#darth xedrix

[the-tomato-patch]

The Hand that Yearns For You

Summary:

"Scourge, his agent, and Wrath had personally seen his death. The Force sang of the finality of that moment in a way that could only be fully understood in hindsight, and it mourned his passing equally. It would take generations for the Force to truly accept and settle once more, and then it would take longer to fill the vacuum." Scourge struggles with the concept of freedom and wonders where he will go now that his three hundred year burden is over.

Pairing:

Jedi Knight x Lord Scourge ( Pre-relationship )

Word Count:

3.3k+

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50967205/chapters/128763724

Chapter 1.

The void left in the wake of the Emperor's true defeat was staggering. Scourge had expected it to feel like when he had killed Darth Xedrix or witnessed the fall of Darth Nyriss. However, this felt far more profound and substantial. The Emperor had been a singular entity of pure terror throughout the entire galaxy—someone who had been a part of the galactic subconscious as far back as he could remember. Not a man. Not a Sith. A near-omnipresent outlier. Scourge, his agent, and Wrath had personally seen his death. The Force sang of the finality of that moment in a way that could only be fully understood in hindsight, and it mourned his passing equally. It would take generations for the Force to truly accept and settle once more, and then it would take longer to fill the vacuum.

For the first half of his life, Scourge had regarded the Emperor as a sort of god, lost in a realm all his own. He had been too busy to heed the monotony of the conniving sycophants at his feet. In the latter years, he had dedicated himself to a relentless pursuit, meticulously scheming and patiently biding his time for the fateful moment when he would lay eyes upon the Jedi from his vision and strike. Now, with the Emperor's existence extinguished, an unmistakable sensation rippled through the Force in the aftermath of his passing.

As much as Scourge had dreamed of and prepared for this day, he had never really thought about what he would do after the Emperor had fallen. His entire life's purpose had been fulfilled. All of his plans and machinations had led up to this point. From a time before, in the darkest corners of his heart, he had even wished for his own life to end after the Emperor fell. He had wanted to feel the balm of immortality slip away like grit and die in battle. He had desired to know the taste of his own blood on his tongue, watch as the fires in the sky danced over the field of corpses left in his wake, and revel in the song of rage and hatred as the dark side filled his senses. Now, he knew that such ideas had been a mistake. No one really understands their value until they come within arm's length and can pluck at the strands of time with their own hands. Even at their weakest and lowest points, they remain constant, a tether that holds them secure to what they once were and might still be. Those dreams of death were washed away by a new one, one that appeared only now that the path was clear. A longing for life.

It left him brooding, wanting something he didn't know. It wasn't often that he found himself brooding about aspects of his past or considering paths he might take in the future. Yet here he was, deep in thought regarding his own self-reflection. He tried to will his consciousness to return to the present, but the thoughts that weighed so heavily on his mind came back to him as soon as the silence engulfed his immediate surroundings.

He'd been like this all day, sitting still, waiting, brooding. Always brooding in the corvette's hull. It took a great deal of his patience not to just throw something across the room or punch a nearby wall. The Emperor was dead, and instead of celebrating, he had become a ruminating mess. How uncharacteristic and pedestrian. If the circumstances had been any different, Scourge might have scoffed at the thought. Instead, he opted to glow angrily at himself, rolling his shoulders to try and shake the stiffness out of them, only to be left with the familiar tingle of a damaged nerve. Staring out toward nothing, his eyes seemed to zone out a bit as he let the thoughts flow unchecked. He could almost feel the sting and burn of the lightning that had nearly cooked him in his own armor—the molten heat of a saber bearing down upon his shoulder, a parting gift from the new Wrath, his replacement, and an unfortunate lesson regarding his new mortality.

Then he felt it, her presence resonating in the Force, announcing her approach long before her footsteps did. "You haven't moved in three days," Rhiasen spoke with a touch of concern. "You've barely spoken." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the doorway. "Normally you have some kind of quip at my expense, but today you're particularly grim."

"There's nothing to discuss," his tone dismissive. "I am thinking. That's all. There is no need to fret; your fragile ego is safe."

