#emperor: [fails a saving throw and gets the Fear condition]

[multi-lefaiye]

bg3 is so mean to me. i'm trying to finally finish the final boss fight for my first/original eden save so i can close that out and feel satisfied. and i am getting FUCKED by the rng... FUCKED, i say.

[orojuice]

Durandal might be indestructible, but you might not be.

Commentary:

While it combines several myths (and omits the one where Durandal was directly gifted to Charlemagne by an angel), this comic's detailing of Durandal's "curse" is largely without embellishment.

Mandricardo takes care to omit the fact that when Roland defeated Aumon, he was just a teenager and since he was forbidden by Charlemagne to join the military, came at his uncle's would-be killer with a simple rod not unlike the stick Mandricardo was forced to make do with in his quest to take Durandal from Roland.

As to why they (retroactively) decided that Durandal was Hektor's old sword when he, y'know, failed to kill Achilles and died, there are two very likely reasons for that. The first was because in spite of all their Greco aesthetic trappings and co-opting of the Greek Pantheon, Romans/Classical Italians really, really, really fancied themselves as descendants of the Trojans as they believed Romulus (ROMA) and Remus (...roma) were Latin. Dante even has Odysseus thrown in Hell during The Divine Comedy for daring to use that wooden horsey to trick Paris & Pals. The second, maybe that's the rub? Roland is doomed, therefore it would be poetic to have him use the sword of a very famous but still similarly doomed hero. Doesn't stop folks from trying to make it theirs though.

Furioso seems to poke fun at this obsession with Hektor vis-a-vis Durandal's shabby saga of ownership throughout it. When he goes nuts, Roland throws it away and the reader (and to its massive misfortune, Spain) soon sees that the true mass-murdering super weapon of the story was Roland all along. Mandricardo has Hektor fever so bad that he hunts down all of Hektor's gear (which, it must be stressed, HE WAS MURDERED IN) before killing Zerbino so he could spinelessly run into the night with Durandal to avoid facing the bear-chopping berserker Roland. That's when Gradasso comes into the picture.

Covetous of Durandal, Gradasso (purportedly one of Mandricardo's allies) actually helps train Ruggiero and informs him of the Mongolian Emperor's combat blindspots in the lead-up to their duel under the condition that he'd get to pilfer it after Ruggiero won (Bradamante was not around to influence Ruggiero's decision). Gradasso later uses it in the climactic 3-on-3 battle between the Saracen kings and Charlemagne's strongest knights, concussing Roland, injuring Oliver, and mortally injuring Brandimart. Now JUSTIFIABLY Furioso, Roland retaliates and impales Gradasso, Durandal failing - once again - to do its wielder any favors.

Karl cameos to throw other legendary blades and their wielders under the proverbial bus. Do you think that he's wrong to do so? After all, he won himself an enormous empire and lived to a ripe old age. The owners of Balmung, Excalibur and the rest...did not. Plus, it's in the Louvre. Is Caliburn in the Louvre? Thought so.

Really, he wasn't originally in this comic, but I thought there was a joke in how Charlemagne killed a giant (and these guys could get HUGE in this mythic cycle), won the titan's legendary Greek sword, and just tucked it away somewhere instead of using it himself. A plot hole became an opening for me to write for Karl. And I love that guy.

Speaking of the cutting room floor, the comic was originally going to start with Hektor wanting to spar with Mandricardo and offering to trade weapons with him only for the cosplaying king to freak out and reluctantly reveal his fear that Durandal had been cursed from the start. Instead, I opted to have Mandricardo bring the subject up himself, give him a little more agency than he did in my previous comics starring him. And it winded up fitting really well. Getting killed by a wannabe knight like Ruggiero would probably cause the now quasi-resurrected Mandricardo to wonder where it all went wrong. Blaming Durandal itself would be a tempting stopgap for Mandricardo - It didn't save Hektor, it didn't save Roland, so why would it have saved him? - before he'd ultimately admit that the fault lay in how he refused to either finish (and likely die during) his duel with Roland or decide to return home and rule as a good king after realising he was seriously outmatched.

