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the-tomato-patch · 1 year ago

Text

A Thorn By Any Other Name

Summary:

"The air is still. Quiet. Drought clings to the atmosphere; dryness encompasses everything with a thirst that seems impossible to quench. Except one. A hooded shape slinks in the shadows that are cast by the stars. His feet do not make a sound, not even a tiny noise to disturb a soul. The gentle breeze plays across his frame, teasing the cloak like a lover would." In which Scourge is distracted by musings of his Jedi while stalking a temple occupied by the Servants. Takes place when Kira and Scourge are missing.

Pairing:

Jedi Knight x Lord Scourge ( Pre-relationship )

Word Count:

4k+

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51417661

The air is still. Quiet. Drought clings to the atmosphere; dryness encompasses everything with a thirst that seems impossible to quench. Except one. A hooded shape slinks in the shadows that are cast by the stars. His feet do not make a sound, not even a tiny noise to disturb a soul. The gentle breeze plays across his frame, teasing the cloak like a lover would.

Scourge stops moving and dips into the darkness, hiding himself just outside a doorway. His posture is one of patience; nothing but the faintest of his breaths can be heard. nearly inhuman patience, as his form just stands there, poised and ready to strike. Red eyes glint dangerously as a slight breeze pushes at his hood. His blood-red skin seems like a dull brown in this dark exterior. The stone door was large and cumbersome, with a weight of several tons of durasteel. Carved intricately are markings of a dead language that he no longer cares about, the Old Tongue, but finds ironic that he still uses from time to time. To the right side are pillars with a different symbol on each one. Each of those symbols means something important: devotion, grace, or a pure mind. All these things are wrong for the suspected occupant within. For the Emperor and his ancient carcass, his teachings were the antithesis of these true virtues.

His cloak moves with each breeze as if it were alive. Breathing with him His muscles tensed and flexed every few seconds. And then he leaps to an area stationed above the rest, past the ancient dip in the earth, now overseeing the foray below him. Minutes tick away like hours. Each breath becomes an eternity as Scourge waits and hides in his own world, counting breaths, listening for movement, trying to decipher anything and everything, keeping to himself, and pushing the thoughts away.

A chime goes through the temple, each striking a crystal bell, each toll resonating across his person. He hates that sound. A horrid clamor for prayers, tinged with reverence The exact thing he scorns to serve It signaled the start and end of sessions. To him, though, it was a reminder to stay away, out of sight, and unheard. The reverberations play off the nearby walls, making a cacophony of hideous songs. But silence once again claimed its throne, and he watched the servants slink along, making their final rounds.

Kira's reminder hisses silently in his ear, forcing reflection back upon the words she'd said, cautioning him against anything too impulsive while she gathered intel of her own: "You can wait to attack a bunch of priests. I think even you, Grand Lord High Majesty, can handle waiting for me. Promise?"

He had acquiesced, giving in with a dramatic flourish of his hand and an eye roll to indicate his exasperation. Yet he had made no promises against watching. Plotting.

Every night goes the same way. Precise, calculated, and stealthy. It was a dark time when the stars gleamed brightly across the sky, offering enough illumination to see shadows and shapes with remarkable clarity. Each being went to bed, none the wiser about the Sith wandering their halls. He knew each entrance and exit. Knew the patrols. And the protocol. This wasn't his first time watching. It is what he does. He watches, waiting for the chance to strike, and as much as he dislikes this particular temple and its inhabitants, he is a faithful man of his word. No attacking. No violence. At least in his head, he agrees to her terms, but she can't see what he dreams of when he rests. When given the chance to rest, that is. He blinks away the restlessness that wrestles with his mind and droops his eyelids.

So tonight, as the familiar chimes start once more, the tune brings to his mind images of screams of agony, blood, and pain, of a past long ago but not forgotten, of fire raining down upon a planet, scorching it dry, and turning sand to glass. The image faded away after a second as he realized he had been distracted, leaving him a moment of being out in the open while servants filed back from their prayers and to their quarters.

