Jedi form lightsaber salutes are so fucking dope: every time Obi-Wan does that Soresu two fingered thing perpendicular blade move it looks so cool that I want to scream. You can totally understand why Dooku was still doing that up-then-swoosh Makashi salute even though Sidious must have internally died every time he watched his cringefail “Sith” apprentice show off in specifically Jedi fashion.
do you................sometimes wonder if dooku's adoration for makashi would/could extend so far as to use it for every situation. or, if he were to use other forms as context demanded it, would he obstinately deny when questioned and pretend he was still swishing and flicking like a fencer? like, publicly professing an absolute distaste for niman, all the while still employing force attacks and labeling it form ii all the same?
in the lore, it is often said that makashi is only very good in one-on-one duels, but in my world, dooku would be obstinate enough to use it against multiple opponents, too (i know he already does that in canon, it's 100% a point of pride for him). but i just feel he would also try it for blaster defection. is that even possible? idk. he would modify the arm movements at least so that they looked prettier. he's a man in love!!
i have so many headcanons about his stupid opinions!! (that may or may not hold up to actual canon) such as
no weapons other than one (1) lightsaber at a time. don't even think about staves, whips or dual-wielding. no reverse grip ever. there's nothing one can do with a straight hilt that cannot be done with a curved one. the lightsaber never leaves your hand. (he would be appalled at lightsaber-throwing!) always keep the other hand behind one's back. only ever hold the blade with two hands if absolutely necessary, on verge of death.
NO unnecessary acrobatics. NEVER jump over an opponent's head, that's only inviting mou kei!! likewise, never allow anyone to jump over you without penalising them (dooku on a bridge should be terrifying). make them regret every stupid leapfrog!!
always salute before a fight. not necessarily out of respect towards your opponent, mind you, but out of respect towards THE FORM.
always begin a duel with an open stance inviting a (foolish) attack. the more open the better. added benefit of also mocking your opponent. (i know he likes pointing his saber downwards to the side but i feel like wing stance would also be acceptable). never ever begin a duel with a stance that is too defensive or too offensive (telegraphing intent like that would just be pathetic) (he would totally be the kind of person to have lots of opinions on stances).
force attacks would be borderline territory, i feel. it would look cool as a flex and they are a skill that requires mastery and a strong connection to the Force, but i think deep down dooku would feel like it would be more impressive if you could win on dueling skills alone. even so! sometimes he just wouldn't be able to help himself from showing off! (he does use a lot of force powers on screen, after all. diva behaviour.)
obviously when he's sith, the duel ends when he kills you, but as a jedi i see him developing this propensity for disarming people, in line with makashi's original roots as a defensive form. so he'd either use telekinesis at the end of the duel to call the opponent's saber to him or (to increase the difficulty level) find a way to destroy or disable the blade without cutting off hands and arms. i admit i got this idea from the acolyte when they introduced the possibility of the swords malfunctioning, but what if dooku found a way to delicately nip, clip, jab at the hilt and make it glitch? without touching any fingers and in motion, i would imagine this trick to require a great deal of precision that would become absolutely alarming if he could pull it off. even with a two-handed grip, there must be some square centimeters left of that hilt that could be targeted? i confess i don't really know how feasible this idea is, but it sure sounds like a challenge for dooku to figure out. (this would be a lot easier to do for firearms, obviously, although it would require getting within melee reach).
not sure what his stance would be on hand-to-hand combat, though. on the one hand, he would be mildly horrified at being put in this situation in the first place (it would mean something happened to his sword??) (similarly to using force powers, a consummate duelist should win only relying on his skills with a saber). but in practice i think he would take heart at the simple delight of cracking someone's face on the table in a pub brawl.
Being the Second Form of the Lightsaber, Known Among the Orders as The Way of Contention
“When war becomes art, only the refined endure. And in such contests, brute force is not only crude — it is irrelevant.”
— Fragment from the Scroll of Serennian Dueling Masters
§ I. Of Its Name and First Purpose
Annotation: If Shii-Cho is the hammer, then Makashi is the needle — unerring, unshakable, and elegant to the end.
Makashi, Form II, is known across the Orders as The Contention Form, for it was born in contention — not merely with enemies, but with the limitations of the First Form itself. Where Shii-Cho raged against many with raw power, Makashi turned its blade toward the duel.
This Form is not concerned with crowds, nor chaos. It was wrought for one-on-one combat — saber against saber, will against will — in measured confrontation. It moves not to overwhelm, but to outthink, outmaneuver, and ultimately outlast.
Makashi adherents do not strike often. They strike precisely, with intention sharpened to a point.
§ II. Of Its Origins in an Age of Blades
Annotation: As duels between lightsaber-wielders became more common, so too did the need for a method of elegance and control.
The rise of Makashi traces to the Great Hyperspace War, an era when Jedi and Sith met increasingly not in fields of soldiers, but in duels of champions. There, the brute force of Shii-Cho was found lacking — its wide arcs and battlefield instincts poorly suited to the grace and cunning of single combat.
Makashi arose as the answer. Its philosophy was drawn not from armies, but from the dueling salons of old, where lords and scholars sparred with rapiers and sabers. It favored the economy of movement, the clarity of line, and the discipline of the thrust. Where other Forms clash, Makashi glides.
Thus was the Second Form born not in fire, but in refinement. It is not the weapon of war, but of the duelist’s circle, where each motion carries weight and each inch of steel is measured in lives.
§ III. From the Personal Records of Count Dooku
“Makashi is not for those who seek spectacle. It is for those who seek victory. Speed is nothing without precision. Strength is wasteful without grace. The truly refined understand that to strike well once is better than to strike wildly a hundred times. Those who mock this truth have no place in the Circle.”
— Count Dooku, Lord of Serenno, Defender of the Line
§ IV. Of the Essence of the Form
Annotation: Where Shii-Cho demands domination, Makashi offers control.
The soul of Makashi lies in the concept of economy — of motion, of energy, of thought. Every gesture, every step, every angle of attack is considered, purposeful, and stripped of excess.
Makashi thrives on distance. It teaches one to maintain the line, to never overextend nor withdraw without design. It employs precise thrusts and targeted slashes, aimed not to maim but to disarm, disorient, and resolve the duel swiftly.
There is no flourish without function. The blade writes its will in the air with delicate authority, and the practitioner becomes as a calligrapher — each motion a letter, each bout a sentence.
The Form excels in disarmament, in counters and reversals delivered with such finesse that the eye may miss them, though the body cannot.
§ V. Of the Grip: Precision Held in the Hand
Annotation: Where power holds tight, precision holds lightly.
Makashi favors a one-handed grip, unlike the two-handed hold of Shii-Cho. The saber is wielded much like a dueling foil — fingers guiding, wrist directing, arm extending with flow and subtlety.
The ring and little fingers anchor the hilt, while the index and middle remain loose, giving the practitioner unmatched freedom of wrist articulation. This allows for fine control of angle, rotation, and direction, especially in close combat.
Though a second hand may join in times of necessity, true Makashi is recognized by the single hand extended, blade poised like a fencer’s sting.
§ VI. Of the Stance and Motion of the Duelist
Annotation: Makashi’s stance does not invite, it challenges.
The practitioner turns sideways to the foe, presenting a narrow target and optimizing reach. The lead foot faces forward, the rear turned perpendicular, knees slightly bent, ready to glide rather than stomp.
Weight is balanced evenly, though some traditions teach it should rest more on the back foot — a signal of readiness to retreat or redirect, never to lunge blindly.
The rear arm is held behind, not limp but balanced — both a counterweight and a mark of discipline.
The blade is typically held in two guard positions:
High Guard: blade parallel to the ground at chest height, point aimed at the opponent, arm extended but relaxed — an offensive posture.
Low Guard: hilt at the navel, blade angled upward across the body, elbow close — a defensive orientation prepared for riposte.
Movement is not hurried. It is measured, like a musician’s beat, and when the opening comes, it is seized with the swiftness of a falling star.
§ VII. Of the Art of Offense
Annotation: The duel is not won by force, but by forethought followed by perfect action.
Makashi favors short, precise strikes — lunges, disarming flicks, arcs aimed to unbalance or wound, not to obliterate.
The Form employs sudden directional changes, making it difficult to anticipate. But its true power lies in its counterattacks, for each parry is not an end but a beginning — the riposte is built into every defense.
In this, Makashi turns the enemy’s aggression into a path to their undoing.