"You can talk to me," she sighed and picked up the cheek she'd been resting against the doorframe, carefully stepping forward, as if entering the den of a krayt dragon. Despite the barb thrown her way, her tone and gaze carried warmth, as they usually did when she looked at him. "After everything," the word punctuated. "I'd like to think you can come to me. Don't pretend to be immune to feeling." She straightened up and came in a few steps further. "We've fought alongside each other for what feels like a lifetime. The Force connected us before our meeting and still remains. Whatever happens or needs to be discussed...you won't lose me over it."

There was a pause between them where the only sounds to fill the space were the mechanical whine of the engines and the occasional hiss of an environmental filter refreshing the recycled air. It was not fear, nor worry; it was indecision, hesitation, and a lack of direction. The power of choice, it seemed, had crippled his senses rather than liberated them. For once in his life, the choices of others didn't rule his actions or drive his will. There was no external force to guide his life along its set path; it was his to control and steer in the light of his choice. He could feel its effect and how deeply rooted it was. Centuries, if not an eternity, and suddenly he was without an agenda.

Scourge clenched his teeth in frustration. A fleeting surge of rage crossed the dark plains of his mind, and then his head snapped up to her, browstalks furrowing with annoyance, his tone aggressive. "I do not require coddling. I am not your burden. Return to your meditations; I will say no more of it." His hand rose slowly and dismissed the topic, punctuating his need to end this conversation before it started.

Scourge recalled when he'd first experienced true anger after centuries without. He'd felt like an untrained acolyte lost within the halls of the academy, lashing out and failing to contain the vortex of the dark side he had once wielded so easily, as though he had spent far too many decades knowing the structure of the storm but no longer its core. He knew its shape, its nature and gale, but failed to experience the passions behind it. Now he was faced with something akin to a storm of another kind. Yet it was the same dilemma, just expressed in a different, more direct, less tactile fashion, in a form that Scourge was much less familiar with and wasn't able to see and interpret coherently, not when his logic and reason had abandoned him in exchange for unruly behavior unbefitting a Sith of his station and character.

He experienced this rush and more in just a couple of seconds, 'Focus,' his mind pleaded with his body, 'Find the center, channel this through the Force.'

Her expression faltered into a look of concern, and his ire intensified. "Scourge-"

"Must you press? Let me come to terms with myself; I've come this far," he spat. "Do not treat me with pity."

"Pity?" she said defensively. "I would have hoped by now you realized there are deeper and far more profound things inside me than pity when it comes to you."

His head dipped, and he collected himself. The frustration on his face ebbed away like the last trickling ripples of an otherwise impulsive outburst. He looked back up, a dull glow of heat across his face. "I," he faltered momentarily, a heaviness lingering over him. "I need time."

The words hung in the air before she finally ceded. When he calmed, he could see the war in her eyes as Rhiasen contemplated his rejection with a sad expression. Then, with no indication beyond her tightened jawline, she shook her head, turned, and walked away. She was gone, disappearing through the door, leaving him to his own devices once more.

The exchange hung in his head. Scourge didn't think about anything for a while, instead remaining stationary in the room, allowing his mind a chance to simply process and not act or respond. His mouth felt dry; his nerves felt on fire; and he couldn't pinpoint a source to help alleviate his sudden anxieties. He remained staring forward for quite some time, caught in the same contemplative limbo that had kept him trapped in the same spot for the better part of the day until he was drawn back out as they landed on Odessen. 

It was early morning by then as the sun began to peek up over the mountainous terrain the Alliance base was located. The horizon line had a dark, nearly blood-red tint to it, accompanied by the amber orange and the smudges of faint cyan along its crown. It felt strange being outside; he'd been in the corvette for days, so the change was jarring yet refreshing as he and their small crew walked down the ramp. The cool air helped center him, and he took a moment to glance around, catching a glimpse of Rhiasen out of the corner of his eye, moving swiftly through the small crowd forming in the center of the docking bay, which Scourge deduced were primarily other supply shuttles and a few Alliance personnel returning home in the morning, all hurrying off to their places and tasks. This was an opportunity to busy himself, to fall back into a sense of order and discipline to pull his mind off whatever thoughts might still be gnawing at it like an akk dog on a bone.

