Private The Price of Loyalty

[Roberd Courbis]

Ukatis. He was home.
​

Cloaked and clothed in the simple garb of a commoner, Roberd had spent many days in the wild, reacquainting himself with a world he had served for countless years. Though he had betrayed its people, the world itself was always welcoming of a wayward son, a soft breeze carrying through the leaves and branches, the stars above shining down upon a Knight who had tossed his nobility away for a false King. He would forever owe a debt to his people that he could never repay, but there was one who was owed more than most by Roberd, and he had come to begin repaying that debt.

Or face a traitor's death. ​

Corazona von Ascania, the so-called Kinslayer, had sacrificed more than most for her homeworld. Her father, in his madness, had forced her to make a near-impossible choice, a choice that Roberd was glad that he would never have to make himself. Still, he was part of the reason that her father even made it to the throne room in the first place, and so he also bore the blame for the events that followed once father and daughter came to blows for a final time.

For several days, he had tracked the Princess's movements. She kept rather busy for a new mother, but a pattern had quickly established that saw her depart the capital for a countryside estate, perhaps the only place she was not surrounded by nobility or dignitaries. Roberd knew that if he was discovered by anyone but Corazona, he would be summarily executed for his crimes against Ukatis and her people. Perhaps he still would be, but if he were to die, it would be at the hands of the woman he had wronged the most; it would be the final honorable act in a traitor's life, not enough to wipe away his shame, and yet it was something Roberd had made his peace with. He had waited until nightfall to begin his approach to the estate, the stars above his only guide as he found his way to the central structure. Roberd knew that Corazona had returned, but was unaware whether she was still awake. Part of him believed that he should simply knock on the front door, but he had decided she was just as likely to ignore him if he did so. Though idiotic, he believed that he had to present himself to the Princess for her to truly understand who he was and why he had come.

It took time to find a proper entrance, but eventually Roberd came upon a window. While the rest of the estate seemed sealed up tightly, it appeared this particular window had been left cracked to let in the cool night's breeze. Carefully, the old knight forced the window open just enough to give him a chance to slip inside, though the process was not without some discomfort as his age ever so slightly began to catch up with him. Still, he had managed to find his way inside, and after his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he quickly discovered that he was in a nursery of sorts.

It was only then that he realized his grave error. ​

His steps were slow and quiet, but eventually he found himself standing over a bassinet, within which lay a child who slept blissfully unaware of the intruder who had forced his way into her room. Roberd should have moved on, slipped out of the room, and moved on to his true goal, but instead, he hesitated. This precious babe was, in his mind, a reminder of just what he had rejected in life in swearing his life to the service of Ukatis and her people. Certainly, he had known love in his time, but something so true and lastingas to have led to a child? No, he thought it cruel to bring a child into the galaxy that he could not properly raise. He had to choose between a family of his own and protecting the countless other families of his homeworld, and he had chosen the many.

Now he was old. Now he was a traitor. He had spilled Ukatian blood for a traitor and a Sith Lord. ​

Could he even call himself a Knight? After everything he'd done?

Corazona von Ascania ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora had awoken with a start. It hadn't been the noise – because there wasn't any – and that was what had truly alarmed her. No crying, no child calling to be soothed or fed. Just cold, uncomfortable silence.

It took only the span of several heartbeats for her to rise and throw a robe over her nightclothes with haste. She knotted the belt across her waist as she fled down the hall.

She had learned to trust in the Force. Sometimes, more could be gleaned from the subtle ripple than from the more aggressive shifts that often came with dark side upheaval. When it drew her to Lucy's room, Cora paused just outside the door.

Her heart thundered in her chest, then leaped into her throat. Everything had changed with the birth of their daughter. Priorities shifted. Luciana was the first thing she thought of when she woke in the morning, and the last thing that occupied her thoughts before sleep took her. She missed her when the babe napped, or was cradled in the arms of someone else. It was a love so furious, so titanic in it's strength that it was downright frightening.

So when, though the cracked door, Cora spied the shadowed figure of a man standing over her daughter's bassinet - the only thing that kept her from charging into the room was Lucy's safety.