§ VIII. Of the Discipline of Defense
Annotation: The best defense is absence, the second best is redirection.
Makashi does not seek to meet power with power, for it knows such contests favor the strong. Instead, it evades, redirects, and parries with the edge of precision.
A Makashi adept often seems to not be present when the blow falls — a slight pivot, a glide back, a subtle rotation of the wrist that sends the attacker’s momentum past its mark.
Blocks are discouraged unless required, for they risk binding the blade, losing initiative. Instead, a Makashi defense is fluid, meant to preserve motion, create openings, and transition seamlessly into offense.
§ IX. Of the Form’s Nature and Temperament
Annotation: There is no fury in Makashi. Only focus.
Let the following names be counted among Makashi’s character:
Elegant, yet not delicate.
Precise, yet not rigid.
Fluid, yet not formless.
Swift, refined, measured, and collected.
It is a Form for the patient, the poised, the practiced. Those who seek to batter or overwhelm will find themselves outmaneuvered — defeated not by strength, but by superiority of method.
§ X. Of the Observations Upon Other Forms
Annotation: Makashi respects all Forms, but acknowledges few equals.
Shii-Cho: “Brute force only triumphs over the weak or the witless.”
Soresu: “Stalwart, but too imprecise to exploit an opening in return.”
Ataru: “Energetic, but exhausting. Why leap when a step will suffice?”
Djem So: “Powerful, but still unrefined. With time, it may yet evolve.”
Niman: “A flavorless dilution. It tastes of everything and satisfies nothing.”
Vaapad: “Passionate, but clouded. Rage blinds; clarity cuts.”
These are not insults, but evaluations — born not of arrogance, but of observation.
§ XI. Of a Duel Remembered
From the Archives of the Outer Rim Campaigns, 22 BBY
“The duelist moved like water made light. His blade never clashed — it sang. One strike flowed into the next as though all had been choreographed by fate. When the Sith came down with fury, the Makashi warrior stepped aside — not fully, just enough — and let the rage pass him.
A flick of the wrist, a glint of the saber’s point, and the Sith’s weapon spun free, clattering useless at his feet. The duel had lasted less than a minute, but to those who watched, it seemed a lesson eternal.”
#StarWars #Kwanzaa - the 7 lightsaber forms align with the 7 principles of Kwanzaa or the Nguzo Saba. There is no emotion there is only The Force.
The lightsaber forms of Star Wars align with the 7 principles or Nguzo Saba of the first fruits harvest of Kwanzaa. How cool is that? To become a Jedi and use a lightsaber, one could follow the 7 principles of:
Umoja – Day 1 – means Unity of family, legacy and tradition
Kujichagulia – Day 2 – means Self-Determination – manifesting one’s own destiny
Ujima – Day 3 – means Collective Work and…
D’una had healed perfectly fine, but Maul still could not face her. To make matters worse, he was quite certain that she was avoiding him. This was…understandable, and Maul would give her space, but it was… Maul was unhappy.
It felt like all of the progress, all of the little steps he had taken were gone. The Jedi had gone back to avoidance and worse, Maul no longer felt quite as welcome in his job. Jocasta had been sending him to do more organizing of their various languages in the back, away from others. Maul could not tell if it was because she wanted to give him space or if they needed space from him.
Maul hadn’t seen Wan, and he did not know how to feel about that, whether she was avoiding him because of what had happened or…
Maul had been brought back to the meditation gardens regularly, allowed to water the plants and simply sit, but Maul had also not felt so alone in such a long time.
He was also still in his cell, though he believed Tiq when he said that they were working on it.
Maul had turned the volume down at least, had been allowed to enjoy the rest of the playlist in peace and had genuinely found himself to enjoy it more when he did not know it was technically causing a great scene.
The Council had not talked to him about the Sith artifacts either…
Things were slow, but Tiq had warned him that they may be, even if he had changed things so quick… A less charitable part wondered whether or not that was because it had been damaging to their own image. This was simply Maul himself, a single being that had little consequence or relative worth.
But there was a part of him that didn’t believe that, either. This was mostly because the idea of even voicing a part of those worries to Tiq filled him with deep disquiet, as well as the idea that Tiq would be very insistent this was not the case.
Maul was still taking lessons, but he didn’t take to it as much as he had.
A part of him felt as though if he talked about it then there would be something they could do, but another part of him felt as though… Did Maul deserve to talk about it?
Did he deserve to ask, to challenge?
Maul was sitting in a cell, staring at his copy of Macbeth that he had found himself reading again. It probably wasn’t helping his mental state.
Wither Sententious had written this to vent. Had put his feelings into words and given it to other people in a way that took it from his own chest. Macbeth himself, longing for power and stripped of it all, not even given a true ability to choose. Tossed between so many things, the Sisters, the lady that was his mate, the ones that would strip his power from him…
Maul did not want to see himself in it.
Maul did not want to see himself at all.
Maul hated it. He hated it, he hated so much and every single time he hated it he felt… Maul utilized too much hate. They had all said so and he had seen how it had made him vulnerable to the likes of Plo…but he did not know how to use anything else. He had been experimenting with other emotions, other feelings, but ultimately Maul did not know how to channel it.
Maul was tired and he was tired of being tired.
Maul stared at this play of someone being made into another’s plaything, of their own ambition being swallowed up by the wider world around them and wondered…wondered if Wither would have understood. Perhaps he wouldn’t have grown up without touch in the same way that Maul had, or a kind word, or so many things, but maybe he would have known what it was to have so much of himself taken away.
Wither was a Nightbrother…at the very least they had that in common. Perhaps people were as fascinated by Wither’s exoticism as they were himself, perhaps even more so as Wither was the first one on record that had gone on to do something like this. Maul wondered if there were others that had that were lost to time and visions of themselves and…
Would Maul himself be swallowed up in someone else’s definition? Would he be swallowed by someone else’s ambition?
Maul had already been, he supposed. Maul had been used by his Master in a way that stripped him of everything, had given him so many gaps, had left weaknesses in his very mind…
Maul stared at the lines of Macbeth and finally closed his eyes. It was a stupid idea, perhaps, and he knew that he would not be as good at it, he had no mind for Iambic Pentameter as it was defined, and he didn’t necessarily think that he could do anything close to it, but… Maybe it would work.
Maul sure didn’t feel as though he could talk to anyone about what was happening…
If nothing else it was worth a shot. Maul wasn’t sure if they were reading his datapad to make sure he wasn’t getting into anything, which left him with very few places to hide it so they wouldn’t read it, but his night vision being what it was…there wasn’t any reason he could not just roll over, hide under the covers and just…
Write.
If nothing else it gave him less reason to dream.
_
Eeth had noticed something rather…unsettling over the past few days.
Maul’s feelings…never wavered. There had been that one extreme burst of distress which had called them to him, but outside of that… Nothing. No flicker. Initially Eeth had not thought much of it, not at first, not when he had been focused on discussing where to put Maul should they remove him from the cells.
Tiq was adamant they did so, and Eeth agreed, and similarly the others did, but there was the logistics of where to put him, as well as what they could do to keep what had happened to D’una from happening again. Further warnings to keep them from touching Maul without warning, getting his attention from a distance… Maul needed the kindness of respecting his trauma and his space, and sometimes Eeth felt as though they were fundamentally missing it.
Tiq had listened to his concerns, and with a smile that was equal parts rueful and sad, stated simply that Maul was not a Jedi.
Eeth of course knew that, how could he not know it… But there was something about the realization that he might have been treating Maul like one more than he wanted to admit.
That lack of feeling, that stillness that was fundamental to any Jedi?
That was not the same for a Sith, in fact was antithesis…
So why would Maul feel as though he felt nothing? As though there was nothing?
Particularly when Eeth knew that there had to be something. He could feel the crackling of the fires that made him, could feel the way that Maul burned, and yet…
Eeth let the thoughts go slowly, turning his attention to Maul himself, who was working on what Eeth had given him, and this, too, was another thing that made him worry. Maul did not ask as many questions. He had lost most of the spark that he had when in discussions with Plo…
Eeth sat in front of Maul and thought idly to himself that he had treated him like a Jedi that would breathe it out and give it to the Force long enough.
“Maul,” he said softly, breaking Maul from his concentration, looking up from the pages that he had been reading through and focusing on him. “Are you okay?”
Maul stared at him.
Eeth waited, keeping his focus on those yellow and burning eyes, the reminder that he should have perhaps asked him about it a good long time ago. How could Eeth have treated him like a Jedi with the eyes before him staring into his own?