[dddainuhsoar]

witch guanshan x warrior hetian

a fic au inspired by a movie that came out recently. you have 3 guesses to guess which movie it is. anyway, incomplete so read at your own risk... ^^

~2k words

traditionally, witches have been women. witches are beautiful women who ensnare their prey, and transform into docile, innocent animals - a fox, a snake, a bird - to escape in times of trouble. rather than being feared for their prowess, witches were revered. their spells brought rain for crops, their charms brought luck (or disaster; it depends which you are looking for) and their ability to convene with creatures proved more useful than horrific.

schools were set up and young girls with talent in magic were sent there to become enchantresses, sorceresses or fairies. after their studies, they were either sent to the imperial city to be part of the emperor’s court or army, or, if they chose, continue their studies to become deities. boys with talent in magic do not exist… unless they do and are incredibly apt at disguisement.

illusion spells, in fact, were the only kind of spells guanshan was any good at. he managed to trick everyone at school that he was a girl, but for what? he was failing at every other category. his parents sent him to study despite their fears that he would be discovered because they believed it would be a waste of his talent if he hadn’t gone. at first, he had thought he had talent in it too. he thought he was special, then he started studying at a school and realised he had overestimated himself.

girls were natural spell-casters. he, even though able to use magic, struggled to conjure even a single droplet of water. some of the instructors were appalled at his lack of ability, even suspected he was not truly a witch, but none ever saw through his illusion. no matter how much he sweated under their watchful gaze, trembled under their inspecting spells, or stuttered under the pressure of their inquisition, they simply never found out. sometimes, guanshan wished they would hurry and expose him already so he could quit this and go home.

after the instructors gave up trying to figure out what was wrong with guanshan, they stopped caring about him. he was too weak to teach, but too unique to be thrown out. some of the girls took pity on him and tried to help, but most just sneered at him. they weren’t too fond of people who were different. the crueller girls would play pranks, casting hexes on him that took him ages to learn how to remove.

i deserve a worse punishment, guanshan thought. he was a boy who studied, ate and slept with girls. it was immoral and lecherous. it was blasphemous, because witches were gods-to-be. he had no dishonourable thoughts about his schoolmates (he swore his right hand to it), but he was sure to punish himself at least once a day. many times, he would not be able to bear the guilt of lying next to the girls, who were flowering into women day-by-day, that he would sleep outside in the courtyard, on the stone floor, unsheltered by a roof or walls.

when one has to often sleep in such conditions, it is no surprise that they are in no shape to be practising spells in the day. it was self-sabotage, guanshan knew, and sooner or later, the instructors would throw him out. it was on one of his poorer-faring days, when he was forced to crouch till dinner as punishment for setting a tortoise’s shell on fire while the tortoise was still in there, that he met hetian, the second son of the chief of the he tribe.

guanshan’s tribe was known to produce the most fearsome witches. most of them carry on to lead battalions in the imperial army. and if there were a warrior-parallel for guanshan’s tribe, that would be the he tribe. the men from the he tribe were the most brutal and cunning warriors. they were not averse to using underhanded strategies to win a war, which made them incredibly useful to the imperial army but also risky. they were loyal to a fault to the chief of their tribe, and even the emperor was careful when it came to dealing with him.

a few members of the he tribe were visiting to train with the witches. since many witches would end up serving in the imperial army along with the warriors of the he tribe, it was a natural idea to have the two groups get used to each other as part of their training. together, they were invincible.

initially, guanshan was determined to ignore the boy and focus on building a shelter for the tortoise he was tasked to protect from the blazing sun he himself was being scorched by. he was given a large wooden bucket to fill with water by his teachers. once he had it filled, he could then put his tortoise in so it would stay hydrated. they wanted him to practise his water conjuration spells, he understood that, but he couldn’t understand why at the expense of an innocent tortoise. when his fingers ached from snapping and his throat parched from muttering the spell, he finally looked up at hetian, who had been staring at him the entire time from under his paper umbrella.

it was nice of hetian to shade guanshan from the sun (even though guanshan desperately wished he would go away before his teachers came to check on him) so he decided it was possible the young visitor would be willing to help him get water from the well in the neighbouring courtyard.