She kept her eyes on the man as her hand stretched out. Not towards him, not yet. One of the decorative swords mounted in the hall floated into her grasp. It was a ceremonial weapon, dull and several times heavier than a traditional dueling sword. She could still bludgeon with it. She could still, with the Force, drive its blunted blade through his skull.

Ser Courbis would would feel a tickle in his throat. Then, a pressure. One that couldn't be eased by loosening his collar or coughing. His airway constricted, not yet enough to kill him within seconds.

Cora flew into the room. Her head thrust into the space just below Roberd's ribs. When the old knight stumbled back, winded, she grabbed him by his hair and smashed his face into the rough-hewn stone window sill.

Lucy awoke from the ruckus, letting out a pitched wail that only incensed her mother's righteous fury further. Cora's fist was curled into his collar now, forcing his head out the very window he'd crawled through minutes earlier. On one end, a perilous drop. On the other, a blade pressed to his neck. Not a sharp one, but there was enough tension behind it to spear him from chin to skull.

Cora sneered above him. Lips curled back, teeth clenched, hair askew. Eyes wild with fury roamed the old man's face as she pressed the blade further against the fluttering pulse of his carotid artery.

"Who sent you?!" she snapped. "Which of those abominable Lords hired you to come for my daughter?"

Whether this was an attempted kidnapping or an attempted murder, the same end would be met.

Roberd Courbis

 

[Roberd Courbis]

It was stupid. He disregarded decades of training, all to lose himself in his past.
​

For a moment, he thought he must be crying, for why else might his throat grow tight? That illusion was quickly shattered as his airway closed entirely and his sword hand quickly rose to his neck, though there was little he could do to help himself now. By the time he turned around, it was far too late to save himself from the coming assault as a woman entirely blind with fury had charged him, what little air within his lungs driven out by a powerful blow. That was not the end of it, however, as soon his attacker had a fist of his white hair, and his face was driven squarely into the stone windowsill.

Roberd had been in this position before. It's how he knew his nose was broken.

It appeared as though this was how he was to die, already without honor, but at the hands of a mother who believed her child to be in danger? ​

Blood ran down from his nose as he managed to cough; his only respite was the moment it took for a blade to be pressed against his neck. It was only then that he understood that he had indeed found the Princess, though it seemed she was none too pleased to see him. Thankfully, she had decided to at least let him explain himself, though it appeared she was under the impression that he was serving one of her countless enemies. Roberd would never dare harm a child, but he could understand why Lady von Ascania might believe him to be a kidnapper.

"None! I come here to speak with you, nothing more!"

For a moment, he squirmed, but only to throw back the hood of his cloak to fully reveal his face in hopes there might be a moment of recognition.

"My lady, I am Ser Roberd Courbis. We met once, long ago, at a tournament. You were but a girl at the time."

He wasn't sure if revealing his name at this moment was wise, considering his status as a traitor and his attempt to breach her home. He could only hope she would give him a moment or two more to explain himself before she drove that blade through him.

"All I ask is that you let me explain myself, then you may kill me if you so desire."

Corazona von Ascania ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Roberd Courbis?

Cora's brow held its tension, until recognition softened her expression.

"The Red-Blade of Ukatis?" She didn't stay incredulous for long, having been duly reminded of the Knight's choice. Such a talented man with a spotless record, and he'd chosen poorly. Many of the traitors had been caught; the most egregious of whom were executed. Some were rotting within the palace's dungeon, or shamed in exile.

Some, like Roberd, had slipped through the cracks. Cowards who forsook their oath, then ran from their punishment.

Cora's gaze steeled once more as it tightened on the old man's face. Blood dribbled from his nose, now made crooked where it had met the wall. Her senses stretched out like secondary nerves to confirm that he had indeed come alone.

She reestablished her grip on the sword, and for a moment it might've felt as though she was not interested in talking. Then, through gritted teeth, she hissed a single order:

"Speak."

