Chapter Text
Jedi Council Meeting: Coruscant
Jon Snow - Knight, Grey-One-Three
1143 hours
The Council chamber at the Jedi Temple was as grand as ever, with twelve chairs set in judgment. Nine were filled whereas three were flickering holograms.
Maege Mormont stood at the frontlines of some border conflict on a planet he didn’t know. Mathis Rowen was preoccupied in diplomatic talks many lightyears away, and Brynden Tully tended to his brother’s decline in the Riverhold system. But their absence was only physical, their blued projections watched and listened like the rest.
Jon stood in the center of the chambers, all of them watching him from every angle. His mother’s amethyst lightsaber hung at his belt. Beside it, ominous as ever, rested the red saber, stolen from a Sith no one truly believed he had bested.
“Knight Snow,” Grandmaster Selmy began, his face stern but not unkind. “Your report on the border dispute between the Stone Hedge and Raventree systems. You may begin.”
Jon bowed his head slightly, “It began with the destruction of a mining vessel near the Vaith Corridor,” he said. “Stone Hedge patrols blamed Raventree sabotage. Raventree claimed it was an unprovoked maneuver from Stone Hedge, part of a larger effort to encroach on old territories. The truth probably lies somewhere between. Neither side is innocent. This fuel predates the Republic, it is… unsurprising that there is another flare-up.”
He paused before continuing again.
“There were retaliatory strikes. A freighter convoy out of Raventree was raided in disputed space. The Stone Hedge fleet denies involvement, but evidence suggests they were at least complicit. No deaths, but all the cargo was lost. When I arrived, each side was already preparing escalation.”
“You believe this most recent cycle of violence was initiated by Raventree?” Master Kevan Lannister asked.
Jon’s jaw tensed, reminding himself to mind his thoughts better… else they be projected to everyone in the room, but he kept his voice level.
“I did not say that,” he replied. “I said only that both parties have blood on their hands. Raventree’s actions were… less accidental than they claim. I imply no more than that.”
Master Olenna Tyrell leaned back slightly, hands clasped in her lap. “And yet you say it with conviction.”
He noticed his uncle shift subtly in his seat.
“Did your presence deescalate the situation?” Master Doran Martell asked, quiet and calm.
Jon nodded. “Yes. For now. I brokered a temporary ceasefire. Both sides agreed to independent arbitration, with a representative from the Order serving as neutral witness. They wanted a master. I suggested Master Tully or Master Oswell Whent. Both are respected and uninvolved.”
“And if the ceasefire fails?” Master Stannis Baratheon asked.
“Then it will not be Jedi arbitration that ends this war. It will be Republic fleet movements and orbital strikes and neither system will be whole when it’s done.”
Master Mormont’s hologram crackled before she spoke. “A grim forecast, but not an unlikely one.”
“A fair report,” Master Yohn Royce added, “Direct. Balanced. If nothing else, Knight Snow understands when to temper steel with caution.”
Jon bowed again. “Thank you, Masters.”
There was a pause. A moment. An almost imperceptible glance between councilors. Grandmaster Selmy nodded toward him, beginning the shift toward another matter.
“Knight Snow. There is another subject...
But Jon’s voice came first, smooth but unmistakably sharp. He knew what they wished to speak of, and need to get his request out
“I’ve received a transmission from a smuggler operating out of the Outer Ring. Frostfangs system. He claims to have seen a woman matching the description of Darth Embarch. I’m requesting permission to investigate.”
The air did not shift, but the tension turned brittle. When no one spoke, Jon pressed on.
“He says she’s alone. Or appears to be. No fleet. No men. The world is remote, if the report is false, then I’ll return within the cycle. If it’s real, then we have a chance to prevent another loss.”
He did not explain their history. He didn’t have to; the red saber on his belt spoke volumes.
Master Tyrell raised one brow. “This same smuggler, how does he know what she looks like?”
“We’ve worked with Davos before” Jon said. “He’s never steered us wrong before. His son is Master Baratheon’s padawan.”
Master Tarly was first to speak bluntly.
“You intend to pursue her alone.”
It was not a question.
“I never said that,” Jon answered.
“But you did not say otherwise,” Master Lannister said, voice mild but firm. “There are others who could accompany you.”
“If the council assigns someone, I will obey,” Jon said. “But I believe a large presence would scare her away. She is not unintelligent or blind in the force, she would notice if a contingent of force users appeared on the planet.”