“you’ll have to show me,” hetian said. “this place is huge, i think i’ll get lost.”

guanshan glared at him. “just take that path to the left. it’s in that courtyard. i cannot leave this spot.”

“why not?”

“what do you mean ‘why not’? i’m being punished!”

“you’ll suffer a worse punishment if you let me get lost in this maze of an institution,” hetian said. “as it is, i’m already lost. i can’t find my way back to my hall.”

for a moment, guanshan wanted to throw the bucket at him. but they were too close to each other and guanshan was crouching so if he wanted to throw it, he had to throw upwards, which meant when it dropped back down, it might hit him in its trajectory. with a growl, he got to his feet. he carefully placed the tortoise in the bucket. it was barely moving, and he wondered if it was dead already.

“i’ll lead you back to your rooms after i fetch water for my tortoise,” guanshan offered, proud of his valiance. he could use the guest as an excuse if he bumped into one of his instructors.

the young man was handsome. unlike his tribe, hetian had pale skin and a lean build. he was taller than guanshan but he didn’t look much bigger, and guanshan was supposed to be a girl. hetian had his long raven hair half-up, tied with a red cloth ribbon. his cheeks were pink from walking under the heat of the sun, and his face glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. when he smiled, his gratefulness reached his eyes. it was the first time anyone had given guanshan a genuine smile since he stepped into this school. maybe that fact, coupled with the angry rays of the sun cooking his brain and that he hadn’t slept a wink last night, caused the skip in guanshan’s heartbeat.

“my name is hetian,” the young man introduced himself as they made their way to the well. “second son of the chief of the he tribe.”

“i know who you are,” guanshan said, grimacing. “you are our esteemed guest.”

“so you knew that and yet you made me wait to have your attention,” hetian mock-scolded. “is your tortoise an esteemed guest as well, then?”

guanshan nearly smiled at the quip. “this tortoise is hundreds and hundreds of years old, it is our senior in many ways.”

hetian gave him a studying look. “i have heard that witches feel an affinity to creatures, but i imagined more glamorous animals.”

“well, even though i cannot conjure up a lick of water and i have red hair,” guanshan said, gesturing airily to his head, “i have always communicated better with aquatic animals.”

the young chief-son laughed. “what does the colour of your hair have to do with the animals you commune with?”

“red,” guanshan shrugged. “it is the colour of flames, the opposite of water.”

“much of you is the opposite,” hetian said, helping guanshan lift the bucket onto the lip of the well.

“of what?” guanshan asked as he tied a secure knot to the handle of the bucket with the rope.

at the exact same time hetian answered, “of a witch,” guanshan yelped, “wait, my tortoise!” as hetian had already begun to lower the bucket into the well.

guanshan stretched into the well to reach for the bucket, which was ridiculously thoughtless because hetian could have simply pulled the bucket up again. doubtlessly, he lost his balance, was lifted off the ground by the off-balance and started a nosedive into the well. at least his desperation to save the tortoise forced a spell that levitated the tortoise safely into his arms out of him. mid-way in his descent, he felt two arms envelope him and immediately after, they plunged into the icy water.

water was coming out of his nose, eyes and mouth when guanshan resurfaced. he coughed and sputtered and hugged the struggling tortoise tightly to his chest with one arm. when he kicked his legs, he hit hetian who was behind him.

“are you all right?” he demanded. his voice bounced off the walls of the well as he finally let go of the tortoise to spin around in the water and face his unfortunate companion.

much to guanshan’s surprise, hetian laughed. it, too, bounced off the walls of the well. it sounded like magic. guanshan could feel the tortoise swim out from between them to scrabble at the opposite wall.