Because it was easy, perhaps. Because it was more in his own comfort zone and he tended to leave Tiq for such talks, he supposed… Eeth believed that Tiq was doing his job, and he knew similarly that Tiq had worked on making sure that Maul knew that he could talk to him, but he thought… Perhaps having someone ask that did not normally, that usually left such a thing to Tiq himself…perhaps it would be best to flip the script a little. If nothing else it would give Eeth room to talk about the bond, about how Maul controlled his emotions, potentially.
Maul made the slightest of faces and finally, quietly, “yes.”
Eeth stared at him for a longer moment, finding a brow creeping up, but he supposed… But Maul’s expression was starting to crumble slowly, the complete deadpan shifting the longer that Eeth stared at him in silence, and finally, slowly, Maul lowered his head.
Eeth sighed softly, tilting his head as he stared at him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Eeth asked.
“What purpose would it serve?” Maul asked in turn. “What would it do if I told you how I was feeling?”
Eeth was quiet for a moment, “It would get it out of your own chest,” he said, “remove it from your own head and share it with another. That is most of the reason we give it to the Force,” he said, “we remove it because there is nothing we can do with it. Sometimes it is too big for us, or sometimes it is dependent on another person, sometimes there simply is nothing we can do and to stew on it overly long would remove us from helping those we can. We do have the emotion,” Eeth said softly, “what matters is what you do with it.”
Maul took that in for a moment, his head lowering before he finally shook his head.
“Do you want to walk through what you’re feeling with me?” Eeth prompted softly.
Maul stared at him for a moment. “I am not a Jedi,” he said finally and Eeth felt something within him twist.
“I know,” Eeth finally said after a long moment. “I keep…I keep… It is not that I forget, I don’t think,” Eeth said with a slight frown. “And I similarly do not think it is because I wish that you were a Jedi. I…want to help you,” Eeth said, holding out both hands. “I want to help you and I want to mentor you and I want for you to be content…and the only way I have known that to be, the only way that I have found my own contentment and mentored the others that I have been close to…is as a Jedi.” Eeth stared at him for a moment. “I do not want you to be a Jedi because I believe it is the only way for you to find happiness, far from it, but I am meeting you as a Jedi because I am one, and the ones that I have taught have also been Jedi, and the lack… The lack is not with you, Maul, it is with me, and I am sorry that it is there. I am sorry that I keep pushing for something that is not there and does not have to be. All I want is to help you. All I want…is for you to know that you are welcome here, and that I am proud of you. I am very proud of you. Every time I stop to think about it I am overwhelmed by how proud I am of you. Don’t let my own faults hang over your head as some form of condemnation. I have none.”
Maul stared at him for the longest time, and he watched as those eyes flickered. “You…do not condemn me?”
“No,” Eeth said immediately, realizing the tone he had a moment later, something bewildered and almost amused, recognizing the way that Maul had started to shut down and held his hands up. “No, I am sorry, I did not mean to belittle you for…Maul, do you feel condemned? Have we somehow…” Eeth trailed off, staring at him for a moment. “D’una was an accident, Maul,” Eeth said. “What happened to her was an accident and absolutely no one blames you for it. We are…we are still going to give you a room. The problem is where to put you, it is not…oh Maul, please tell me you have not been thinking that we are…” Eeth paused, staring at him for a moment and then sighed. “How would you have known otherwise?” Eeth put a hand over his face for a moment.
“We are talking about where to put you,” Eeth finally said, lacing his fingers in his lap. “Not because we are trying to find where you might do the least damage, or because we think you are going to go on a rampage…but because you are hurting, and you are still learning how to be kind, and also because you pose an interesting question of where you would thrive the most. We discussed placing you with the Padawans, but the problem with that is the fact that while you might be the closest to them in age, in terms of maturity, life experience, and simply your placement as a Sith Lord…there is an undeniable difference there. None of us wish for you to believe we are slighting you or suggesting your experience or knowledge are less than what they are. You have been Knighted in your Order…but you are much younger than any of our Knights.
“Of course, I do want you to be with people your own age. I think it has done wonders for you to be able to be with D’una and Wan, even with what happened. You had fun, Maul, you were able to have fun with people your own age and that’s a wonderful thing. It’s good to have fun with people at whatever age, of course, and there is truth to the fact that their life experiences are different to yours, but they brought you something that you could not get with us. But does that mean that the Padawan suites are the best place for you to stay?” Eeth sighed, “I…am uncertain. In fact, I do not think so. I believe it would be good for you to continue to get interaction with them, but I think that for where you should stay? I would like to place you with the Masters. I think that you’re familiar enough with us and that it would give you a spot to flourish and relax, while also giving you a spot where you can retreat to should you need a moment. That and there are plenty of old and similarly wise individuals that can help you in ways I think other Padawans or even Knights cannot. So, you understand, this is the main debate that is happening right now, and you know my stance. And here, perhaps is a question that I should have perhaps asked earlier: where would you like to go?”
Maul hesitated for a moment and then finally shook his head, his gaze so… “I do not know,” he said.
“Anything is preferable to here?” Eeth asked, and there was amusement in his voice, even though it felt bitter.
Maul looked around himself slowly and Eeth found himself looking at everything that surrounded them as well.
Eeth looked at the pictures on the wall, the spots of color in an otherwise colorless cell, looked at the window that Maul still would stare out of for hours on end, or do his homework by. Eeth looked at the case that held all of the bound flimsi, the datapads that he had been allowed for translation work, looked to the table on which rested the plant that Maul had taken so much care of, and the collar that Eeth could admit that he hated – before breathing it out. He looked to the refresher that was open, almost in a reminder that it was under Maul’s control, the horn oil he had gotten him, the brush for his teeth, the soap that smelled like rain…
Eeth looked to the bed always so nicely made…and then finally looked back to Maul, who frowned, and finally, softly.
“No,” he said. “I can think of much worse places to be.”
And the fact that Eeth knew that Maul could indeed think of much worse places to be hurt the space between his hearts. Eeth took a breath, and then lowered his head, invitation, and request, and after a moment… Maul slid forward, carefully interlocked their horns, and relaxed bodily against him.
Eeth wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. “It’s alright, Maul,” Eeth said softly. “This room has served its purpose – you don’t belong here anymore, and we’ll find a place that you do. It’s okay. You’re okay.”
Eeth felt the way Maul shuddered for a moment, felt the way his horns slid against his own, the way he allowed himself to be pulled tighter, and once again made a mental note that he would talk to the Council about speeding up the process. Maul did not deserve to be left in the dust while they hemmed and hawed it over to death. Maul needed better from them.
They would just have to give it.
But for now…for now Eeth was going to hold him.
_
Maul felt…silly. Eeth had invited his touch and Maul had…fallen into it without thought, fallen against him and into an embrace without thinking it over. Eeth had said once that he was still a Zabrak, that to do so was in his nature, that Zabraks fell into such piles so often there was even a formal name for them… A Clutter, he had called it, though with the acknowledgement that a Dathomirian might know them by a different name.
Maul was so tired of that. So much was unknown, so much that he would potentially neverknow…not unless he was to meet another Dathomirian and…
“I think that that’s enough Hamlet for today,” a familiar voice said, and Maul blinked, realizing that…
Maul found himself falling forward before he truly knew what he was doing, his horns pressing to the ground and his body ready for a blow that he… “I am sorry, my thoughts were…”
“Maul,” Mace said, and his voice was firm, but not unyielding, nothing sharp to it, and Maul let his voice trail off. “It’s alright. You’ve got reason to have a lot on your mind. I don’t mind.”
Maul took a breath and slowly allowed himself to sit up, still not meeting… He felt…
“It’s alright,” Mace said, “I recognize that it’s a habit. I also recognize that if you stay in this room any longer you’ll probably lose your mind.” Mace’s grin was lopsided. “So, I have another proposal…would you like to spar with me?”
Maul blinked. Maul blinked again.
“Yes.”
Mace grinned at him, and Maul realized how eager his answer had been, ducking his head and momentarily… “Good, come on,” Mace said before Maul could fall any further into his own head. “Bring your play.”
Maul frowned, but followed instructions, bringing it with him.
It was only as they were out of the room that he realized that he had left his collar behind.
For a moment Maul wanted to go back to get it, nearly freezing where he stood, but when Mace turned to look back at him, Maul found himself squaring his jaw and following after. He was going to be sparring and surely he wouldn’t be meant to wear it?
