As the War Begins
New
Magoose
SV's Questing Fanatic
- Location
- California USA
- Pronouns
- He
As the War Begins
(Wilhuff Tarkin POV)
Chancellor Binks—now the outgoing Chancellor—had been a titan of politics, shaping the Republic in ways few could have imagined when he first stumbled into the highest office in the galaxy. A reformer, a champion of peacetime policies, and, paradoxically, the one who had laid the foundation for war. It was under his tenure that the Grand Army of the Republic had been conceived, debated, and ultimately formed. Even as the Senate fractured and entire star systems declared their intent to secede, he had maneuvered, compromised, and ensured that when war inevitably came, the Republic would not be defenseless.
He was also keenly aware of the cracks forming beneath the surface—the subtle unraveling of the grand experiment that was the Republic. And yet, what had truly unsettled the galaxy was the election itself.
It had been the most contentious in Galactic history. Even as war erupted across the stars, even as secession tore at the heart of the Senate, the election had divided the Republic in ways that even battle lines had not. It was chaos distilled into the veneer of democracy. And, in the end, it had all come down to a single, unknown sentient—a nameless figure who, according to rumor, had flipped a bloody coin to cast the deciding vote.
And now... here you were.
You had spent your life as a soldier. You understood war, strategy, and discipline. But politics? That was something entirely different. The Ministry had taught you theory, but the theory was nothing compared to the ruthless battlefield of the Senate.
What in the name of the Force were you supposed to do now?
Your thoughts were interrupted as Binks placed a hand on your shoulder—a steadying gesture, unexpected from the Gungan who had once been dismissed as a fool but had proven himself far shrewder than most ever gave him credit for. His eyes held an amused warmth as he spoke.
"The people have spoken."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the chair. That chair. The one he had always sat in during these meetings. But he did not take it this time. Instead, he gestured for you to do so.
You swallowed. You were not afraid—at least not entirely—but there was something… unsettling about this moment. You had led men into battle, commanded fleets, executed orders without hesitation. Yet now, as you stepped forward and lowered yourself into that seat, it was as though the weight of the entire galaxy pressed down upon your shoulders.
"They have," you murmured at last, "though I think they've made a mistake."
Binks chuckled. "Doubt, Tarkin? A man like you shouldn't have doubts. I trusted your judgment at every turn, even when we disagreed."
"Yet I do," you admitted. "The Senate has given me power—power that the people demanded. And now they expect me to lead a war."
Jar Jar smiled, but there was something tired in his expression. Something... relieved.
"Because they chose you. That matters." He exhaled, then shook his head. "I could have stayed, you know. I could have accepted emergency powers for a third term—they would have given them to me because they trusted my honor, my dedication to the Republic."
Your brow furrowed. "And you didn't? Why?"
He laughed, a deep, weary laugh. "After eight years of this? It would kill me." His voice grew softer, more contemplative. "Even a life dedicated to public service has its limits. Supreme power in one sentient's hands, in a time of crisis? That is not what the Republic needs."
He let the words linger, the weight of them sinking in.
"Do you know what they do need?"
You stared at him, your mouth tightening. "What?"
His answer was simple. "A leader who will bring them victory. Who will save the Republic."
Your jaw clenched. "I would be better suited to that in the field."
Jar Jar nodded, as if he had expected your answer. "Perhaps. But that is not your decision. It was theirs." His expression softened. "And besides… you prepared the Republic for this war, even when we both wished it would never come. You ensured we would not be caught unready." He gave a small, knowing smile. "The Separatists are your krayt dragon to slay, not mine."
And with that, he stepped back, leaving you alone in the chair—the weight of war now resting squarely on your shoulders. It was strange. The chair wasn't physically heavier than before, but somehow, now that it was yours, it felt as though gravity itself had deepened. The air in the room was thick with unspoken expectations, with history shifting on the precipice of war.
You leaned forward, resting your forearms on the desk, and let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "So what should I do?" you asked.
Jar Jar only smiled, the same knowing, the infuriatingly serene smile that had once concealed a masterful political mind. "A good cabinet. A good war cabinet would be a start. After that… policy." He paced slowly, considering his next words. "You need to prepare for peace, even as you focus your energy on winning the war. A bad peace would ruin even the most complete and justified war."