“well, seducer,” hetian proclaimed in between laughter, “you better get us out of this well.”

it was dark all the way down here and guanshan could barely see the face he desperately wished to see. he wanted to see what hetian looked like when he laughed till he could not speak, wanted to see how his long dark hair must be plastered to his face like seaweed, wanted to see the look on his face to know what he meant by putting his hands on guanshan’s waist. guanshan murmured a spell and despite there being too much moisture in the air to summon a flame, a ball of fire burst into existence above their heads. guanshan could see now. hetian could see now. or at least guanshan hoped he could.

“this is inappropriate,” guanshan muttered. “i mean,” he gulped as he studied hetian’s face. “a girl and a boy, who are almost of age, alone in a tight space together… it’s… scandalous…” even as he said it, he could feel the thin material of his clothes cling to the straight lines of his body, he could feel how his chest was flat against hetian’s own.

“we’re not alone,” hetian whispered. the fire above them casted the structure of hetian’s sharp features in stark relief. “we have an esteemed guest in our midst. right behind you. trying to climb the walls.” the scratching of the tortoise’s claws against stone suddenly became louder to guanshan, who laughed in response.

hetian still believed he was a girl. that meant even though he was caught off-guard by the fall and drenched to the bone, his illusion hadn’t wavered. his disguise was more powerful than he could ever imagine, and yet he half-wished it wasn’t.

guanshan pushed away from hetian and waded to his tortoise. he held the reptile gently, whispering something to it. it soon calmed down and waded closer to guanshan’s chest.

“i don’t have magic that can get us out of here,” guanshan explained sheepishly. “but i can send my flame up and hopefully someone will pass by and see it.”

“you mean you cannot turn into a bird or something that can fly?” hetian asked.

“no,” guanshan blushed, ashamed of his lacking abilities. “i have never been successful at full transfiguration.” even his disguise as a woman was enabled by a spell of illusion, not transfiguration.

hetian didn’t say anything. and later guanshan would wonder what he did or said to trigger it, but now hetian floated over, took guanshan’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply. it took the person outside the well above them three tries to get their attention. when they were finally lifted out of the well by levitation spells casted by two separate instructors, hetian was immediately herded away to dry off in his rooms, and guanshan was ordered to return to the students’ quarters and stay there for the rest of the day without food.

with the hefty tortoise resting on his chest, and his clothes drying off by his trusty fire-light, guanshan lay on his bed and replayed the kiss over and over again in his mind.

[swfanficbyjz]

SW Rey Theory - Legacy of Light - Chapter 17

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(After A New Hope)

             Vader fumed silently as he returned to his fortress. He’d warned the Imperials to not put so much faith in their monstrous weapon. Only the force was powerful enough to destroy what the rebellion fought for. They mocked the force though, believing that he and the Emperor were devoted to it like it was an ancient religion. They’d never witnessed its true power, but they would know it now. Tarkin couldn’t hold him back anymore. They feared him, but not enough. That would change.

            He had bigger problems right now though. The Emperor had not been pleased that he’d failed to stop the rebellion pilot that destroyed the death star. Worse than that, the pilot was strong in the force; a fledging Jedi that had survived too long. If that wasn’t bad enough, the boy had his name; Luke Skywalker. His son. How Obi wan had hid him from him for so long, he had no idea, but the boy had to die. He was too powerful to be left alive. Too much of a hero to the rebellion. He was the Empire’s biggest threat. If he wouldn’t join them, he would die. There was no other way. 

            He paced his chambers in agitation, trying to work through how to trap him. The rebellion would be celebrating their short-lived victory; they think they won. Though the death star had failed to destroy their base on Yavin Four, they had probably abandoned it by now. It was part of what made trying to squash them so difficult; even with Empire eyes and ears everywhere, they were elusive.