Maul did not understand why he felt like he should be wearing it regardless. Why he felt like he was doing something he should not be… Maul shoved the thoughts away, walking after Mace, heading towards the training hall.
Maul was aware in a way that he had not been in a long time of the other Jedi and as he walked amongst them he wondered how much more aware they were of him. Maul…had expected for them to be more aware of his presence, more hesitant, and yet…
And yet…
“It’s good to have you out of the collar,” Mace said, and Maul gave a soft answering hum, not…wanting to discuss it, and yet in a way he could not understand why. “They need to get used to you as a presence,” Mace continued, “to the way you sense things.” Mace was quiet for a moment, Maul falling into step with him when he noticed that Mace had begun to slow down. “Particularly once you gain a room in the Temple where you can come and go as you please. This might technically be a parole until you decide to remove the collar entirely, but periodically it should absolutely be done.”
That…made sense. Maul inclined his head in agreement.
They walked to the turbolift together, the two of them falling in side by side and this, too...was still so strange. Maul had spent so much of his life a little behind, a little back, not allowed to stand next to his Master as an equal... Maul was not an equal. Maul was Sith and even as Lord, even as Darth, he would not be an equal until he killed his Master, such was the way of the Sith.
Such...was meant to be the way of the Sith.
Maul still did not know what he wanted to do otherwise, what he could do otherwise... But if Maul was the last of the Sith then it was...he needed to figure it out.
Maul could not think of that.
“Maul,” Mace’s voice came, and Maul realized that the lift had opened. Maul ducked his head and followed him. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“I am fine,” Maul answered shortly.
Mace said nothing.
Maul closed his eyes for a moment. “I have...not been sleeping well. And...there is much to think about.”
“Trouble sleeping?” Mace repeated.
“Nightmares, mostly,” Maul answered shortly.
“I’ve had my fair share of those,” Mace said. Maul couldn’t help the way his eyes slanted towards him, and Mace smiled. “Don’t seem like the type?”
“I had thought that if you gave everything to the Force...why...?”
“Would you still have nightmares about it?” Mace asked with a rough smile. Maul ducked his head. “It’s a reasonable question, Maul. What do you know about giving it away to the Force?”
“It is connected to breath,” Maul answered with a frown, “I...did something like it with Tiq’s guidance. He said that...” Maul trailed off for a moment. “I could do nothing with the emotion, to hold onto it was a waste and a mistake. He showed me that as there was nothing I could do I...should simply breathe it out, give it to the Force.”
“He is correct, naturally,” Mace smiled. “Though I don’t know that it’s connected to breath in the same way that it is a motion, a reminder to let it go. It’s not an actual physical cloud after all, merely an…expression, a motion, a letting go. But, you and I both know that sometimes trauma sticks. There are things that I’ve seen that live in my dreams long past when they have concluded.”
“Things that might happen?” Maul asked.
“Sometimes,” Mace answered with a dip of his head. “Sometimes I’ve dreamed of doing things differently, of missing something I shouldn’t have, of what could go wrong...and sometimes of things that went right.”
Maul stared at him for a moment, “why is that a nightmare?”
“I wake up and I remember that it didn’t happen,” Mace answered. “I remember that the people I saved in my dream, or the choices I made that solved everything, that stopped tragedy in my dream...didn’t happen. They’re still dead, or a choice I made that I regret still happened.”
Maul took that in for a moment and felt his lips curl into a frown. “I see,” he said softly.
“May I ask what you dream about?”
Maul was quiet for a long moment. For a moment he thought of telling him, of the fact that he woke up and was unable to breathe for the fear that was lodged inside of his chest, of the fact that he forced himself to roll out of bed and exercise until he could think straight, of the fact that he was unable to keep himself from trembling.
Maul said nothing.
“When you’re ready,” Mace said softly. “I’m ready to listen. Tiq is definitely ready to listen. He’s probably better prepared than I am to listen. Is there a reason you haven’t talked to him?”
Maul felt that same knot of something sick and something hollow rise up in his chest and closed his eyes, looking away.
“Are you mad at him?”
“No,” Maul answered, too surprised by the question to keep from answering it. “I am not mad at him, he...Tiq is fine.”
“Then why haven’t you talked to him?”
Maul knew the answer to that. Maul knew that he was getting to the point where he thought if he opened his mouth everything would come pouring out. Things that Maul did not even want to say would come out and...and there was a part of Maul that even though he wanted... Maul desperately wanted to talk to Tiq, he wanted to say these things, but there was a part of him that was still afraid.
Maul could not.
There was another part of him that knew that the fear itself was a chain and hated it... But at the same time, to let go of that fear was to invite the ability to be known to the deepest core of his being, and... Maul knew of the fact that Tiq was willing to connect their minds, to create something between them that could be used to further heal him. But...
But...
Maul shook his head.
“It’s alright,” Mace said. “But just so you know...Tiq’s more patient than just about anyone I know. He’ll wait for you to talk to him, and if you decide to never talk to him then he’ll be alright with that, too. He just wants to help.”
Maul took that in for a moment. “What do you want?”
Mace grinned at him, “to help.”
“And sparring helps how?”
“It gets you out of your own head,” Mace answered. He tilted his head, and Maul realized that the corridor was empty, “and Maul,” he said softly, and Maul looked up at him, listening, feeling something in his chest tighten, recognizing the mirror of himself however long ago, giving a soft truth before the other could react. “I like to fight.”
Maul felt shock ripple through him, staring up at him with wide eyes, but before he could say anything, make a single comment, Mace winked, and then walked into the training room.
Maul followed after.
There were a few others utilizing the room he saw, which he should have expected, hadexpected, but…it was still something of a surprise. Maul followed Mace to the back to the rack of training lightsabers.
“Do you have a preference?” Mace asked, gesturing towards the rack and Maul frowned, immediately looking for the saberstaff, and almost sighing aloud when he realized he couldn’t find it. “Eeth took it,” Mace said in understanding with a wan smile, “he wanted to do some tweaking. Said that it needed to be rebalanced.”
Maul found himself inclining his head slightly without comment. He had noticed that it had a slight lilt to it. It would be nice to have a rebalanced saberstaff that was easier to handle.
“Are you familiar at all with Makashi?” Mace asked.
Maul wrinkled his nose.
Mace laughed. “I take it it’s not your favored?”
“It is…” Maul hesitated, thinking of how to properly explain, “I found it nearly impossible to utilize effectively. I think…now that I know that my mind was unshielded to my Master, I think he utilized it against me when he was…when he was training me. Makashi is a mental duel as well as a physical one, and I was completely overrun in that aspect before I even started.”
Mace stared at him for a moment, his gaze sharp. “Well,” he said, “I think you’d be good at it.” Maul looked to him properly. “Which is good, because it was the one style I didn’t see you utilize.” Mace tilted his head at him, grinning, “I’m going to challenge you to use it.”
Maul stared at him for a moment, a feeling of deep dislike of the style warring with a desire to rise to a challenge… The challenge won.
“I…accept,” he said finally.
“Excellent,” Mace grinned. “Choose your weapon.”
Maul looked to the wall, taking it in for a moment, looking to see if he could find…
Curved saber hilts.
Maul didn’t think much of them. When it came right down to it a lot of his strengths resided in his flexibility, his agility, and his ferocity. Makashi played to some of them, but it also highlighted one of his main weaknesses, which was admittedly his height.
Maul was nottall, and his reach reflected that. Curved lightsaber hilts, while perfect for the style, often rendered his reach even shorter. Maul had utilized a shoto in the past to help with that, and he wondered… Oh, yes, that was a shoto. Would it be allowed? Maul sighed, before reaching for the curved blade, taking it in for a moment and shifting it in his hand, and then reaching a hand out to the shoto, calling it towards him and holding it for a moment, seeing how it fit in his palm.
It would work.
Maul looked to Mace for his verdict and found him watching his choice carefully. “You’re compensating for reach.”
“Please,” Maul said dryly, “rub it in more.”
Mace’s brows shot up before he laughed, “I meant nothing disparaging. It was merely an observation. It’s a clever tactic. Do you prefer a forward grip or a backwards one?”
“Whichever one is necessary,” Maul answered. “I have had to learn a certain amount of…versatility.”
“Flexibility?” Mace asked, and that was absolutely a tease.
“Of course,” Maul answered. “Though that comes naturally.”
