Keepers of the Creed
Pason Lone-Li’am stood amidst the opulent courtyard outside Fort Lone, baking underneath the midday sun. Beneath his smothering beskar, warm sweat clung to his skin while his thin green cape rustled in the humid breeze.
One hand hovered near the blaster strapped to his thigh, while the other gripped the smooth shaft of his spear. He tried not to look tense, but feared he was doing a poor job.
His Lone Guard—a squad of elite Mandalorian soldiers sworn to serve and protect him, their clan leader—flanked him on either side, their visored eyes trained on his longstanding rival, Rajani Shaal-Cadera, whose cloying presence was ever a thorn in Pason’s side. Today, Princess Rajani, whose clan was settled in Cadera Dume along the coastal regions of planet Rune, was accompanied by a band of rowdy young Caderans in brightly colored armor. The courtyard was swarming with them, for they were gathered here in protest, their angry intonations filling the air.
“Loners, lay down your arms!”
“Dispose of your weapons!”
“Adhere to the Caderan way!”
Pason ground his jaw angrily. Their protests rankled him. He had come as soon as he had learned of their arrival. Somehow, they had managed to slip past the gate guards, which was no small feat, he knew. He was determined to see them off his land at once, and he was not opposed to using force if the situation called for it. But he grew conflicted when he learned who was behind the invasion.
He had known Rajani since he was a youngling. She was a foundling—the Caderans had taken her in long ago, claiming her as their own, and she had remained with them ever since, adopting their pacifistic practices and adhering to the Caderan way of living, even becoming a staunch advocate for their religion. She and Pason weren’t close, by any means—in fact, they used to get on each other’s nerves—but that didn’t mean he wanted to hurt her. He groaned inwardly. Why does she torture me so?
The Caderan protesters stopped mid-chant when he entered the courtyard, Guard in tow. No one moved a muscle as he sauntered down the lane, his spear parallel with the floor. The stone pillars of the peristyle were wreathed in ivy, and the flowers in his grandmother’s garden were in full bloom. How they had managed to survive in this heat, Pason would never know.
He moved with effortless grace, stooping so as not to hit his head on the trellis under which Rajani stood. Clothed in gilded beskar, she was limber and lean of build, wearing a large, somewhat gaudy headdress, its golden base adorned with colorful gemstones that glinted in the unrelenting sun. The Caderan sigil, a unique, intricately designed emblem, was branded on her breastplate for all to see. She didn’t shy away from his stare, and he frowned. She had guts, he’d give her that.
It had been a whole year since he had last lain eyes on a Caderan—since his father, the villainous Roman S’karrow had returned to Rune and declared war on House Lone. S’karrow was an outcast, presumed dead after a fierce confrontation with Medd Li’am, Pason’s stepfather years prior. Medd and the other Loners had turned on him once they learned of his staged marriage to Pason’s mother, the revered Duchess Lone. S’karrow had disappeared shortly afterward, only to return in the company of his new clan, who went by the name of House Spar nearly three decades later. The subsequent battle raged for months on end, but after joining forces with the Caderans and their other neighboring clans, the Loners ultimately emerged victorious. Rajani herself had joined them in battle, fighting weaponless alongside Pason and his men.
Now, the pair stood rigid beneath the ivy-clad trellis, rivals once more, their truce forgotten.
“As I live and breathe,” Rajani purred, and Pason heard the underlying note of condescension in her voice as she addressed him for the first time. “Pason Lone-Li’am. Or should I say, Duke Lone?” She chuckled, knotting her fingers together in front of her as she awaited his response.
“In the flesh,” Pason acknowledged. Trying not to stare at her headdress, the garish accessory attached to her helmet was a task that every minute proved more challenging. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Nice of you to join the party,” she quipped, and Pason was not oblivious to the defiance behind her words.
A muscle twitched near his jaw but he refused to engage with her tomfoolery. She was baiting the trap, and he wasn’t about to fall for it. “I see you’ve brought company,” he ventured instead, nodding toward her companions.
“Ah, yes,” Rajani said, shifting slightly as she held out one daintily gloved hand, motioning to the agitated Caderans rallied behind her. The feathers on her headdress trembled in the slight breeze. Pason willed himself not to look. “Duke, these are my clanmates. They traveled with me all the way from Cadera Dume to meet you.”
Her adversary gave a tight-lipped smile. “You don’t say. And you’re here because…?”
“We’ve got a bone to pick with you, Duke,” Rajani finished frostily, hands clenched into fists as her sides.
“But of course,” Pason laughed, making his ease with the situation known to Rajani and her compatriots. “Isn’t that always the way with you, Miss Cadera?”
