Woman without a Country

"The droids need to stay on the ship," said Ludmilla. "Trust me, you don't want to go into this jungle."
"I have assessed the current atmospheric conditions and historical climate data of this moon. I am in complete agreement with you," said Goto.
T3 beeped questioningly.
"We'll be fine," smiled Ludmilla. "You watch the ship."
"I should probably stay too," said Atton reluctantly. "I need to power down the systems so we can't be seen from above, and see what repairs need to be done."
"We won't be gone long," said Ludmilla gently.
"I will stay and keep you company," said Visas quietly.
"Oh, you don't have to," said Atton lamely, but he sounded pleased.
"I will stay," said Visas. Then she smiled quickly. "And I will drink more chocolate."
Mira frowned. "Loot is more important than chocolate. I think."
"There will be chocolate when we return," said Kreia. "Come, the sooner we leave, the sooner this will all be over.
"Stop saying chocolate, and let's get going." Ludmilla led them off the ship, and they explored the region where they had crashed. There were skeletons and rusted droids, so overgrown by the jungle as to be barely recognizable.
Bao-Dur stared at the hulls of Republic ships that lay scatted on the surface. "And this is just what we can see. The jungle took the rest."
"Was it worth it, old man?" asked Ludmilla quietly. "Did we do the right thing?"
"We had no other choice, General. You know that."
She didn't answer, and kept walking through the jungle.
"Was there, General? Was there another way?" asked Bao-Dur gently.
Ludmilla stopped, not to answer, but to listen.
Three Mandalorian warriors decloaked around the group. "Greetings, strangers," said their leader, as the Mandalorians put up their weapons. "I was going to be surprised that anyone made it this far through the jungle after crashing on the surface, but I think I see why." The leader, a tall man in the dark grey armor of a Mandalorian Commander, covered in warrior's marks and blazoned with victory stripes, held out his hand to Ludmilla. "What brings you to our moon, Jetii?"
Ludmilla clasped the armored hand in a warrior's greeting. "Your moon, Mandokarla? Doesn't this moon belong to Onderon?"
The Mandalorians laughed. "As far as they know, sure. Come, make yourself comfortable in our camp. On behalf of the Mandalore, I welcome you."
Ludmilla looked at him curiously. "There is no Mandalore."
The Mandalorian shook his head. "Things change, Jetii. Come and be safe, you are welcome. Stay as you will, and leave when you wish."
Ludmilla considered. "Well, if we're going to your camp, I need to get the rest of my crew."
"Shouldn't we leave someone to watch the ship, - " Bao-Dur stopped himself before he called her by her title again.
"I told them we would be back soon. But there might be ale!"
The Mandalorians laughed, pleased at her reaction. "There is ale," the leader assured her. "Good ale, strong and dark. I've never met a Jetii that drinks Mandalorian ale."
"Well, now you have," she grinned.
Bao-Dur shook his head. "Maybe I should stay on the ship, then?"
Ludmilla shook her head. "No, old man. We're all friends for today, and if we start shooting each other tomorrow, I want you at my side. Come on, let's go back."
"The ale better be good, Mandalorian," Bao-Dur grumbled, as they made their way back to the ship.
Mira waited a whole minute before she started talking. "What are you Mandalorians doing here? Why would you live in a jungle? Why aren't you out being mercenaries?"
A younger warrior, his armor plain and simple, answered. "The Mandalore has gathered us here, to rebuild the clans under his banner."
"Is he going to start a new war?" asked Bao-Dur quietly.
All the Mandalorians shook their heads. "No," said the leader, "Mando'a – the way of life – is in danger of being lost forever. We lost more than a war, we lost our way. We must decide what it really means to be a Mandalorian, and then live it."
"So you're all just hiding out on this moon, trying to figure out how to be Mandalorians?" Bao-Dur asked, without the slightest trace of a sneer.
"Pretty much," laughed the leader.
"So who cleans your camp?" Ludmilla asked. "The slave markets are pretty far from here."
"We do," the leader laughed. "That was one of the first things we discarded."
"What?"
"We don't keep slaves anymore. If you're strong enough to lift a weapon and kill someone, you're strong enough to lift a shovel and wash your own dishes."
Ludmilla stared at the Mandalorians in shock. "You're very different from the Mandalorians I used to know."
"Not so different," the leader said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "At least, not in the important things."
"My ship is just up here."
"Good landing," said one of the other Mandalorians admiringly. "Is your pilot single?"