“No,” Master Baratheon agreed, “That’s a vulnerability.”
Another silence stretched before his uncle Eddard finally stood, his face grave.
“We appreciate your report, Jon. And your request. Please wait outside the chamber while we deliberate.”
Jon resisted the urge to frown before inclining his head. “Of course.”
He turned and walked out, exhaling slowly as he stood in the hall alone. The Jedi Temple was quiet at this hour. Outside, younglings were gathered in training fields, their instructors’ voices faint. His fingers twitched slightly, brushing against the hilt of the amethyst saber. Then… the other one.
The red one.
He didn’t draw it. He never did inside the main temple. But he kept it at his hip, just as Embarch… he shook his head once.
Two months. That was how long he’d been missing. He told them she’d tortured him. That she tried to break him. That he had escaped and defeated her.
But hadn’t killed her. He admitted hadn’t finished it.
Jon did not pace. He stood still, but his thoughts moved fast.
Why now? Why was she seen now?
Why Frostfangs?
Why was he being kept out here, like a child, while they decided whether he was still to be trusted with his own fate?
He knew the truth. Or part of it.
It wasn’t just Embarch. It was the streaks of silver in his hair; it was the redness in his eyes that no Jedi healer has been able to undo. The subtle changes in his stance, his speech, his saber technique, his… everything.
He could still hear Master Selmy’s words from a session three weeks past: “Strength without purpose is nothing but a storm. You’ve become a storm, Knight Snow. We just pray you don’t break the temple when you crash against the shore.”
He looked up at the sealed doors.
Master Baratheon would argue for caution. Masters Royce and Selmy might support Jon. Uncle Ned probably would… he’d be extra protective since Bran’s disappearance. Master Mormont as well, but not for the right reasons. She still felt guilty about his… his moth…
But Martell? Lannister? Tyrell? They would not, could not, forget what they had seen upon his return. Would they ever truly trust him again?
He was not surprised when he heard the footsteps approaching. They were calm, deliberate, and paired.
Master Mance Rayder, wrapped in a dark robe with his purple saber, the one of the only other ones in the order, clipped plainly to his belt, approached with his former Padawan at his side. Val walked a step behind, her own saber, a double-bladed blue one, hooked horizontally to the small of her back. Her hair was tied back in her normal tight braid, he resisted smiling when he remembered her wanting to put a small lightsaber at the end of it.
“You look like you’re waiting for a sentence,” Mance said bluntly. His voice wasn’t cruel, but it lacked the soft buffers many of the Masters adopted. Mance had never cared for pretense.
“I’m just waiting for them to finish,” Jon replied. He nodded in greeting. “Master. Val.”
“Knight Snow,” Val said with a nod, the corner of her mouth quirking. “Trying to scare them into obedience by standing here like a statue?”
“If that worked, we wouldn’t need Council meetings,” Jon replied.
Val sobered. “They still can’t get past the red saber, can they?”
“They already think you have an unhealthy attachment to your mother’s saber.” Mance said, eyes glued to the amethyst saber on Jon’s belt. “And this one doesn’t help… but it is not just the saber.”
Jon looked down for a moment, then back up. “I rarely use it.”
“That’s not true,” Mance said without missing a beat. “You train with it regularly. Several have seen it.”
Val folded her arms. “I’ve seen it too. Twice last month. You’re nearly as good with it now than you were with your mother’s when you fought…” Jon looked up with a glare, “… Corbray.”
“I said I rarely use it,” Jon repeated, more insistent.
“And I’m saying that the fact you believe that is more worrying than if you admitted the truth,” Val replied. Her voice wasn’t mocking. “You don’t see how often you reach for it, Jon. That’s not nothing.”
Jon glanced away briefly.
“I use what works,” he said.
Mance nodded slowly, his gaze thoughtful. “You always did. That’s why Halfhand liked training you. And that’s why I paid attention to you once he was gone. You didn’t chase flourish or prestige. You pursued mastery. Form II was always your path. You made it yours.”
Jon remained silent.
“You were the youngest to ever master Form II… hell master of any form in living memory,” Mance continued. “No one argued it. Even some of the Council bowed their heads without argument when you qualified. And now?”
Jon’s lips pressed together.
“Now,” Mance said, “you’ve moved to Form V. I’ve seen your stance shift, and believe me when I say, I am not the only one. The footwork. The power… You swing to break, not disarm. To dominate. You don’t duel.”