Mace laughed, before grinning at him. “Do you want to see what color you grabbed?”
“What does it matter?” Maul asked, frowning, before looking to the hilts. “Do they…do they have meaning?”
“You wouldn’t know,” Mace said softly with something that spoke of realization before he finally grinned. “Traditionally a Jedi uses Kyber, which you are aware of.”
“Yes,” Maul agreed. “A Sith can either bleed or bypass the need for Kyber entirely by creating a synthetic one. Both of these are Red.”
“Does it have to be red?” Mace asked, “in regards to a synthetic one, do you think you could make another color?”
Maul frowned. “If you can get me a forge I can attempt to make another color. But I am not showing you how it is done.”
“I can respect that,” Mace answered. “The requirements for the forge?”
Maul hummed, before giving him a very basic outline of one that would work but wasn’t perhaps the best model. It would still work, however, and that’s what mattered.
As it was, Maul ignited the sabers, taking in the cool blue of both and watched as Mace grinned. “What does blue mean?”
“Generally? Someone that’s better with lightsaber combat.”
“Truly?” Maul asked frowning.
“It used to,” Mace said. “There’s less focus on it now, but it was thought that the color of your blade reflected your traits. Blue was usually utilized by those that preferred lightsaber combat, or rather, said combat favored them. Green was for Force usage…”
“Purple?” Maul asked with a raised brow.
“Someone on the edge,” Mace answered easily.
“Of what?” Maul pressed, feeling curiosity burn, but knowing that that wasn’t the only thing that burned. Would that mean…if he was to take a… But Maul was not on the edge of anything. Maul was of the Dark and…it was likely that the Kyber would never respond to him.
“Patience,” Mace grinned, “are you ready?”
Maul felt his mouth open, his chin tilting up properly to stare at him with a feeling of deepest disdain in his chest. Mace had the gall to laugh at him, and Maul huffed, walking into the space that he figured they would be dueling, giving the blades an expert twirl, easily accommodating the curved grip, and falling into the traditional Makashi stance.
Maul sheathed the shoto but left it in his hand.
Patience.
Maul would show him patience.
Mace moved over to stand before him, taking his own training blade that burned blue when he ignited it, and it was a further reminder that Maul was not… Maul did not want to hurt.
Well.
Not much.
Maul had been able to work on dueling off and on and he had learned that…he did prefer it when he was ‘dancing’ as the others called it.
Maul wanted to enjoy the freedom of movement without the threat of letting his instincts drive him to violence beyond what he wanted. But, Maul also wanted to prove himself. To prove that he could duel, that he could control himself, that…
Mace fell into an opening stance that Maul was not expecting, still the traditional Vaapad, and Maul almost wanted to fall into Juyo, but the curved hilt in his hand reminded him what he had agreed to, what he was meant to do…
Maul allowed his burn to rise, engulfing his thoughts, his mind, his emotions…
And met Mace’s ferocity with a calm precision that he could tell Mace had absolutely not expected.
Maul found his teeth bared in a grin, violent and biting, and pressed the momentary advantage.
Makashi was precision and grace, sharp, pointed movements that were meant to disrupt the flow of another’s blade, and Maul, who had been beaten for sloppy movements, had been forced to repeat an action to the point of exhaustion in order to get it Exactly Right… Was a lot better at this than he had expected he would be, though he did not know why this was so.
Maul allowed himself to burn, but there was no…emotion, no fuel, all of that tucked safely deep inside of himself where it was like a furnace, powering his moves, but throwing no sparks.
This…
Was fun.
Mace was grinning. Juyo and it seemed that Vaapad as well, had a lot to do with overwhelming your opponent, of causing them to buckle underneath a near-constant onslaught. Maul refused.
As Mace’s flurry of strikes grew more intense, Maul kept to his line, sharp controlled motions, always moving back and forth, pressing his advantage, and wishing for longer arms. Maul teased Mace into his reach, thrusting out and just barely scraping the inner part of Mace’s robes.
Mace’s grin was huge, even as he twirled his own blade in a complicated twist, Maul immediately flipping back out of range, immediately regaining his line, and spinning in, catching Mace’s blade, and applying pressure.
And thiswas where one benefit of his physiology became very apparent.
Maul was stronger than a human.
Maul’s teeth bared in a reflexive snarl, pushing Mace’s blade back. Mace’s brows rose in momentary surprise, even though he knew, he knew that Maul was stronger. And then he felt the moment when Mace gave way deliberately, stepping back and trying to force Maul to follow the momentum through, to catch him off-guard with an injuring blow.
The shoto came out and Maul caught the blade, turning the momentum into a spin that put him directly in range and bringing his blade directly up and into Mace’s guard.
Touch.
There was a moment, Mace at his back, and then Mace laughed, the saber deactivated, and Maul let his own deactivate as well.
“Well done,” Mace said.
“Well done, indeed,” came a new and utterly surprising voice. It was soft and cultured, rich with a low baritone, and Maul found his attention immediately snapping to his left to see…
Yoda, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Plo Koon, and someone…someone unfamiliar.
His hair and beard were immaculate, his dark brown eyes piercing and his outfit…which was not Jedi standard, was pressed and polished, a cape spilling behind him.
The back of Maul’s skull was aching. He was staring at this man, and he felt…he felt like he knew him, that he must know him, that…
A hand fell on his shoulder and for one single instant Maul felt his body tense, but it let go immediately, and Maul turned to look at Mace, who’s expression had turned deeply apologetic.
And Maul had not hit him.
Maul took a breath and returned his attention back to the…unknown individual, who dipped his head in acknowledgement.
“For the interruption, sorry I am,” Yoda said softly, but he was smiling, and his expression was full of very visible delight. “Count Dooku I would introduce to you, Maul,” he said, and the way Yoda made eye contact with him at his name was pointed, and Maul knew immediately that he would have to be very careful with what he said. “My old Padawan he was.”
Maul stared at him for a moment, suddenly sharply interested, as well as realizing where he had seen his face. The Archives. This man was one who had left the Jedi.
“I was indeed,” Dooku agreed with another dip of his head, and walked forward, holding out a hand. Maul reached out to take it, feeling the calloused fingers of a swordsman in sharp contrast to the aristocratic air. “It is a pleasure to meet you,” he said, “Maul, was it?”
“Yes,” Maul said, and kept his head level. A dip of the head with his horns would likely be more of a threat than he meant. “It is good to meet you as well.”
“You are certainly gifted at Makashi,” Dooku observed softly, releasing his hand, and taking a step back. “It is good to see one so young interested in the art,” he said with a rueful smile, “my own Padawan could never be enticed.”
Qui-Gon smiled then with a brief dip of his head. “It is true,” he said, “I found another calling in Ataru.”
“You did,” Dooku dipped his head. “But it is still gutting even after all these years.” He shook his head ruefully, and Maul could sense the tease that rested there between them, made especially soft at the way Yoda cleared his throat with a raised brow.
Yoda’s own form preference was Ataru.
Maul found this funny despite himself.
“Is Makashi your preference?” Dooku asked with a raised brow and Maul immediately shook his head in the negative.
“Juyo,” he answered, and when Dooku’s mouth ticked into something that might have been unimpressed Maul gestured towards the whole of his own person with a raised brow in return. Dooku laughed, the sound almost surprised, but the grin he gave was rueful and amused.
“Very well, I could see how Juyo fits,” he dipped his head. “I could also see how it would help you with your height disadvantage. Though truly, if I might, I do think you would have all of the makings of a true Master at Makashi. Would you permit me?” he asked and dipped his head towards the wall.
Maul was unreasonablyinterested.
He looked to the others, seeing immediately the way that they were nodding their heads in encouragement, their eyes gleaming, or in the case of Plo smiling.
Maul found himself taking a step back towards his ready position.
Dooku smiled at him, calling another curved hilt, and holding it in an expert grip.
It was obvious that even after having left the Jedi he had not lost his skill. Maul wondered if he had been allowed to keep his old lightsaber.
“You will wish to keep the shoto ignited,” Dooku cautioned, and for as much as Maul wanted to challenge that he did know better. This was a matter of reach, and for as good as he was he did not think he was on expert footing without it.
Maul ignited the blade and fell into the traditional Makashi stance, mirroring the Count.
The salute was sharp, and then the Count moved.
Sharp and angular and quick, Dooku’s lightsaber fell upon him, forcing him to retreat, to bring both blades into play. And once Maul grew used to the onslaught he began working on outmaneuvering the Count.