            His servants steered clear of his room, but it wasn’t long before Starkiller appeared. He felt a burst of fury at his so-called apprentice. Where had he been during the fight for the death star? He threw him against the wall with the force before he’d spoken. It had barely registered he was injured. “You’ve failed me, apprentice!” he spat. “The death star was destroyed, the rebels claimed a victory today. Where were you?”

            Starkiller staggered to his feet. “I’m sorry, master!” he groveled. “I was executing a plan that would have pleased you greatly.” He dropped to his knees, holding his side and grimacing in pain. 

            “Explain yourself!” Vader demanded.

            “I set a trap for the rebels, and I caught one you might be interested in,” he breathed. “Ahsoka Tano.” 

            Now this was interesting. Her capture would definitely turn his day around. “Well, where is she?”

            “She got away,” he whispered reluctantly. Vader pulled his lightsaber from his belt and stopped it right by his neck. Starkiller looked up at him in fear, but didn’t move. 

            “I should kill you right now for your failure. Twice you’ve failed me today!” he growled at him, putting his lightsaber down and lifting him in a force choke. He dangled helplessly gasping for breath. “You are weak! You are not worthy to be my apprentice!”

            “I’m not worthy!” he repeated, hands reaching for his throat, mouth opening and closing trying to get air. Vader was about to put the final clamp of the force on him, but released him. Starkiller fell to the floor, coughing and rubbing his neck. “I know…” he gasped. “I know a way to stop her though, master! Give me another chance!” he begged. “She wanted me to give you a message.”

            “What?” he asked, momentarily distracted.

            “She said that Anakin Skywalker was stronger than you’d ever be…” Vader sent him flying across the room before he could finish his sentence. 

            “How dare you?” he yelled, throwing him against the wall again. “I never want to hear that name again!” He raised his lightsaber. “Fight me, you worthless worm!”

            Their battle barely lasted a couple of minutes. By the end of it, Starkiller could barely stand. He fled the fight as Vader yelled after him that he was no longer his apprentice. He should have killed him, but the condition he was in… he’d hardly last a few days. Perhaps he’d send an inquisitor after him later. The coward!

            As he immersed himself in the bacta tank to meditate, he hoped Ahsoka had the nerve to appear there tonight; like she’d done every other night since their meeting several years ago. He wanted to rage at her; sending her the hatred and anger that she deserved. She had humiliated him in every sense of the word. For awhile, he forgot about the death star and his son. His singular focus at the moment was on her. There was no way she was powerful enough to so easily defeat his apprentice. Starkiller had been meticulously trained in the dark side. Stronger than even himself in many ways. Not that he’d ever let him know that. Yet somehow Ahsoka continued to elude them, over and over again. 

            If he had to, he would tear the entire galaxy apart to find her. She could not be allowed to live. She knew too much. She was the only piece of his past he couldn’t kill. He sunk into the force, fueling his anger and hatred, preparing for her appearance. Tonight she’d get a storm like she’d never known. Maybe she’d finally give up on trying to save Skywalker. 

            The hours ticked by, but she never came; which only served to fuel his fire even more. How dare she not show? Starkiller said she’d escaped, but not that she’d been injured. Her abandoning him now meant only one thing, she couldn’t be trusted to keep her promises.

            He looked up excitedly ready to rage when someone appeared on the edges of his subconscious; only to be startled by a young girl he didn’t recognize. She panicked and was gone before he got a good look at her, but he stared at where she’d stood. Why did she seem familiar? Who was she and how did she get there? He’d felt her briefly in the force, which meant there was yet another Jedi threat that needed to be squashed. Ahsoka getting there was one thing; she was powerful and well trained. Had Ahsoka trained her?

            He felt his servants approach and reluctantly left his meditation behind. He was being summoned by the Emperor, and soon his thoughts were back on Luke and the next steps needed to crush the rebellion.

 ---

             The explosion damaged the escape pod, she'd waited too long to get away from Starkiller. She hadn't wanted to kill him, but she had wanted to send a message back to Vader. Not that it mattered now though; Starkiller probably wasn't stupid enough to give it to him, and Vader wasn't the type to see someone injured and ask them if they were okay or what happened. 