"No," said Ludmilla. "Wait right here, let me bring them out." She ran into the Ebon Hawk, and almost didn't notice that the leader of the group had almost dropped his weapon when they caught sight of the ship.
The leader walked up to the ramp, and waited politely while he casually looked over the ship.
Ludmilla, with Atton and Visas following, emerged from the ship again. T3 beeped a question, then suddenly squeaked in surprise.
"What is it, T3?" Ludmilla looked at the little droid. "We'll be fine, I promise. A little drunk, maybe. Okay, very drunk. Just watch the ship."
"What would life be like without orders?" laughed the Mandalorian. "Droids, Organics, Sentients, everyone needs an order to follow."
Ludmilla looked at the Mandalorian in surprise. "Do you always spout philosophy on the spur of the moment?"
"I also write songs."
"Really?" said Ludmilla, not sure whether to believe him or not.
He nodded, chuckling under his mask. "I do, because songs make us remember who we are. Also, it makes marching easier. You asked us about slaves?" He began to sing, an easy working tune that served for a marching song under the circumstances. "Some must watch, and some must ward. Some shall sleep while others guard. Some bear children, some bear arms, some tend beasts, and some till farms. Some patch wounds and some patch tents; some fix meals and others dents. To each a place, to each a task - honor to the camp, and honor to the mask!"
The other Mandalorians had joined in almost immediately, singing as they walked through the jungle, and the song was picked up by more voices as they approached the main camp, swelling by dozens of voices – male and female, mostly Human, and mostly of fighting age. They sang it well, and with pride – the words were familiar to them, and they believed what they were singing.
The sentries at the camp were watchful, and greeted them quickly, passing them through a kinetic barrier that kept out the animal predators of Dxun. Men and women, their armor piled neatly nearby, worked at repairing, cleaning, carrying – the work of the camp that in the past had driven the need for slaves.
Ludmilla looked around. "What made you build your camp here?"
"The graves," answered the leader, pointing to a small enclosure just north of where they were standing. "You could say they were the first victims of the Mandalorian wars."
Bao-Dur frowned. "Wouldn't that be Onderon?" He walked over to the small group of graves, each bearing a warrior's helmet. "These are all Mandalorians," he said in surprise.
The Mandalorian nodded. "They challenged a young Taung warrior and his men, and they lost. He went on to become Te Ani'la Mand'alor – Mandalore the Ultimate. But he lost more than he won, if you ask me."
"What do you mean?" asked Bao-Dur, confused. Every Mandalorian felt that becoming Mandalore – the living embodiment of Mando'ade – was the greatest honor that a Mandalorian could attain.
"He lost the woman he loved, too," said the Mandalorian, pointing to a red helmet decorated with black victory stripes.
Ludmilla turned away from the graves, and realized that she had somehow found Atton's hand, was holding it tightly. She forced herself to relax, and stroked his hand gently in apology. "Now that we're in your camp, shouldn't we introduce ourselves properly?" she said quietly.
"If you like," the leader pulled off his helmet. "Te Taylir Mand'alor. Mandalore the Preserver. But you can just call me Canderous. I haven't decided what to do with clan names and origin names yet."
There was a moment of stunned silence from everyone except Ludmilla, who had already recognized the faceplate of his mask. "Thank you for welcoming me to your camp, Mandalore. Before I eat your rations and drink your water, I should tell you that I'm not a Jetii – well, not as you know it. I am General Ludmilla Sîvoš, the Jedi Exile." She noted his surprise at her knowledge of Mandalorian culture.
There was a soft murmur among the Mandalorians who had heard her, and the Mandalore grinned in delight. He was a big Human with some evidence of Taung ancestry, broad shouldered and handsome, starting to end the prime of his fighting years. His friendly face smiled easily, and was covered in scars, large and small, that did nothing to detract from his handsomeness. "Your stories will liven up our fires, Jetii. Come, you must be hungry after all that walking, and I believe I promised you some ale."
Ludmilla smiled slowly. "Ale would be very welcome right about now."
Everyone else introduced themselves, and the Mandalorians pulled off their armor to relax in the camp or attend to some other duties while they greeted their guests. The group gathered around the entrance of the guest bunker – a solid ferroconcrete building, completely unworthy of the word 'tent,' but that's what the Mandalorians called their sleeping places regardless of whether it was made of cloth or steel. Some warriors carried over a keg of the strong ale, which was, as the Mandalore had promised, dark and strong, and Ludmilla politely invited them to join them in a few drinks. The Mandalorians eagerly accepted, excited to meet one of the heroes of the Mandalorian wars – even if she had fought on the other side.
