entirely sure what he thought of the man just yet. Orren is still a vague puzzle to him.

'How it should be.'

That sentiment quickly replaces Orren's confusion and curiosity with anger. His irritation doesn't quite reach his face, but his expression does harden slightly.

"I don't find battle particularly glorious." He says coolly. "And, in my experience, honor tends to go out the window when it starts becoming inconvenient."

Now, Orren extricates himself from the arm that Canderous had around his shoulder. He turns down the hall towards the cargo hold - he's spent enough time on a Dynamic-class to know where it is - to deposit the bottle of liquor he's been holding throughout the conversation.

"I fight out of a sense of duty and because there are things that I want to protect, nothing more." He calls back over his shoulder as he walks. "If the war ended tomorrow and I could go the rest of my days without needing to draw my lightsaber, I'd be perfectly fine with that."

Canderous is disappointed. He'd been expecting more, maybe, from the infamous Jedi who plagued his people during the war, but it seems that this conversation has taken the same turn that it always seems to do with other people. But he lets him go, with the philosophical outlook that they'll be seeing a lot of each other soon anyway, if Orren was genuine about accompanying them.

"Your loss," he calls out after him, casual as anything. "I didn't take you of all people for a coward, Organa, but it seems I was mistaken. You should get along with Carth, with the way you talk about wishing one day to lay down your weapons."

Canderous shakes his head in bemusement, and turns back to maintenance on his heavy repeater. That is, if he doesn't turn around and immediately argue down Canderous on his way back out. Likely not, but it's not an unwelcome thought. Either way, if Orren exits after this, he'll note if Orren takes the path through the Hanger, or deliberately go around him.

You may just be getting your wish, Canderous, because Orren does in fact stop and some of that anger and distaste has finally broken through his careful composure.

"If valuing life enough that you don't enjoy taking it is your definition of cowardice, I'm not sure you understand the word." Orren's voice is calm and collected, but there's a steel there that wasn't present a moment ago.

Good. Now there was that fire he was looking for. A hint of fire and steel breaking out of a crack behind that calm Jedi facade, and Canderous grins ~~horribly~~.

"Of course I understand the value of life," he says as he delves back into the workings of his gun, like it's an obvious fact. "To push yourself to the limits, to stare down death and return from it - that is where the value lies. That is why we put ourselves against the test of battle, emerging stronger for it. A life not spent fighting, not challenging yourself, is a life wasted. A life that refuses to fight is one that doesn't deserve it at all."

A grin that finds its way under his skin remarkably easily considering old wounds and deeply-held convictions. It doesn't bite sharply enough to break through is composure, but it frays at his nerves.

"We live in an unfathomably wide galaxy, Canderous." Orren says, turning back to face the other man. "If combat's the only thing you've found in it that challenges and fulfills you, you lead a shockingly empty life."

Stated as though it were an equally obvious fact, but there's no hiding the disdain Orren has for every single syllable that Canderous has just uttered regardless of how much venom-tipped politeness it's delivered with.

Edited 2019-01-31 21:22 (UTC)

"Brr. Is it getting a little chilly in here, or what?" Canderous mocks, glancing at the upper corners of the hangar. He's very obviously not cold, nor is he chilled by Master Organa's tone. "It's not the first time I've heard that sentiment, and it won't be the last. Either way, I know what I know, and I know what we Mandalorians know that you Jedi and Republics don't. I'll tell you what a real empty life is - I've been living it for two years. A life devoid of real combat. Real challenges."

Canderous finishes with one component, and rests his hands on the workbench. "My life will never mean as much as it did, until Revan scattered us. It was a glorious ending on Malachor V."

Even if he's finding now, that it might have cost too much in the end.

Edited 2019-01-31 22:28 (UTC)

"Glorious isn't the word I'd use."

He's not sure he could boil it all down to a single word, even now that he's had years to try to come to grips with what'd happened. It's a complicated, snarled tangle of emotions - none of them positive - and all he can do whenever he thinks back to it is wish that it could have ended some other way. Any other way.

They agree on one thing, though, he supposes. That it cost far, far too much.

For a brief second, before he catches himself dwelling on it, Orren seems ... less, than he did a moment before. He looks tired. Then the moment passes and the Jedi Master returns.

"I can't see what lies ahead of us, but you won't have any shortages of 'challenges' to overcome." Orren says, turning back towards the cargo hold.

"But if Malachor truly was the end, and you can't go back to the way that things were, ... eventually you'll need to find something new."

Orren doesn't say anything more as he walks away, but there's an unspoken sentiment lingering behind him.

You'll need to find something new, otherwise, that emptiness will find you again.

And again.

And again.

Edited 2019-01-31 22:56 (UTC)

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