[Complete] Ch 8.4 Fate/Knights of the Heroic Throne

Fate/Knights of the

Heroic Throne

Chapter Intro

Human order: Restored.

History: Preserved.

But what of the ones who made it possible?

Heroic Spirits—echoes of legends, bound to vessels, fated to fade without remembrance.

But a wish was made.

One last miracle from humanity’s saviour—

that her fallen companions might live once more.

Story Starts

-=&&=-

Chapter 8.4 - 

The Blockade

The soft hiss of the outer door broke the meditation chamber's stillness. Master Yoda's ears twitched, though his eyes remained closed. Mace Windu's hand stilled on his knee, his breath catching for the briefest moment before he steadied it.

A Temple Guard entered silently, the mask concealing all expression as they approached the two seated Masters. The guard knelt between them, voice barely above a breath.

"Chancellor Valorum's personal aide requests an immediate audience. She carries his seal and claims the matter cannot wait."

Mace's jaw tightened. The Temple's private meditation quarters existed precisely to escape such interruptions. That anyone had been permitted this far meant either a catastrophic breach in security or a deliberate choice by the Council sentries below.

Yoda opened his eyes. He exchanged a long look with Mace. No words needed.

"Admit her, you may," Yoda said.

The guard rose, bowed, and retreated to the door. Mace shifted his weight, settling into a more formal posture. Whatever brought the Chancellor's own aide to their doorstep at this hour, protocol demanded they meet it as representatives of the Order, not merely as men seeking peace.

The door hissed open again.

A robed figure stepped through, hood pulled low. The Temple Guard remained outside as the door sealed behind her, leaving the three of them alone in the amber glow.

The woman paused just inside the threshold. She stood very still—hands clasped, chin level, weight centred. Someone accustomed to standing in rooms full of powerful men and being overlooked by all of them. But her shoulders were tight. Urgency she hadn't quite managed to suppress.

She reached up and drew back her hood.

Sharp features. Dark hair pulled back severely. Eyes that catalogued the room in a single sweep—threat, ally, exit—before settling into careful neutrality. Mace recognised her from a dozen formal functions where she had hovered at Valorum's elbow, whispering counsel whilst the Chancellor smiled for holocams.

Sei Taria.

"Master Yoda. Master Windu." She bowed deeply—more genuine than performative. "Forgive this intrusion. The Chancellor sends his profound apologies for approaching you in this manner, but the circumstances—" She paused, gathering herself. "The circumstances demand shadows rather than light."

"Speak freely, you may," Yoda said. "Private, this chamber is."

Sei Taria straightened. Her hand moved to her belt, producing a compact holoprojector bearing the Chancellor's personal seal. "His Excellency wished to address you directly, Masters, but feared even our most secure channels might be compromised. The Trade Federation's reach into Senate communications has grown... alarming."

"You believe they have penetrated the Chancellor's own office?" Mace's voice carried an edge.

"We believe nothing is beyond suspicion at present." Sei Taria activated the projector. Blue light flickered, resolved, and the worn features of Finis Valorum materialised between them—smaller than life, slightly translucent, visibly exhausted.

"Masters." Valorum's holographic form inclined its head. "Forgive the theatrics. I would not insult the Order with such cloak-and-dagger measures if I saw any alternative. But if I use the secure channels in my office, I fear the Federation's slicers will know my intent before my words reach your tower."

He paused. His jaw set, and for a moment the weariness dropped away—not charm, not performance, but the blunt resolve of a man who had decided something and would not be talked out of it.

"The Senate is paralysed."

Mace said nothing. Yoda's ears turned slightly forward.

"You have heard Senator Palpatine's address," Valorum continued. "You have seen the chaos on the chamber floor. What you have not seen—what the holocams did not capture—is the aftermath. Senator Dod has demanded an independent commission be sent to the Chommell Sector to ascertain the truth of this alleged blockade." The word dripped contempt. "The Senate, in its infinite wisdom, has agreed to debate the formation of such a commission."

"Debate." Mace's voice was flat.