"This brings back memories," said Bao-Dur with a soft smile. "We always made off with a keg or two after a raid. The first time she did it, I thought she was nuts." He finished his drink. "But Mandalorians make some damn good ale."
Ludmilla laughed, and realized that she was holding Atton's hand again. He was pretending not to watch her, and sipping cautiously at the thick black Mandalorian ale.
"What happened to your hand there?" asked Mira, pointing at a scar on the back of a Mandalorian's hand.
"Oh, I got that from a Basilisk drop on Vanquo, years ago," and the Mandalorian warrior began telling a story about one of the earliest attacks in the Mandalorian wars. Ludmilla grinned as she listened to the tale, and filled another mug for herself. The neat, orderly camp bustled with life, but unlike the camps of her youth, all of these people were Mandalorians – no one was an outsider here.
"Ludmilla?" Atton looked at her, questioning.
"Hmm? Did you ask me something?"
Atton shook his head. "I just want to know if you're okay."
She smiled gently. "I'm fine, I'm just…." She sighed sadly, and put down her ale. "Bao-Dur."
The Iridonian looked at her from over his mug. "Something wrong, General?"
She nodded. "Come walk with me for a second, I need to ask you something." She stood, and tried to let go of Atton's hand but he pretended that he was stuck to her. Ludmilla shook her head with a smile, and let him follow her. She walked back towards the graves near the entrance of the Mandalorian camp.
The Mandalore was there, with Visas, describing the flowers growing on the graves. Visas turned as they approached, a slight blush on her pale face.
"Sorry to interrupt," said Ludmilla. "This won't take long." She lifted the red helmet and tossed it to Bao-Dur, over the Mandalore's shocked noise of protest. "I'm not desecrating anything."
Bao-Dur looked at the helmet in confusion, and Atton peered inside the helmet.
"Hey, there's some writing," Atton exclaimed. "It's in Mandalorian, though."
"It says, 'Silver Heart,' it was her battle name. His was 'Golden Soul.' They were together for less than a year, but it was the kind of love they sing about," the Mandalore explained. He tilted his head, looking quizzically at Ludmilla.
Bao-Dur turned the helmet in his hands over again, looking not at the faceplate, but on the inside and the wiring, where the helmet would have connected to the full Mandalorian combat armor. "I don't understand," he said finally.
"She thought she could change his mind, she thought if she gave him what he asked for, he would stop. Listen to reason. But he wanted the one thing she couldn't give up." Ludmilla laid her lightsaber on the gravestone, where the helmet had rested. "So he struck her down, left her for dead, and swore revenge on all Jedi for turning her against him."
"Wait, you – you're Ka'rta?" said the Mandalore, as if he didn't dare to believe.
Ludmilla nodded, still waiting for Bao-Dur to say something. She realized that Atton's hand was in hers again, and she wasn't really sure how it had gotten there.
Bao-Dur silently replaced the red helmet, and handed her back her lightsaber.
"You're a Mandalorian?" asked the Mandalore, still trying to understand.
"No, I am the daughter of a slave, an aruetii slave. An outsider raised in the camp, trained in Mando'ade, but not worthy of a name."
The Mandalore shook his head. "See, that's just so stupid. The whole concept of slaves is ridiculous, and has no place in Mando'ade."
Bao-Dur looked at him. "And yet, your people lived that way for centuries."
"Doesn't make it any less stupid."
Ludmilla laughed, unable to stop herself.
"But you were taken away to be a Jedi," Bao-Dur said slowly, "how did you fall in love with Mandalore the Ultimate? And where did you get the armor?"
"He gave it to me," said Ludmilla calmly. "I ran away from the Enclave to go find my mother, and found Runi instead. It was one of those things. I thought he was the one. I was wrong." Simple words that explained much but left more unspoken.
Atton, still holding her hand, remembered her soft voice explaining that she was terrible at following and wanted someone to lean on her, and tried to imagine her at the side of a Mandalore. "He gave you the armor, even though you never took the oath?" asked Atton. "Isn't that against the rules?"
Bao-Dur laughed as Ludmilla shrugged. "You never were one for following the rules, were you, General?" He looked at the red helmet again, dented and rusted and stained.
"I guess it's true, everyone does fall in love with you," Atton grinned.
"Atton," Bao-Dur groaned.