            She was headed directly at the surface of a nearby moon. It had been awhile since she'd crashed a ship. That was usually Anakin's trick. On her own and no longer backed by the Jedi order or the Republic, she'd had to be a lot more careful about her vehicles. 

            There wasn't anything she could do to fix this pod before it crashed though, so she just had to hang on tight. She scanned the planet below her; uninhabited, great. She was getting tired of being stranded places, but maybe it was a good enough excuse to not get involved again. She could still feel the deaths of the rebels around her; her daughter's pain and fear... Ahsoka had lost so many people over the years, she should be numb to it by now. She felt responsible for their deaths. Everyone in the rebellion knew what they were getting into and chose to fight anyways, but that didn’t make the losses any easier. 

            She braced herself as the pod hit the ground, sliding for awhile across the landscape before finally coming to a stop. The door controls no longer worked, so she cut through it with her lightsabers. She stumbled from the pod and looked around. Closing her eyes, she sunk into the force to get her bearings. If she headed to the right, she was certain she’d find some mountains and maybe some caves. That was the best chance for shelter. She didn’t feel like exploring; she was going to be here awhile. There’d be plenty of time for that later. 

            She trekked across the landscape feeling disheartened. She wasn’t afraid for her daughter, she knew Rex was with her; she’d be safe. Far safer with him than she’d ever be with her. Maybe if she’d thought to send Rex after her sooner, none of this would have happened. She sensed going to Vader tonight would be pointless. She could feel his anger burning across her mind. At least that meant Luke and the rebels succeeded in destroying the death star; a consolation, she supposed. Tonight… was about survival. 

            After finding a place to settle, along with food and water sources, she finally sat down feeling heavy. She looked around at the wilds. She’d seen so many different planets, so many different worlds, but… her heart felt tight. She never expected to be so tired at her age. She was thirty-eight now, but she might as well be an old woman. Most of her life had been consumed by fighting and war, pain and loss. She indulged in the need to reminisce. 

            The war had been awful, there was no denying that fact, but they’d also been the best years of her life. Why? Because she’d had friends then, a purpose, a home… Ever since she’d left the temple twenty years before, she’d been a drifter; twenty years of moving from one place to another, of not belonging. Would it ever stop? Would it ever change? She might as well start calling this place home, the chance of getting off it was pretty slim. Anybody that cared about her or knew she was out here was long gone. 

            For so long, fighting to protect her daughter was the only thing that kept her going, but now… The truth was, she didn’t want to fight anymore. Could she call up Rex and have them come back here? Live out the remainder of their lives on this forgotten planet? She smirked at nothing. The idea was appealing, but Ashla deserved a chance to have a future. She could fall in love, have a family, make a home. All the things she herself, had never been able to do. Well maybe that wasn’t true, after leaving the order, she could have done all those things. She could have traded her lightsabers for a wooden spoon and turned a blind eye to the terror happening all around her. She could have settled down, pretended to be normal and raised Ashla to deny her heritage and her powers. Would that have been better?

            It wouldn’t have been with the person she wanted. How long would the charade have lasted before the force pulled her back into something? What about the need to help others, or to right the wrongs? Could she have stood by and watched the daughter of the most powerful Jedi ever, never know her potential? She’d been raised to believe that undisciplined power in the force might as well have been a dark side sentence for life. Though admittedly that didn’t make sense, because plenty of disciplined force users fell to the dark side. She’d never come across an untrained one that was inherently evil or naturally turned evil simply because they didn’t understand what they could do.

            She shivered and gathered some wood for a fire, staring blankly at the dancing flames. Tears fell down her face before she could stop them. Once upon a time she’d been so sure about life. She’d known how to navigate it, known where she was going. She’d even once known who she was. She couldn’t say that anymore. She missed her old life. She missed the time when life was simple. Maybe it never was, but at least it had seemed that way. Of all the things she missed, she missed him the most. 