Val stepped in. “ Form V’s not inherently dark, plenty of Jedi use it. But when someone changes forms after going missing for two months, returns with new eyes, new habits, and a new saber, well… people ask questions.”
“I didn’t…” Jon denied sharply.
“No one is accusing you of anything,” Mance assured him. “But no one thinks you came back unchanged either.”
Val gestured toward the doors. “That’s what they’re talking about right now. Not whether you can track Embarch, whether they believe you are up to any task involving leaving the temple”
Jon looked down the hallway, jaw tight.
“Do you?” he asked.
Mance tilted his head. “You’re still the boy Halfhand believed in. You’re still the knight who broke the siege at Queenscrown with a speech and a parry. I trust that part.”
“But I also see the man who grips his saber like a warhammer now. You’ve changed, Jon. Doesn’t mean you’re lost. But don’t lie to yourself about it.”
“I don’t want to use it,” Jon said. “I just… I don’t want to forget what it cost me.”
“That’s not how Jedi remember,” Mance said. “We remember by letting go, not holding it at our sides.”
Val leaned against the pillar beside him. “You’re not wrong to want closure. Just don’t confuse closure with control. You beat her. And now you want to be the one to find her again. Finish it. Maybe for the Order. Maybe for you. But either way, the Council sees what they see. You’re a knight walking with a shadow behind him.”
“She put it there,” Jon said softly.
“I know that,” Mance answered.
Val nodded. “So do I.”
There was a pregnant pause before
“… you two rehearsed this?” Jon deadpanned finally and Mance recoiled but Val laughed.
“When have you ever known me to reherse anything?”
The Council doors hissed open. The sound broke their conversation cleanly. A young Temple attendant stepped out and said, “Knight Snow? The Council will see you now. Master Rayder. Knight Wilde,” the attendant added, glancing toward them. “The Council has permitted your entry as well.”
Jon looked to Mance, who gave a faint shrug.
“They either want to scold you or support your request,” Mance said. “Either way, it's better to face it than to wonder.”
Val grinned faintly. “You still always bring the sunshine, Master.”
Mance glanced sideways. “You’re still not funny, Val.”
The three entered the Council chamber together. Twelve chairs waited beyond the high stone arch, arranged in a wide circle. Some were filled with living Masters, others with flickering blue projections. Every gaze turned to him as he stepped into the light. The Council chamber was as still as a crypt, but the pressure in the force spoke volumes.
Jon Snow stood at the center once again. The faces that watched him were not openly hostile, but not one of them looked relaxed. Not even the ones who believed in him.
His uncle was the first to speak. His voice was measured, weathered by years of war and council alike.
“This path concerns us,” he said, eyes not harsh but searching. “You know that.”
“I do,” Jon replied.
“It is not only the red saber,” Master Martell clarified from across the circle. “Nor the fact that you disappeared without contact for two full months. It is the pattern. Your withdrawal. The changes in your conduct. You were… you are not the same when you returned.”
“I didn’t claim to be,” Jon said. His voice was level, but just. There was tension just beneath it. “You think I don’t feel it? I do. Every day. But what happened to me doesn’t change who I serve.”
“You should not be the one to judge that,” Master Tyrell said, sharply. Her eyes were keen, lips tight. “That’s what the Council is for. To see as a whole what we cannot as individuals.”
“And it’s for that reason,” Master Selmy added, his voice slow and deliberate, “that we must remind you of your responsibilities.”
Jon’s gaze narrowed. He knew where this was going, it is why he made sure Embarch was brought up before they could lead it there. “...Responsibilities.”
His uncle gave a slight nod.
“It is more than time for you to take a Padawan,” Eddard said. “You are one of the youngest knights to ever receive full posting. You’ve led operations in contested sectors, negotiated accords between sections with generations of strife, survived Sith captivity… And despite all of this you remain untethered. It is time. Robb has already taken one,”
“So have many of your peers. Even some of those who completed their trials long after you.” Selmy added.
Jon’s shoulders tensed. His hands curled at his sides.
“That will tie me to the temple,” he said. “Padawans spend their first year in training here under supervision. That’s the rule. And while I’m standing in gardens teaching philosophy, the Outer Rim burns.”
“You think we don’t see the dangers on the horizon?” Master Tarly spoke, his voice sharper than the others. “You think we are blind to the Outer Rim? We have lost more than twenty knights in the last cycle. We know what is at stake.”