He could feel the Lone Guard pressing close around him, a wall of hard-muscled bodies, at his beck and call, Rajani being the object of their fury. But, for all their might and main, she remained unimpressed with their endeavors.
Verity Lone, Pason’s elder cousin and the leader of the Lone Guard, raised a thickly gloved hand, signaling for her men to hold their fire. She was stocky, with widely spaced hips and a strong torso, her flaxen hair worn in neat, plaited sections. The braids spilled down from the bottom of her helmet, and out of the corner of her visor, she watched her cousin, awaiting his orders.
Pason’s shoulders were rigid. He drew himself up, trying to look menacing as he glared down his nose at Rajani, never mind the fact that she could not see the expression beyond his visor. “First and foremost,” he rumbled, with all the stiff manners of a seasoned diplomat. “I should point out that you and your clanmates are trespassing on private property, and that, by the laws of our ancestors, I, as the clan leader, am now liable to punish you any way I see fit.” He waved his spear at her as though to remind her of the danger at hand. “This is no idle threat, I can assure you.”
If Rajani was intimidated, it didn’t show. “Yes, we’re well aware of the fact, thank you, Duke.”
Pason couldn’t help but sigh. Must she be so stubborn? “Rajani, please understand,” he said, gentling. “I don’t want it to come to that, alright?”
He licked his lips nervously, and Rajani softened, her posture relaxing a little. He thought he heard her chuckle, but he couldn’t be sure. “You haven’t changed much, Duke,” she remarked. “It’s nice to see patriarchy hasn’t hardened you the way it has your father.”
Oof. Pason squinted behind his visor, assessing her. Cheap shot, Rajani, he thought, gnashing his teeth in anger, but when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “One of these days, it will be your turn to step up and lead your clan, Rajani,” he reminded her calmly. “And then you will have to learn to watch your tongue.”
“Mhm,” came Rajani’s toneless reply. “Yes, well. As much as I enjoy this verbal sparring, perhaps it’s time you knew the real reason for our visit.”
Verity set her shoulders, fists pressed against her hips. “I think it’s already fairly obvious,” she dished back with her usual sass. “You’re here in protest.”
“Aw. What gave it away?” crooned Rajani, her every word laced with sarcasm. The other protesters’ spiteful laughter rang out behind them. Verity just stared at them, keeping her weapon well within reach, daring the haughty Caderans to make a move.
Pason threw back his helmeted head and laughed, unperturbed. “You really are quite the entertainer, aren’t you, Miss Cadera? Not that I’m complaining, of course.”
He imagined Rajani smirking underneath her helmet. Her silence was oddly gratifying.
“But,” he cautioned, adjusting his hold on his spear, “on a more serious note—what is it exactly that you hope to achieve in coming here, Rajani? Are you here on a whim, looking to start a fight? You preach to us about peace, yet here you are, trying to incite an upheaval. Surely the hypocrisy isn’t lost on you.”
“Incite an upheaval? Is that what you think?” Rajani cackled. “How cute.”
Pason smiled coldly. “No need to be hostile. It was a perfectly legitimate question.”
“That, it was,” Rajani purred. “And one I intend to answer.”
Still smiling, Pason shed his helmet, inhaling the faint floral scent of Rajani’s perfume as he waited for her to continue.
The princess paused a moment before she, too whisked off her helmet. She wore kohl eyeliner, applied in thick layers, the wings extending nearly to her temples. Her blue eyes impaled his, full of zeal. She was so different from how he remembered her, with her tight blonde curls and satin skin, and yet somehow, still the same. “We come here today to share with you our message of hope, and to encourage the people of House Lone to embrace the Caderan way, once and for all.”
Pason arched a judgmental eyebrow and received another narrowed look from Rajani.
Verity made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a snarl. “Not this again,” she growled.
“But why here?” Pason queried. “Why now? You and your people have opposed the martial customs of traditional Mandalorian culture for as long as I can remember. So why do you choose to speak up today, of all days?”
“Duke,” Rajani said, and Pason was shocked by the gentleness in her voice. He froze, his heart softening toward her at once. She bowed her head, clutching her helmet in both hands. “When your birth father returned to Rune and declared war on Lone Wera, we Caderans did not hesitate to join the fight and defend our planet. But as you know, we suffered great loss because of it. My own uncle was shot and killed in the crossfire the day of the invasion. If it weren’t for the weapons that were used against us in battle, he might still be alive today.”
Guilt writhed inside Pason’s stomach. Was she trying to pin this on him, implying he was to blame for her uncle’s death? He grimaced. Maybe she had a point. After all, part of the reason Roman had returned to Lone Wera in the first place was to see him. But no—for Rajani, it wasn’t about revenge, he realized. It was about justice. About honoring her uncle’s memory. Had the roles been reversed, would he not be after the very same thing?