"What?" said Ludmilla. "Why would you – "
"I'm going back to the ale, General." Bao-Dur smiled at her, and walked away.
She looked at Atton. "Did he really say that?" Her heart was singing, knowing that her old friend still trusted her, still believed in her, agreed that she had made the right choice so many years ago.
Atton blinked in surprise. "What is that?" he pointed at a tree behind Ludmilla, and she turned to look. Atton pounced on her for a kiss, distracting her from all her thoughts of the past and any inconvenient statements in the present.
Ludmilla make a squeak of surprise, and they fell over into the soft grass just beyond the graves.
"Maybe we should leave," said Visas gently.
"If you like," grinned the Mandalore. "There's an herb garden in the back, if you want to visit more flowers."
"Oh, I would like that," said Visas eagerly. She laid her hand on the Mandalore's arm, and he led her away to continue looking at flowers.

"I'm a Mandalorian. Scars aren't disfiguring in our eyes. We don't pity wounds, we praise them."
"Even on women?"
"Is a woman less deserving of honor than a man? Is she less brave? Does she suffer less?" He kissed her between each question, gently stroking her face. "Beauty isn't just on the outside. Love doesn't stop at the eyes or the fingertips." He smiled against her lips, and chuckled quietly. "Of course, it doesn't hurt that your lips are beautiful and that you kiss like a dream."
There was a laugh, soft and sweet, then the sound of a gentle kiss.
"And you know, that dress doesn't hide anything."
"What do you mean? My robes cover me completely."
"Cover, yes. Hide, no."
"I ... I beg your pardon? Oh," she said in understanding. "Oh."
Atton peeked into the small arbor, entirely distracted from his search for fresh mint. "Mandalore?"
He pulled away from Visas and looked irritably at Atton. "What?"
"Nothing. I just didn't recognize you without the mask on, and with Visas stuck to your face."
Visas blushed and made a little face at Atton. "Stop trying to embarrass me!"
"No."
"Why are you even here?" demanded Visas, and hid her face in Canderous' shoulder, as she suddenly realized that her veil had completely fallen off.
"Oh, I heard rumors of an herb garden and I was looking for mint. Oh! There it is!" Atton reached down, and casually handed back the veil. He plucked a few leaves of mint, and then quickly grabbed some other herbs that he had just found. "She likes chocolate, you know."
"Of course she does, all women do. Jedi women especially." Canderous ignored Visas as she replaced her veil, and grinned to himself at the thought of pulling it off again.
Atton raised an eyebrow. "How many Jedi women do you know?"
Canderous looked down and the slender woman in his arms. "Just enough."
"I'll be going now. You aren't even paying attention to me anymore, are you?" Atton grinned, and left Visas and Mandalore alone in the garden.

Kreia walked past the dining hall and found Atton instructing the Mandalorians who were working in the kitchen. "Ah, I didn't think you would suffer yourself to eat another such meal as we had last night."
"I was polite! It was camp food, I didn't expect anything better."
Kreia sniffed. "What are you doing with the ale? I thought you didn't like it."
"I don’t, but it makes an excellent marinade. We killed three grazers from the herd, and I'm going to make some stew for those people who can't come to regular mealtimes." One of the Mandalorians brought over a large bowl, and Atton helped her set it up over the fire. "And the rest is destined to become steaks."
"Have you seen Visas, boy?"
"Look for the Mandalore's tongue, she'll be on the other end."
Kreia laughed. "And Mira?"
"Holding court with all the unattached Mandalorians."
"And where is the girl? Is she still drinking with the alien?"
"Nah, they found some broken things and are fixing them. Lifting heavy things. It makes me tired just watching them."
"And is she still planning to get to Onderon at some point? Or has she decided to join these new Mandalorians?"
Atton looked up. "Both, I think." He looked down at all the food laid out on the counter. "It's too bad there are no more slaves though, I kind of wanted a collar and stuff."
"I'm sure she'll give you one if you ask," said Kreia dryly.
"You think so?" said Atton cheerily. "Anyway, the Mandalore offered her the stealth shuttle that they use to sneak between Dxun and Onderon when the Mandalorians go to get information and supplies. I think he just wants her to stop beating up the warriors in his battle circle."
"She hits like a Krayt dragon," grinned one of the Mandalorians. "My bruises have bruises from fighting her."
"The way she fights, it's no wonder she beat us in the wars." The Mandalorian sounded proud, rather than defeated.
"And she does it all without the Force," said another admiringly. "I always thought Jetii were helpless without the Force."