“Good,” Dooku praised sharply. Maul was so startled he almost didn’t catch the next blow. “Hmm, perhaps I spoke too soon.”
Maul bared his teeth and pushed back on the blade, breaking the momentary lock, spinning through a few sharper and more violent attacks, letting his burn rise, but never letting it consume him. He had learned.
Maul’s blades cracked and hissed off of the Count’s, each blow sharp and violent, each of them working on upsetting the other’s balance, their lines of flow, their attacks turning more creative as they danced. Maul’s teeth bared involuntarily; in the way they would be should he have poisoned them. The Count smiled.
“You have a beautiful way of handling your sabers,” Dooku noted, “though there is no doubt that your reach is a hindrance.”
He gave a violent thrust, one that Maul had to break his line for, but he made Dooku regret it, sliding into a violent sidekick that challenged the limits of his flexibility, but successfully connected and sent Dooku falling out of balance to the side, breaking his line in turn.
Dooku laughed aloud, twirling his blade as he caught Maul’s own, “I see you have found ways of making up for this. Very well done.”
They spun into another sequence, Maul flowing the Force through him, letting his body fall into his full stretch and endurance, making the Count regret the times that he extended into the reach of Maul’s flexibility.
Dooku looked like he was enjoying himself utterly. Maul himself had found it increasingly entertaining, letting his body burn, his hearts beating against his ribs. It was good.
Maul’s shoto was quick and it was clever and as he continued to rely more on his main sword, he allowed it to dance in close to Dooku, to continually threaten, and the more that it threatened the more delighted it looked as though Dooku grew. The man nonetheless was sharp, and he was skilled, and Maul was put through his own paces, forced to break out of his line more than once, but always doing his best to force Dooku into the same position.
But the longer this went on, the more Maul realized he was getting tired, and that would absolutely not do. Maul refused to be tired out by an old man, regardless of how long it had been since he had truly dueled for any significant length of time…
And so, Maul allowed himself to play dirty.
Maul launched himself forward, a risky and utterly shocking movement that sent Dooku nearly stumbling backwards, his sword coming up and gaining a purchase around his own, even as Maul’s shoto was retracted and he thrust the hilt underneath Dooku’s chin, feeling the burn of the Count’s saber against his chest – directly over one of his hearts.
“I am surprised at you,” Dooku said roughly, a brow rising. “I had not thought that suicide would be a method you would employ.”
“It is not suicide,” Maul answered easily.
“Oh?” the Count prompted.
“Yes,” Maul said. “I have two hearts,” he said, and grinned.
Dooku’s brows shot up. “So, you do. Seems…a rough sort of sacrifice regardless.”
“I was not trained to lose,” Maul shrugged and stepped out of range, disengaging his blade, and letting them drift back to the wall. He’d made his point well enough.
He’d also noticed something…worrying. In that last moment when he was so close to Dooku, he had noticed the scent of something…familiar.
Count Dooku smelled of ozone.
Maul had not noticed it at first until he got so close, until he felt the lightsaber press into him, but he knew that smell. There was of course the possibility that it had been storming, but Maul had not seen any sign of it, or heard any sound on the way up.
The thought made him realize just how long it had been since he had truly stepped outdoors, and there was a part of his hearts that clenched.
Maul had not been truly free to come and go as he pleased continually, but he had been out. He had still been able to wander… Now? Now Maul was as trapped…
Of course, he was.
Maul ignored the thoughts, recognized them for the slightly panicked ramblings that they were, and brushed them aside.
Maul would talk to Dooku about it. The fact that the smell seemed to originate around those long-fingered hands made it something that he perhaps would want to do alone. If it seemed like there was further cause for concern, then he may in fact talk to Yoda. If he had been Dooku’s Master there was every chance he would want to know.
An ex-Jedi playing with Sith Lightning likely did not mean good things.
“I’m sorry, you asked me a question?” Maul managed, recognizing the way that Dooku was staring at him expectantly.
“Yes,” Dooku raised a brow, “I asked you who your Master was that he taught you to win at the sacrifice of your own heart?”
Maul frowned, “I do not know,” he said. “My mind was…torn. I do not remember much about my Master outside of his teachings, and even these I have found to be…tainted.” Maul gave a slight shrug. “I am still recovering, so if you will please pardon any lapse…”
“Of course,” Dooku said softly. “Though I must say given the way you duel I must assume you are nearly recovered?”
“Oh, but sir, that was at my weaker,” Maul said with a raised brow, “if I had been at my best I would have killed you quicker.” The grin he gave him was full of teeth and sharp. Dooku gave another startled chuckle, raising a brow.
“Indeed,” he said. “Impressive. I will have to duel you later when you are fully recovered then. See whether that holds up.”
“We should,” Maul agreed. “But for now, I think…” he looked to Mace, “I would like to return to my room.”
“Of course,” Mace agreed. “It was good to see you, Dooku.”
“Likewise,” Dooku dipped his head.
Maul followed Mace out of the room, working very hard on keeping his steps measured and even.
“Are you alright?” Mace asked softly.
“I forgot my play,” Maul said instead of answering, blinking as he looked to Mace. “I…” he frowned, “why was I meant to bring it anyway?”
“I was going to see if you wanted to try and recreate the duel, but I was so impressed by your Makashi I rather forgot,” Mace said with a grin. “I think that’s the best you’ve fought. You really kept your head in the right spot.” Maul ducked his head and Mace laughed. “I’m sorry we sprung Dooku like that on you. Frankly I didn’t even know he was going to be here. But you…you did a very good job, both in dealing with him and with the duel,” Mace was quiet, leading him deeper, and…past…the elevator?
Maul frowned, looking towards Mace, and then at… “Where are we going?” he asked.
“I wanted to show you something else,” Mace answered. “But Maul…” he said softly, eyeing him, “your Master…about sacrificing a heart in order to win?”
Maul ducked his head. “I don’t know why you’re surprised,” he said shortly.
“I’m not,” Mace said. “I suppose…I’m more disappointed. Not with you, but with the fact that your training would seek to have you sacrifice so completely.” Mace frowned, and the look was heavy, “I want you to know…that you don’t owe that. I know that might be a concept that comes slowly, but you don’t.” Mace looked at him. “We would prefer you in one piece if possible, and certainly not over a duel.”
Maul didn’t know what to say for a moment, before he ducked his head slightly. “Thank you.”
Mace put a hand on his shoulder, and it was firm, even if his smile was gentle. “Turn around,” he said, and Maul frowned, before following instructions, feeling the hand still there. “Close your eyes for me.”
“But…”
“Trust me,” Mace grinned.
Maul’s frown deepened, before he closed his eyes and allowed Mace to edge him forward. He heard the swoop of a door opening, and…
Smelled…
Something…
That smelled like…
Maul took a few more steps forward, slowly, slowly, and then he heard Mace say, “open them.”
Maul did so…and nearly fell to his knees.
The first thing he saw was a wide pane of transparisteel windows, nearly taking over the entire wall and letting in a beautiful sunset that painted the room in oranges and yellows. His eyes drifted after a moment, taking in the sight of the furniture, the…the…that was…
That was his plant. His plant there, and there was a picture framed next to it, and… and… Maul’s eyes drifted across the walls, taking in the framed pictures that had been drawn and seeing the small folder on the table below it that he could only imagine held more that hadn’t been framed. There was a small kitchenette off to the side that had its own teakettle and…and…
Maul stared, his nose full of the scents that belonged to the room he had been in, and then realized there was a bedroom whose door was open and had…his sheets were there, his bedroom… There was the music player and a pair of headphones set atop it, and…and…
Maul turned slowly, something high and sharp and hard in his throat, and he found himself staring at Mace, Plo, Eeth, and Tiq who were all standing by the door and all of them grinning. There was a brief flash and that’s when Maul realized they had taken his holo.
“Welcome home, Maul,” Eeth said softly. “Do you like it?”
Maul sat down.
They laughed and sat down with him, reaching their hands out and Maul found himself letting them hook their hands in his horns…
And he couldn’t for one moment stop purring.
Maul had a room.
For a while he basked there until he finally managed a very soft, but very heartfelt “thank you…” and the smiles he received were warm.
“I hope you don’t mind the deception,” Mace said softly. “I did absolutely want to spar with you, but we also needed to be able to get your room put together.”