You nodded. It was a simple statement, but one that carried the weight of empires. "Of course. Should I bring anyone back from the old cabinet?"
Jar Jar tilted his head, considering. "I'm not saying you shouldn't," he admitted, "but Isard has joined the army. Intelligence division. Says he can't handle the guilt of not being able to stop the war. Says he needs to atone. Convincing him to leave the battlefield for a desk?" He shook his head. "That would be difficult."
You exhaled sharply through your nose. You had known Isard for years—a sharp mind, an unsentimental man who could see every weakness in an enemy, or an ally, for that matter. If he had thrown himself into war rather than remain in government, it meant he saw no other way to justify his existence. You weren't sure if you admired him for it or pitied him.
Still, there were others. "Bail?" you asked. Bail Organa, Senator-turned-Vice Chancellor of Alderaan. A man who had been as much of a headache as he had been a savior during Binks' administration. You had no patience for his idealism, but you respected his effectiveness.
Jar Jar gave a small, wry chuckle. "He hopes to return to the Senate floor. He joined my cabinet because I needed unity. You?" He shook his head. "You don't need to worry about unity. Much of the Senate is already behind winning this war. Bail would rather fight in debates than in war councils."
You absorbed that. It made sense. Bail had always been a voice of reason, but reason had lost its place at the table. The war had shattered the illusion that diplomacy could mend all wounds.
Everyone else… you could bring them back if you asked. The bureaucrats, the ministers, the strategists. They would return, because the Republic was in crisis, and service was expected. But the war cabinet needed more than just old hands. It needed warriors, tacticians, and realists who understood that survival was now the only priority.
You leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled. "Then I suppose I start building."
Jar Jar nodded approvingly and finally dropped the coruscant accent that he had worn for many years. "Yousa always been good at that."
And with that, he turned to leave, his time in office truly at an end. The door slid shut behind him, leaving you alone with the galaxy's war in your hands.
AN: We say Goodbye to Jar Jar for now.
Let us hope his faith in the Republic is rewarded by our actions.
(Wilhuff Tarkin POV)
Chancellor Binks—now the outgoing Chancellor—had been a titan of politics, shaping the Republic in ways few could have imagined when he first stumbled into the highest office in the galaxy. A reformer, a champion of peacetime policies, and, paradoxically, the one who had laid the foundation for war. It was under his tenure that the Grand Army of the Republic had been conceived, debated, and ultimately formed. Even as the Senate fractured and entire star systems declared their intent to secede, he had maneuvered, compromised, and ensured that when war inevitably came, the Republic would not be defenseless.
He was also keenly aware of the cracks forming beneath the surface—the subtle unraveling of the grand experiment that was the Republic. And yet, what had truly unsettled the galaxy was the election itself.
It had been the most contentious in Galactic history. Even as war erupted across the stars, even as secession tore at the heart of the Senate, the election had divided the Republic in ways that even battle lines had not. It was chaos distilled into the veneer of democracy. And, in the end, it had all come down to a single, unknown sentient—a nameless figure who, according to rumor, had flipped a bloody coin to cast the deciding vote.
And now... here you were.
You had spent your life as a soldier. You understood war, strategy, and discipline. But politics? That was something entirely different. The Ministry had taught you theory, but the theory was nothing compared to the ruthless battlefield of the Senate.
What in the name of the Force were you supposed to do now?
Your thoughts were interrupted as Binks placed a hand on your shoulder—a steadying gesture, unexpected from the Gungan who had once been dismissed as a fool but had proven himself far shrewder than most ever gave him credit for. His eyes held an amused warmth as he spoke.
"The people have spoken."
Then, without another word, he turned and walked toward the chair. That chair. The one he had always sat in during these meetings. But he did not take it this time. Instead, he gestured for you to do so.
You swallowed. You were not afraid—at least not entirely—but there was something… unsettling about this moment. You had led men into battle, commanded fleets, executed orders without hesitation. Yet now, as you stepped forward and lowered yourself into that seat, it was as though the weight of the entire galaxy pressed down upon your shoulders.