Roberd Courbis

 

[Roberd Courbis]

He was not afraid to die. He was only afraid of an inglorious death.
​

Perhaps he should expect nothing more, for there is no greater crime than to betray one's honor. Three decades of service to the people of Ukatis were thrown away for the sake of a false King, one Roberd had sworn to serve in the vain hope that Ukatis might survive the coming storm. In the end, it was the Jedi and the fallen Galactic Alliance that managed to save Ukatis from the likes of him and the Sith masters he had unwittingly served. Maybe the quick stroke of a sword from the woman who truly served her people was sufficient enough.

She had recognized him at least. A bit of that old glory had not faded away.

But in the end, she chose to give him his chance, offering him something the rest of the nobility would not been so keen to give. If he were to speak in his defense, he would offer complete honesty, for she deserved that at least.

"I swore to serve your father and House von Ascania. You saw what he was at the end, but in the long months prior to his rebellion, he gathered nobles in secret. He appeared a decade younger and full of vitality that I didn't think possible, yet he stood proud before us, spoke to us of the honor of our people and desire for a truly free Ukatis, not tied to the Alliance and its endless wars. He spoke of a tyrant King, one more concerned with feasting and wealth than with the people he ruled."

In his heart, Roberd felt fresh shame. He would hang his head if it weren't for the blade at his neck, but in his eyes there was true grief for days long since gone by.

"I refused for weeks. I had sworn my sword to the King, and yet your father would not relent. He told me, as a man of honor, that I could not simply stand by and let the people endure the corruption that had taken root within the palace itself. I am ashamed to admit it, my lady, but I truly believed him. In him I believed there to be a man I could call King."

With a deep sigh, the old Knight glanced to the bassinet behind the Jedi, perhaps allowing the weight of what he had done to set in. If the Sith traitors had succeeded, Ukatis would have been forever engulfed in their tyranny, and Roberd would have been at fault for all of it.

"Then the Sith came. He lingered in the council meetings, your father insisting that he was but a means to an end, that we would take what we needed from the Sith and drive them off as we did the Alliance. It wasn't long before I understood that when your father spoke, it was that thing, Nefaron, he called himself, who planted every word. If I had held my senses, if I had been strong enough, I could have turned my blade on him. Instead, I was lockstep with your father when we marched on the capital, and..."

It was then that the Knight lost voice, as if failing to find the words to justify the treason he spoke. Instead, he could only offer what little he could in return for the Lady von Ascania's suffering.

"There is nothing I can do to regain my honor, to deserve forgiveness. That is not what I ask you. But my oath remains, to serve House von Ascania, to serve its worthy heir. I have come to offer you my blade, my life, as some recompense for the pain I brought upon your family. I am at your command, and if your command is to see me dead, then..."

Instead of resisting her grip, Roberd rested a hand on the blade she held to his throat, as if he was willing to carry out the killing blow himself.

"I will see it done."

Corazona von Ascania ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Cora bade the man to speak, and she would not interrupt him while he said his piece. The cries of her daughter – frightened by the noise, she could read as much in the Force – urged every maternal instinct in her to comfort her child.

It was an even stronger instinct that had her rooted to her spot, eyes scouring the disgraced knight's face as she maintained her hold on both his collar, and the blade pressed into the withered skin at his neck. Only when she was convinced that he was no longer a threat would she draw back.

In a way, she was grateful for his testimony. It shed a little more light on something she'd agonized over; the fall of her father. Cora hadn't been there to witness Marcel's revitalization and race for power, and it was one of her many regrets. Perhaps she could have prevented a war. So many lives, lost.

Then, the man did something that she had not expected – he placed his hand upon her blade. Not to stay it, but to urge it forward. Cora held fast.

"No," she said. Her voice was kept low and firm, like the distant rumbling of thunder. "You said that your life is mine to command. Do not deprive me of the choice."

Roberd would feel a sudden pressure against his skull, against his psyche. It was neither pleasant nor painful, but invasive. It would question his motives, his honor, his truth – and when she was satisfied, it would fall away entirely.

The blade dropped from his neck, and with a sigh, Cora released his collar. She took a step back. "My father's cause, though fueled by dark magic and a lust for power, was just. King Horace was sucking this land and her people dry." She shook her head, and only then did she try and blink away the exhaustion. Her eyelids felt like sandpaper. "Though I doubt he would have made a better king. Not under Nefaron's influence; the Dark is a corruptive force that few if any can keep their head above the surface of. We would've had another tyrant before long, and the cycle would continue anew."

