The Most Devoted Guardian ( a oneshot)
In the early days, Baze Malbus was one of the most devoted of the guardians in the temple. He prayed, meditated, preached, went on pilgrimages across the planet. While perhaps he didn’t actually feel the Force like Chirrut did, he trusted in it, followed it whole heartedly. And together, they were quite the pair, well renowned throughout both the Temple and the city. After all, they’d known each other most of their lives, been together a good part of them as well, and as such, it was rare to see them separated. Where one went, the other tended to follow, often for Baze to pick Chirrut up out of the surprising amount of trouble he managed to get into.
But then everything changed.
The night had started off like any other. They’d meditated, and then they’d gone to bed as normal, Baze with his back against the wall and one arm draped lazily over Chirrut’s waist, the smaller man tucked neatly into him, mumbling something stupid that made Baze roll his eyes and hush him with a soft kiss. And so they’d drifted off, sleep quickly claiming them.
A cry in the night woke him.
His mind immediately went to somebody breaking in. While not common, they had come across the situation of looters trying to break into the Temple before, to steal the Kyber crystals for sale, so it wasn’t an odd thought. But the cry came from closer and his eyes sprang open to find the silhouette of his lover sitting hunched over. The blankets were a mess around him, pooled around his lap as the moonlight cast a pale glow over his bare chest.
Baze spoke softly, confused and worried, but the only response he received was ragged breathing. He was about to speak again when Chirrut cried out again, hands moving to clutch his head, a cry of pure pain, and he seemed to spasm, his whole body momentarily convulsing. Moving quickly, Baze shifted to sit in front of Chirrut, lightly prying the fingers away from his face and holding them within his own.
“Chirrut, please, speak to me,” he begged.
But there was no response. Chirrut’s brown eyes were glassy, as if he were somewhere else, seeing something else, and every few seconds were punctuated by cries of pure sorrow and pain that Baze didn’t know how to fix or help. Uncertain what to do, he shifted again, moving to sit behind him and letting his legs bracket Chirrut’s hips, arms around his waist to hold him, face pressed into his neck, in some hope they he could provide some sort of comfort.
After what seemed like an age, he tried again.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, pressing his lips to Chirrut’s neck, “Please...tell me...”
He didn’t expect a response but this time Chirrut shuddered, his head turning to look Baze dead in the eyes, horror and sorrow and grief so evident there that it would have bowled him over had he not already been sitting down.
“They’re dying...they’re all dying...”
His voice was little more than a whisper, and it sent a chill down his spine, and he had to ask, even though he was fairly sure he already knew the answer.
Chirrut’s word is cut off by another cry and he hunches over on himself again but Baze was lost in the horror of it. The Jedi...they couldn’t be dying. They just couldn’t...they were the defenders of the Force, the Force could not intend this for them, could it?
Another cry, this one wrenching and guttural, and Chirrut fell back into him, his face wet and lips gasping for breath, and as if Baze isn’t already horrified enough, the next words he hears are enough to break him altogether.
“Not the children...no...not the younglings...”
There was nothing he could do but hold him, his own shoulders trembling in shock and he hadn’t even processed it before a look of alarm crossed Chirrut’s face, and then suddenly he was leaping from their bed, hastily pulling on robes and grabbing the quarterstaff that he used as a weapon, muttering two words before running.
After all, Jedha had its own Jedi Temple, with its own younglings.
And with that, he was following Chirrut, grabbing his own robes and staff and darting through the corridors out into the streets. The other Temple was only across the street and he prayed as he passed through its halls that they weren’t-
The sight before him made him want to throw up. The children never stood a chance, and he could feel the tears on his cheeks before he realised he was crying. Most of them were still in their beds, but there was one, and he had to clamp his hand over his mouth. A young boy, no more than about eight years old, crumpled on the ground, a shattered glass beside him evidence of how he had presumably woken up in the night to get a drink, but had never made it back to the dormitory.
They were all dead, every single one, from the smallest initiates to the oldest tutors and he found Chirrut on his knees in one of the dormitories. There was a small girl in his arms and as he stepped forward he realised, heartbreakingly, that she had died in his companion’s arms.