“I also hope you do not mind that we took the liberty of decorating,” Plo added. “Your friends actually gained a few band posters, the ones they thought were your favorites. They have been hung in your bedroom and you can feel free to remove them if you would like. All of the frames and all of the items here can be moved or changed at your discretion.”
“The frames are yours; the tables are yours, the bookshelves, the bed, the couch…all yours to do with as you please and to move them as you wish,” Eeth continued. “You do not have to keep with the way they are arranged. I did my best to keep the smell as similar to your old one as possible. I believe your nose might actually be a bit more sensitive than mine, so if you notice a place I missed we can work on that, but…”
“It is…” Maul paused. “It is good, I did not…why?” Maul huffed, putting his face in his hands for a moment, letting the warm chuckles wash over him like warm water.
“Take your time, it’s alright,” Tiq said so softly. “It’s a big move.”
“Yes,” Maul finally agreed softly. “I was not expecting it, but it somehow does not…it does not feel as…jarring as…when I was last moved. Actually…both times…” Maul was quiet for a moment. “I do not understand. When I was moved…by my Master as a child… I don’t understand what the difference is.”
Eeth was quiet for a moment, “were you given entirely new bedding? Was it a brand new space that…held nothing familiar?”
Maul frowned, “but it was the same metal…” he trailed off. “I suppose it wasn’t the same. There was no smell that I recognized, and no window…” Maul shook his head. “Is it a scent thing, then?”
“We have extremely strong senses of smell,” Eeth said, tapping his own nose. “It can let us know when something is dangerous, when we are about to eat something that we perhaps shouldn’t, and it also lets us know when we are safe and when we are somewhere he should be. That is what registers here.”
“Oh,” Maul said, and once it was explained it made sense. It made…it made sense and he did not know why he hadn’t thought about it.
“But,” Eeth said with a grin, “it’s easy to get used to and almost take for granted. Particularly if you are dealing with someone who simply doesn’t have the same sense of smell, which…I believe might have been the case with your Master. Even a human,” Eeth started, and the grin he slanted towards Mace was full of tease, Mace rolling his eyes broadly and startling a brief sound of amusement from Maul, “has a strong enough nose that they recognize when they’re in an unfamiliar space and don’t sleep as well. But for a Zabrak it’s much more intense.”
“I see,” Maul said softly, and he no longer wondered why he hadn’t thought of it. It was true…he hadn’t thought of it because it was just the way he was, and it hadn’t been something where his Master had drawn attention to it. Maul had taught himself everything he knew about tracking and following scents and differentiating the different emotions on his own… It was not truly a surprise that he would miss something, even like this…
“But,” Plo said with a grin, “now you have your own space. You are neighbors with me, and Tiq is across the way,” he said, pointing to his right. “Mace is your other neighbor, and Eeth is just down the hall. You will be given a curfew, since you are technically still on parole…”
“But it’s one that has stipulations,” Tiq said, “and will wiggle if you give a reason. I do still want you to attend sessions with me and we can work out a schedule that works for you…”
“And you will still have to attend lessons,” Mace said with a smile, “but if you would like to visit…”
Maul was momentarily overwhelmed.
For just a moment he felt the world slip sideways, and then there was a hand held out to him, and Maul leaned towards it, recognizing the feeling of Tiq’s long fingers as they curled there in his horns. “It’s alright,” Tiq said softly, “deep breaths. It’s a lot…but it has all been a long time in coming.”
“You have earnedthis,” Eeth said.
“And it is good,” Plo smiled. “It is very good.”
Maul closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself bask in it, in the feeling of it, of being rewarded, truly for something… Maul had done this. Maul had done this.
“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice tight, “for giving me the opportunity…”
“Thank you for taking it,” Plo said in return, and his voice was so soft. “Do you want a moment?”
Maul took a breath, pulled his head back and looked around, and then finally dipped his head. “Please.”
“Alright,” they stood up. “Remember, I’m right next door,” Plo said, indicating his left. “Mace is there,” he said and pointed to his right. “If you would like to visit, please knock first, you are always able to visit.”
“Likewise,” Mace agreed with a dip of his head. “I think that you can come to any of us.”
“Okay,” Maul agreed softly. “Okay, thank you.”
“Of course, take a moment, get acquainted with your new room.”
“One of us will be back when it is time for dinner, or of course you can have it sent here…though I do recommend you go to it.”
Maul dipped his head in acknowledgement and watched as they left.
And strangely…as soon as it did…
The room felt very empty, and for the first time Maul truly realized that…he was alone in here. The doors were closed.
No one could see him.
Maul was alone.
For a moment Maul felt a yawning sense of disbelief, and then he reached out with his senses, mechu-deru prickling along his neck and down his spine, searching, searching…
There were no signs of being watched, none of the signals sent to other places, outside of the ones that went to lights and climate control, all of the normal trappings of a room that was lived in. Maul had grown used to ignoring all of the cameras in the places given to him by his Master, a rough tingling in his head that he was aware of at all times and in all points…
But…
But…
Maul sat there in a sort of dizzying spiral of relief and…sudden and terrible yawning terror.
Maul did not know why he was suddenly afraid, only that he was, and…
“It’s a big change,” Tiq said gently, and Maul looked up, realizing that… “You were spiraling, I could feel it. The others have been told not to come in.” Tiq walked forward to sit before him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I do not know why I feel like this,” Maul whispered softly. “I do not know why I am so…afraid…”
“Because you have been watched your entire life,” Tiq answered. “You have grown used to someone looking over your shoulder, and now that they are not there…you’re adrift. The one thing you have had as a constant in your life is gone. You have been letting go of constants like crazy lately. There’s not a lot you can hold onto that you have used before.”
Maul was quiet for a moment. “I wanted this.”
“And it was good that you wanted this,” Tiq said, and his voice was firm and solid. “Listen, just because something feels uncomfortable at first does not make it any less right. The things that you were comfortable about before? They were wrong, Maul, and it was wrong that they happened to you.”
Maul took that in for a moment and finally gave a soft sigh. “I see.” Maul was quiet for a longer moment, before looking up to Tiq. “What do I have to hold onto now?”
Tiq was quiet for a moment and then smiled, “that this is good.” Tiq leaned further towards him. “And you have the Force and your connection to it. You have a job, your friends…and you do have us, and you certainly have me. You are not as adrift as you might believe. It merely takes…finding a new anchor.”
Maul felt the soft flow of Eeth’s fondness drifting in through the bond, the gentle regard that he had and the simple concern, thought of them all sitting with him through panic attacks and moments of pure emptiness, and finally looked up to Tiq and nodded. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” Tiq said softly, “do you think you can enjoy it?”
Maul paused for a moment and then stood up, looking around. “I do.”
“Good,” Tiq said. “If you have any more issues, remember that I am right across the hall. I will talk to you whenever you need it, or even just for fun. Neverhesitate, alright? And I promise…the next time I’ll knock.”
Maul found himself laughing, a startled and surprised sound, but one that made Tiq beam.
“Thank you,” Maul said and Tiq dipped his head, and then left, shutting the door behind him.
Maul stood again, looking around, and finally took a breath, walking further into his…rooms, he supposed, taking in the artwork that he had created with Ahsoka that was…somehow so much better when framed. It made even Ahsoka’s strange color choices seem more natural, more…refined. Maul ran his fingers along the wall, trailing over to his bedroom and finding the promised band posters.
Insomnium was the one his eyes were drawn to first, taking in the first image he had of the artists that played, the full Zabrak band with their costumes and their masks, their horns standing proud above them.
Maul kept drifting his gaze to the light, to the music player and the chips that had been organized near it, and somehow the knowledge that he hadn’t even made a dent in his new listening material caused something warm and soft to swell in his hearts. Maul missed D’una and Wan, he knew… They had helped pick out his posters and…
Maul looked to his bed, to the one covered in his own sheets that smelled as they should, and took in the window that was once again looking out towards the sunset. After a moment, Maul made his first decision on how things should be placed, slowly reaching out with the Force that he did still have, and was still his, and carefully picked up his bed, and rearranged the furniture all around to allow his bed to be placed right up by that window.
Maul let it settle then, taking in the way that the space had changed, the dresser on the other wall and the space that he had made for his morning exercises…
But he could leave and do them in the living room as well.
Maul had…Maul had space, he had choice.
Maul was not as…happy with the realization as a small part of him had thought he would be, but…but…
The realization was slowly edging into being that Maul had truly never had so much choice… Maul had so much choice, so much opportunity, and…of course it was scary. Tiq was right.