He softened, commiserative. “I’m sorry, Rajani,” he said, swallowing the last of his anger. “That must have been hard losing your uncle like that.”
Rajani shook her head, eyes pleading. “Ash and ember,” she swore softly. “Don’t look at me like that, Pason. I don’t want your pity. What’s done is done, and I have made peace with that. But please understand—if there is a chance I might save even just one life, the way I wish I could have saved my uncle’s sharing this message with you today, then it will have been worth all the trouble it took to get here. My fellow Mandalorians, I implore you—lay down your arms. Dispose of your weapons. If you must fight, then you must fight. But know that there is a better way to do it.” Cheers rose up from the gathered Caderans, and Rajani’s gaze moved over Pason and his Lone Guard, slow and deliberate. “It is written that honor is life, is it not?” she chorused, reciting the sacred Mandalorian Creed. “For with no honor, one may as well be dead. Tell me, Duke, where is the honor in your way of living?”
Pason exhaled sharply, clutching his spear with vice-like grip. The Caderans never fought with steel—rather, their weapons were forged of the written word. His nostrils flared. No matter. Two can play at this game, he thought darkly. “Ah. But you are forgetting that strength is life, Miss Cadera,” he countered, giving her a taste of her own medicine. His thunderous voice sounded strange to his own ears, so far from its usual warm timbre. “For the strong have the right to rule. We fight to defend our own, Rajani. We kill to survive. To protect those we love. That is the Way of House Lone.” Then, in a short bout of temper, he struck the tiles with the butt of his spear, and the marble shattered beneath him.
By now, the Caderans had worked themselves into a state of frenzy, hissing, spitting, and booing, but he refused to let it rattle him.
Rajani waved a hand in their general direction, demanding silence. “Weapons don’t make you strong, Duke,” she insisted. “They make you soft. With weapons, winning comes easy.”
Pason studied her, envying her unwavering conviction, and desperate to find a way around it. “We are Mandalorians,” he reminded her. “We do not abandon our weapons. They are a part of our identity, as they have been since the beginning of time. Tell me, Rajani. How many of your own have perished simply because they refused to take up arms?”
Rajani’s smile faltered for the first time that day. “Too many.” The telltale crease of her brow was confirmation of the pain his words inflicted. Remorse clawed at him, but it was too late to take it back.
He took a step toward her, contrite. “Rajani,” he mumbled, reaching out to touch her shoulder but then hesitating. “I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me...”
Rajani smiled sadly, but she swallowed her grief a moment later and lifted her gaze to his. “What are you apologizing for?” she laughed brokenly. “I had that one coming, didn’t I?”
His aching heart went out to her. “I remember your uncle,” he murmured, desperate to make amends as Rajani set about drying her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. “Mohatu. Mohatu Cadera, right?”
“Yes,” she murmured, surprised, and perhaps a little defensive. “That’s right.”
“He was a good man,” Pason breathed. “He fought bravely for his people.” He smiled, tentative. “He reminded me a lot of you.”
Rajani’s eyes shone, and she blushed at the unexpected compliment. Pason felt the blood go warm in his veins as she blinked, taking a step in reverse.
Her eyes narrowed and she squinted up at him, her gaze thoughtful. “It boggles my mind,” she drawled, touching her chin. “How a man of your scruples could ever be related to a man like Roman S’karrow.”
Pason smiled wryly. Some vague emotion stirred inside him as he admired the unconventional beauty of her oval face. “He is only half of who I am, Rajani—maybe not even that.” He blew out a sigh. “All I know is, life was a great deal less confusing when I thought he was dead.”
“They say ignorance is bliss,” Rajani mused.
“Yes. And I had to learn that the hard way,” Pason confessed, lowering his gaze. “I wish he had never returned to Lone Wera, my father.”
“I second that,” Rajani concurred, amused. Pason attempted a smile, just to appease her.
The heaviness between them shifted, subtle but sure.
Toward the west, the sun began its gradual descent in the coppery sky, and his grandmother’s flowers rustled in the vagrant breeze, their sweet fragrance filling the air.
Silence ensued as he and Rajani continued to stare at each other. Around them, the tension continued to thicken, the Lone Guard still standing at the ready and the Caderan protesters waiting for their leader’s next move—but something was different now. This here was an entirely new kind of tension, different from what had transpired only moments before.
Pason grew strangely wistful. “Look at us,” he mused. “All grown up, yet we still argue as we did when we were younglings. We’ve only known each other all our lives, and yet we still can’t seem to put our differences aside and move past this infuriating ideological rift. Dear Rajani—isn’t there any way to bridge the gap that looms between us?”