"They have," you murmured at last, "though I think they've made a mistake."
Binks chuckled. "Doubt, Tarkin? A man like you shouldn't have doubts. I trusted your judgment at every turn, even when we disagreed."
"Yet I do," you admitted. "The Senate has given me power—power that the people demanded. And now they expect me to lead a war."
Jar Jar smiled, but there was something tired in his expression. Something... relieved.
"Because they chose you. That matters." He exhaled, then shook his head. "I could have stayed, you know. I could have accepted emergency powers for a third term—they would have given them to me because they trusted my honor, my dedication to the Republic."
Your brow furrowed. "And you didn't? Why?"
He laughed, a deep, weary laugh. "After eight years of this? It would kill me." His voice grew softer, more contemplative. "Even a life dedicated to public service has its limits. Supreme power in one sentient's hands, in a time of crisis? That is not what the Republic needs."
He let the words linger, the weight of them sinking in.
"Do you know what they do need?"
You stared at him, your mouth tightening. "What?"
His answer was simple. "A leader who will bring them victory. Who will save the Republic."
Your jaw clenched. "I would be better suited to that in the field."
Jar Jar nodded, as if he had expected your answer. "Perhaps. But that is not your decision. It was theirs." His expression softened. "And besides… you prepared the Republic for this war, even when we both wished it would never come. You ensured we would not be caught unready." He gave a small, knowing smile. "The Separatists are your krayt dragon to slay, not mine."
And with that, he stepped back, leaving you alone in the chair—the weight of war now resting squarely on your shoulders. It was strange. The chair wasn't physically heavier than before, but somehow, now that it was yours, it felt as though gravity itself had deepened. The air in the room was thick with unspoken expectations, with history shifting on the precipice of war.
You leaned forward, resting your forearms on the desk, and let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "So what should I do?" you asked.
Jar Jar only smiled, the same knowing, the infuriatingly serene smile that had once concealed a masterful political mind. "A good cabinet. A good war cabinet would be a start. After that… policy." He paced slowly, considering his next words. "You need to prepare for peace, even as you focus your energy on winning the war. A bad peace would ruin even the most complete and justified war."
You nodded. It was a simple statement, but one that carried the weight of empires. "Of course. Should I bring anyone back from the old cabinet?"
Jar Jar tilted his head, considering. "I'm not saying you shouldn't," he admitted, "but Isard has joined the army. Intelligence division. Says he can't handle the guilt of not being able to stop the war. Says he needs to atone. Convincing him to leave the battlefield for a desk?" He shook his head. "That would be difficult."
You exhaled sharply through your nose. You had known Isard for years—a sharp mind, an unsentimental man who could see every weakness in an enemy, or an ally, for that matter. If he had thrown himself into war rather than remain in government, it meant he saw no other way to justify his existence. You weren't sure if you admired him for it or pitied him.
Still, there were others. "Bail?" you asked. Bail Organa, Senator-turned-Vice Chancellor of Alderaan. A man who had been as much of a headache as he had been a savior during Binks' administration. You had no patience for his idealism, but you respected his effectiveness.
Jar Jar gave a small, wry chuckle. "He hopes to return to the Senate floor. He joined my cabinet because I needed unity. You?" He shook his head. "You don't need to worry about unity. Much of the Senate is already behind winning this war. Bail would rather fight in debates than in war councils."
You absorbed that. It made sense. Bail had always been a voice of reason, but reason had lost its place at the table. The war had shattered the illusion that diplomacy could mend all wounds.
Everyone else… you could bring them back if you asked. The bureaucrats, the ministers, the strategists. They would return, because the Republic was in crisis, and service was expected. But the war cabinet needed more than just old hands. It needed warriors, tacticians, and realists who understood that survival was now the only priority.
You leaned back in the chair, fingers steepled. "Then I suppose I start building."
Jar Jar nodded approvingly and finally dropped the coruscant accent that he had worn for many years. "Yousa always been good at that."
And with that, he turned to leave, his time in office truly at an end. The door slid shut behind him, leaving you alone with the galaxy's war in your hands.
AN: We say Goodbye to Jar Jar for now.
Let us hope his faith in the Republic is rewarded by our actions.