"Weeks of it, Master Windu. Perhaps months. Subcommittees to determine the commission's mandate. Subcommittees to approve the subcommittees. All whilst thirty-six systems suffocate behind a wall of battleships." Valorum's image flickered slightly—distance or emotion affecting the transmission. "The Trade Federation is counting on this. They know our procedures better than we do. They have invested heavily in ensuring those procedures remain... cumbersome."

Yoda's walking stick tapped once against the meditation chamber's stone floor. "A request, you have, Chancellor."

"I do." Valorum drew himself up. "Senator Dod demanded an independent commission. I intend to give him one. But I cannot send politicians. They will be bought, delayed, or intimidated before they clear Coruscant's gravity well. I cannot send military observers. The Federation will claim provocation and escalate their 'defensive measures.'"

He met Yoda's gaze across the vast distance separating them.

"I need the Jedi Order to be my commission. I need ambassadors who answer only to the truth."

The words hung in the air. Mace's expression betrayed nothing, though his presence in the Force rippled with careful calculation.

"You ask us to intervene in a political dispute," Mace said slowly. "The Order serves the Republic, Chancellor, but we are not—"

"I know what you are not." The interruption came sharp and immediate. A beat. "Forgive me. I know you are not my personal army. I am not asking you to fight a war or topple a government. I am asking you to do what Jedi have always done—stand between conflict and catastrophe, and speak truth to those who would profit from confusion."

"Specifics, Chancellor," Yoda prompted. "What you envision, tell us."

Valorum nodded, his image steadying. "I need Jedi ambassadors to pierce the communications blackout. Board the Trade Federation flagship. Inform Viceroy Gunray that they speak with my voice—with the full authority of the Chancellor's office—and demand an immediate end to this occupation." His jaw tightened. "Gunray is a coward. He relies on bureaucratic shields and political theatre. He will not dare refuse a Jedi standing on his own bridge."

"And if he does refuse?" Mace asked quietly.

"Then we will know the truth of his intentions far sooner than any Senate committee could divine it. And the Order will have witnessed that truth firsthand."

Silence stretched between them. Mace could feel the weight of the decision pressing down—not merely political calculation, but something deeper. Something that whispered through the Force like wind before a storm.

"This requires the Senate's approval," Mace said. "If they discover you have dispatched Jedi without their consent, Chancellor, the political fallout—"

"Will be severe." Valorum completed the thought, his voice hollow. "I am aware. I am also aware that whilst the Senate debates my authority, Naboo's people are running out of food, medicine, and hope. The Federation has seized communications, which means families cannot reach loved ones. Hospitals cannot coordinate supplies. Emergency services cannot function." His hands clenched at his sides. "If I do nothing, Master Windu, there will not be a Republic left worth presiding over."

Yoda's eyes had closed during the Chancellor's words. Now they opened again, ancient and knowing.

"Sense your distress, I can, Chancellor. Genuine, it is. But more, there is. Something else, you wish to ask."

Valorum hesitated—a rare sight. When he spoke again, his voice had shifted, becoming almost personal.

"This mission requires a delicate hand. Diplomatic grace. But perhaps also... an unorthodox approach." He seemed to choose his next words with care. "The Trade Federation thrives on predictable protocol. They have studied our methods, anticipated our responses, built their entire strategy around the assumption that we will follow established patterns. I need someone who does not."

Mace's eyes narrowed slightly.

"If Master Jinn is available," Valorum continued, "his particular talents would be invaluable to me right now. We have worked together before. I know his methods are... unconventional. But unconventional may be precisely what this situation demands."

The chamber fell quiet. Yoda and Mace exchanged another look—one of those silent conversations that had evolved over decades of shared service. Qui-Gon Jinn was many things: brilliant, compassionate, maddening, defiant of Council authority when his conscience demanded it. Sending him as a diplomatic representative carried risks that a more orthodox choice would not.

But the Chancellor had not asked for orthodoxy.

"Considered, your request will be," Yoda said finally. "More, you wish to say?"

"Only this." Valorum's projection seemed to diminish slightly, weariness pulling at his features. "I have spent my entire tenure trying to work within the system, Masters. Trying to preserve the institutions that have kept the Republic stable for a thousand years. I believed—I still believe—that those institutions matter. That procedure and precedent protect us from tyranny."

