Chapter Text
The people of the Republic tune in to the session from across the galaxy.
They watch from diners and bars, public places, homes, anywhere the holonet broadcast plays.
Some pause in their work, a little curious.
Some pull it up with clear intent.
Some watch for no reason other than convenience.
It isn’t often that a Senate session is so widely viewed.
The people are, as they so often tend to be, busy with their own lives.
To keep up with the Senate would require time and commitment most cannot spare, and nearly all do not desire to.
They trust that the status quo will continue in spite of, or perhaps because of, the obvious corruption and lavish wealth of their representatives.
For some, their conditions are terrible, nearly unbearable.
For others, their lives continue in stability, if not comfort.
For yet others, the status quo suits them very well.
There is nothing to be done regardless.
The Senate is corrupt and there is snow on the mountains of Alderaan.
It is in their nature.
But still, they watch.
They watch for they have heard that Mandalore is coming to speak.
Mandalore, feared and powerful, isolated for more than a generation now.
These violent warriors, so unchanged by the civilization of a thousand years. Stubborn and, if the tabloids are to be believed, plotting something. Dangerous and, if certain Senators are to be believed, willing to agree to diplomatic talks.
The people watch, already losing interest, as the Chancellor goes through the motions of introducing the day’s agenda.
Mandalore has sent a representative.
The Jedi Order wishes to make a short statement.
-
If the people could see into one of the side rooms used for foreign dignitaries, they would see a Mandalorian and a Jedi.
An odd pairing, for all their storied history.
They would see a Mandalorian, pacing and angry.
They would see a Jedi, steady and calm.
They would see exactly what they expect.
As it is, they do not see the Mandalorian and the Jedi.
They do not see the Jedi’s supportive squeeze and tired smile.
They do not see the Mandalorian’s determined nod before she dons a helmet traced with vengeance and justice.
As it is, they see a Mandalorian, tense and stubborn and dangerous.
They see a strong enemy, they see a possible ally, they see a desirable trading partner.
Most of all, they see a curiosity.
-
The Chancellor begins with a genial smile. “First on the agenda, the Senate welcomes the Representative from the Mandalore System. Feel free to remove your helmet, I assure you, the Senate holds no ill intentions. You are perfectly safe here.” She crosses her arms, disgust clear in her every muscle.
The Chancellor’s smile does not waver. “Very well, please introduce yourself for the record.”
“Thank you. Chancellor. Senators.” Many cannot help but notice the way she grinds out their titles. “I am Arla Fett, of Clan Fett and House Mereel. I stand before you on behalf of Mand’alor Jaster Mereel of Clan and House Mereel.”
The Senators shift and shuffle in the background.
Some recognize the significance, although none know how to interpret it.
They can only make guesses.
The Republic’s knowledge of Mandalorian Houses and Clans is one of many things lost to time.
“I have come to address recent actions by this body with respect to the Independent Mandalore Sector.” She speaks with barely contained fury. A few Senators in sight of the holocam shift uncomfortably.
“Lady Fett.” Someone interrupts, the holocam does not waver from her helmet. “I mean no offense but here in the Republic we conduct ourselves-”
A slight shift of attention in all she gives, tilting her helmet not towards the source of the interruption but to the Chancellor.
“Chancellor.” She intones carefully, there is quietly sheathed danger in her voice. “I believe I was told I would be permitted to speak my message freely.”
“Lady Fett…”
“I am here to impart a message. Nothing more, nothing less.” Her voice is harsh.
Arla Fett is all that the Republic has come to expect from her people. She is violence, barely held back. She is Mandalore, on the precipice of war.
She is playing their game, strange and unaccustomed to it as she appears.
The Republic wonders.
The Chancellor makes his decision. “Senator, you have not been recognized. Please allow the Representative to continue…”
He pauses a moment and adds, “I would like to see my wife tonight, if you don’t mind.” to a polite smattering of laughter.
Fett tips her helmet in acknowledgement, she does not so much as chuckle. “As I was saying. The Mand’alor was deeply disturbed by the actions taken by members of this body to see him deposed.”
There are whispers across the galaxy, deposed? They had not heard of such a thing.
There is anger.
The Senate would risk war?
Over what?
Mandalore may be a threat, a dangerous one, but war… the people are not yet fearful enough of the enemy, they have not yet been reminded of the stories of wars of old, the holonews has not yet speculated and debated the necessity.
Most of all, the Republic has no army. Most of those watching from across the galaxy, from their different places and situations wish for nothing but the continuation of what is.
A quiet Mandalore, easily ignored if not listening to warmongers.
A steady continuation of life without disruption.
“Lady Fett, please refrain from making unfounded accusations upon the character of this esteemed body.” The Chancellor's offended voice rises above the massive din of overlapping protests.
She simply tilts her head slightly in acknowledgement.
“I will move on, I am not here to argue over petty details.” The Senators clearly do not agree that these are petty details but remain quiet. “I have come to address the reparations.”
“There were no reparations!”
“You insult us!”
“We are guilty of nothing deserving of reparations!”
Some in the audience note her fists clenched tight at her sides.
“Allow me to tell you a little about my people.” Her voice is deceptively calm and steady but anyone can see this is only an illusion. “We value children, there is nothing more important. To harm a child is the worst sin and worthy of the loss of one’s soul.”
The Senators reluctantly quiet down at the Chancellor’s bidding.
She continues, dangerously soft. “In giving us a child. In hurting a child. It cannot be called an insult. If you were Mandalorian you would be dar’manda several times over. You are not even worthy of that.”
The chamber is quiet, it feels like something is about to break.
Those watching across the galaxy hold their breaths, their minds racing with possibilities and explanations.
She takes a breath and the tension breaks with her words. “Mandalore will be recalling our embassy and its staff, small though it may be. We will have nothing to do with monsters. Further inquiries or questions may be directed to the commline for governments without formal relations. That is all.”
-
If the people could see into one of the side rooms used for foreign dignitaries, they would see a Mandalorian and a Jedi.
An odd pairing, for all their storied history.
They would see a Mandalorian giving the Jedi’s arm a supportive squeeze.
They would see a Jedi murmuring quiet reassurance with a small smile.
As it is, they do not see the Mandalorian and the Jedi.
They do not see the Jedi’s respectful bow.
They do not see the Mandalorian’s snort and wish for good hunting.
As it is, they see a Jedi, calm and unflappable and mysterious.
They see a constant companion, they see an unknowable ally, they see an incomprehensible power.
Most of all, they see a curiosity.