Each of their breaths was clouding and lingering on their exhale, clinging to their forms and embracing their willowy frames, all so ungraceful yet strangely beautiful in a disturbing, out-of-balance sort of way. It would've been fitting for them to be wraiths. Spectors, ghosts, and silent screams echoing throughout an endless night with a depth of hatred he couldn't begin to explain.

And now they were gone. Hidden by night's embrace. Even more silent than they'd ever been. And it was time to move again. Scourge readjusted his dark hood, fixing his gaze up a set of stairs before him, trying to count the exact number of steps and commit it to memory. He paused, hearing footfalls.

One. Two. Three. Four. His lips twitched. An uneven step. Unfamiliar. Had something changed? Was a servant patrolling where there shouldn't be? His focus narrowed, shifting his direction to the sound. Cloaked shadows of black with edges framing out and narrowing down a profile that he couldn't determine A figure stopped and lifted its head toward him.

No lightsaber hummed. No lights burned a bright hue. Neither of them moved; they just stood there and waited. Then a long, deep inhale, which sounded strange, echoed around the vicinity of the temple's courtyard, broken up by the light wind that swirled through his cape. The soft light of the stars played off the Sith, who breathed slowly and exhaled calmly, completely unaffected by the potential threat near him. His focus narrowed and the breeze changed, wrapping his form with its touch and accenting every facet of his sharp features and dangerous angles.

This figure was a servant. There was no doubt, for that one had seen him. Or the flicker of something. However, they wouldn't live to tell of the incident. They would only know that this cloaked shape of death was the last visage they saw before snuffing out. A small thrill of something dark curled his insides. Yes, the hunt was back on. Surely one death amongst them all would not go against his promise. No need to worry, Kira. He would act with reason. With skill. Be silent and deadly.

In less than a dozen steps, his body lowered, gaining the stealth and poise that were needed to strike a single deadly blow. The familiar form and habits had kept him alive many times on such a hunt. His bloodlust hummed inside his mind, chanting kill, kill, kill.

Such a primitive song had a harmony to it that he'd never tire of. That melody drove him forward and helped him calculate each moment to take down the threat before him. He had decided against using his saber. Far too recognizable. Even with one flick, the weapon would broadcast its presence across a great distance and attract unwanted attention. It was a mistake that he wouldn't allow, so his fists itched to drive through skin and smash bones to render a body lifeless and listen to their gurgles as life slipped away and the person died before him. Wretched servants and their ilk all deserved the same fate. Dying as the writhing maggots they chose to live as Their false reverence for the man he once called Lord sickens him.

The dagger at his side begged him to use its cold comfort, and so he obliged. In three heartbeats, the kiss and feel of steel punctured flesh, a throat torn asunder into a fountain of blood The last vestiges of the servant's breath hissed as they poured out of the wound and filled the air. As quickly as it'd happened, the deed was completed. And the body was carried and tossed rather haphazardly over the ledge of a cliff. Who would bother with a body found out here anyway? Certainly not the Servants of this forsaken planet, and no one, not even a beast, would dare touch that carcass, not one belonging to the Servants and their wretched cult of worship. Stained with such a festering presence.

The dagger was promptly wiped, and the silver gleam across its ebony surface back in a heartbeat, showing off an edge honed to perfection. His eyes lingered over its familiar shape, noting the worn aurebesh engraving that read 'Thorn'. His thumb traced over the markings, and that all-too-familiar sensation welled within. Scourge missed hearing the familiar hum of another blade at his side, one the opposite of dark. Purple as the bruising twilight, the violet that was always on the cusp of darkness. Rhiasen. His Jedi. A thorn in his side, he had called her once, now dislodged from his side. The pain is constant and aching. And she is the cause. Of missing that annoying presence.

'Not here. Not this place.'

The thoughts fled before they could sink their hooks back into his mind. His hands covered the weapon once more, sliding into its sheath at his hip, the motion seeming second-nature and natural. Perfect. Like breathing, killing, or destruction. As all things should be, And yet that traitorous pang in his chest remained.