He paused.

"But I am watching those same institutions be turned against the people they were meant to protect. Procedure has become a shield for exploitation. Precedent has become chains." His voice dropped. "If the Jedi cannot help me break this impasse, I do not know who can."

"Understood, Chancellor," Yoda said gently. "A commission, you need. Truth, we shall find."

Relief broke across Valorum's face—undisguised, unguarded, gone almost as quickly as it appeared. "Thank you, Master Yoda. The Republic is fortunate to have the Order's wisdom in these dark times."

"Remain fortunate, I hope we all will," Yoda replied. "May the Force be with you, Chancellor."

"And with you, Masters."

The holographic image flickered once, twice, and then dissolved into empty air. Sei Taria lowered the projector, her expression schooled to neutrality, though the tight set of her mouth told its own story.

"The Chancellor asks nothing further of me," she said quietly. "I am to return to his office and ensure no record exists of this meeting. If there is anything you require—"

"Nothing, there is," Yoda said. "Served the Republic well, you have, Sei Taria. Remember this, the Chancellor should."

She bowed again—deeper this time, gratitude breaking through her composure for just a moment. "May the Force be with you, Masters."

The door hissed open at her approach, and she was gone.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The silence that had been so peaceful before now carried weight—the press of a decision that, once made, could not be called back.

"You're actually considering this," Mace said finally. It was not quite a question.

"Considering, I have been, since the blockade news reached us." Yoda's walking stick tapped thoughtfully against the stone. "Felt the disturbance, we both have. Twice now, something powerful has stirred in that sector. Twice, it has vanished before we could trace it."

"And you think this mission might reveal its source."

"Think, I do, that the Force guides our attention to the Chommell Sector for reasons beyond politics." Yoda's ears drooped slightly. "Ignore such guidance, the Council should not. Even when its meaning remains unclear."

Mace rose from his meditation cushion and paced the small chamber. Three strides to the wall, three strides back—never enough room in here for a man who thought better on his feet.

"Qui-Gon is hardly the Order's most diplomatic representative. His relationship with the Council—"

"Strained, yes. But effective, he is, when circumstances require... flexibility." Yoda's lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. "Trust him, the Chancellor does. Worked together, they have, during the Stark Hyperspace War. Owes Qui-Gon his life, Valorum does, though speak of it publicly, he will not."

"I remember." Mace stopped by the chamber's narrow window, gazing out at Coruscant's endless lights. "I also remember the last time Qui-Gon was given latitude to handle a diplomatic situation creatively. Master Yaddle is still finding pottery shards in her garden."

"Successful, the mission was."

"Technically."

Yoda's walking stick tapped again—an admonishment. "Perfection, we cannot demand. Results, we can expect. And results, Qui-Gon delivers. Unorthodox, yes. But the Force flows strongly through him. Trusts its guidance, he does, even when that guidance contradicts... conventional wisdom."

Mace turned from the window. "You want to send him."

"Want is not the word I would choose." Yoda's eyes met his squarely. "Believe the Force wills it, I do. The Chancellor's request merely confirms what I have sensed since the disturbance first touched us."

"And his Padawan? Obi-Wan has grown considerably, but this mission—"

"Ready, Kenobi is. Or will be, when the moment demands it." Yoda's ears lifted slightly. "Besides, a grounding influence, young Obi-Wan provides. Balance Qui-Gon's impulsiveness, his presence will. Appreciate it, Qui-Gon does not always."

Mace allowed himself a small, dry smile. "That's one way of describing their dynamic."

"The only way that matters." Yoda pushed himself up from his cushion, his walking stick bearing more weight than usual. Mace noticed, and said nothing. "Summon Master Jinn and his Padawan, we must. Brief them ourselves, we shall. No records, no Council chamber announcements. The Chancellor's concerns about compromised channels... unfounded, they may not be."

"You think the Trade Federation has slicers in the Temple's communications?"

"Think they have them everywhere, I do. Grown bold, they have. Grown careless with that boldness, they soon may." Yoda moved toward the door, his gait steady despite the hour and the burden. "But until then, cautious we must be. Careful."