It had been up to them to inform the others, and the next few days, Baze seemed to operate on autopilot. They’d done their best to give every single one of them the rites and procession they deserved but there were just so many...
When it was all done and they got back to their quarters, exhausted both physically and emotionally, he watched as Chirrut sank into his meditative stance, and whereas before he would have joined him, the words held a bitter taste in his mouth now and he couldn’t even bring himself to mouth them.
“All is as the Force wills it...I am one with the Force and the Force is with me, I am one with the Force and the Force is with me...”
A frown on his face, Baze got to his feet, grabbing a bag, the movement breaking Chirrut from his thoughts and then the younger monk was looking up at him in confusion. Baze didn’t make eye contact, throwing the few meagre belongings he had into the bag and removing his robes, tossing them in the corner in exchange for a simple shirt and trousers.
His voice was gruff and he tied up the bag, throwing it over his shoulder. He was about to exit the doorway when Chirrut was suddenly in front of him, forcing him to take a step back. There was confusion in Chirrut’s eyes, betrayal too and Baze had to swallow the lump that came to his throat.
The fact that Chirrut was lost for words was the surprise, given how infrequently he actually shut up, but Baze couldn’t stop his response from tumbling out of his mouth, harsh as they were.
“All is as the Force wills it? So the Force wills the slaughter of children now? Where was the Force when the Jedi were being slaughtered, when their younglings were killed in their beds? No. No, I don’t believe. I can’t believe that anything would will that. And I can’t believe that you still would, that you can still sit there and meditate and repeat those words as if you’re completely alright with the fact a child died in your arms not two nights ago. But it’s alright, because the Force willed it. They didn’t matter. Now if you’ll get out of my way, I’m leaving this place. For where, I don’t know, but anywhere else is better. If you had any sense you’d come with me.”
The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and as he finished speaking, the coldness in Chirrut’s gaze told him he’d gone too far, but the anger flowing through him was too much for him to control. Nonetheless, he had never seen such pure venom in Chirrut’s brown eyes, and they were staring deep into him in a way that was rather unnerving for someone who’s four inches shorter and a good thirty or forty pounds lighter.
Silently, Chirrut stood up straight, stepping forward until they were toe to toe. He was silent for a moment before turning around and moving back to his meditation spot. A pause before he knelt, his head turned over his shoulder and he spat out a few words.
“I thought you were leaving.”
And then he had returned to his meditation, and the words were enough to raise Baze’s hackles again. He turned heel and stormed out, bag tossed over his shoulder and rage filling his being. Thus ended Baze Malbus, guardian of the Whills, and thus began Baze Malbus, freelance assassin.
It was another five years before he returned to Jedha. He hadn’t even intended to, not originally, but he took jobs where he could to make money to feed himself, and this one just happened to be on Jedha. He’d changed over the years. He was stockier, and the robes of the Temple guardians had long been switched for heavy duty armour, the staff for a repeater cannon that he’d cobbled together himself because it was handy and efficient and he was a crack shot if he did say so himself. Then again, he’d always been better at target practice than hand to hand.
Although he wouldn’t admit it, he had thought of Jedha over the years. Not so much the city as Chirrut, if he was honest. It had taken longer than he’d expected to get used to sleeping alone, to not having the younger man there at his side, throwing jibes and light punches in his direction to keep him on his toes. He’d even found himself on occasion turning as if to recount something to someone who wasn’t there.
He’d missed Chirrut Imwe like hell, but he’d never admit it.
Throughout the years he’d avoided listening to any news about Jedha, not wanting to remind himself of what he’d left behind and so, when he’d stepped into NiJedha, what he’d found was nothing like what he’d expected. The city he had left was not the one he’d returned to.
For a start, the monuments in the desert had been toppled, and what had once been a bustling city was now...dead. It was the only way to describe it, and after dodging a group of Imperial Storm Troopers, he realised that the Empire had taken Jedha as well.