His tongue pressed along his upper lip, feeling the warmth of his breath along his mouth as he sighed, adjusting himself and making sure every aspect of his robe was fixed and fit just right. He had seen to his personal duty. He had searched and scoured, listened, and plotted. His lack of sleep showed in the sloppiness of his kill, the carelessness of how it ended up over the edge, and how his mind wandered.

Sleep had been elusive lately, refusing him entrance as his mind betrayed him with flashes of events from before. Forced him into awareness, into memories of better and darker times. Showing off their myriad hues and colors. Mocking him and all that he was... or had been. The occasional flickers of sensations he'd long forgotten crept back in from time to time, too. Yet none were strong or certain. There were just pieces, and he'd no idea why the fragments returned when the rest refused to be recalled. Scourge knew that at times he felt flickers of emotions, quick rushes of something familiar and once considered more important than even a single breath. Those days he had trouble staying focused, when his skin seemed far too warm or a chill crept underneath and plucked at his very spine, urging a response that refused to answer. The entire sensation left a strange hollow feeling and an aching throb. One that was only compounded by the lingering fragments of his mind's betrayal that would not quiet.

Sleep would quell his thoughts and help him clear his focus once more. The near lack of it had left his thoughts muddled and his senses dulled. And this recent string of events did not aid in giving him respite or a moment of ease. It would seem the universe was conspiring against him. Always distracting and maddening. Never allowing a moment of pause or reflection on the true objective that mattered. But since when was this new?

He clenched his teeth and sighed before rubbing a gloved hand over his face, masking the weariness, the irritation he had with his mind, and its wanderings. After a few heartbeats, it was easy to put on that veil once more and slip away, tucking all away into darkness. Back to camp he would go.

He'd been too strict on himself the past few weeks. Scourge had been working for days on end without respite. His mental capacity had degraded for sure, and if he didn't have his normal intelligence and cunning, he was a dead man. At the very least, the dark side had taught him well, honed those skills and his mind, and made him efficient and capable. All things a worthy Sith Lord should be.

Through a great number of shadows, he slunk, making no sound. As still and silent as a death, and as quick. At least his stealth was still adequate, he mused as he felt his consciousness slip into the natural pathways of the world. And he would take this to bed, wrap himself up in the silence of it all, the scent of flowers drifting from a distant field, of stone and metal and ozone, all part of the planet that felt too close and far away at the same time, its inhabitants shrouded in secrets. The sound of his cloak whispering across his arms His footsteps, if heard, would only bring a gentle shift as the noise fell beneath the breeze.

It was at a time like this that he wished for a speeder. So that his nightly trek of miles underfoot could be cut shorter, if not for the sake of his sapping energy reserves but for the sake of efficiency.

Soon, Scourge was back in camp, hidden as it were in a shadowy niche along a massive building's side. One that had been carved from the same type of redstone as all the others nearby. An old village perhaps? Thick roots broke apart, spread like veiny rivers across the walls, and dipped down to the ground. Moss climbed and clung to various sides, along with other thick vegetation and weeds that grew in profusion in patches near the base and along the path leading up. Long blades of grass with rounded leaf shapes peeking between the crevices in the road. There were even some wild flowers popping up with their presumably vibrant petals waving cheerfully, trying desperately to grab what little light they could. Not that there was any in the moment.

All was quiet as Scourge changed from armor to robes. The nocturnal inhabitants sang their melodies as the pale glow of the full moon lit up the sky. One could hear the river from where it lay near camp, running through the sandy valley below only a short mile or two away. Its soft bubbling and steady flow were comforting in the silence. With no enemies closeby or creatures skulking about, and most assuredly no Servants to bother him in the night, this meant peace of mind. But, much like everything else, nothing lasted forever. Nothing good.