Tiq was right.
Maul breathed out a deep sigh and began looking around his living space more. The sight of his horn oil in the refresher somehow felt like a further reminder…not just of the fact that Maul was free but that…
The first act of kindness that had been done…the first thing was Eeth filing down his horns for him when he had no…
Maul sat on the ground for a moment, for some reason the thought so heavy and yet so freeing, and that thing in his chest twisted…
And then there was a knock on his door.
Maul blinked, looking to it, for a moment instinctively hoping to see the… But there was no ray shield.
Maul had a door.
Maul stood up and gestured with the Force, opening it up to reveal… Qui-Gon Jinn?
“Hello,” Qui-Gon said, and the smile he gave him was warm and that’s when he realized Qui-Gon had a box with him. “I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, “both on your new room, and on a very impressive duel with my old Master. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite that out of sorts and it was really rather entertaining.”
Maul took that in for a moment before finally dipping his head in acknowledgement, gesturing for Qui-Gon to enter properly, and the man did, coming in to look around and the smile on his face was… Wistful, almost, warm… “He seemed the type who does not get rattled often.”
“This is, of course, very true,” Qui-Gon’s smile widened. “So, it was very good of you to do so.”
“Thank you,” Maul said.
“I have a gift for your new room, and it is one that I believe you will see much use out of,” Qui-Gon held out the box in question, and Maul hesitated before accepting the box carefully. After a moment he peeled back the wrapping to find a black box with red lettering on it. For a moment he wanted to roll his eyes at the obvious callback to his own coloration, before he registered what the lettering said.
“Bloodroot?” Maul repeated softly.
“Yes,” Qui-Gon said with a dip of his head, “it makes a rather delightful tea, particularly for carnivores like yourself. Which is not to say that it is not a good tea for those that are not, it is merely that I have heard from other Zabraks that this is their favorite. Do you know how to prepare it?”
Maul hesitated, looking from him to the box and carefully pulled the lid off, revealing a strange mix of dried… Maul tilted his head, almost reflexively sniffing the roots within because his first instinct was it looked like veins that had been dried and chopped up. It did not smell like that, however, there was no iron tang to it, merely a rich earthen smell. Maul was highly confused, but ultimately he had to look back up at Qui-Gon, who was smiling at him kindly, and finally, softly… “No.”
“That’s alright, would you like for me to teach you?” Qui-Gon asked. “Obviously you could learn on your own. And you likely are familiar with the basics…but it is difficult to make a proper cup of tea if you have never done so before. There’s more to it than just hot water.”
Maul looked to the kettle that he had and looked back to Qui-Gon and nodded. Qui-Gon gestured for him to follow, and he did, watching as Qui-Gon easily opened the precise drawer that held the strainer for the tea, opening the proper cupboard to find a few cups had been left just for this purpose. For a moment Maul thought it a bit strange, but brushed it aside as Qui-Gon instructed him on what to do, how much of the dried bloodroot would make a good cup, how hot the water needed to be and how long to steep it.
Maul followed Qui-Gon’s instructions, listening as the Jedi made quiet conversation, talking about Anakin and how he was with Obi-Wan and Dooku both, how far he’d progressed in his studies. Maul had an inkling that Qui-Gon very much would like to be proud of his lineage and his Master and the Padawans that had been under his care.
Maul would be proud for him.
“And I believe that should be steeped enough, if you would like to, the strainer can be placed in another glass for guests.”
Maul looked up at him with a raised brow, “is that a hint?”
“If you would not mind,” Qui-Gon said with the slightest of spread hands and Maul found himself grinning.
“Very well,” he said, and placed the strainer with the root in the cup that Qui-Gon held out. Maul hesitated for a moment, not sure what to do with himself, where to go. He had never…
“The couch is usually a good place,” Qui-Gon said, and the smile he gave him was kind.
Maul dipped his head and made for it, sitting on the cushions of his couch with the thought buzzing in his head. Qui-Gon joined him a moment later, sitting by the other arm and leaving another space between them. “Thank you,” Maul said finally. “I have never…done this.”
“Of course,” Qui-Gon said, “and there is no shame in it. We all have to learn sometime, and now is as good as any. I recognize that it is perhaps a bit early for me to visit like this, but I wanted to give you your present so you could entertain the next that come. I also wanted to give the room a proper send-off. It has served me well for many years, and I…”
“It’s yours?” Maul asked, and the jolt of shock and something like horror that burst into his chest and into his throat was so high that he nearly spilled his tea. Qui-Gon’s look was gentle, but it was firm when he turned to him and said,
“No, it is yours,” Qui-Gon emphasized. “It had been mine, in a similar way the strainer, teakettle and cups were mine. But they are a gift, Maul, and one that I dearly wanted to give you.”
“I…do not understand,” Maul whispered softly, “why would you give it up?”
“Because it brings me closer to Obi-Wan who I have missed, and it also has a bit more space. And for as lovely as the windows are it does make it rather warm in the evenings.”
“I…like it warm,” Maul said softly, unsure why, but…
“I would not be surprised,” Qui-Gon smiled, “given where you are from. I am pleased that you enjoy it, this room should serve you well then. Anakin was also very interested in giving it to you once he learned that you were going to receive one. It places you close to Mace, Plo, and Eeth as well as Tiq, and it was not a hassle at all to move. You are fine, Maul, it was something we wished to give you. You do not belong in that cell anymore. You belong here.”
Maul took all of this in, holding his mug of tea in his hand, staring at Qui-Gon who had… Maul shook his head finally and softly, “I do not know what to say…”
“It’s alright,” Qui-Gon said. “You do not have to. Do you like it?”
“Yes,” Maul said, “very much. It is…new…and it is…I am not used to…so much, but…it is good.”
“Then I am pleased. That is all I wanted,” Qui-Gon said, and carefully sipped at his tea before making a slight face. “Needs sugar.”
Maul found himself laughing, before carefully sipping at it himself and… He blinked, he blinked again, and then looked down at what tasted like rather watery, and certainly less iron-filled blood. “What?”
Qui-Gon laughed. “It does get that reaction a lot at first, but from what I understand it’s rather good after you get over the initial shock…” Maul gave it another sip, a bit more prepared for it this time and found that it could in fact be a correct assumption.
“What is…good for other races?” Maul asked after a moment.
“Oh, well, generally things that are floral and light, fruit is another popular one, if you would like to try more I can get you some, that you of course can drink yourself. I do not believe in giving you things that can poison you,” Qui-Gon smiled, Maul smiled back.
“Thank you,” Maul said, “I…would be interested. You do not have to drink that if you do not want to, I can finish it.”
Qui-Gon laughed, “That obvious was I?” he put it on the table next to them and smiled. “Thank you, I will leave you to your tea and your space. I am pleased that you like the room.”
“Thank you for giving it to me,” Maul said softly, standing up to give him a proper bow. “Is Dooku going to be here for a while?”
“For a few days,” Qui-Gon said. “But he will be in and out. At the moment he is going to be out. He had some things to see to in the Senate, he will be back tomorrow.”
Maul dipped his head in acknowledgement and said his goodbyes.
He felt much warmer by the end of it. He wasn’t entirely sure it was just the tea to blame.
As the day drew on, Maul spent time familiarizing himself with his room as well as changing where certain things were placed, using the Force to do so. By the time he was done he felt…at home in a way he had not before, standing back to face it.
He’d turned the couch to face the wide windows that had three different shade-settings he’d noticed, and the first of these was on, turning the blinding light into more of a soft suffusion that permeated the entire room. He’d also placed his plant on the table before it, making sure that it had enough light in a way he hadn’t quite been able to before. He’d misted it after he’d moved it, taken a moment to look over the flowerless stems and felt a brief pang of sadness. They had collected the flowers that had remained, though, preserving and drying them, and Maul had already used them to fight off an encroaching migraine. The pictures remained the same, though he thought he might change them at some point, and he had familiarized himself with everything in the cupboards.
Maul stood in the middle of this sitting room, looking around at everything with something soft in his chest. It felt…warm. Like something that belonged to him.
It was…it was good.
It seemed only natural, then, that the nightmares that had been haunting him in the cell came to this room.
But they were the worst they had ever been, and when Maul finally managed to pull himself out of the images of flashing green and blue sabers, had managed to pull himself away from the phantom pain of something slicing across his middle…
By that point he was on the ground and dry heaving, and the feeling of gentle hands hooking through his horns was about as unwelcome as they were needed.
