The Wolf Pack

Chapter 17

It is strange -feeling grief, true grief for the first time. Even more so for someone who had viewed death as a part of life for most of their life. It started out as a loss of hearing. The trooper who had given me that dreadful news was still talking, but there was nothing I could do to make myself concentrate on his words. I don't remember dismissing him, or even thanking me for passing on the information. I don't remember starting to walk, or even where I'd been headed. I don't remember bumping into Art, or him deciding to pull me aside and figure out what on the Force's name was wrong.

Nahdar was dead.

I stared into nothingness for a while as Art tried to make me speak, make me react, make me do something other than breathing and staring dumbly into space. He panicked, I think, because his next move was to grab me by the shoulders and shake me like he was trying to get rid of dust on a mantlepiece. This wasn't the right move to make apparently because of course troopers would notice a clone "assaulting" a commander. Art, poor thing, explained as best he could and someone had the brilliant idea to call the General. Something was wrong with the Commander, and no one knew what to do.

They escorted me to the medical bay and had someone look me over. There was nothing physically wrong with me, of course, so they decided to just let me sit on the cot until Master Plo arrived. They didn't have to wait long. Master Plo had sensed something was wrong, and had been on his way even before they decided to call for him.

"General, thank the Maker, I found the Commander like this and I don't-"

"Art, is it?" Interrupted Master Plo.

"Yes, sir. The medics couldn't find anything wrong with her..."

"That's because there is nothing wrong with the Commander," explained the general. "Your loyalty to Commander Foreas is commendable, Art, but rest assured she will be just fine. She is simply grieving."

The words seemed to burn me out of my stupor. As if hearing someone say it made it all the more real. I struggled not to cry in front of everyone present; not only would it have been embarrassing but also disrespectful. Jedi, just like clones, were simply life forms. One was not more precious than the other. If I hadn't cried for all the troopers we had already lost, what right did I have to cry over the life of a single Jedi? Granted, a close friend, but a single Jedi nonetheless. He had been fulfilling his duty, just as the fallen troopers had been.

"I need to pay my respects to Master Fisto." were the first words I felt I could say without breaking down. "I'm sorry I scared all of you, I overreacted."

Art put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

"No you didn't," He said. "I might not be a Jedi, Commander, but I know loss. We all handle it differently."

"Your friend is right, young one." added master Plo before patting my head. "You are allowed to have feelings, but what you must never do is let them consume you."

...

There was a simple memorial in the Jedi Temple for Nahdar. A recently knighted Jedi, a dutiful Padawan, and a treasured friend. There were only six of us. Master Yoda came to pay his respects as he did every time. Master Fisto was mourning the murder of his former Padawan just as I was that of a friend. Master Plo, Ahsoka, and her own master came to pay their respects and to support me. Murdered. Nahdar, the competitive little kid, my dueling partner for years, my close friend. It was hard to let myself feel grief but still power through. It was hard not to resent the war, to resent General Grievous. But Master Fisto had told me: Nahdar had died for his pride, for his fury, for his resentment. It was both a tragedy and a lesson on the mortality of Jedi, on how sometimes, even we were proud and made ourselves to be invincible. We were just life forms like any other, and our sensitivity to the force sometimes made us arrogant when we were no better than anyone else. We were simply different.