Still, Scourge could get a few hours in if he wished. More than normal, but still not ideal. However, when a person felt as weary as he was, their body would dictate things and act accordingly. Tonight was a prime example of that. As he pressed through the night and looked for the perfect spot to tuck into, Scourge sought out the shared rations box. Finding it just outside the area Kira had procured as her own slice of privacy. Everything was neat. Just as she had left it. Just the way he liked. Organized.

Inside, his hand snaked around for a packet of dried tea leaves. Holding it between his fingers and grasping the canister for the tea. Then, off to the left, he walked, stopping by his pack and digging for the other essentials to enjoy his nightly beverage. Force preserve him if he forgot to steep it again. Tea was his one vice. Well, two, given that the tea itself was the vice of needing some relaxation.

Scourge settled himself and all he'd brought with him up to the highest precipice of their camp. An easy walk away and within the shadows he needed, still close enough to the main camp but separate from the noises. There was a rock that jutted out. A piece that looked precarious but felt strong and capable, like him. There was the comfort of that familiarity in its rough edges and cool surface.

Soon his water came to a boil, bubbling pleasantly away in a small pot while the fragrance of his new favorite drink floated about.

Black teas. Always best. Darkest as the starless void he gazed upon nightly and the most complex flavor wise. Or at least to his newfound sense of taste and smell. The only thing that remained constant. It was bold, savory, robust—all the proper descriptions as the ingredients' scents filled the space around him. This was to be a pleasant respite tonight. After this cup, sleep. And nothing would interrupt him. That's what his instincts and the hum in the air told him anyways.

All was so easy, as the liquid grew stronger and more flavorful the longer it brewed. Steeping was too slow tonight, it seemed, not to his usual meticulously exact specifications. It would be rushed, if anything.

From his cushioned seat, Scourge looked up; the sky was awake with thousands of tiny pinpricks of lights. Those of a deeper blue or violet than he was used to, a sort of soft haze, surrounded the galaxy he'd come to know well over the years. There were two moons out. One was almost full, while the other was barely more than a sliver of a curved line, peaking out with its spherical outline. The expanse of the vast darkness of space beyond those light beacons stretching onwards. By the force, the sky held so many colors! With a blue almost lilac, bleeding a rich navy towards the west. The monotony of the days were broken up by these splashes of color. He hadn't seen such colors so regularly in centuries. What a sight it was!

Finally, his preparations were done, leaving the liquid to be finished off by nature alone as he left his creation to steam. Its spiced fragrance bringing back memories of hot beverages by fires long forgotten. To a home he couldn't recall, to an emotion he couldn't place and a fleeting feeling of family it brought eluded him. Nothing good lingered in those memories, he thought bitterly. How pointless it was to chase something that evaded you constantly.

Scourge's shoulders sagged under the weight of such things. Sometimes sleep was hard when all he had was that and a blank memory. No good feelings lingered, only frustration or loneliness. And of course, he had Kira. Ever the most pleasant company, in spite of his constant annoyance at her quips and incessant qualms from her duties as a Jedi. Her optimism grating on the best of days and downright obnoxious the rest. And then there were the occasional one on ones he would have with Revan. When it was the two of them, Revan kept his conversation topics vague and short. Always staring Scourge down and daring him to reply with something more, as if waiting for an admission from him he'd not given. Scourge wasn't stupid or a coward. There were times when the need to tell Revan all of his thoughts and frustrations was maddening, especially in his obsessive mission to find Tenebrae's true body. So much was secretive about this cursed planet. Scourge almost feared he was doomed to repeat this fool's errand of killing the Emperor until the end of time itself!

'No, enough.'

He had wasted far too much time and life already, serving for far too long. He knew in his bones that strides were being made on both fronts, his and Rhiasens. His would pay off, and the road would lead him home. To where he belonged. Because of all that had transpired, Scourge was sure of at least one thing. His destiny would hold true. Death, the greatest equalizer, was his greatest skill and weapon to wield. And one that would help him shape this galaxy into a better version of itself. One free of the Emperor.