'To business then.'

Events of the day flew by in organized chaos as Scourge stepped into the familiar rhythm he used to settle into following the Alliance's victory over the Emperor. This was where he thrived, doing things he did not need to dwell upon. The tactical and planning elements were far better for his mood. However, it did not last forever, and soon enough he was no longer in a rush to keep his mind and senses distracted. Scourge didn't appear anxious anymore; his body seemed almost calm. But if anyone had bothered to peer beneath the surface, they would have been able to see him thinking. It was a little different from the state of repose he had taken to just that morning in the corvette when he'd stared idly and brooded. A distraction was no longer an immediate need, and his attention focused.

Yet still, his thoughts lingered. And he fell back to his conversation with Rhiasen on the corvette. It weighed on him; not with a pressing discomfort or despair; the way it had initially when he'd arrived back on base, but more as a consistent nagging, a soft sting rather than a sharp edge. He said 'I need time.' but for what? More brooding, more idle standing? Was he not a man of action, of decisive measure and words, with conviction and clarity, all directed through the guidance of a plan and a will that he rarely, if ever, faltered from. 

The Emperor, Vitiate, whatever his name.. was dead and his immortality gone and here he stood wasting his newfound freedoms, though daunting they were. What was keeping him back? Had the wounds left by the Emperor and his reign truly kept his heart in the iron grasp it had been under for centuries. He scoffed, a feeling of disgust coming over him; a denial to admit that he was letting the past dictate his actions. And yet, even still, despite these revelations he couldn't convince his body to move, and in the evening, when he wandered his way to his new favored brooding spot upon one of the adjacent balconies of the Alliance base, only a stone's throw away from his own quarters, did he find that he no longer felt an urge to deny the reality. Perhaps that is where he was going, where his actions were pushing him toward.

He couldn't sleep. Not like this. Scourge considered meditation, but decided that even the repetition that came with it was more mental strain than he cared for at the present. For several moments, he just stood and stared into the night. He'd forgotten how beautiful the view was when the rest of the planet slept. The brilliant and vibrant greens of the forests in the distance seemed to carry their own radiance and glimmer in the way they absorbed the moonlight. Their foliage glowed as the breeze wafted through, leaves and branches rustling in a low howl. The sky itself was nearly black and bore countless pinpoints of light that dotted the expanse in a sea of blue, green, and white. Above him stretched nebulous ribbons of the galaxy. He imagined reaching out and touching each celestial body that hung overhead; they almost seemed to close together in a vast sphere surrounding him, a crystal orb where the galaxy's secrets lay waiting for his discovery. Scourge took a breath in, the air cool and clean in his lungs, carrying the faint scent of pine. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders and chest going with his breath, and with that, his heart settled.

Discover. 

That had been his intention after the Emperor's fall, not to muddle about, waiting in some unknown place while others went on without him. While his feet were no longer as firm and solid as they had once been, there was still no shortage of purpose. In this new state of clarity, he let his mind wander a bit, trying to see what was left on his heart's path and in what direction it pointed. That simple lingering thought of wanderlust gave him pause, and a series of memories seemed to bring with it a guiding pull, and the truth of it was simple enough. They may have called it a return, but his only destination was forward, and he'd waited long enough. He would see the galaxy and all that it had to share; the beauty and the tragedy, the vast wonder and the heartbreaking scorn, the depth of its creatures and its horrors. These things could only be known firsthand, and he would have them. To live freely was something he'd never known before, not even when he was free. The chains of Sith politics, the intricacies of their society built upon the backs of slaves, and the formalities of deception. It felt as though the ghost of himself was moving past him, beckoning him to chase, beckoning him toward the future.

The moment didn't last too long. Another bout of trepidation that kept his heart rooted in place. As soon as the spark of newfound motivation flared, apprehension appeared to sputter it out and drown out the light, not unlike sinking into a sarlacc pit. He wondered if this would happen again, if this was normal. Surely it would, and he wouldn't be free of it entirely, but maybe it was less to do with the hesitancy he felt in wanting to travel and more in something that still tethered him here. More than just remaining responsibilities.