            Her and Anakin had failed miserably at not forming attachments. Both with each other and with others. She disagreed that attachments led to suffering. It wasn’t the attachment that made you suffer, it was the absence of those you were attached to that hurt. After all this time, he was the one she suffered over the most. His absence and consequently the discovery of why he was now absent, was probably what drove her to the brink of insanity every night. Without fail, she reached out to him daily, traversing the wild and painful path to his soul. Meditating there in the face of raging emotion and hatred, because well… Anakin was home to her. Even this violent and angry version of him, was more home to her than anywhere she could go now. He hated her presence there. She still went even though he threw everything into blocking her light. She still held out hope that if she persisted long enough, maybe he’d give in. Maybe he’d come back. Maybe he’d love her too. 

            She laid back on the hard ground, blinking the water out of her eyes as she stared at the starry sky. “I used to know exactly how my life would turn out. I was going to be the best padawan ever. I was going to pass my trials and become a Jedi knight. I would earn the rank of master, and maybe someday, I’d sit on the council. I had it all planned out and then… I didn’t follow it at all. How could I, after what happened?” she asked hoarsely out loud to the nothingness around her. “I miss when everything was black and white; Republic versus Separatist, good versus evil, Jedi versus Sith. To know where to go, I only had to remember what side I was on. It was never that way, not really. There were good people amongst the enemy and bad people amongst the Republic. Every choice now has to be weighed and explored and calculated. I miss when everything was a game. When the only thing that got me down was the pre-mission jitters. I miss the way you'd comfort me; the way you stood by my side. I miss the way it felt, to know that somehow we'd be okay, because you were there.”

            She rolled over, pulling herself tightly together. Her eyes stung from crying so hard. She’d never let herself think about regrets, because there was nothing she could do about them, but now they washed over her like a violent rain. If she’d known then what she knew now… she would have done a lot of things differently. It probably wouldn’t have stopped the war. It probably wouldn’t have fixed or changed anything about where she was now, but at least she’d be able to look back and have a few happier memories. 

            “I'm tired, Anakin. I never thought I'd feel this way.” she whispered, her throat tight. “I don't want to fight anymore. I just want you back. I want to feel like we'll get through it. That it will be over soon. I want to go home.”

  ---

             He listened to his master, bowing and nodding as necessary, but his mind kept wandering to her. Had it been her absence earlier that bothered him or something else? He stood when the holocall ended and he felt her reaching out to him. It was different than before however. It was a kind of buzzing in his head like a swarm of venomites. The more he struggled to ignore it, the louder it got. Something was off about it, or her…

            Finally, he couldn't stand it anymore and marched to his air chamber so he could meditate. He sunk into the force, but he couldn't find her. It had felt like her. It had hurt like her. But she wasn't here. 

            He looked up and saw her walking towards the edge of his consciousness, materializing out of the darkness as she always did. Except that this time she didn't stop on the outskirts to shine her annoying light. She moved forward, pushing through the fire. He stared in surprise at her boldness and rallied his defenses, but she effortlessly waved them aside. She stopped in front of him, her shoulders were heavy either from her travel here or something else. Without a word, she knelt down by his feet. 

            "You wanted me, well here I am. Strike me down, I won't fight you."

            He wasn't sure how to respond to her, he'd never heard her so despondent. Perhaps his apprentice had scored a victory after all. Yet he felt a different kind of anger bubble to the surface; he'd trained her better than this. To give up now was to fly in the face of every lesson he'd ever taught her. "Why?" 

            "I'm tired of people dying so you can get to me. I'm here, do what you will." He studied her, wondering what had changed. Her light wasn't as bright tonight. The flames licked at her body, burning her flesh, but she didn't react.

            "Noble, but stupid." She shrugged her shoulders in response, dropping her gaze to the ground. He summoned the power and hatred surrounding them and let it course through him as he readied the death blow. It was time to end this once and for all. He raised his arms and she closed her eyes in acceptance. Just as he brought them down to strike, he froze. 