The job didn’t take long, quick and easy and he’d received the credits before completion so there was no real need for him to hurry off. Slipping through the familiar streets, he found himself heading back towards the Temple. He could hear someone a few streets away, picking up words of the Force and his brow furrowed but he continued on his way.
What he found however made his heart drop.
The Temple was in ruins. Slabs of fallen stone lay ruined across the courtyard and the main archway had half crumbled. There was scorch marks everywhere, ash and burnt material everywhere as he moved closer and it was only as he approached that he realised that although it’s old, the stench of burnt flesh and bone still permeated the air, making him gag. That action was only reinforced when he turned and noticed that from under the fallen stone, there were hints of a robe visible, and a dark red stain spread across the white marble.
Stumbling away from the scene, he headed to the nearest cantina. Alcohol was direly needed, something to blot out the memory of what he had just seen and also to gather information of what he had missed in his years away.
“It was a terrible time,” the barman recounted to him, shaking his head, “The Empire took the city first but they want the Kyber crystals, it would seem. They tried to bargain with the elders but they refused. So they came back with fire power. It was a slaughtering match...blasters...grenades...they trapped them in the Temple and set fire to it...it burned for three days.”
“And the Guardians? Did they survive?”
The barman dropped his head.
“I’ve heard that there are one or two still around, but they’re on the streets now. Most are half mad now...I hear they managed to drag one half dead from the wreckage, but I never heard anything after that so I’m presuming they died....poor bastards...”
Baze didn’t sleep that night.
Perhaps foolishly, he’d elected to remain in Jedha.
He had enough credits to his name to last him for a while, and while he had to be careful to avoid the imperial forces in the city, he was capable of being sneaky when he wanted to be. With no jobs to do, he was able to walk the streets, taking in everything that had changed. His heart ached and he’d spent the night before sitting at the window, allowing the tears to stream down his face, because Chirrut was dead and the last thing he’d ever said to him had been in pure anger.
It was as he was wandering through the streets that he heard the voice from a few nights previous, and there was something familiar about it that he couldn’t quite place. Not to mention that the cry of ‘may the Force of others be with you’ was not one that was often heard in the streets anymore. It had been customary in the days of the Temple, when pilgrims had flocked in and out of the city in droves, but now?
Curious, he moved through the streets to find the source of the voice. Finally, he turned a corner and spotted the figure. Male presumably, cut in the robes of the Temple, except they were old and dusty and scorched, with a hooded cloak. The hood was pulled up over his face, obscuring it and one hand held a collection dish, while a Kyber staff rested in the crook of his arm. The figure seemed to pause as he turned into the street, and by the time he had gotten to where the man had been standing, he was gone, vanished into the alleyways and his questions are left unanswered.
The man was back the next day. A different street, but the same call, offering fortunes in exchange for credits and trinkets. And this time it clicked with Baze as he watched him from afar, the reason why the figure had seemed so familiar, and his heart lifted immediately as he realised.
This time he moved quicker, pushing through the crowds, but the robed figure moved quickly too, and it took his best efforts to keep up with him, sliding through alleyways and jumping low stone walls and finally he came to a small building. It was an apartment by the looks of things and the door was left open, allowing him to walk in, although he lingered in the doorway.
The figure had discarded the cloak and was sitting by the fire, with his back to the door. The familiar short haircut typical of the Guardians only further confirmed his suspicions and his heart was in his throat as he took a step forward.
“Chirrut, please...look at me...”
Part of him wanted to get angry, to shout at the other man for ignoring him, but Chirrut had every right to ignore him, just as he had ignored him for five years, had walked out of his life without a kind word. So he held it back, biting his lip and calming himself. He wouldn’t give up. But perhaps today wasn’t the day.
He returned the next day. And the next, every time begging Chirrut to just look at him. It was unlike the Chirrut he’d known to hold a grudge, but maybe he’d changed as much as the city around them had, affected by the state of the galaxy. It hurt, but he could understand that. So he kept trying.
Until finally he gained a response.
“Please...Chirrut, please look at me.”