“Then you know we don’t have the time to coddle novices,” Jon said.
“Watch your tone,” Master Lannister warned.
“That was me watching my tone,” Jon replied, through gritted teeth.
“Teaching is not coddling,” Master Royce’s came voice. “It is preservation. You want the Order to stand? Then shape those who will come after.”
“The Sith don’t wait for Padawan training schedules,”
“And your feelings,” Master Rowen said through his hologram, “should not dictate your duties.”
There was a silence after that.
It wasn’t long, but it was heavy.
Jon exhaled through his nose. “You’re going to order me to do this?”
“No, you are the only Knight… only Jedi in the temple who has dueled not one, but two force trained lightsaber users and lived to tell the tale. As much… doubt…” Eddard said, looking around the room, giving a brief glare to Master Tarly. “We cannot afford to allow you to remain on the sidelines.
However, we expect your agreement. When this mission is over, you will return and take a student. That is not a suggestion.”
Jon didn’t speak for a moment. His jaw tightened, then finally he nodded once.
“Very well,” he said. “When I get back.”
The Council moved forward, almost as if the conversation had never hit friction.
“We are granting your request to investigate the Frostfangs,” Master Martell said finally. “Though not as you proposed.”
Jon frowned. “What does that mean?”
“You will not be going alone,” Master Lannister said.
Jon’s head turned slightly. “A large group will…”
“Not a large group,” Master Arryn said, “You will be taking another knight with you.”
“I volunteer,” Val’s voice came from the side. “I know the terrain and I know him. If Darth Embarch is truly there…”
“No,” Master Tyrell interrupted, voice calm but firm. “The companion for this mission has already been chosen.”
Val hesitated. “But...
“The decision is made,” Master Royce said. “You are not under consideration.”
The implication was loud. Jon and Val knew each other too well. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that she wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t pull him back if he stepped too close to the line.
“Then who?”
Grandmaster Selmy stood. “You will be joined by Knight Margaery Tyrell.”
Jon blinked.
“Margaery?” His voice carried just a hint of disbelief.
“Yes,” Eddard confirmed. “Knight Tyrell has recently completed her campaign assisting Knight Merryweather in the Sarn region. Her record is consistent. Disciplined.”
“Her insight into manipulation and diplomacy will also serve well,” Master Tyrell added. “And unlike Knight Wilde, she is not… personally entangled or likely to lose sight because of a pretty face.”
Jon didn’t answer. Not immediately.
He had worked with Margaery Tyrell only twice and both times it was in larger operations with nearly a dozen Jedi where they didn’t or barely interacted. Once during the Borros Uprising, and again during the peace negotiations in the Gullet. Both times she had proven effective. Smart. Charismatic. She had an edge to her too, behind all the calm and charm. He had respected her, even if they hadn’t spoken much off the field.
Still, this pairing was not a coincidence. It was strategic. Calculated.
They were placing a mirror beside him. Someone who could see what others might miss, but who wouldn’t hesitate to report what she saw. But… that was not the primary reason.
Even in the Jedi, politicking was far too common. Olenna Tyrell was very protective of her family, but she expected excellence of each and every one of them. Sith sightings were… spoken about. If a Jedi were to be sent on a mission to eliminate one, whether it was arrest or other means.
“Very well,” Jon said finally. “I’ll speak to her before departure.”
Olenna sat forward slightly. “The brief will be sent to her holopad. She knows your… particular history. The Order trusts her judgment. And we expect the same from you.”
Jon suspected that it was his “particular history” that Olenna would dare send her precious little rose on such a dangerous mission. Any way the mission played out, Margaery would benefit.
If Embarch was captured or slain? Margaery would get credit for defeating a powerful foe. An outcome Olenna was confident about because Jon already defeated Embarch.
However, if for whatever reason Embarch got away… Jon’s “particular history” could be blamed, citing his feelings were clouded on the matter. No risk, all reward.
Jon looked around the chamber. Every face was watching him. Not all with doubt. Some with hope. But none with indifference.
“Understood,” he said as he gave a short bow.
“May the Force be with you, Knight Snow,” Selmy said.
Jon stood and turned. His boots echoed once again as he walked from the chamber.
Val glanced at him as he passed, grabbing his arm to get him to come to a halt.
“Be careful,” she said quietly.
Jon didn’t answer merely walking into the light of the corridor.