            He'd sought nothing but revenge against all those that had hurt him. It had been a long time before she'd been included in that category, but she made him weak. He could not fully embrace who he'd become until she was destroyed. He'd believed the very same thing about Obi wan, but his death had brought him no satisfaction. He'd felt none of the power and purpose and peace Darth Sidious had promised him. If anything, it had left him empty and drained, struggling to find purpose again. If he destroyed everything he desired to, what would there be left to strive for?

            "No." He dropped his hands to his side, releasing the unused power. "I won't kill you."

            She blinked slowly, her long lashes brushing across her cheeks. There was an emptiness in her normally vivid blue eyes; a sense of lackluster and hopelessness. "Then you truly are a Sith," she sighed and dropped her hands to the ground. "If you'd rather leave me alive to suffer than let me rest in peace."

            He felt something stir deep inside him and he squashed it out. He didn't want to feel compassion. It was too late now. This was a victorious moment; his sworn enemy broken at his feet begging for death. He should revel in it, but... "Peace is a lie..."

            "Don't quote the Sith code to me, Anakin. I know it." She raised a hand to stop him, interrupting his speech. He stared at her in surprise. How could she, the strong light-aligned force user that she was, know the Sith code? What else didn't he know about her journey? "You once told me that slavery was a state of mind, not a position you were in. Well, I think we’re all slaves. Doesn’t matter who the master is; a Hutt, the Jedi order, the Republic, the Emperor… the force… We live to serve it. Well you’d think if the force is as powerful as we’ve been told, it wouldn’t need us puny lifeforms to act out its will. The Sith code claims that through victory, you find freedom, but I disagree. There is no freedom in victory, because you still have to live with all that you did to achieve it. The only freedom is perhaps in death, but even that is only a false sense of freedom, because you won’t even get to be aware that you’re free."

            Was she right? He shifted uncomfortably. He served the Emperor religiously, but why? He'd never delivered on what he'd promised. He was stronger in the dark side than he'd ever felt in the light, but even that came at a cost. There was more power, but more limitations. His master dictated his every move and he allowed him to, because he didn't care. He let him use him in any way he saw fit. How could she know such an experience? "Who is your master?"

            "The force."

            "We're all slaves..." he murmured to himself as he mulled over her words. "I serve the Emperor because I don't have a choice. You serve the force, because you don't have a choice. But even if I didn't serve the Emperor, I'd still be bound to the force...” The concern bubbled to the surface before he could fight it. Seeing her like this hurt more than he wanted to admit. Her fire had been what he'd loved about her. She was now a husk of what she'd once been, and now that he thought about it, so was he. All the power in the universe was his to command and it couldn't satiate him now. Any sense of freedom he'd ever felt had faded. Victory meant nothing if you no longer cared about the outcome. “What happened to you?"

            "I'm tired, Anakin," she rocked back onto her heels and looked up at him. There were no tears in her eyes, just a cold vacant stare. "I want to go home." She wrapped her arms around herself as though she was cold and he looked around at all the fire and lava that lived inside him. What did she consider home? And why did he care? "I know it won't matter now, but I love you. I’ve always loved you. What we did all those years ago, I wanted it. I loved you even though I knew I couldn’t have you, and for one night I let myself pretend you were mine, and only mine.”

            “I was married to Padmé.” She didn't even flinch at the words. 

            “I know,” she stared off into space. “I knew it then too. That’s why I knew you’d never be mine. Didn’t stop me from wishing for it though," she sighed. "Goodbye, Anakin. I hope you find a reason to break your chains.” She stood up. “And if you change your mind about killing me… I’ll be here.” She gestured to their surroundings. Even as she said goodbye, she planned to come back. Did she mean what she said? Did it matter anymore? The flames parted to let her through and she disappeared from sight, him still staring after her. He felt cold now too. 

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