Mace fell into step beside him. The corridor beyond was empty—Temple Guards had ensured their privacy extended well past the meditation chamber's walls. Their footsteps echoed softly on ancient stone as they made their way toward the residential wings.

"The Council will need to be informed eventually," Mace said quietly.

"Eventually, yes. But not until Qui-Gon's ship has cleared the system." Yoda's voice carried no trace of apology. "Ask forgiveness rather than permission, sometimes we must. A lesson Qui-Gon himself has taught us well."

"I'm not sure that's the lesson I'd draw from his example."

"Then fortunate it is that draw different lessons, we do. Balance, the Force requires. In all things."

They walked in silence for several minutes, the Temple's familiar passages sliding past them. At this hour, few others stirred—Padawans had retreated to their dormitories, Knights to their quarters or off-world assignments, Masters to whatever private contemplations occupied their evenings. The Jedi Temple was never truly quiet, but it achieved something like peace in these small hours.

"There's something else," Mace said as they approached the turn toward the residential wings. "Something you're not telling me."

"Always perceptive, you are, Mace Windu. A quality that serves you well on the Council. And occasionally... less well, elsewhere."

"That's not an answer."

"No." Yoda stopped, leaning heavily on his walking stick. When he looked up at Mace, the weight of centuries sat plainly on his face—not hidden, not masked, simply there. "Felt something, I have. During my meditations. A ripple in the Force, centred on the Chommell Sector. Not the disturbance we sensed before—something older. Deeper. As if the Force itself holds its breath, waiting for something to unfold."

"And what is that, Master Yoda?"

"Unknown." The word came reluctantly. "The dark side clouds everything now. Has for years. Growing worse, it becomes, though pinpoint its source, I cannot. But this ripple... different, it feels. Neither wholly light nor wholly dark. Something new. Something the Force has not shown us before."

Mace absorbed this in silence. Yoda rarely spoke of his visions—they were too personal, too easily misinterpreted, too dependent on a future that remained ever in motion. That he mentioned this one at all suggested it weighed on him more than he would willingly admit.

"And you think sending Qui-Gon will illuminate whatever this ripple represents?"

"Think the Force places Qui-Gon at the centre of whatever is coming, I do." Yoda resumed walking, his pace deliberately measured. "Why, I cannot say. What his role will be, unclear it remains. But deny the guidance we receive, we must not. Even when understand it fully, we do not."

They reached the junction that would lead them toward Qui-Gon's quarters. Mace paused, one hand resting against the cool stone wall.

"I'll inform the Council we're sending ambassadors to the Chommell Sector," he said. "General terms only. No names until the ship has launched."

"Wise, that is."

"I'll also ensure the Temple's communications undergo additional security sweeps. If the Trade Federation has compromised our channels—"

"Find nothing, the sweeps will." Yoda's voice carried certainty. "Too careful, they are. Too well-funded. But reassure the Council, it may. And reassurance, we all need, in times such as these."

Mace nodded slowly. "May the Force be with us, Master."

"With us all, may it be."

Yoda turned down the corridor toward Qui-Gon's quarters, his small form casting long shadows in the lamplight. Mace watched him go for a moment, then headed for the communications centre. There were arrangements to make, protocols to observe, even in their circumvention.

Behind him, the meditation chamber sat empty, its candles guttering low. The Force held its breath.

Waiting.

-=&&=-

The door to Qui-Gon Jinn's quarters stood slightly ajar—an oddity for a man usually so mindful of his surroundings. Yoda paused outside, his senses reaching gently through the Force to brush against the familiar presence within. Meditation, he found. Deep and centred, though touched by a restlessness that suggested even Qui-Gon felt the gathering storm.

Yoda knocked twice, a courtesy rather than necessity. The door slid fully open.

Inside, the chamber held the sparse simplicity typical of senior Jedi—a sleeping pallet, a meditation cushion, a small collection of items gathered from across the galaxy over decades of service. Qui-Gon sat cross-legged on the cushion, his eyes already open and fixed on the doorway. Whatever trance he had maintained had dissolved at Yoda's approach.