The words were quiet and strained, but they weren’t harsh like Baze expected of a man holding a grudge. Rather they were more...broken, and it left him more confused than ever, stating as much.
“I...I can’t look at you...”
Frowning, for the first time in all the days he’d lingered in the doorway, he came further forward, moving around the fire so he could face Chirrut properly for the first time since he’d returned. At first, he didn’t understand, but then he noticed something odd.
Chirrut’s eyes hadn’t been blue before.
And it clicked and he sank back onto his heels in horror.
Chirrut’s eyes weren’t just blue- there was no pupil, just a milky blue colour that was blank and empty- and it became evident that Chirrut had meant it literally. He couldn’t look at him because he couldn’t see him.
And although it had been five years, he couldn’t stop himself from inching forward, taking the younger man’s face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together. Something in Chirrut seemed to break at that point, as his hands desperately scrabbled for purchase on Baze’s clothes. Baze raised his hands, grabbing Chirrut’s within one of his own and pulling him close, hushing him.
When they’d calmed, they sat by the firelight, Baze allowing Chirrut to map out his face with his hands. He sat still, feeling the hands trace across his brow, running over his nose and pausing at the facial hair. Short cuts and smooth faces had been standard for the Guardians, but he had not held himself to those rules for five years. As Chirrut’s hands moved to his hair, he had to bite back a weak smile when they tweaked his ears.
“You’ve grown your hair.”
Baze shrugged, grunting, “Felt like it, I guess.”
“I like it...it suits you.”
That made Baze smile and he took the opportunity to catch Chirrut’s hands in his own once more, lowering his lips to brush lightly across the knuckles. He didn’t miss the slight shiver that ran through Chirrut, but he shifted, pressing his forehead to Chirrut’s hands before raising his head once more.
Chirrut was more matter of fact than he could have expected about the whole thing, and he had nodded before he realised the other couldn’t see it, hastily mumbling a yes.
“They came for the Temple,” Chirrut began, “We fought back...we tried to...but one of their grenades rolled into the archives...the place went ablaze and they seemed to realise that it was more efficient than just blasters...they set fire to the initiates quarters...I tried...I tried to get them out...”
Poor Chirrut, poor noble Chirrut.
“Most of them were already dead...one of the troopers had already been there...I rejoined the fight but there were few left...there was an explosion...after that I remember nothing until I woke up and everything was dark despite the day.”
“I’m sorry Chirrut...I’m so sorry...”
And he couldn’t help but think that perhaps, if he’d stayed, he’d have been able to help, he’d have been able to defend Chirrut and perhaps he would still have his sight.
“All is as the Force wills it.”
Those words again. Baze couldn’t understand how Chirrut could come through that and still keep his faith, after everything seemed like the Force, if it so existed, had completely turned against them, determined to eradicate them from the world. But this time when he spoke of it, he wasn’t angry...skeptical perhaps, but more like sad.
“How can you still believe that?”
“It brought you back to me.”
Baze wanted to retort that a job had brought him back to Jedha, that it had nothing to do with the Force but merely chance and timing, but the words died in his throat as Chirrut raised his head and it dawned on him just how old they’ve gotten. They were barely hitting forty, but he knew his own hair was already tinged with grey, and there were lines on Chirrut’s face that had not been there five years previously. The Empire had taken its toll on both of them, Force or not. So he said nothing, merely tentatively lowering his head to brush his lips across Chirrut’s.
He was home. That was all that mattered.
After that day, he never left Chirrut again. He took jobs on planet, never straying too far because in the back of his mind was always the thought that if he’d been there, Chirrut wouldn’t have gotten hurt- and he was hurt, it’s impossible to miss the ugly scarring across Chirrut’s back and chest and shoulders, a mix of blaster and burns that is healed, yes, and according to Chirrut no longer hurting but it hurt him to see it and imagine him in pain. So he stayed, because if he was going to do anything, he was going to protect him with every last fibre of his being.
At least, until fourteen years have passed and Chirrut Imwe walks through blaster fire to trip a switch, but this time he doesn’t make it back to Baze’s arms.