Kreia smiled. "Some Jedi are different."
Atton pointed to the pot that had just finished heating to the perfect temperature, and a Mandalorian carefully carried it over to the serving table. Atton pulled out a container of whipped cream and a box of freshly cut and sugared marsh mallows to serve along with the chocolate.
"You know, if my head wasn't still ringing from the last time I tried to hit on you, I'd hit on you again." One of the Mandalorians grinned at Atton.
Atton frowned a little and ignored her so that he could finish setting up the snack table. Kreia smiled at his discomfort and watched him retreat past the table while the women attacked the chocolate. Atton handed Kreia a mug of hot chocolate. "I poisoned this one especially for you," he said calmly.
"I'll try to earn it," Kreia smiled. "Perhaps you should go amuse the girl, and convince her to leave for Onderon and get it over with sooner, rather than later?" suggested Kreia softly. "Before I get bored with sightseeing on this planet."
Atton looked at her curiously. "There's nothing to see on this planet to see except vines and ruins."
"Go and find the girl, fool. Stop irritating me."
Atton waited for Kreia to take a sip of her hot chocolate, and smiled at the surprise on her face.
Kreia pretended not to be impressed and sat down on a bench to enjoy her intensely chocolate drink, with the sweet cube of marsh mallow bouncing in the center, while Atton slipped away. As soon as he was gone and the Mandalorians in the kitchen all distracted by the snacks that Atton had set out, she rose gracefully and walked to the central bunker, and sat down on a bench to wait.
"I'll be right back," someone laughed, and the Mandalore ran into the room.
"Canderous Ordo."
The Mandalore stopped. "Who – what are you?"
"I am just a very old woman, Canderous. One who worries much because she has seen much. Your shuttle – it is in readiness to travel to Onderon?"
"Of course, we checked the systems earlier. But she wants to explore the jungle first, and kill another zakkeg."
Kreia sighed in irritation. "She delays."
"She's happy here," said the Mandalore defensively. "And why shouldn't she be? We are her people. Not that someone like you would understand us," he sneered. "We're a breed apart."
"If by 'apart,' you mean, scattered, broken, and lost, then yes, you are correct, Mandalore."
"Not for long," said Canderous fiercely. "Soon the Mandalorians will be strong again, united and proud, under one banner – mine."
"Indeed," said Kreia dryly. "Ready again to march to war at the command of your leader. Tell me, Mandalorian, where is your pride? Where are the children? Why are there no little voices singing your marching songs alongside their mothers and fathers?"
Canderous was silent.
"It is not yet time, is it? You must wait for your orders, just like everyone else. In the meantime, you have gone mad for a soft little Jedi woman who dreams of flowers and life, and has nightmares of monsters in the shape of a man."
"He still lives, right? The one who hurt her?"
Kreia shrugged. "If such a one can be considered alive, then yes, he lives. His ship wanders the edges of known space."
"Good," said Canderous with satisfaction. "I'm going to kill him." He looked at Kreia curiously. "What is he doing on the edge of space?"
"He is seeking a path."
"What?"
"A path, that others have taken, that leads to a different region of space – where different things are known."
"Who are you?" Canderous demanded again.
Kreia smiled gently. "You are a loyal beast, Canderous. Yes, he seeks to follow in the footsteps of another that we both hold dear. So you will help me, Canderous, and you will help yourself. And you will keep the one I follow safe, because she is more important to me than anything else in the galaxy, and only I can help you find what you desire." Kreia laughed at the look on the Mandalore's face. "Have no fear, Mandalorian. All you need do is show the victorious General the same loyalty that you have shown in the past. And when the time comes for a Mandalorian crusade, it will be for something that will carry your songs into the future, etching the memory of Mandalorian honor among the stars. Even when the last Mandalorian has fallen, the shadow of Mando'ade will echo from one end of the galaxy to the other."
"You promise?" said Canderous eagerly, his Mandalorian soul aflame with the hunger for a glorious battle.
Kreia laughed. "I can promise you that wherever the Jedi General goes, war will follow. How that battle turns out, depends of course, on those who follow her. I am old and wise, but wisdom alone does not win battles." Kreia rose, slow and graceful in her movements, mindful of her advanced age. "You shall leave for Onderon shortly?"
Canderous nodded.
"Then I shall leave you to your preparations." Kreia left the room in a swirl of brown robes.
"Forget the Jetii," Canderous muttered to himself, "I have to keep an eye on her."