“I’ve already told you,” chuckled Rajani, her voice sultry. “Of course there’s a way—the Caderan way.” She gave an unnerving smile, and Pason went stiff when he saw how her gaze swept over his sinewy form, drinking in his smooth, dusky brown skin and jade green eyes. He squirmed uncomfortably. “You know something, Duke?” she asked, pensive. “If it weren’t for your Lone upbringings and political orientation, you’d be just my type. Tall, dark, not-very-brooding…”
Pason’s eyebrows lifted, and he remained mute, unable to concoct a clever comeback.
“I bet all the young women of House Lone worship you,” Rajani ventured, testing his mettle.
“N-not necessarily,” Pason hedged nervously.
Rajani sidled closer, undeterred by his evasion. “Have you got a girlfriend?”
The rhythm of Pason’s heartbeat changed—it quickened, became more forceful, and he burst out laughing, although somewhat hysterically. “Why?” he teased, unable to keep from grinning. “Are you looking to fill the role?”
“Maybe, in another life,” Rajani murmured.
He could feel the Lone Guard’s gazes needling him, and his eyes found the floor.
Was she serious?
The silence tarried between them till he could tolerate it no longer. “Women tend to find my patriarchal status somewhat…intimidating,” he admitted quietly, bashful.
“Ah,” Rajani said. “So they admire you from afar then.” Suddenly forgetting to be hostile, she arched up on tiptoes and reached out to dust off his armor and smooth down a stray tendril of his dark hair.
“Alright, you two,” Verity cut in, uneasy. She shot Pason a sideways look, her expression a mystery beneath her helmet. “Let’s keep the hormones at bay, shall we, cousin? Remember what’s at stake here.”
Heat traveled up Pason’s neck, rising to his cheeks. Rajani winked at him, looking smug. Her brazen manner could not have flustered him more, and Verity’s input wasn’t helping. He caught Rajani’s wrist, lowering her hand. “You make me blush, Miss Cadera. Your intention, I presume.”
“Mhm,” Rajani murmured, eyes twinkling. “Just like old times.” Her breath was warm on his face. A shiver went through him.
That was the final straw. Enraged, Verity drew her blaster, and the rest of the Lone Guard followed suit, every blaster aimed at Rajani’s helmetless head. Their Caderan foe reared to meet them, their hoots of derision carrying across the courtyard, and Rajani turned to stone, terrified. Being the Caderan she was, she had likely never laid eyes on such a weapon, let alone have one pointed straight at her.
Verity held her blaster in both hands, her aim steady. “That’s close enough, Miss Cadera,” she warned, her voice level. “Now, back away slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Rajani gulped, shrinking back.
For a moment, Pason stood stock-still, his tongue paralyzed. Then, annoyed, he thrust his arm out in front of Verity to keep her and her men corralled. At his cue, they lowered their weapons in retreat. Rajani breathed a sigh of relief.
Gently, Pason took her trembling hand in his own. She gave him an inquiring look, her eyes widening. Was it just him, or were they somehow even bluer than they had been a moment before? “Listen,” Pason urged her, his voice mild. “I admire your commitment, all of you. But I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.” He released her, smiling wearily. “This has been fun, but I think you’ve caused enough trouble for one day.” When she took too long to answer, he added, “Please don’t make me beg. I will do it, you know.”
“Better do as he says,” Verity rumbled, fingers tightening around the handle of her gun. “Trust me, sweetheart. It’s in your best interest.”
Rajani watched Pason a moment. She noticed for the first time how tired he looked, and she couldn’t help but take pity on him. “Your will be done, Duke Lone,” she said smilingly. “But this isn’t over. We’ll be back. You can count on it.”
“Then you had better be willing to face the consequences, Miss Cadera,” Pason warned.
“I’ll take my chances,” Rajani snarked.
Verity huffed beside Pason, stowing her weapon as the citizens of Cadera Dume began to retreat. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out, Princess,” she muttered.
Rajani smirked, offering no response. She turned her back on them as she withdrew, the other grumbling protesters trailing in her wake.
“Take care, Rajani,” Pason called after her, feeling oddly deflated. “Better luck next time, hm?”
Rajani glanced at him over her shoulder and gave an impish smile. “Yes,” she chirped. “Next time.” The words hung quivering in the air—a direct challenge to his authority, delivered with just the right amount of sass to keep him guessing. Then, with a dramatic toss of her head, she donned her helmet, the feathers on her headdress swaying in the breeze.
Pason’s cousin and the rest of the Guard moved to escort the Caderans out of the courtyard, armor clanking as they ushered them to the Gates beyond, and Pason stood alone in his grandmother’s overgrown garden, watching Rajani’s willowy form till it was completely out of sight.
“Next time,” she had said to him.
He grinned, clutching his spear. “Game on, Rajani,” he whispered to the silence. “Game on.”