He adjusted his sitting position, careful to keep the hot cup of tea far out of the way of his knees. Doing so caused his dagger to shift and press into his thigh. It was a quiet reminder for his senses. A cool weight there, like a promise, a constant companion. And in the recesses of his mind, where the cold bit the hardest and memories of pain were the clearest, and where an ache persisted and loss never forgotten took root, he always felt a small comfort. Soft, fragile, and fleeting, it was there like a small warmth filling that icy void.

If he focused, he could feel the twinge, a fraction of her presence in the force, that which was carried by every living being. And especially by this one. It was such a faint but steady pulse. It was almost like the dripping of a small rivulet of water. Always moving, always seeking. She was out there, somewhere, he knew. On a battlefield as certain as he was, laying waste and reaping lives in defiance of the Emperor. Or was she serving his glorious master as a puppet? Of course, they'd heard stirrings. Kira often relayed what scraps of news she was able to wheedle out even on the fringes of wild space. But that was neither here nor there, as far as this mission was concerned, anyway. Kira and Scourge would find her when the time came. But for now...

He sighed once more and closed his eyes, putting those wretched and disillusioning thoughts away. He'd focus on that presence instead and seek rest, slipping into slumber with that little pulse as the beacon for his anchor. Scourge had a few hours at best. He should make the best use of them. He sipped his tea and felt the soothing warmth slide down his throat and curl into a pool in his stomach. He let his eyes roll shut and just enjoyed the feeling.

And listened. Listening to the noises of the nighttime, to the sounds of the winds brushing against the grain and of distant creatures calling out, echoing throughout the valley. Deep and dark was his slumber with the low melody of the chirps. His dagger found itself clutched tightly in his hands even as he slept. What bliss his tired mind devised. His body relaxed for the first time in so long. And the rest would be what he needed for the coming day.

Then was a strange ripple in the force.

Unexpected and unfamiliar.

And instead of nightmares plaguing his slumber, his dreams were different than normal. Speckled with a flicker of amber, a bemused smirk, and a silent exchange between him and her, Not overly emotional or drawn out, but weighted with feelings he wouldn't otherwise care about but couldn't help but savor. And he welcomed it. Welcomed those little bursts of color she'd inadvertently given him when she'd flash him that smile or the ever-elusive crinkles of her eyes would show, her nose scrunched, and lips would move to form words. Anything she did for him during these strange moments could have filled his chest with those lost sensations of light. Yet they hadn't, because he couldn't. Back then, when he was truly emotionless and numb, it'd only been a dull flicker, hardly brighter than a candle in the middle of a tunnel. More of a thought than an actual feeling or warmth in his heart. He could only discern what the feelings were. A feeling of... something. Yearning, longing? Those fragments would linger and then vanish the second he opened his eyes. Just as abrupt as their appearance had been. And still, the sleep provided comfort. Peace. Dreams of her in repose, the cadence of her voice, and the words spoken softly as snowfall

Scourge came to once more with no residual weariness or need for more sleep in the early hours of the morning, dawn minutes away, and the sun's rays not yet visible on the horizon. He rose, his joints somewhat creaking from lying for so long as he rolled his shoulders back with a groan. The teapot now sat cold, the tea no longer steaming, the liquid more murky than hot black clarity, or the fragrant ovals of petals floating lazily along the top as they should have been. He yawned softly, looking to his hand, which gripped 'thorn'. Still warm.

He let himself have that small moment. If just to feel the sensation and its memory grow, soaring through him, only to taper off and feel light as air. All too soon, it was no more, and he was sitting there once again, alone, in the shadows. All was still serene as his solitude allowed, the only sounds being that of nature waking, the rivers running, and branches rustling.

All was back to normal. And it was time to prepare.

#swtor #star wars the old republic #jedi knight #swtor jedi knight #oc: rhiasen shedim #lord scourge #scourge #swtor fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #drabble #a little angst #ooc?#my weird interpretation of scourge slowly getting sensations back #i dont think its all at once. i like to thinks its gradual and fucks with him #but then its all at once when the emperor is legit dead #edited for clarity

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