Cora leaned the ornate sword in the corner of the far wall. It put her between Roberd and the weapon, but she'd trawled his mind well enough to have an understanding of his intentions.

"The cause was just," she murmured, softer now as she bent to pick the wailing babe up from her crib. Luciana was soon nestled against her mother's shoulder. "His methods and intentions were not."

A prolonged silence followed as she rubbed Lucy's back, bouncing from one heel to the next in an attempt to calm her cries. "There were many good men who found themselves convinced by Marcel, my own brother among them. I cannot find myself blaming them – not for wanting a better Ukatis. Not for trying to protect their kin." She glanced to Roberd. "The unspoken laws of this land are harsh. Retribution is a bloody business.

"I remember you, you know. I was just past my eighth year when I saw you at that tournament in Axilla. It was the first one I'd ever attended in the capital. You were impressive, there."

Roberd Courbis

 

[Roberd Courbis]

​

When Roberd felt the intrusion into his mind, he had resigned himself to a triators death. He was a novice when it came to the force; its power was unknowable to him, and yet he knew full well what it could do to others, and he believed the Lady von Ascania had deemed his crimes worthy of such a punishment. Yet he faced death with courage, his eyes fixed on the face of the woman he had sworn to serve as she employed her strange powers.

Yet there was no killing blow. Only a feeling. As if he were a book being read. ​

Then her blade fell away, and her grip loosened. The old knight slid down to sit on the floor as he gathered himself, a hand rising to wipe the blood from his broken nose while he watched the merciful head of the house move to tend to her child. She spoke of her father, of the potential reign he may have had as a puppet of a Sith Lord. Fresh shame may have taken him if not for the admission that King Horace was no better. Both men had given in to the dangerous temptation that was power, and Ukatis was made all the worse for it. A weight was lifted from Roberd's shoulders, though his crimes could never be wiped away, he could at least rest easy knowing that there was at least one person who understood why he had committed himself to the traitor's cause.

The Red-Blade remained silent while his patron spoke, the soft cries of an infant filling the room as she expressed her own thoughts on her father and those who followed them. For his part, Roberd was an eager listener, even as he ripped a bit of his cloak to use to wipe his face and aid in setting his nose back into place, something he had done many times in the past. It was surprising to hear that she at least had some sympathy for the traitors, though it did make a bit more sense when she mentioned her brother and his loyalty to her father's cause. He wondered what might have been if he had been allowed to take the throne in place of his father, perhaps free of the influence of the Sith.

But that was a vain hope. The rebellion failed the moment Marcel agreed to the Sith's terms. ​

Despite it all, Roberd could not help but chuckle when she mentioned a past tourney, for he had been stuck in those memories for months. Even after his treason, his name was still known, and that brought him a bit of comfort.

"Oh, I remember that one. I managed to unseat Lord Toutain in a joust. He was furious and challenged me to single combat that lasted all of a minute. I distinctly recall his wife being rather cross with him the rest of the tourney."

The slight smile that Roberd faded away after a moment, though, a thought crossing his mind.

"It all seems so childish now. The old glories mean nothing when spoiled by treachery."

After a moment, the old Knight shifted to rest on one knee, his head bowed slightly.

"If you would have me, my lady, I would repay my debt to you however I can. If I am to take up my sword again, I would do it in service of a cause worth supporting, perhaps even a ruler worthy of the throne."

Corazona von Ascania ​

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

Something in Cora’s face smoothed, just a tic, at the mention of the joust. Ukatis had a rich history of honor and tradition, so entrenched in these values that they’d forgone modernization in favor of habit.

There were some aspects to Ukatis that she wouldn’t mind preserving. Their work ethic was strong, and their hospitality was gradually beginning to warm.

She’d always enjoyed the jousts. Lysander, too. Perhaps she enjoyed them because she saw the way it made the light in her brother’s eyes shine that much brighter.

Cora stopped swaying when Roberd fell to one knee. Comforted by her mother’s familiar warmth, Luciana’s cries ebbed into a soft whine.