"Master Yoda." Qui-Gon unfolded himself from the floor with easy grace, inclining his head in respect. "It's late."

"Late for some. Early for others. Perspective, time is." Yoda moved into the chamber, his walking stick finding the familiar worn patches on Qui-Gon's floor. "Disturb your meditation, I do."

"It wasn't finding purchase anyway." Qui-Gon gestured toward a low chair—one of the few concessions to comfort in his quarters. "Something troubles the Force tonight. I've been trying to sense its nature, but..." He shook his head. "It eludes me."

"Eludes us all, perhaps." Yoda settled onto the offered seat, his walking stick across his knees. "Or perhaps shows itself only to those who will act upon it."

Qui-Gon's eyes narrowed slightly. He knew Yoda too well to miss the implication. "You have an assignment."

"A request. From the Chancellor himself."

That drew a reaction—surprise, quickly masked, followed by consideration. Qui-Gon moved to his small window, gazing out at the Temple's courtyard below. "Finis rarely reaches out directly. The political cost of appearing too close to the Order concerns him."

"Desperate, he has become. The Trade Federation's blockade of the Chommell Sector—"

"I heard." Qui-Gon's voice tightened. "Thirty-six systems held hostage by corporate greed. And the Senate does nothing."

"Nothing it can do, within its procedures. Which is why the Chancellor asks us to act outside them."

Qui-Gon turned from the window. His expression had sharpened—the philosophical calm gone, replaced by something harder. "What does he need?"

Yoda outlined Valorum's request in brief, efficient strokes—the diplomatic mission, the need to board the Trade Federation flagship, the authority the Chancellor was granting. Qui-Gon listened without interruption, his presence in the Force growing more intent with each word.

"He asked for me specifically," Qui-Gon said when Yoda finished.

"Trust you, he does. Know your methods, he does." Yoda's ears tilted slightly. "Disagree with them, others may. But effective, they remain."

"The Council disapproves."

"The Council is not sending this mission." Yoda met his gaze squarely. "I am. With Master Windu's support. The Chancellor's seal gives authority. The Force's guidance gives purpose."

Qui-Gon was quiet for a long moment. Then: "You've sensed something. In the Chommell Sector."

"Twice, a disturbance reached us. Powerful. Raw. Unlike anything in the Archives." Yoda's voice dropped slightly. "Vanished before trace it, we could. But there, it was."

"You think this mission will reveal its source."

"Think the Force places you at the centre of whatever unfolds, I do. Why, unknown it remains. But ignore the guidance, I cannot." Yoda's grip tightened on his walking stick. "Go to Naboo, you will. Speak to Viceroy Gunray. End this blockade if you can. And if something else reveals itself..."

"I'll be ready." No hesitation. No caveats. The certainty that had exasperated the Council for years—and which Yoda had always, privately, admired. "I'll need Obi-Wan."

"Expected, that is. Good for him, this mission will be. Trials approach. Experience, he requires."

"He's more than ready for the trials."

"Perhaps. But ready and tested are different things." Yoda pushed himself up from the chair. "Wake your Padawan. Brief him. A ship waits at the Temple spaceport—the Radiant VII, already fuelled and cleared for departure. Leave within the hour, you must. Before questions arise that answers, we cannot give."

Qui-Gon bowed—not the mechanical incline of protocol but something slower, deliberate, weighted with the trust being placed in him. "Thank you, Master. For trusting me with this."

"Trust the Force, I do. Trust you to follow its guidance, I do." Yoda moved toward the door, then paused. "One thing more, Qui-Gon. Whatever you find in the Chommell Sector... whatever the Force reveals... remember that not all answers come at once. Patience, even in action, the path requires."

"I understand."

"Do you?" Yoda's ancient eyes held his for a long moment. "We shall see."

The door hissed shut behind him. Qui-Gon stood motionless for several breaths, reaching into the Force for guidance—and finding, as he so often did, not answers but direction. A path forward. Faith where certainty could not reach.

He moved to his storage chest and withdrew his travel cloak. There were preparations to make, a Padawan to wake, and a blockade to break.

The Force, as always, would show the way.

-=&&=-

End

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