His thoughts wandered to the crew. Scourge had never thought he'd one day consider a group of fools such as them to be an almost familial force. Maybe not Kimble entirely. But the others... Rusk, Kira, T7, Rhiasen. He mused. A fondness and sense of respect for each of them lingered. How easy it would be to just take his leave and walk away, and yet how hard that path was at the same time.

Rhiasen. 

There, just there in his heart he felt the tug again, a tiny but persistent twinge of resistance. It seemed she was always at his heart. A presence, a pulse, that never really wavered no matter where their journey had taken them. Since their first meeting on Quesh, to her silhouette cutting through the Force in his mind's eye for the last three hundred years, she was always just... there. Constant. Sometimes far more insistent than others. It didn't bother him, and he never really speculated her hold on him all these years outside of their destined alliance in their race against galactic extinction at the hands of the Emperor. The intensity of her will in the Force was stronger than the pull he used to feel before they met. They were inextricably bonded by their connection in the Force. Where she went, his path was bound. But if he should choose to wander, would she follow?

There, a seed of doubt that led to another epiphany. The conflict between his needs for the now, versus his desires and longing in the future, tugged on the fabric of his heart. He still had the lingering desire to experience his own freedom and choice, and to continue to let go of his ties with the past. But there, in the back of his mind, it dawned on him that he didn't know what he wanted out of the future, only that he knew what he didn't want, and a great deal of that included not wanting to leave behind what close ties he'd made along this alliance of necessity. He wanted to bear the burden of Kira's sharp quips that left him pinching his brow in annoyance. He yearned to engage in another debate about the strengths of Imperial military tactics versus those of the Republic, knowing it would leave the Chagrian simmering with frustration beneath his edged scowl. And he even desired to narrow his eyes in amusement at T7's exaggerated reactions, irritating yet charming as they were. But above all, he wished to stay by Rhiasen's side.

He'd watched her come and go from his life, their separation that occurred only after she'd barreled headfirst into a fleet of unknown ships with Darth Marr. Seven years, seven long, tumultuous years with no knowledge of her fate. Even when the rumors arose and he could feel her presence through the Force he knew little, could do little, and remained stalwart in cutting a war path to the Emperor's true body, accompanied by Kira and the ghost of an old ally, Revan. Then came their dramatic reunion, where he'd met the other Wrath, and had nearly met his end so soon after reclaiming his mortality. She saved him then, too. Just as she always had in their own unique, unconventional ways. If he ever wanted his freedom, it would need to be by her side. There was no question, no hesitation. All his time was hers, for as long as she'd have him. The future could no longer be seen clearly. No further certainty existed, and it was time he became alright with that. He was free, and there would be a day where he would pursue his life in the stars. But for now he would stay, and watch that path unfold before him. It was what he wanted, he told himself. He did not seek the promise of the stars without her. And the force of his feelings both startled and baffled him. He wondered then, perhaps, if he wasn't alone in these sentiments

[firealder2005]

Whew! Took me awhile to get this out!

Alderreads #3!

STAR WARS: THE OLD REPUBLIC: REVAN

By Drew Karpyshyn

So, at first it was a little hard to get into but I pushed through and found that I liked it!

A 9/10, well done!

As someone who hasn't played ANY of the video games, I can say this book DEFINITELY made me want to look into them- Revan is such an interesting and cool character!

Meetra I loved to, sucks she got stabbed in the back. Literally.

Scourge. Scourge I have no clue if I love you or I hate you you are a very well-written character one moment I'm like "well, maybe he's not THAT bad" then he goes and praises slavery....or he stabs someone in the back.

And the Emperor. Very interesting, that one. His backstory is captivating and horrifying. Sucking the life out of an entire planet to feed his own power? Disturbing and fascinating. Then putting Revan into a coma to feed off of his power? This guy has me hooked.

And then ending the book on a semi-cliff hanger.

Drew, you know how to reign in an audience!

My next installment will be Warriors: The Silent Thaw. I also gave three other books ready to go.