“You want to…”

Cora trailed, dumbstruck. She’d surmised now that the old knight had come here not for retribution, but for judgement.

But to offer his blade? To offer his blade, to perhaps even a ruler…

Cora swallowed, then found her voice.

“I will not sit on the throne. Jedi do not rule.”

And yet, she’d influenced Ukatian politics through the King she had put on the throne. Perhaps it was to keep her hands clean. Perhaps it was to avoid the brunt of the fallout.

In the moment, Cora felt immensely guilty over Fabian’s appointment.

Luciana, her head buried into her mother’s shoulder, gurgled. Tiny fingers fisted into the collar of her robe, their strength belied by their size.

“However,” the mother murmured, “I do not deny the influence I have while standing as an adviser to the King. The galaxy is changing, and Ukatis must change with it. If you are to serve me, that will mean watching your home change. And you may not like all that I want to do.”

There was a razor-thin line to be walked in modernizing Ukatis. Elevating the working class would upset the planet’s aristocracy, and even the commonfolk would be wary of sweeping change. They tended to be the ones who paid for the cost of noble overtures.

“You’ve made your mistakes, Ser Courbis. So have I. Despite the choice you made, you still seem to maintain something akin to honor. The sort with honor that Ukatis lacks as of late.”

Moonlight splashed across the old knight’s face, casting the red smear in shadows. Cora could feel an old, familiar guilt creep in.

“You’ve no problem serving a woman? A kinslayer?”

Roberd Courbis

 

[Roberd Courbis]

For a moment, Roberd lost hope.
​

She had rejected the throne, despite her enduring more than any other in the long history of Ukatis. Corazona von Ascania could usher in a new era of modernity and happiness, and yet she denied it all.

He respected her all the more for it. Yet it appeared to be a rejection of his service all the same. ​

For a moment, Roberd held his head low, as if offering a gracious bow in recognition that his service was not required, but it was more than that. Should he fail to hold to his oath, he was destined to live out his decades off-world, a mere vagabond without honor and shackled by shame. He could hold true to his knightly vows and defend the weak and innocent, but in the end, nothing could ever wipe away his treachery. Worst of all would be that he could not even be put to rest in the soil of his homeworld, for such an honor was reserved for one far greater than him.

Yet her voice came again, an admission of her own vast influence followed by a warning.

Ukatis would change. It had to change. ​

Even Roberd would admit that he had long supported the same system that had drawn Ukatis into relative backwardness in comparison to the rest of the galaxy. The tournaments, the noble lords and fair ladies, even the very idea of a society of honor, were built atop a class of people who would only know servitude to men who could easily be as cruel as they were generous. The common folk, whose blood flowed in Roberd's veins despite his knightly title, were oppressed by men like him for millennia. When Lady von Ascania's father launched his rebellion, it was the common folk who suffered more than anyone else, another sin that ate away at Roberd's heart.

But Corazona had one more question, one that even she seemed hesitant to ask.

Could he serve a woman? Serve one who had killed her own father? ​

For his part, Roberd put great thought into his response. He blew out a near-silent breath as he brought his gaze up once more to meet the Lady of House Ascania.

"I have watched men rob Ukatis of its wealth, grow fat off the labor of those less fortunate, and despoil women whose only sin was being born the wrong sex. I served those men with some childish notion that chivalry kept them in line, but I know that to be little more than a dream."

Yes, he would serve a woman. He would serve her. ​

"Fools call you Kinslayer. What were you to do? Let your father take the throne and make our people slaves to the Sith? No, my lady, if anyone should bear the blame for what happened in the throne room, it should be men like me, men who saw the madness that gripped your father and did nothing to stop him. I was at his side, even when Nefaron whispered in his ear, and yet my blade stayed sheathed."

Of course, nothing he could say would change the fact that she had been made to kill her own father. Roberd could rationalize it all he liked, but at the end of the day, Marcel caused his own death the moment he abandoned reason for the madness of the Sith. The Red Blade rose from the floor, cloak wrapping around himself once more as he watched a young mother tend to her babe, and his lips turned upward into a small smile.

"As you said, Ukatis must change. We must try something new."

Corazona von Ascania​